‘OK. Forget that for now. There was something else,’ said Terri Booth, ‘something much more interesting.’
‘And what was that?’
‘I found out Duggie only had half the shares Bard did. Between them they hold – held – thirty per cent. I always thought it was fifty – fifty. Not a bit of it. Bard has twenty per cent, Duggie ten. Barbour five. And I didn’t like that.’
‘I can see that,’ said Gray, ‘but maybe – ’
‘I know what you’re thinking. That Bard is the star and Duggie the warm-up act. Well, in a way that’s right. But my God, he’s given his life for that company. Risked his own money several times. Worked his arse off, twenty-five hours a day. And he gets a lousy ten per cent.’
‘Yes, it seems a bit hard.’
‘Duggie didn’t want me to to do anything about it; said he was perfectly happy, that Bard was the brains in the outfit, that we weren’t exactly hard up. But like I said I didn’t like it. It made me very angry. So I talked to Bard about it, told him it stank.’
‘And what did he say?’ ‘He told me to mind my own fucking business,’ she said briefly, ‘that it was nothing to do with me, that he and Duggie had always worked together perfectly fine. That was when I started really disliking him. It was mean, you know? And kind of – patronising. It was as good as saying Duggie wasn’t worth more than ten per cent, that he looked down on him.’
‘So – ?’
‘So, by way of a little exercise, I said I wanted some shares. To even things up a bit. He said there was no way I was getting any, that he didn’t just hand over shares for nothing, and so I told him I was very interested in the early days, in Nigel Clarke’s just slightly mysterious death, in all the things he did for the Clarkes, and a few other things, and I was thinking of doing some investigations. Of getting a private detective on the job. And I said I had contacts in the press who might well be interested. He said I was bluffing, and I told him I’d got your home number and that I intended to ring you.’
‘Which you did,’ said Gray, remembering with horrible sadness that beautiful evening, when the mysterious phone call had come through and Briony had first broached the big B.
‘Yes, I did. And when he realised I meant it, he panicked. And suddenly, do you know, he wanted to invest in my company.’
‘Christ,’ said Gray. He suddenly remembered the riddle of the Scottish golf course.
‘Incidentally, Terri, did Duggie ever mention a golf complex? Up in Scotland.’
‘Hundreds,’ said Teresa, and laughed.
‘No, I mean owned by Channings.’
‘Ah,’ she said, ‘that one. Another little puzzle. I never got to the bottom of it. But there was something fishy about it. They bought some place up there, for a lot of money, and it never came to anything as far as I could make out. Never was developed. Duggie hedged about it, I even asked him to take me up there to see it, but he wouldn’t. Said there was nothing there yet. Bit odd. Channing was very evasive when I asked him about it. Got that dead-eyed look of his, you know? You should take a look into that one as well, Graydon.’
‘Ah. Then I will. Interesting. Because I heard about it from some ex-director of theirs. All happened about three years ago, would that be right? Place called Auchnamultie?’
‘That’s the one. Anyway, back to Channing. Just days before Duggie’s death, he suddenly made over a great slug of shares to him. Five per cent of his holding. Had us both in, to make sure I knew about it, dished out some crap about how he felt bad Duggie hadn’t had more before. Of course Duggie practically wept with gratitude. Now how does that sound to you, Graydon?’
‘Bit funny,’ said Gray. ‘Just a bit funny.’
‘I’ve instructed my solicitor to sell them when they come through,’ she added, smiling.
‘What on earth for?’
‘Oh, anything to reduce Bard Channing’s power over that company. And telling him about it really cheered me up. He was beside himself.’
‘Teresa,’ said Gray, ‘you’re a clever girl.’
He was quite glad he had a longish ride back to London (he had seen the day as a nice litle outing for the Harley Davidson); he had a lot to think about. What Teresa Booth had said made a certain kind of sense, suited his hunches, fitted his instincts. And the facts: it was just about the time of Teresa’s first phone call that Channing had suddenly, and so inexplicably, turned interview-shy. It was good when that happened; it boosted his professional confidence. And if it had been her revelations, or possible revelations, to him that had worried Duggie enough to drive him to inviting him to lunch, then he had almost certainly had something to hide. Or to tell. He had been carefully vague about the lunch to Teresa: had said they were going to meet to discuss the future and Channings’ problems, it seemed safer, wiser, and she seemed to have believed him. It also seemed rather sadly clear that if Duggie had been as worried as that, then there was some truth in Teresa’s claim that she had killed him. God, what he would give now to know what Duggie had been going to tell him! To his shame, frustration had been as powerful an emotion as sadness when he had heard of Duggie’s death.
But poor, dear old Duggie; he didn’t deserve such distress at a time when life should have been made calm, easy for him. Gray thought of him, of his agitated voice on the phone, and sorrowed for him, and hoped Terri had been worth it for him in other ways.
But it was exciting. Exciting and intriguing. There was nothing he loved more than this, stumbling on a story, working, worrying away at it, hacking through the undergrowth of past events, of lies, of misrepresentations, and arriving, slowly and often with great difficulty, at the truth. Or the partial truth: that was the best you could hope for much of the time. And this was a tough one: twenty years of undergrowth to clear. What on earth could have happened, twenty years ago, that Bard Channing was still anxious about, or could be made anxious about, anxious enough to do something as out of character as make over part of his shareholding? Well, he could do it, find out. He would just hack away until he got there. And he would start that night, with the press cuttings: go through them all again, force some answers out of them.
It was a lovely evening; even the M40 looked nice, with great shafts of sun shooting down on miserable, hot carloads of holiday travellers, cars jammed with people and luggage on their way to and from docks and airports, with children and mothers on their way home from picnics and outings; with bored, resentful fathers, driving home from work, sweating in their shirtsleeves. He rode, gloriously free, between the static rows, on and on into London, past the factories, along the flyovers, over the bridges and finally, as he was zooming along the Embankment – for he had no intention of going home; he craved, junkie-like, his files and cuttings and all that they could tell him about Channings in those early days – as he rode up through the City and down towards the docks, a tiny phrase of Kirsten’s came back to him, crystal clear, infinitely important – ‘I don’t think there is anything Granny Jess doesn’t know about any of us.’
Chapter Fifteen
Liam was sitting in a brown plastic chair that smelt faintly of urine in the hospital day room, trying to find something remotely interesting to read in a copy of the People which someone had left there, when Teresa Booth suddenly appeared, carrying an enormous basket of fruit. His first reaction was horror, followed by a stab of guilt that he had never written to thank her and Duggie for the champagne. Although he had managed a rather stilted note when he had heard about Duggie from Francesca.
He looked up at her (noticing that she had lost a lot of weight since the last time he had seen her, that she looked very tired), and switched on his warmest smile, stretched out his hand.
‘Teresa! How lovely to see you. I wish I could get up, but – ’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Teresa. She bent down, kissed him briefly. Her perfume was very rich and strong; he hated it. ‘How are you, Liam?’
‘Oh – much better. Almost mended. How about you? I was so very so
rry – ’
‘Yes, well, thank you. I’m fine, thanks. Considering. But I was feeling pretty sorry for myself, sitting at home, and I thought what can I do take my mind off things, and then I thought of you. Yes, you don’t look so bad. Here, what shall I do with this?’
‘Oh – put it down over there for now. How absolutely marvellous, Teresa, a real cornucopia. You are kind. Shall we steal something from it now? Those peaches look wonderful.’
‘Good idea,’ she said, passing him one. ‘I’ll have a strawberry or two if I may.’
‘Of course.’
‘Treating you all right, are they?’
‘Absolutely fine,’ said Liam, adding (anxious not to miss an opportunity to badmouth his father), ‘pretty basic of course, it’s not Dad’s beloved London Clinic, but – ’
‘Yes, but you can’t beat the NHS when things are really serious,’ said Teresa Booth, ‘and things don’t get much more serious than what happened to you. How did it happen, Liam?’
She looked like a pampered cat, Liam thought, even though she wasn’t at her best; one of those hugely fluffy things that lay on satin cushions and wore elaborate collars. She was wearing a white skirt and a gold-coloured shirt, and very high-heeled white shoes, and there was a lot of make-up on her pale face; her silvery blonde hair was freshly set in a great bouffant cloud. She certainly wasn’t letting herself go in her grief.
‘Oh – long story. But yes, I was going too fast, and yes, I had been drinking. So I got my just deserts. Just lucky no-one else was hurt. Oh dear, this is no place to entertain you, I’m afraid – ’
‘It’s fine,’ said Teresa, ‘and I haven’t come to be entertained, I’ve come to entertain you.’
She went over to the table, where the fruit was, and fetched a chair; she placed it quite close to his, and sat down. A couple of other people in the room looked at them with interest.
‘Bard been in to see you, has he?’
‘No,’ said Liam. ‘No he hasn’t.’ He left it at that. He was buggered if he was going to make excuses, proffer explanations.
‘Ah. Well, I expect he’s been busy.’
‘Yes.’
‘Just the same – blood ought to be thicker than water. Which reminds me, did you get our champagne?’
‘Oh, I did, and I’ve been feeling absolutely terrible about it. About not thanking you.’
‘Oh for heaven’s sake. And that was a nice note you sent me when Douglas died. I appreciated it. Have you drunk all the champagne yet?’
‘Not quite: one left. Perhaps we should have it now … It is the most gorgeous stuff.’
‘No, you keep it for a rainy day. When are you going home?’
‘Oh – pretty soon now, I think. In a day or so.’
‘I hear your wife’s got a new job. Does she like it?’
‘Well, it’s not a proper job. It’s while someone else is on maternity leave. So it won’t last, and she’s still looking, but it’s something. At one point she was talking about taking one in Scotland, dragging us all up there. But she changed her mind, thank God. It’s been pretty hard for her, trying to get in here and see me of course – ’
‘Yes of course. So you’ve been pretty lonely, have you?’ Her blue eyes were sharp, even while they were sympathetic.
‘A bit. But I’m used to that.’
‘And I’m getting used to it. Not a lot of fun, is it? We’ll have to keep each other company, Liam, from time to time …’
Christ almighty, he hoped she wasn’t making a pass at him. ‘Er – yes.’
‘Don’t look so frightened, I’m not going to eat you. I quite like you, Liam,’ she suddenly said, surprising him. ‘You’re one of the more interesting of that clan of yours. Duggie liked you too. Thought it was a damn shame your father and you didn’t hit it off better. I’d have put it rather differently.’
‘Oh really?’ said Liam.
‘Yes. I’d have said it was your father treating you not so well. Bloody badly, in fact.’
‘Oh I don’t know – ’
‘Come off it,’ she said, her blue eyes sharply amused, ‘you don’t have to pretend with me, Liam. Neither of us does. Neither of us likes him very much and with good reason, I’d say. Different reasons, but equally good.’
‘So what are yours, then?’ said Liam.
‘Oh – let’s just say I find him arrogant. High handed.’
‘Yes, I heard you delivered a few well-chosen words at the funeral,’ said Liam with a grin.
‘Oh really? News travels fast, doesn’t it? Yes, I enjoyed that, I have to say. I don’t care how he treats me, but I did care about Duggie. Mind you, he continued to think the sun shone out of your father’s every orifice.’
Perversely, Liam felt a pang of hostility towards her. She seemed to him quite arrogant herself. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it’s a view a great many people share. I suppose it’s easy for him to start believing it.’
‘Yes. Anyway, I thought it was disgraceful, the way he treated you. When your mother died, I mean. Sending you away like that. He was a grown man, for God’s sake, and you were a little boy.’
‘Yes. Well, people are very complex.’
‘They are indeed.’ She looked at him, paused and then said, ‘Do you know anything much about those days, Liam? When they were starting up the company? Has your father ever talked to you about it?’
‘No. Not much. He liked to tell me how tough it was, of course. Like all fathers do. The struggles he had, all that sort of thing.’
‘What sort of struggles?’
‘Oh – mortgaging the house to raise capital, working twenty-five hours a day – ’
‘Walking thirty-five miles to work with his Hovis sandwiches.’ She grinned. ‘Do you remember Nigel Clarke, then?’
‘Of course. I was thirteen when he died.’
‘What was he like?’
‘Oh – nice enough. He always seemed a bit – feeble to me. Like his son.’
‘I wouldn’t call Oliver feeble. He’s a very nice young man. Impressive, I’d call him.’
‘I hardly know him,’ said Liam. ‘I know Kirsten and Barnaby get a bit of a mouthful about him from my father. Hearing how wonderful he is, how hard working, all that sort of thing. Very irritating for them.’
‘Won’t do them any harm,’ said Teresa briskly. ‘So you think he was a bit of a yes-man, Nigel Clarke?’
‘Oh, definitely. My dad said jump and he jumped.’
‘Just the same they did pretty well, didn’t they, the three of them?’
‘Yeah, I suppose they did.’
‘Did your father feel responsible in some way for Nigel Clarke’s death, do you think?’ The question came out suddenly, surprising him.
‘I – don’t know. I don’t think so. Why should he?’
‘Oh – I don’t know. I’ve just got that impression. He does a lot for the little Clarke family.’ She looked at him for a moment as if she were weighing something up, then said, ‘Did you know he pays her nursing home bills?’
‘No,’ said Liam. ‘No I didn’t.’
‘She doesn’t know, she thinks it’s covered by some insurance policy. But he does. Lot of money, that. Hundreds a week.’
‘Well, he can afford it,’ said Liam briefly. He smiled at her, but he felt violently, hotly angry. His father had refused him help, of the most basic kind, and was shelling out thousands a year on a family with no blood ties, no proper claim on him. Bastard. How could he do that? How dared he? It was outrageous. God, how he hated him. He wondered if Francesca knew about that; he was pretty sure she didn’t.
‘Did – did Duggie tell you that?’ he said.
‘Oh – no. I discovered it, going through some of his papers. It was all very complicated, done through some sort of a trust. It’s something they both seemed to want to keep a little bit quiet. Anyway, it’s very – good of your father. I suppose. Unless – ’ She looked at him, her blue eyes shrewd.
‘Unless what, Teresa?’
‘Like what?’
‘Oh – I don’t know. That’s why I was asking you if you knew anything about that business. If perhaps – ’
‘Hallo Mr Channing!’ It was his tormentor, Karen, the Australian. ‘Would your visitor like a cup of tea? Trolley’s coming round now.’
‘Thank you yes, that’d be very kind.’
She disappeared; came back with two evil-looking cups of tea, slopping onto a tray. ‘There. That’ll put some hairs on your chest. There’s sugar in that bowl.’
‘Thank you,’ said Liam.
She stayed, hovering, obviously hoping for a chat.
‘So how’s he doing, then?’ said Teresa to her finally, into the silence.
‘Oh – very well. He’ll be going home soon, I’m afraid. We’ll miss him. I will anyway. Nice to have someone decent to talk to. Only patient in our ward for a very long time who’s had champagne, I can tell you. He’s obviously got some very nice friends.’
‘Like me,’ said Teresa, ‘I sent it. It ought to be on the NHS in my view.’
‘That’ll be the day,’ said Karen. ‘But anyway, he’s enjoyed it. Although I didn’t say that, of course. I shared one of them, didn’t I, Mr Channing? Buying my silence, he was.’
‘Yes,’ said Liam. He smiled at her with an effort. ‘Yes, you did.’
‘And who shared the rest? Matron?’ said Teresa, winking at Karen.
‘That’d be telling,’ said Karen, grinning back. ‘Oh, she just phoned, by the way, Mrs Channing did, said she can’t get in today, has to go and meet her husband at the airport later. Sent her love.’
‘Francesca’s been visiting you, has she? Well, that is nice,’ said Teresa.
‘Oh, she’s been in loads. Nearly every day. We’ve all got fond of Mrs Channing,’ said Karen, ‘She’s a very lovely person.’
Liam met Teresa’s eyes. Which were thoughtful, brilliant with amusement.
‘Well,’ she said finally, ‘how very, very sweet.’
The Dilemma Page 39
