“Clifton.”
“You’re not by any chance related to Lady Clifton?”
“She’s my mother.”
“Then I hope you’ll pass on my best wishes to her.”
“You know her?”
“Only as chairman of the Bristol Royal Infirmary. My wife had breast cancer, and they met when she was on one of her weekly ward rounds.”
“Every Wednesday morning, from ten to twelve,” said Seb. “She said it gave her a chance to find out what the patients and staff were really thinking.”
“And I can tell you something else,” said Carter. “When my son was knocked off his bike and twisted an ankle, there she was again, this time in A and E observing everything that was going on.”
“That would have been a Friday afternoon, between four and six.”
“That didn’t surprise me, but what did was that she came over and had a word with my wife, and even remembered her name. So just tell me what you want, Mr. Clifton, because I’m your man.”
“I’m afraid I’m neither a buyer nor a seller, Mr. Carter, but a seeker of information.”
“If I can help, I will.”
“The bank I represent is currently involved in a takeover bid for Mellor Travel, and I was interested by a statement you made to the local press concerning the sale of Mr. Desmond Mellor’s flat in Broad Street.”
“Which one of the many statements I made?” asked Carter, clearly enjoying the attention.
“You told a reporter from The Evening News that you had held back part of the proceeds from the sale of the flat rather than pass over the full amount to the executors of Mr. Mellor’s will, which puzzled my father.”
“Clever man, your father. Which is more than can be said for the reporter, who failed to follow it up.”
“Well, I’d like to follow it up.”
“And if I were to assist you, Mr. Clifton, would it be of any benefit to your mother?”
“Indirectly, yes. If my bank is successful in taking over Mellor Travel, my parents will benefit from the transaction, because I manage their share portfolio.”
“So one of them can get on with the writing, while the other runs the NHS?”
“Something like that.”
“Between you and me,” whispered Carter, leaning conspiratorially across his desk, “I thought it was a strange business from the start. A client who can only phone you once a week and is restricted to three minutes because he’s calling from prison was a challenge in itself.”
“Yes, I can believe that.”
“Mind you, his first instruction was straightforward enough. He wanted to put his flat on the market, with the proviso that the whole transaction had to be completed within thirty days.”
Seb took out a checkbook from an inside pocket, and wrote on the back “30 days.”
“He called a week later and made another request that puzzled me, because I’d assumed he was a rich man.” Seb kept his pen poised. “He asked if I could advance him a short-term loan of ten thousand pounds against the property, as he needed the cash urgently. I began to explain to him that it was against company policy, when the line went dead.”
Seb wrote down “£10,000,” and underlined it.
“A fortnight later, I was able to tell him I’d found a buyer for the flat, who’d deposited ten percent of the asking price with his solicitor, but wouldn’t complete until he’d seen the surveyor’s report. Mr. Mellor then made an even stranger request.”
Seb continued to look enthralled by every word Carter had to say.
“Once the sale had gone through, I was to hand over the first ten thousand to a friend of his from London, but not until they had produced a legal document that had been signed by him, witnessed by a Mr. Graves, and dated May twelfth, 1981.”
Seb wrote down “friend, £10,000, legal doc signed by Mellor/Graves,” and the date.
“Whatever sum was left over,” continued Carter, “after we’d deducted our fees, was to be deposited in his personal account at Barclays on Queen’s Road.”
Seb added, “Barclays Queen’s Rd” to his ever-growing list.
“I finally managed to get rid of the flat, but not before we’d lowered the price considerably. Once I had, I carried out Mr. Mellor’s instructions to the letter.”
“Are you still in possession of the document?” asked Seb, who could feel his heart pounding.
“No. But a lady rang this office, and when I confirmed I was holding ten thousand in escrow, she sounded very interested, until I added that I couldn’t release the money unless she could produce the document signed by Mr. Mellor. She asked if a copy would suffice, but I told her I’d need sight of the original document before I would be willing to release the ten thousand.”
“What did she say to that?”
“Frankly, she lost her cool, and started to threaten me. Said I’d be hearing from her solicitor if I didn’t hand over the money. But I stood firm, Mr. Clifton, and I haven’t heard from her since.”
“Quite right.”
“I’m glad you agree, Mr. Clifton, because a few days later the strangest thing happened.” Seb raised an eyebrow. “A local businessman turned up late one afternoon, just as we were about to close, and produced the original document, so I had no choice but to hand over the ten thousand to him.”
Seb wrote down “local businessman.” He now had to agree with his father—Carter was in possession of several pieces of the jigsaw. However, he still needed one more question answered.
“And the woman’s name?”
“No, Mr. Clifton,” said Carter after a slight hesitation. “I think I’ve gone quite far enough. But I can tell you that she was a lady like your mother, but not like your mother, because I doubt if she would remember my name.”
Seb wrote down the word “lady” on the back of his checkbook before rising from his place. “Thank you,” he said as he shook hands with Mr. Carter. “You’ve been most helpful, and I’ll pass on your kind comments to my mother.”
“My pleasure. I’m only sorry I can’t give you the lady’s name.”
“Not to worry,” said Seb. “But if Lady Virginia should call you again, do give her my best wishes.”
18
SEBASTIAN PLACED HIS checkbook on the table in front of him. Hakim Bishara, Arnold Hardcastle, and Giles Barrington were clearly intrigued, but said nothing.
“I’ve just spent the weekend in Somerset with my parents,” said Seb, “and I discovered that my father has been taking an inordinate amount of interest in the death of Desmond Mellor. Like Barry Hammond, he’s not convinced it was suicide, and once you accept that as a possibility, several options arise.”
The three men seated around the table were listening intently.
“My father advised me to visit a local estate agent on Saturday morning and have a chat with the man who was responsible for selling Mellor’s Bristol flat.” Seb looked at the long list of bullet points he’d written on the back of his checkbook during his meeting with Carter. Twenty minutes later he had explained to his attentive audience why he thought the lady in question was Lady Virginia Fenwick, and the local businessman none other than Jim Knowles.
“But how could those two have met?” asked Giles. “They hardly mix in the same circles.”
“Mellor has to be the common factor,” suggested Arnold.
“And money the glue,” added Hakim, “because that woman wouldn’t waste her time on either of them unless she could see a profit in it for herself.”
“But that still doesn’t explain why Mellor needed ten thousand in cash so quickly,” said Giles. “After all, he was a very rich man.”
“In assets,” said Hakim, “but not necessarily cash.”
“I’ve spent the last couple of days trying to fathom that one out,” said Seb, “but of course it was my father who came up with the most likely scenario. He thought that if Mellor needed that amount of cash urgently, you should look no further than the prison. He also wondered if the mys
terious disappearance of Adrian Sloane had something to do with it.”
“Maybe Mellor was being threatened,” said Arnold. “That’s not uncommon when it’s thought a prisoner has money.”
“Possibly,” said Hakim, “but if he urgently needed a loan of ten thousand pounds, he would have had to come up with something as security.”
“Like his flat in Bristol,” suggested Arnold.
“But it wasn’t sold in time to solve his cash-flow problem, so he must have found something else.”
“His shares in Mellor Travel, perhaps?” suggested Giles.
“Seems unlikely,” said Hakim. “They’re worth at least a million and a half, and he only needed ten thousand.”
“It depends how desperate he was,” said Giles.
“Which is why I’m convinced he was being threatened by another inmate,” said Arnold.
“But why would he turn to Virginia for help,” said Giles, “when it was her who relied on him for an income, not the other way around?”
“She must have been the intermediary,” said Seb, “and my father suggests that’s how Knowles became involved.”
“And once he realized he could end up with fifty-one percent of Mellor Travel if Mellor wasn’t around to pay the ten thousand back within thirty days…”
“Which is why my father is convinced it wasn’t suicide, but murder,” said Seb.
“Jim Knowles may be a nasty piece of work,” said Arnold, “but I can’t believe he’d involve himself in murder.”
“I suspect that’s where Sorkin comes in,” said Seb.
“And there’s something else I can tell you from past experience,” said Arnold. “Contract killers usually charge around ten thousand, and there are sure to be one or two of them in Belmarsh.”
A long silence followed, until Hakim said, “So once Sorkin got his hands on the shares, if Mellor was no longer around, the company would fall into his lap. And there’s certainly no chance of us getting anything out of Knowles or Sloane.”
“That’s another mystery,” said Seb. “There’s been no sign of Sloane for over a month. I can’t believe he’d have done a runner only days before he had the chance of hitting the jackpot.”
“I agree,” said Hakim. “However, I suspect there is one other person who could probably answer all our questions.”
“The Lady Virginia Fenwick,” said Sebastian. “All we have to decide is who will approach her?”
“We could always draw straws to see who should bell the cat?”
“No need,” said Hakim. “There’s only one person who can pull this off.” He turned and smiled at Giles.
“But I haven’t spoken to Virginia for almost thirty years,” protested Giles, “and there’s no reason to believe she’d even be willing to see me.”
“Unless you were able to offer her something she couldn’t resist,” said Seb. “After all, we know Mellor was willing to pay ten thousand pounds to get that document back, so all you have to do is find out how much Virginia wants to supply you with a copy.”
“How do we even know she’s got a copy?” asked Arnold.
“Another piece of information kindly supplied by Mr. Carter,” said Seb.
“Which raises the question,” said Hakim, “who’s got the original?”
“Knowles,” said Seb without hesitation. “Don’t forget, it was he who collected the ten thousand from Carter.”
“But on whose behalf?” asked Arnold.
“We’re going around in circles,” said Hakim, “which I’m sure Lady Virginia can square.” Once again he turned and smiled at Giles.
* * *
Giles spent some considerable time trying to work out how he should approach Virginia. A letter suggesting a meeting would be a waste of time, as he knew from past experience that it was often days before she opened her mail, and even when she did, it was most unlikely she would bother to reply to anything that came from him. The last time he’d rung her, she had slammed the phone down before he’d had a chance to deliver the second sentence. And if he turned up on her doorstop unannounced, he could end up with a slapped face or a slammed door, and possibly both. It was Karin who came up with the solution. “That woman is only interested in one thing,” she said, “so you’ll have to bribe her.”
* * *
A DHL messenger delivered an envelope marked “Urgent & Personal” to Virginia’s home in Chelsea the following morning, and didn’t leave until she’d signed for it. She phoned Giles within an hour.
“Is this some kind of joke?” she demanded.
“Not at all. I just wanted to be sure I caught your attention.”
“Well, you’ve succeeded. So what do I have to do to get you to sign the check?”
“Supply me with a copy of the document Mr. Carter wanted to see before he was willing to hand over ten thousand pounds.”
There was a long pause before Virginia spoke again. “Ten thousand won’t be enough for that, because I know exactly why you’re so desperate to get your hands on it.”
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand.”
“I’ve been authorized to go up to fifteen,” said Giles, hoping he sounded convincing.
Another long pause. “Once I’m in possession of a check for fifteen thousand pounds, I’ll send you a copy of the document.”
“I don’t think so, Virginia. I’ll hand over the check when you give me a copy of the document.”
Virginia fell silent once again, before she said, “When and where?”
* * *
Giles pushed his way through the revolving doors into the Ritz Hotel just after 2:45 the following afternoon. He made his way straight to the Palm Court and selected a table from which he would be able to see Virginia the moment she appeared.
He flicked through the pages of The Evening Standard to pass the time, but still found himself looking up every few moments and repeatedly checking his watch. He knew Virginia wouldn’t be on time, especially after he’d provoked her, but he was equally confident that she wouldn’t be too late, because Coutts closed their doors at five o’clock, and she would want to bank the check before going home.
When Virginia entered the tea room at eleven minutes past three, Giles gasped. No one would have thought it possible that this elegant woman was over sixty. In fact, several men stole a second glance as “the most classy broad in the joint,” to quote Bogart, walked slowly across to join her ex-husband.
Giles stood up to greet her. As he bent down to kiss her on both cheeks, the slight fragrance of gardenia brought back many memories.
“It’s been too long, my darling,” purred Virginia as she sat down opposite him. After the slightest of pauses, she added, “And you’ve put on so much weight.”
The spell was broken, and Giles was quickly reminded why he didn’t miss her.
“Shall we get the business out of the way,” she continued, opening her handbag and extracting an envelope. “I’ll give you what you came for, but not before you hand over my check.”
“I need to see the document before I’m willing to part with any money.”
“You’re just going to have to trust me, my darling.” Giles stifled a smile. “Because if I let you read it, you may feel you no longer need to pay me.”
Giles couldn’t fault her logic. “Perhaps we can agree on a compromise,” he suggested. “You turn to the last page of the document and show me Mellor’s signature and the date, and I’ll show you the check.”
Virginia thought for a moment before she said, “First I want to see the money.”
Giles produced a check for £15,000 from an inside pocket and held it up for her to see.
“You haven’t signed it.”
“I will, as soon as I see Mellor’s signature.”
Virginia slowly unsealed the envelope, extracted a thin legal document, and turned to the third page. Giles leaned forward and studied Mellor’s signature, which had been witnessed by a Mr. Colin Graves, senior prison officer, and dated
May 12th, 1981.
He placed the check on the table, signed it, and passed it across to Virginia. She hesitated for a moment, then smiled mischievously before slipping the document back into the envelope and handing it to Giles. He placed it in his briefcase, before saying casually, “If you only got the copy, who has the original?”
“That will cost you another five thousand.”
Giles wrote out a second check and handed it across.
“But it’s only for one thousand,” Virginia protested.
“That’s because I think I already know who it is. The only mystery is how he got his hands on it.”
“Tell me the name, and if you’re wrong, I’ll tear up this check and you can write out another one for five thousand.”
“Jim Knowles collected it from Carter on behalf of Conrad Sorkin.”
The second check joined the first in Virginia’s handbag, and although Giles pressed her, it was clear she wasn’t going to let him know how Sorkin had got his hands on the original, not least because, like him, she suspected that Desmond hadn’t committed suicide, and she didn’t want to become involved.
“Tea?” suggested Giles, hoping she would decline so he could get back to the bank where the other three were waiting for him.
“What a nice idea,” said Virginia. “Quite like old times.”
Giles hailed a waiter and ordered tea for two, but no cakes. He was wondering what they could possibly talk about, until Virginia solved that problem. “I think I’ve got something else you might want,” she said, displaying the same mischievous smile.
Giles hadn’t been prepared for this. He sat back, trying to appear relaxed, as he waited to find out if Virginia was just enjoying herself at his expense, or if she really did have something worthwhile to offer.
The waiter reappeared and placed a pot of tea and a selection of wafer-thin sandwiches in the center of the table.
Virginia picked up the teapot. “Shall I be Mother? Milk and no sugar, if I remember correctly.”
“Thank you,” said Giles.
She poured them both a cup of tea. Giles waited impatiently while she added a splash of milk and two sugar lumps before she spoke again.
This Was a Man Page 14
