Chapter 10: The Son
It did not take long to track William Musgrave down. It was now after 8:00 p.m. on Wednesday night but, with Beattie’s description of him as a ‘mad workaholic’ in mind, Roxy had a feeling she knew just where he’d be, even so soon after his own mother’s funeral. Donning a warm overcoat, Roxy headed out into the chilly night, dashing to her car and turning the heat up a little as she drove along Botony Road to the grimy industrial suburb of Mascot where the head office of Musgrave Incorporated was located. She parked in the empty car park and strode up to the main entrance, almost knocking the lone security guard to the floor as she buzzed on the intercom.
‘Office hours are nine to five,’ he stammered, holding the glass door ajar, unwilling to let her in.
‘Yes, I’m aware of that. I need to see William Musgrave. I believe he’s here now?’
‘Well ... yes ... but Mr Musgrave? You can’t disturb Mr Musgrave.’
‘It will just take a minute. If you could tell him that Roxy Parker wants to see him, explain that I’m an associate of his mother’s.’
Of course she could have called by in the morning, or better yet, made an appointment, but Roxy knew she could only get face to face with someone as busy as William Musgrave through drastic measures, like daring to interrupt him out of hours. And it worked. The guard was so overawed by Roxy’s audacity, he let her in and, leading the way past the polished lobby to the information desk beside the elevators, picked up the phone.
Pulling her beanie off and loosening the scarf around her neck, Roxy strained to hear what he was saying, but it didn’t really matter. She had a hunch William Musgrave would soon be down. He may have given his mum very little of his time, but Roxy suspected William still kept one eye on her affairs, and would certainly have known something about the autobiography. You don’t run a family corporation so well by letting things like that slip. The guard’s sudden look of relief confirmed her thoughts. Within moments he was leading her to a cream suede sofa along one wall.
‘Please take a seat, Miss, Mr Musgrave will be with you shortly.’
Roxy thanked him and did as instructed, dropping her bag to the floor. The lobby was large and sterile with the information desk on one side and a shiny metallic sculpture on the other. A large gold and black billboard listed the various departments and senior staff, noting which floor they could be located on, and Roxy considered jumping up for a closer look. She was keen to see what floor Beattie’s grandson Fabian worked. But before she had a chance, the elevator bell let out a loud ‘bing!’ and William Musgrave stepped out.
Beattie’s only son was the antithesis of his father. He was rake thin, with long, gangly limbs and pale, almost sallow skin, the kind you get when you spend too much time indoors, doing the books. By contrast, Terence had been a tanned, almost portly fellow who looked like he knew exactly how to have fun.
Roxy jumped to her feet and extended one arm. ‘I’m Roxy Parker,’ she said, taking his limp hand in her own. She noted a barely constrained frown on his face. ‘I was a friend of your mother’s and, first of all, please let me pass on my sincerest condolences. She was a good woman.’
‘Thank you, Miss Parker. I believe you were helping her with the autobiography?’
‘That’s right.’
He indicated for her to take a seat and then asked, ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Well forgive me for the timing, so soon after the funeral, but it’s about the book—’
‘The autobiography? What about it?’
‘Well, we hadn’t finished and as you’re her next of kin, I wanted—’
‘Oh, I see,’ he said, cutting her off and producing a business card from his pocket. ‘Call my office in the morning and speak to my personal assistant Anabell Lorrier. She’ll see about squaring up outstanding payment.’
‘I’m not talking about payment, Mr Musgrave, although that would be good, thank you. The reason I’m here is to seek your permission to continue writing it. After all, it was your mother’s final wish to have her life story published.’
William let out a little, mocking laugh then, his thin nose crinkling as though he’d just heard something particularly distasteful. ‘Yes, well I really don’t know that the fading memories of my dear old mother are really worth sharing with the entire world. After all, it’s not like she had anything particularly titillating to say, right?’
Roxy stared at the businessman blankly. Was he fishing for information, she wondered? In any case, if William Musgrave knew about his secret sister he was not owning up to it and she wasn’t about to break it to him, at least not until she had proof.
‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘I thought you’d only just started.’
‘We were a third of the way through, but I could quite easily continue the research on my own.’
‘What on earth for?’
‘To cherish her memory, for starters.’ She didn’t try to hide the disdain in her voice but he seemed unperturbed.
‘No, no,’ he was saying in that conclusive way businessmen have of finishing things up and shutting you down. ‘But thank you anyway, Miss Parker. As I say, call Anna tomorrow and you will have your money. We’ll cover all your expenses, don’t worry about that.’
Roxy was infuriated. That’s what William Musgrave thought this was all about, a last pitch effort to profit from his mother. It rattled her nerves but she let him steer her through the shiny lobby, past the guard now standing to attention like he was at Buckingham Palace, and out the exit into the damp outdoors.
‘Would you like the tapes back, then?’ she asked, testing him and, once again, he passed with flying colors.
‘No, no I don’t think that’s necessary. Just dispose of them, that would be fine.’ Roxy smiled to herself. If William had killed his own mother to shut her up, or at the very least sent Roxy the threatening messages, he’d hardly be so relaxed about the interviews. Surely he’d want to get hold of their conversations to determine exactly what Roxy knew.
‘Perhaps,’ Roxy continued, ‘I could give them to Mrs Musgrave’s lawyer?’
‘Why would you want to do that?’
‘Well it seems foolish to trash them in the light of her, um, suicide. They may hold the key to it all. It just seems the right thing to do.’
He was growing quickly impatient and, glancing at his thick, gold Rolex watch, nodded his head and said, ‘Fine. Good idea. As I say, speak with Anabell in the morning and she’ll give you the details for a Ronald Featherby.’
Roxy thanked him and, as she watched him stride quickly inside the building, it occurred to her that William Musgrave was simply not very interested in his dead mother. In fact, he’d probably not given her a second thought since they dragged her lifeless body from the shores of Balmoral Beach five days ago. Beattie’s son was not only harmless, Roxy concluded as she started up her VW Golf, he was heartless, too.
The following morning, Roxy picked up the phone and dialed the number William Musgrave had given her.
‘Good morning, Musgrave Incorporated, Anabell speaking.’
‘Hello Anabell, Roxy Parker’s my name, William—’
‘Oh yes Miss Parker,’ she said, cutting her short, ‘Mr Musgrave told me to expect your call. Can you hold?’
Roxy indicated that she could and waited just three seconds before the assistant returned, providing her with the account department’s details for invoicing, and a phone number for Beattie’s lawyer, Ronald Featherby.
‘Was there anything else I could help you with?’ Her voice was polite but there was a slight edge, too, and Roxy suspected the efficient PA was not exactly happy about Roxy’s unsolicited visit the evening before. It undermined her authority. Roxy had had plenty of experience with executive assistants, her step-dad Charlie had one of his own. Her name was Jenny Golden but they called her ‘the pit bull’ and she more than lived up to her name, refusing anyone, including Roxy and her mother, access to her boss until they had gone through her. It gave her a sense
of purpose.
‘Well, actually there was one other thing,’ Roxy said cheerfully.
‘Yes?’
‘I was hoping to get in touch with Fabian Musgrave. Can you put me through to him?’
There was a brief pause before she replied, ‘Fabian does not work with the firm anymore.’
‘Oh, then if you could give me his number that’d be great.’
‘We are not in the habit of handing out personal numbers, you understand?’
‘Oh, of course. Well perhaps, if you do happen to see him, you could pass on my details? Let him know I was hoping to have a chat. My number here is—’
‘I have your details, thank you Miss Parker. Good day.’
Roxy smiled as the line went dead. Anabell Lorrier had obviously been to business school with ‘the pit bull’.