by Wendy Alec
She pursed her lips.
‘Americans – can’t do anything without an entourage.’ Turning, she narrowly missed poking Jason’s eye out with the umbrella.
Meekly, Jason took the umbrella.
‘And don’t think it’ll get any better at the funeral. Adrian’s presence is going to attract every journalist in Europe.’
Jason shot Jontil an annoyed glance. He was well aware how much it amused her to see him bossed around by his aunt. Lilian always said they were as stubborn as each other. Hewn from the same block.
‘Cooper. Grayson.’ Rosemary directed Lilian’s bodyguards. She nodded at the rapidly approaching press corps. The two ex-SAS soldiers warded off the rapacious British press as a third ploughed a way through the pushing and jostling paparazzi towards the waiting Bentley, twenty feet away.
‘Mr De Vere – The Mirror,’ a lanky, fresh-faced journalist shouted in Jason’s ear. ‘How long did you know your brother was gay?’
A flash went off directly in Jason’s face.
‘Damn British paparazzi,’ he muttered.
‘Do you believe your brother was murdered?’ another reporter shouted. ‘Was it a crime of passion?’
A crimson flush of anger spread from Jason’s face to his neck. ‘He had a car accident, for God’s sake.’
The Mirror reporter smiled. ‘Is it true you were estranged from your brother?’
Jason shoved him roughly out of his way just as more camera flashes erupted.
‘Aggressive as always, Mr De Vere.’ The young man in torn jeans and T-shirt spoke politely. ‘Great cover picture for the Sunday edition. Thank you.’
‘Did you know your brother was dying of AIDS?’
Jason stopped in mid-stride, his temper raging. He stared at the paparazzi in contempt.
Jontil placed a warning hand on Jason’s arm.
He looked at her, reading the expression in her eyes. Another flash went off.
‘Let’s get out of here!’ he said and followed the third bodyguard as he pushed through the reporters to the open door of the Bentley. Jason climbed in, sinking into the soft leather seat.
Rosemary was taking charge outside. ‘Push off,’ she commanded.
She pointed her umbrella at a young cameraman.
‘You leave my nephew alone,’ she said, menacingly.
Levine passed the briefcase through the door, then hurried through the sleet to join Jontil in a second waiting car as Rosemary climbed in beside Jason.
A reporter battered on the Bentley window.
‘British guttersnipe press,’ Jason snarled.
‘You play right into their hands,’ Rosemary snapped, frowning at Jason in disapproval. ‘You always have.’
More reporters battered on the darkened Bentley windows.
‘Don’t lecture me, Aunt Rosemary.’ Jason glared at her, then tapped impatiently on the smoked glass divider. The Bentley lurched ahead.
Jason raised his eyebrows in disbelief as he registered who was driving.
‘He insisted that he pick you up,’ Rosemary said. ‘No one could stop him.’
A glimmer of a smile spread across Jason’s face. ‘But he hasn’t driven since the war.’
The dark glass of the compartment divider opened slowly and Maxim, now in his early eighties, patted his twirled waxed moustache. He nodded respectfully.
‘The Falklands War, Master Jason. You were, if my memory serves me, studying at Yale.’
Jason grinned. ‘Good to see you, Maxim. You’re sure you can drive this beast?’
Maxim looked back at Jason in the Bentley mirror. ‘Piece of cake, Master Jason, ’ he said, narrowly missing a bus. ‘How good to see you. My deepest condolences for our Master Nick, sir.’
Jason became instantly grave again. ‘Thank you, Maxim. How’s Mother?’
‘She’s the picture of composure, Master Jason, but I must confess to having instigated a little spying operation, of which, of course she has no inkling. Each night, after her bedtime drink, I hear her sobbing. I have been most concerned.’
The Bentley lurched violently, followed by another huge lurch, then a screech. Cars hooted from all around them. Jason and Rosemary exchanged a look as a cab driver rolled down his window and shook his fist at Maxim.
‘Go back to the bloody old-people’s home.’
Maxim rolled down his window most indignantly just as the cab driver made a vulgar sign at him.
‘The impertinence!’ Maxim spluttered.
‘Now, now, Maxim,’ Jason said with a grin.
As they got under way again, Rosemary opened her briefcase and took out a stack of notes typed on an old ribbon typewriter. ‘Funeral’s at All Souls, Langham Place – the north end of Regent Street – next to the BBC. The only central place available at such short notice.
‘Your mother’s dreading the funeral. The security will be a nightmare with Adrian there.’ She took out a small black book. ‘Your mother’s list – seven Labour MPs and four Conservative. The Prime Minister. Speaker of the House. Seven minor royals. Nine Lords. You know, the usual.’
Jason looked ahead in disbelief as they sailed through a set of red lights amid more hooting.
Unconcerned, Aunt Rosemary continued. ‘Peers, one or two minor European royals, seven US senators and congressmen, chairmen of the Bank of England, North Sea Oil.’
She removed a second ream of paper.
‘Your list, courtesy of Jontil. Adrian’s list – huge. And of course, Nick’s personal friends’ She grimaced. ‘Needless to say, they won’t be in black tie. Oh, and Julia.’
Jason flinched perceptibly.
‘I thought she was in Italy.’
‘She is. She flies into Heathrow tonight. Alex, Lily and her friend meet her there and go back to Chelsea. Lily is arriving at your mother’s tomorrow at 2 p.m sharp for Christmas lunch. She’ll stay with you till 7. Adrian’s been held up in Babylon. He’ll arrive in London on the morning of the funeral.’
Which is . . . ?’
‘Tuesday. The 28th.’
The Bentley jolted, braked, then screeched to a halt outside a sprawling mansion in Belgrave Square.
Jason gazed up at the six-floor, white stucco-fronted Georgian mansion, then walked the short distance to the commanding portico. Maxim followed with Jason’s briefcase. Rosemary turned the key in the lock.
The door opened onto an enormous marble hallway, with a twenty-foot-high ceiling. An arrangement of forty-eight ivory roses sat on the antique hall table.
A young girl in livery appeared.
‘Ceci,’ Rosemary instructed, ‘help Maxim with Mr De Vere’s cases, will you.’
Jason’s face was alight with memories.
‘Maxim,’ he said, ‘I thought Mother said in her last letter that you were retiring.’
Maxim’s brows furrowed in disapproval.
‘Retire is a word that only Madam Lilian used, I believe.’
‘No, Maxim.’ Rosemary glared at him. ‘She mentioned nothing at all about retiring. All she did was suggest you take a well-earned holiday!’
The butler gave Jason a long-suffering look.
‘I said to Madam Lilian,’ he declared sniffily, ‘that if my services are no longer required, I shall assume that my skills are slipping. I have been with this family for over thirty-five years . . . ’
‘There, there Maxim.’ Jason hid a smile. ‘You’re a part of the furniture. How would Mother cope without you?’
‘Well, I’ll be going,’ Rosemary said. ‘I’m staying with my niece. I thought I’d give you and your mother a little privacy.’
Rosemary rubbed her hands then, leaning over, she pecked Jason on the cheek and disappeared out of the front door.
‘Forgive my petulance, Master Jason,’ Maxim said, taking a perfectly pressed white hanky from his pocket. He wiped his eyes and then blew his nose at a thousand decibels.
‘It’s Master Nick. His death.’ He blew his nose again. ‘It’s quite thrown me off.’
Jason put a hand on Maxim’s shoulder. ‘It’s thrown us all off, Maxim.’
Maxim removed a well-worn photo from a battered leather wallet. ‘Master Nicholas when he was four. After he blew up the aviary.’
Jason took the tattered photo of a very singed Nicholas from Maxim’s trembling grasp.
‘Dad was livid,’ Jason recalled.
‘Here’s my favourite of Master Nicholas,’ Maxim murmured, producing another.
Jason stared at the photograph of himself, Adrian and Nick together on the dock in New York.
‘You still have it . . . ’ he said in wonder.
Maxim gave a watery smile. ‘It’s from my scrapbook.’
‘Brothers,’ Jason murmured.
He looked up to the first-floor landing at two large mahogany doors.
Maxim nodded. ‘Madam Lilian hasn’t left her quarters since she received the news of Master Nicholas’s death.’
Jason sighed.
‘The South Wing is prepared for you as usual, Master Jason. My room is still on the sixth floor. If you need me, ring the bell in your drawing room. Breakfast will be served in Madam Lilian’s dining room at 8 a.m. sharp.’
‘No breakfast, Maxim.’
Maxim looked at him sternly.
‘I shall be preparing a separate breakfast tray for you, Master Jason. Three eggs, over easy. Orange juice. The nutritionless white toast you insist on.’ He scowled. ‘And porridge, with cream and whisky. And, may I be so bold, having looked after you since you were in second grade, to strongly recommend that you partake of no spirits until after the funeral.’
Jason looked at Maxim, strangely emotional.
‘You may be so bold, old friend,’ he said, softly.
Maxim dabbed his eyes again.
‘I shall return with Madam’s sedatives,’ he said.
Jason walked slowly up the stairs to the first-floor landing.
He pushed open the mahogany doors and peered into the large sitting room, elegantly decorated with antiques, tapestries and throws.
Lilian De Vere sat alone in the dark, staring at video footage of Nick in his schooldays. Nick at Cape Cod with Adrian and Jason, Nick at the last De Vere family party when James De Vere had still been alive.
Very gently, Jason leaned over and took the remote out of her hands.
‘Mother,’ he said, softly.
Lilian started and turned to Jason, her eyes misting over as she clasped his hands. ‘Jason, darling.’ Her thin hand trembled as she switched on a side lamp.
Jason looked down at her gently and drew in a deep breath. She had aged overnight. Always elegantly thin, she now looked gaunt. Her silver hair was impeccably braided and pinned up in a chignon, and she wore a tailored black dress with a diamante brooch on her lapel. But tonight she looked so vulnerable And frail.
Lilian clasped him tightly to her and for a fleeting moment Jason struggled to keep his composure. She released him.
‘You were always like your father – so strong . . . so stubborn . . . ’ her voice trailed off.
She picked up a photograph of Jason, Adrian and Nick on the antique table next to her. Her eyes grew distant.
‘But Nicholas was a free spirit.’ She took Jason’s hand and clasped it tightly in her own. ‘First your father, then Nick.’
She drew Jason down next to her.
There was a soft knock on the door and Maxim wheeled in a silver tray of canapés.
‘Refreshments, Madam Lilian.’ He studied Jason in approval. ‘And your sedatives.’
He frowned at her, then looked at Jason. ‘She refuses to take them, Master Jason.’
Jason held out his hand out. ‘Here. She’ll take them.’
Jason placed the two tablets gently in Lilian’s palm, then gave her the glass of water.
‘Drink it, Mother,’ he instructed. ‘You’ve got a stressful few days ahead with the funeral.’
Lilian smiled faintly.
‘Lily’s coming for Christmas lunch with us.’
‘I know. Now drink up.’ He smiled gently at her. Lilian took the pills.
‘Good girl.’
‘Madam Lilian, I am on the other end of your bell if you require me in the night,’ Maxim said. Bowing, he disappeared through the drawing-room doors.
Jason stood.
‘It’s late, Mother. You’ve got a long day tomorrow. You need your rest.’
He helped Lilian to her feet and they stood together in the dark for a long moment.
Finally, Jason spoke. ‘I miss Nick,’ he whispered.
Lilian held his face in her hands. She looked deeply into his eyes.
‘When he was very young, you were his hero. All his life until the accident, he relied on your strength – the strength he knew he never had . . . ’
She clasped Jason to her.
‘He loved you, Jason.’ She kissed him tenderly on his head as she had done when he was a boy.
‘He was too soft,’ Jason mumbled. ‘He was a fool.’
Tears streamed down Jason’s cheeks.
‘A fool, but I loved him, Mother.’
Jason strode from the room, leaving Lilian staring alone into the darkness.
Chapter Twenty-six
The Funeral
28 December 2021
All Souls Church, Langham Place, London
Jason stood inside the foyer of the church, safely out of sight of the media circus, as Adrian’s cavalcade drew up outside the circular columned portico of All Souls Church. Jason squinted as the light from the paparazzi’s ever-present cameras flashed.
Adrian De Vere had arrived.
Jason turned and walked down the aisle towards the front row of the church. It was crammed to overflowing with a‘Who’s Who’ of both British and American political and corporate society. He took mental notes as he walked. On the right-hand side of the aisle he recognized four MPs, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the newly elected Conservative Prime Minister, the President of France, the King of the Netherlands and four lesser-known British royals. On the left-hand side sat the chairmen of the Bank of England and North Sea Oil, along with four US congressmen and three senators he recognized from the news, including one from New York with whom he played golf every month.
His expression softened as he recognized the distinguished features of Xavier Chessler, President of the World Bank – his godfather.
Jason paused and leaned over Chessler’s shoulder.
‘Uncle Xavier,’ he said. Chessler looked up.
‘Jason.’ He stood and embraced him. ‘I’m so sorry, my boy, it’s devastating. Nick was so young.’
Jason nodded.
‘I had breakfast with your mother this morning,’ Chessler said. ‘You know we’ll look after her.’
Jason smiled. ‘You’ve been a brick, Uncle Xavier. I don’t know what she would have done without you.’
‘Your father was my oldest friend. I’m here for you too, Jason. Why don’t we catch up this week in New York?’
‘I’ll be back on Thursday.’
‘How about that eclectic bar, Nick’s favourite?’
Jason nodded. ‘The Gramercy,’ he said, softly. ‘The Rose Bar.’
Chessler smiled. ‘I met him there last summer. Let’s say Thursday night. Nine-thirty. In the Rose Bar. For a toast to Nick.’
‘A toast to Nick,’ Jason echoed.
He clasped Chessler’s hand, then walked past the remaining two rows, full of Nick’s friends. He recognized two international models, a leading British recording artist, three famous Hollywood actors, celebrities from a top British reality TV show and . . . he stopped. He’d know that profile anywhere even covered by a black veil.
Julia.
He turned away abruptlyand made his way past the minders to the front row of chairs, where Lilian sat staring straight ahead, dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Lily sat on her right. Alex and Polly on her left.
‘Dad.’ Lily pulled Jason down next to her, her eyes red-rimmed from sob
bing. She clasped his hand.
‘Dad, I’m worried about Alex. He’s closed us all out.’
Jason frowned. He leaned forward and spoke to Alex ‘Sorry, bud. I know how close you were.’
Alex scowled at Jason, then returned to staring into his hymn book.
Adrian slipped into the row. He looked worn to the point of exhaustion.
He sidled past Jason to embrace Lilian and kiss Lily on both cheeks before sitting down next to Jason. Directly behind Adrian sat Guber and Travis.
‘Dad, don’t you even feel bad you never even returned Nick’s calls?’ Lily whispered.
Lilian shook her head warningly at her grandchild.
‘Of course he feels bad,’ she said, softly.
Adrian took Lily’s hand. ‘He just can’t admit it. You know your Dad. Stubborn as always.’
Lilian smiled faintly. ‘Just like his father.’
‘Poor Nick.’ Adrian sighed deeply. ‘Last time I saw him at Mother’s birthday supper in Rome, he was skin and bone.’
Jason frowned. ‘Wasn’t he with you the night of his accident?’
Adrian shook his head. ‘He was on his way to the Abbey when he crashed. But, no, he didn’t arrive.’
Jason frowned. ‘He was travelling late.’
‘You know Nick.’ Adrian shrugged, ‘He was meant to arrive at noon. He phoned, said he’d been held up and would arrive late.’
He looked at Jason. ‘He never arrived.’
Jason nodded. ‘It’s just strange, that’s all. He left me a message which sounded like he’d just been with you. Some incoherent rambling about you master-minding an insane barter deal with the Israelis. And the Ark of the Covenant.’
‘Did he say anything else?’
‘No.’ Jason glanced in the direction of Julia. She was gazing directly at him.
‘Who’s that with your mother?’ he whispered to Lily.
‘It’s Callum Vickers. Good-looking, isn’t he?’ She waited for effect. ‘And young.’
