Days Without Number (25 page)

noted? Or something he had less of a reputation for - a troubled conscience?

'Don't give me an answer right out, Nick. Think it over. I haven't discussed this with Kate, so keep shtum over dinner, OK? She'll go along with it, I can guarantee. She's always on at me to take more time off. But there's no sense me mentioning it until I know where you stand. You can see that, can't you?'

'Yes.' Nick shaped a hesitant smile. 'Obviously.' 'Great. Just let it gel.' Terry squeezed Nick's shoulder. 'This is one of my better ideas, believe me.'

For Nick, dinner was a blank. Kate was a good cook and the food doubtless delicious. Certainly the wine flowed and the conversation probably did likewise, considering he could not afterwards recall any awkward silences. But his mind could only cast back to his discussion with Terry beforehand and forward to the moment when their discussion would resume, accommodating nothing between. The job offer was real. That was clear. But so was the money Hopkins & Broadhurst had repaid to one of Terry's shell companies. Everything was real. But nothing was certain.

Kate went to bed shortly before midnight, leaving Terry and Nick to their whiskies by the dying fire. Terry tossed a last log on the embers and lit a cigar. Nick declined to join him. But he accepted a top-up of Scotch and felt grateful for the warming strength of it. He did not want to force the issue that was there, between them, hovering in the lamplight, but he also knew he had no choice but to do so. There had to be an end of doubting. It was time to know his enemy.

'Maybe I should have left it till now to float the job idea,' said Terry, savouring his cigar.

'Why?'

'You were a bit distracted over dinner, that's all. Not sure Kate noticed, but I did.'

'Distracted?'

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'Seemed that way to me.'

'Well, you're right of course. You gave me a lot to think about. More than you may have realized, actually.'

'How d'you mean?'

'What it boils down to, Terry, is why?'

'Why the offer?'

'No.' Nick measured his moment. 'Why do you hate my family?'

'What?' Terry plucked the cigar from his mouth. 'What did you say?'

'Why do you hate my family?'

Terry stared at him uncomprehendingly. 'Have you gone mad? What the bloody hell are you talking about?'

T'm talking about the half a million pounds you lodged with Hopkins and Broadhurst to back up the fictitious Mr Tantris's offer for Trennor. The money was routed through an offshore outfit called Develastic. But you are Develastic, Terry. So, it was and is your money. Which means it's all down to you. And that's what makes me ask: why - why did you do it?'

Nick had never seen such an expression on Terry's face as the one that now crossed it. The bombast and the bluster, the good cheer and the ready smile, had vanished. In their place was something crushed and guilty. Nick had expected a denial, probably a vehement one, at the very least defiance, leading to he knew not what. Instead, the shoulders were slumped, the eyes downcast. Terry ground out his cigar in the ashtray on the table next to his chair. 'Wait a minute,' he said thickly, rising to his feet. He crossed to the double doors, which stood half-open, and peered out into the hall, listening for a moment. Then he quietly closed them and moved slowly back to the fireside. 'Keep your voice down, can you?'

'I wasn't shouting.'

'Kate mustn't know. Not at any price. I don't like to think what it would do to her.'

'Nothing worse than it's already done to us, I imagine.'

'Yeah, but . . .' Terry sat down on the very edge of his chair

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and leaned forward. Hesitantly, he met Nick's gaze. 'I never imagined . . . any harm would come of it. You have to believe me.'

'Do I?'

'How did you find out?'

'Hopkins and Broadhurst's computer system isn't as secure as it should be. And money leaves a trail. You should have thought of that.'

'Didn't know I'd have to.'

'What's it all about, Terry?'

The question was met with a shrug. 'Not sure. You aren't the only ones who were taken for a ride.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'I just put up the dosh. I didn't know what it was going to be used for. Property speculation. That's what he said. Something to get him started in the world. It sounded kosher to me. It's how I started, except no-one put up any capital. If they had, well, I'd have cracked it all the sooner. So, why not? That's the way I saw it. Give him a leg up, treat him like my own. It's what I've always tried to think of him as, anyway.'

'You mean--'

'Tom. Yeah. He landed me in this.'

Tom?'

'As God's my witness, I hadn't a clue what he was planning to do with the money. He said he had his eye on some property in Plymouth, ripe for conversion into flats. He reckoned he needed to buy several houses at a time to turn a good profit. I let him have his head. The half mill was chicken feed to me. I suppose I should have smelt a rat when he asked me not to tell Kate. It was to be our secret, he said. Well, I fell for it. Sentiment's always been my weakness. I knew Kate badly wanted him to make something of himself. I only found out what he was up to when he came to see us after your dad's funeral. I hadn't even realized then that the money was back with Develastic. And it hadn't crossed my mind there might be a connection with Michael's death. I was gob-smacked 213

when he told me. Speechless. Too utterly blood}' amazed even to get angry with him.'

'How did he explain himself?'

'He didn't. Not really. He told Kate and me about the Tantris escapade, but I never tied that in with the money I'd loaned him. He had to spell that out for me later. But he wouldn't spell out what was behind it. "That's between me and Grandad," he said. Arrogant little . . .' Terry's right hand tightened into a fist, then slowly relaxed again. 'He made it clear as bloody day that I was in nearly as much shit as he was if I blew the whistle on him. He said he'd put in the poison with Kate if I did; tell her I'd gone along with his scheme for the sake of shafting Andrew. Well, I could see he meant it. So, I agreed to keep my mouth shut. Didn't have much choice, really. You can imagine how it would have looked to Kate.'

'Bad.'

'And then some.' Terry sighed and took a gulp of whisky. 'I didn't figure out the worst of it until he'd gone, though.'

The worst?'

'The story about Michael sending him the book that tipped him off. Cobblers, of course. He knew already, seeing as he'd dreamt up the story. He planned it all. Including when to break the bad news. Which means I wasn't just a convenient source of cash. Oh no. He wanted to tie me into it. He wanted to implicate me.'

'Why?'

'Search me. But that goes for you lot with knobs on. What was the whole bloody charade about? Proving his family is averagely greedy isn't such a big deal, is it?'

'It proved a bit more than that.'

'Yeah. Like too much for the old fellow. No question the argy-bargy must have been a factor in Michael's death. Not that Tom felt responsible for it. There wasn't a lot of remorse on show, take my word for it. Not where his grandad was concerned, anyway. His dad, mind, that was different. Andrew's death got through to him big time. I guess he saw it all running out of control. He's been different since. Kate's 214

right to be worried about him. He was so full of himself when he was putting the squeeze on me. But that had changed when he came down for Andrew's funeral. He was suddenly ... a frightened kid.'

'With good reason.' Nick was angry now, angry at the thought of how deeply and deviously Tom had plotted against them. 'He's going to have to answer for what he did.'

'He'll deny it. He'll try to put the blame on me.'

'That won't wash. You didn't come to Dad's funeral, did you?'

'So?'

'So Tom did. He was at Trennor during the wake.' Nick was thinking of the video and how it had got into his car. He and Andrew had ruled out the family as suspects. That was why they had settled on Farnsworth and Davey; there was no-one else. But there was now, someone as capable of shooting the video as he was of borrowing Nick's keys to plant it. 'I wondered why Dad chose him as the recipient for Tristan and Yseult. Now I understand. He didn't. It was all a lie. Forget Farnsworth and Davey. Tom and Elspeth Hartley cooked it up between them. My God, it's obvious.'

'He'll still deny it.'

'Let him.' Nick was suddenly looking forward to his nephew doing precisely that. 'Let him try.'

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

'How late did you and Terry stay up?' Kate asked as she rustled together a breakfast for Nick in the sun-filled kitchen. 'I was too far gone to notice when he came to bed.'

'Not so very late,' said Nick, sipping his coffee.

'He didn't go on about the Ferrari, did he?'

'No.'

'He tends to, when I leave him and friend to it. Boys' talk, you know? Or should I say torque?' She giggled. 'I wondered if that was why he was so insistent about driving you to the station this morning.'

'Was he?'

'Yes. In fact, it was about the only coherent thing he said before stumbling into the bathroom. "I'll take Nick to the station." So, I'm hoping he hasn't promised to show you how the car handles at a hundred and ten on the way into Sunningdale.'

'I'd have remembered that, I'm sure.'

'Yeah.' Kate slid a plate of bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes and scrambled egg on to the table in front of Nick. 'There you go. A proper farmhouse breakfast.' A look passed between them. Each knew what the other was thinking.

'Thanks.'

'About Tom

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'Don't worry.' The intimacy was gone as swiftly as it had come. Nick felt surprised by the ease with which he slipped at once into a reassuring lie. 'I'll go gently with him.'

Terry was sounding as gruff and unnaturally restrained as the Ferrari when he drove Nick out through the dozing acres of the Wentworth estate an hour or so later. He was not looking wonderful either, sporting spectacularly bleary eyes and a lot of stubble.

'Couldn't face the razor this morning,' he explained, rubbing his sandpapery jowls. 'Didn't get much kip, to be honest.'

'I can't make any promises, Terry. But I believe you. And I think Kate will, if it comes to the point.'

'You don't understand how a mother's mind works. Tom can twist her round his little finger.'

'Well, I hate to say it, but that's your problem.'

'Yeah. And not a new one, either, so I should be better at dealing with it than I am. But being a stepfather is trickier than the real thing, take it from me.'

'I wouldn't know.'

'Lucky you.'

'Do you really mean that?'

'Just now I do. The lad's got me dancing on needles. Kate's the best thing that ever happened to me. I don't want it to go wrong. I couldn't cope if it did.'

'Then I don't suppose it will. Whatever I find out in Edinburgh.'

'Whatever's a big word.'

'I can't argue with that. I didn't sleep so well myself last night. I couldn't stop turning a question over in my mind that I'm hoping to persuade Tom to answer.'

'What's that?'

'What in God's name is this all about?'

Nick went on asking himself that as he travelled up to Waterloo on a virtually empty train, proceeded to King's Cross by crowded Tube and boarded the busy noon express to 217

Edinburgh and points north. Kate had freely admitted her bafflement at the life Tom had been leading since graduation. No job, no steady girlfriend and no apparent purpose constituted cause for maternal concern. What Kate did not realize - and Nick was only just beginning to understand - was that Tom's life was very far from purposeless. He had entered into a conspiracy against his own family, a conspiracy which might not yet have run its intended course. He had declared a secret war. But the secret was out. And the war was about to become a reciprocal process.

It was probably inevitable after the restless night he had had that Nick fell asleep somewhere between Peterborough and York. His brain had reached the limit of pondering the unanswerable and simply cut out. How long it would have stayed that way Nick never learned, because the warble of his mobile roused him just as the train was approaching Durham.

'Hello?' The line was crackly.

'Basil here, Nick. Here as in Venice.'

'Good journey?'

'Better than my arrival. I'd failed to take the Carnival into consideration. It runs until Tuesday. Which means the city is full of masked revellers. A man dressed as a plague doctor is currently waiting to use this payphone.'

'Have you found somewhere to stay?'

'With difficulty. The Zampogna would be top of no-one's list of recommended accommodation. My room does not boast a telephone, so the plague doctor and I may be seeing more of each other.'

Ts the Carnival going to interfere with your plans?'

'I can only hope not.'

'Well, don't fight it. There's a lot to be said for you lying low until I've . . . looked into a few things.'

'Such as?'

'I can't go into it now, Basil. There's been a development and I think it's best if you let me follow it through before you take any action.'

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'How long do you need?'

'Not sure. Phone me at my hotel around six - seven, your time - and I'll explain. I gave you the number, didn't I? It'll be cheaper for you to use that than the mobile.'

'Very well. I'll call you then. In the interests of eking out my Telecom Italia card, I suppose it would be wise to forget the idea of pressing you for details now and ring off.'

'Reckon so. Speak to you later. 'Bye.'

Nick sat with the phone in his hand for several minutes, gazing at the receding view of Durham Cathedral. Then he decided to wait no longer. He punched in Tom's number.

To his mild surprise, Tom answered straightaway. 'Yuh?'

'Hi, Tom.'

'Is that Nick?'

'Yeah. I said I'd let you know when I was on my way up and here I am, on the train.'

'You're coming to Edinburgh?'

'I said I would.'

'Yeah, but somehow I ... Anyway, that's great. Really great.' Tom sounded as if he meant it. 'I could use a shoulder to lean on right now.' And this too he sounded as if he meant.