He shook his head, loath to tell her the facts. ‘I just couldn’t face it,’ he said. ‘I’d had rather a disturbing meeting.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘It doesn’t matter. By the time I got back to the Old Bailey it was preying on my mind too much and I knew I couldn’t enter the courtroom. So I just came straight home and I’ve been sitting here ever since.’
Jane had spent the afternoon debating in her mind whether or not she should tell her husband about the conversation she had had with Sir Quentin earlier in the day and the suggestions she had made to him but had decided against it. She knew him only too well to know that he would be appalled by her willingness to bribe jury members. She had cornered the barrister at the end of the day as he left the courtroom and begged him not to say anything.
‘Quentin,’ she said.
‘Jane, not here,’ he said quickly, looking at her with as much offence in his face as he could muster.
‘Quentin, I came to apologize. What I said was—’
He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into a quiet alcove before she could utter another word.
‘Will you please shush, woman?’ he said, for the first time in their long acquaintance behaving in a less than gentlemanly fashion towards her. ‘There are people here trained to overhear every whispered conversation.’
‘I just want to say I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘And I won’t mention it again.’
‘Good. You know my position.’
‘And to ask you not to tell Roderick.’
He nodded. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Let’s just pretend it never happened. Now go home and try to get some sleep. You look dreadful.’
Despite everything, she had felt offended when he said that and found herself dwelling on the remark all the way home in the car. She dismissed it now as pointless vanity.
‘You’ll be coming on Monday, though?’ she asked.
‘Of course.’
‘Good. Quentin is putting Owen Montignac on the stand and then it will be Gareth’s turn to defend himself and he needs to see that we’re both there for him. We can’t let him down.’
Roderick nodded. He was barely listening to her. He was fifty-two years old and faced with the most difficult decision of his life and didn’t know where to turn with it.
‘Jane,’ he said quietly after a moment. ‘Jane, you do know that things aren’t looking good.’
This was no moment for hysterics; she simply nodded her head and held his hand tighter. ‘I know that,’ she said. ‘I can sense it in there every day. I just don’t know what I can do to help him. I’m his mother and for the first time in my life I cannot think of a single thing I can do to make things right. Do you know what I spend my time thinking?’
‘What?’
She gave a gentle laugh. ‘That I spent so many months complaining about how the boy wouldn’t get up in the morning, wouldn’t get out of bed, wouldn’t find a job. And now it all seems so pointless. What I wouldn’t give to have him lying in his bed until noon every day.’
Roderick laughed too. It was strange, he felt, how the things that annoyed one most in one’s children became the most endearing memories when the chips were down. They sat there in silence for a few minutes and Jane felt very warm and hoped the moment would never end, that they could just sit there alone forever and never get hurt again.
‘What was your meeting about?’ she asked eventually.
‘Which one?’
‘You said you had a disturbing meeting at lunchtime. What was it about?’
He held his breath and considered his options. Earlier, he had resolved to say nothing about it. But now, faced with the question, he knew that he couldn’t keep it in. For the life of him he didn’t know what was the right thing to do and, although he knew how she would react, he found that he had to speak.
‘Lord Keaton came to see me,’ he said.
‘Keaton?’ she asked, without sounding at all surprised. ‘He picks his moments, doesn’t he? He must know what we’re going through here.’
‘Yes, he does. But he came anyway.’
‘About the king?’
‘Of course.’
She shook her head; these were yet more things that had once seemed so important to her and now she could scarcely have cared less about them. ‘Perhaps you should just resign from the committee,’ she said.
‘Resign from it?’ he asked, surprised.
‘Yes. With all we have to deal with, you can hardly be expected to concern yourself with whether or not he marries some woman who no one even really knows. My God, it all seems so trivial when you think about it, doesn’t it?’
‘But it’s not trivial,’ said Roderick with determination. ‘It’s not trivial at all. It’s a matter of vital public concern. It’s the throne, the empire. It’s history. How can I just step away from that?’
She shrugged her shoulders; she didn’t really care too much either way. ‘I suppose not,’ she said. ‘Well if you’re sure you can handle it.’
He took a deep breath and decided to lay his cards on the table. ‘Lord Keaton,’ he began, ‘told me that the results of our committee will be taken to the prime minister and he will act on that advice to tell the king either to renounce the lady or renounce the throne. At the moment the opinions are deadlocked with Hailsham’s tie-breaking vote most likely to go towards allowing him to marry. Keaton informed me that if I changed my vote and sided against the king, effectively forcing him to make that choice, then he will see to it that, should Gareth be convicted of murder, he would receive a light prison sentence rather than be subject to the death penalty.’
He felt Jane’s head move a little by his leg as she stifled a brief laugh at the intricacies of the monarch’s love life; although it was only seconds, it felt to him that it took an eternity for the meaning of his brief speech to seep into her brain and for her to realize the enormity of what he had just told her. When that eternity was over she sat up slowly and turned to look at him, blinking her eyes in the dim light.
‘What did you just say?’ she asked very quietly.
‘You heard me,’ he shrugged. ‘I just have to change my vote.’
‘Keaton said … he told you…’ She looked away, her brow furrowed, trying to understand how this might have all come about. ‘Why would he say such a thing?’ she asked.
‘Because he believes that under those circumstances the king will renounce the throne and the Duke of York will ascend. And if he does, then he will be appointed Lord Chancellor. He’s in Baldwin’s pocket, or perhaps it’s the other way around, I don’t know, and they both want the king out. He’s interfering with their narrow view of what England ought to be. They see the whole system crashing down about their heads and will stop at nothing to get rid of him. It’s all about power, Jane, and unfortunately because of the trouble that Gareth has got himself into, he’s in a position to bribe me.’
Jane stared at him. She could scarcely believe it. ‘And he can do that?’ she asked. ‘He can influence the judge?’
‘He says he can. And I don’t suppose I have any choice but to believe him.’
She leaned forwards and her voice dropped quite low; when she spoke it was the purr of the lioness. ‘Then do it,’ she said.
It was his turn to stare now. ‘I can’t,’ he said.
‘You can’t? What do you mean you can’t?’
‘Jane, I have served at the Bar for my entire adult life and I have never once compromised my integrity or my ethics. Not once. I have made difficult decisions, such as the ones that have led to men’s executions, and I have learned to live with them. I have followed my heart and the law. I cannot give in to bribery now.’
‘Our son’s life is at stake!’ she shouted, standing up. ‘And you’re just going to sit there and—’
‘I can’t do it.’
‘But why not? Oh for heaven’s sake, Roderick, who cares who the king is anyway? Who cares who he marries? Who cares who follows him? Let them decide
themselves who the heir should be. It means nothing to us.’
‘I can’t compromise my integrity. That means something, surely.’
‘It means nothing,’ she roared. ‘He’s only been the bloody king for a wet weekend anyway. He’s nothing to us. Just change your vote.’
‘I can’t,’ he said, beginning to regret having told her in the first place. ‘I won’t. No matter what.’
She stared at him. He was not looking at her and his jaw was set in that way that she knew indicated that he meant business; suddenly her own decision to try to bribe the jury did not seem so terrible after all. She tried to steady herself and compose her thoughts. Finally she spoke, quietly but effectively.
‘If you don’t do what he asks you, Roderick, then on the day that Gareth hangs, I will pack my bags and leave this house and I will never return to it, nor will I ever lay eyes on you again. You will lose your son and your wife on the same day. You will be alone.’
He looked at her now. ‘Jane, you can’t be serious. You’d have me go against everything I’ve ever—’
‘I’ve told you what will happen,’ she said, standing up and moving slowly towards the door. ‘The decision now is yours.’
She left the room without another word but he remained seated, knowing that despite all his heavy-handed principles and belief in his own integrity, he had hoped for an ultimatum like this, something that would make him feel less guilty if his resolve crumbled and he gave in to Keaton’s demand.
8
THE CAR PULLED UP alongside him as he walked around Russell Square on his way to his flat in Bedford Place. At first he barely noticed it slowing down behind him, assuming that someone was trying to locate a house number along the street but then it moved forwards abruptly and stopped about twelve feet ahead of him and he feared the worst. As he approached it the front door opened and Henderson, Nicholas Delfy’s enormous henchman, stepped out and smiled at him.
‘Good evening, Mr Montignac,’ he said politely.
‘Hello,’ he replied with a sigh. ‘Is this a coincidence or were you looking for me?’
‘I came looking for you earlier this evening but you were nowhere to be found. For a moment I was a little worried that you’d run away on us.’
‘Of course not,’ he said, adding a gentle laugh for the sake of bravado. ‘I was just away from London for a few hours. And now I’m heading home.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Henderson, opening the back door where another of Delfy’s goons was sitting. ‘Why don’t you come for a ride with us instead?’
Montignac began to feel nervous and shook his head. ‘I have until Christmas,’ he said forcefully. ‘Nicholas told me that I didn’t have to pay the money back until Christmas.’
‘Mr Delfy just wants a word with you, that’s all. Just a gentle reminder.’ He paused and the smile faded from his face. ‘Get in the car, Mr Montignac,’ he said and it was clear that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
He had no choice now and stepped inside. They drove to the Unicorn Ballrooms in silence and Montignac could feel a knot of apprehension in his stomach as they got closer. It occurred to him that he should take pride in the fact that he had managed to stick to his plan throughout the year and had not allowed any of his vices to drag him down. There had been no gambling whatsoever since the disastrous evening which had led him to build up his initial debts, and on the evenings when he had an irresistible urge to go to a different casino he had exerted all his willpower to ensure that he did not. When all this is over, he thought, just imagine what I can achieve.
He was led down a corridor past the doormen and Henderson told him to wait for a moment while he stepped inside. After a few minutes he was ushered inside where he found Delfy sitting behind his desk.
‘Owen,’ he said with a wide smile. ‘I haven’t seen you in so long. Thanks for coming in.’
‘That’s all right, Nicholas,’ he said, sitting down opposite him, trying to affect the air of bonhomie that might be seen in an old friend rather than a debtor. ‘I wasn’t expecting the summons, however.’
‘Well I thought tonight might be of interest to you in a way. There’s someone I want you to meet.’
‘Who?’
‘I’ll introduce you in a few minutes. First I thought it would be a good chance for us to catch up with each other and make sure we know where we both stand. Do you know what date it is today, Owen?’
He glanced at the calendar on the wall although he was well aware of the date; the countdown to Christmas was engrained on his mind. ‘December the eighth,’ he said.
‘December the eighth, that’s right. The season of Advent is already upon us and I haven’t done any of my shopping yet. Have you?’
Montignac smiled to himself. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Well we both need to get on to that,’ said Delfy happily. ‘Because by my calculations there are only seventeen days left until Christmas which means there are only seventeen days left for you to raise the forty thousand pounds that you owe me. By the way,’ he added, almost as an afterthought, ‘how is that going?’
‘You don’t have to worry, Nicholas. You’ll have your money.’
‘Oh I’m not worried,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Why should I be? I don’t have anything to worry about. No one’s going to put a bullet through my head if I haven’t raised the money by then.’
Montignac nodded; he doubted very much that it would be as clean and painless as a bullet through the head.
‘No, I have every confidence in you, Owen,’ continued Nicholas. ‘From what I hear you’ve been engaged in a most ingenious plan.’
‘Really,’ said Montignac, raising an eyebrow.
‘Indeed. I believe that there’s an unfortunate young man standing trial for his life at the moment in order that another man can achieve his life’s ambitions and you can clear your debts. Quite an extraordinary sea change he’ll produce too if the plan works. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, Owen, would you?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Montignac, stunned that their scheme was not entirely confidential. After a moment he had to add: ‘How did you know about that?’ he asked.
‘Oh I hear a lot of things. I pay a lot of people to keep me informed. Actually, I think it’s quite ingenious. I feel sorry for the Bentley boy, of course, but there we are. All’s fair in love and war and all that. And I happen to have known Lord Keaton for quite a long time. He’s quite mad, of course, but determined.’
‘Yes,’ said Montignac. ‘Well I’ll get paid when the plan reaches completion. And then you’ll get paid. And that will be an end to it.’
‘Marvellous,’ said Delfy, coming around from behind the desk and ushering Montignac to his feet. ‘Then come with me. Now I think I’ll make that little introduction. I only called you here because I knew he was coming and I thought, for future reference in your life, you might be interested to know who it is that you’ve been working against.’
He led him out the office door and through the corridor and into the bar area of the club where the booths were, as ever, mostly full. Delfy stopped at the bar and ordered a couple of bottles of champagne to be sent over to table four, which was where they were headed. They stopped a few feet away, Delfy with his arm protectively around Montignac’s shoulder, and nodded in the group’s direction.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘What do you think?’
Montignac stared at the table in amazement before turning back to look at Delfy. For a moment he could scarcely believe who he was looking at and wasn’t sure he could go through with it.
‘Come on,’ said Delfy, pushing him forwards. ‘There’s nothing to be nervous about.’
There were three people seated at the booth and they all looked up as Delfy and Montignac walked towards them. They seemed to be engaged in a serious and almost argumentative conversation and didn’t look happy about being interrupted but they knew their host and had to say hello.
‘Y
our Majesty,’ said Delfy, giving a polite bow of the head as he stood before him. ‘So sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to introduce a young friend of mine who’s a great admirer.’
‘Of course, Delfy, of course,’ said the king, who stood up and offered his hand, which Montignac took nervously. ‘Sit down for a moment if you like.’
He stressed the word ‘moment’ and they knew they would not be welcome for long; he was obviously experienced at greeting and dismissing his minions. Delfy sat on the other side of the table beside the other man, while Montignac took his place beside the king. In the centre of the group, decked out in a fine gown and lavish jewellery sat the former wife of both Mr Earl Spencer of Kansas and Mr Ernest Simpson of New York City. Wallis.
‘This is Owen Montignac,’ said Delfy. ‘Peter Montignac’s boy.’
‘Montignac, of course,’ said the king. ‘Yes, I knew your father a little—’
‘My uncle, actually,’ said Montignac, wondering why no one could ever get it right.
‘No,’ said the king quickly, unaccustomed to being corrected or interrupted. ‘I knew your father.’
Montignac frowned. ‘You mean—?’
‘Henry was your father, wasn’t he? Peter’s brother?’
‘Yes,’ said Montignac, intrigued. ‘Yes he was. How did you know him?’
‘Oh, it was a long time ago. When I was a boy. Your grandfather and my father, the late king, were friends and Henry and I used to see each other from time to time. He was a fine fellow, I admired him very much. I was terribly sorry when he died.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Montignac, a little overcome by such a personal memory. ‘It’s very kind of you to say so.’
‘Well it’s the truth, that’s all. These are two dear friends of mine by the way. Walter Monckton,’ he said, indicating the man. ‘And Mrs Wallis Simpson.’
Delfy and Montignac shook their hands and exchanged hellos.
‘And what do you do, Mr Montignac?’ asked Mrs Simpson. ‘Are you one of the idle rich like Walter and David?’
‘Idle, indeed,’ said the king with a laugh. ‘As if I ever get a moment to myself!’
‘I have aspirations towards indolence,’ said Montignac, ‘but unfortunately not the reserves to back them up at the moment. No, I run an art gallery in Cork Street.’