There were a few titters, and then the third fellow exclaimed, ‘Heard what Churchill said recently? That Mrs Keppel should be appointed First Lady of the Bed Chamber.’
All three men laughed and even Edward was amused, had to stifle a chuckle. The King and his long-standing mistress were often the butt of jokes.
Another voice piped up, ‘Northcliffe’s Daily Mail is really backing Balfour and his government.’
‘Balfour won’t last.’
‘The Tories have to stay in power.’
‘Couldn’t agree more, old chap. By the way, I’m thinking of buying an electric car.’
‘Good Lord, that’s brave of you.’
‘Oh, they’re perfectly safe.’
‘Purchasing one of Mr Ford’s models, are you?’
‘I’m not yet sure, old chap. Two English engineers, Mr Rolls and Mr Royce, are bringing out their own model. I might just wait for that.’
‘Stick with British-made, that’s my opinion. That’s what it’s all about, you know. Got to keep the Empire flourishing. We’re the greatest country in the world, don’t you know?’
‘I’ll drink to that, Montague.’7
‘Kipling has another book out. Amazing the way these chaps keep turning out masterpieces—Galsworthy, too, has a new hit. And George Bernard Shaw is putting on yet another play.’
‘Prolific, that’s the only word for those writer chaps.’
Edward cut off the chatter at the next table, and fell down into his own thoughts, reminding himself that he had promised his Little Fish another book by Rudyard Kipling. He must order it tomorrow. And Lily’s birthday was coming up. He wanted to buy her a beautiful piece of jewellery; he wasn’t sure how to do this, unless he borrowed from his mother. Money. He needed it badly—
All conversation suddenly stopped, the room went totally quiet. Edward glanced at the door and smiled to himself. Neville was standing there, looking for all the world like the reigning monarch of all he surveyed. Elegantly dressed as always, and supremely self-confident, he strode into the room with panache, nodding to the different men who greeted him. He had arrived with a flourish, had caused quite a stir.
Edward rose and clasped his cousin’s hand as Neville drew to a standstill at the table.
‘Where are the others?’ he asked, sitting down.
Edward, also sitting, explained, ‘They went to have a game of billiards.’
Neville nodded, motioned to the waiter, ordered the same as Edward, then settled back in the chair. ‘Would you care for a cigar?’
‘No thanks,’ Edward replied, and went on, ‘Inspector Laidlaw came to see us at Deravenels today.’ He gave Neville a sharp look.
‘I assumed he would. The coroner’s verdict is in all of the afternoon papers,’ Neville answered. ‘Accidental death, so I read.’
Their eyes locked and there was a moment’s silence.
Finally, it was Edward who murmured in a low voice, ‘Yes, that’s what Inspector Laidlaw told us. He said no crime had been committed, also pointed out that there was no reason for Aubrey Masters to commit suicide, at least as far as he had been able to ascertain. The inspector characterized the man’s life as humdrum, a plain life.’
Neville nodded, pursed his lips, looked thoughtful. ‘The money he stole from Deravenels has to be somewhere, Ned. In his bank account, I presume, which is now his wife’s bank account. Unless he had another woman in his life, or made other arrangements. It could well be hidden.’
‘Laidlaw made a point of saying there were no other women around—well, to the best of his knowledge. But that doesn’t mean Mildred Masters has it. He might have opened an account with another bank, which she has no inkling of,’ Edward suggested.
‘Perhaps. In that case, the money is most probably lost, Ned, unless he left instructions with the bank. Or in his will. Regarding the disposal of his wealth. I doubt Deravenels will ever see a penny. If only we had some documentation about his personal finances—’ Neville broke off, shaking his head. ‘Impossible.’
‘I agree, I don’t suppose we’ll ever get our hands on that,’ Ned muttered, irritated at the thought.
‘You may well be right,’ Neville agreed. ‘C’est dommage.’
Neville picked up his whisky and soda, which had arrived a moment or two before. ‘Good health, Ned.’
Edward lifted his glass, brought it to touch his cousin’s. ‘Good health,’ he repeated.
‘Where would you like to dine tonight?’ Neville now asked, wanting to change the subject, not wishing to discuss Masters any further at the moment.
‘Wherever you wish,’ Edward answered. ‘The Savoy? Rules?’
‘Ah, here come Johnny and Will! Let’s ask them about their preference.’
Margot Grant stared at John Summers and cried, ‘Accidental death! This verdict is a travesty! Aubrey was murdered. I know he was…in my heart I know it. Oh, mon dieu, it is a travesty.’
‘Margot darling, please calm down. Inspector Laidlaw came to see me today and explained everything. Scotland Yard did a very thorough investigation, and they are absolutely certain no crime was committed.’
‘Nonsense! I know he was murdered. They did it! They killed him.’
John leaned back on the sofa, his eyes on hers. She sat behind the desk in the panelled library of her house in Upper Grosvenor Street, and as usual looked impossibly beautiful, sexually inviting. And imperious. Also somewhat outraged at this moment. When she was angry her voice grew shrill and her French accent became more pronounced, and he always wanted to flee for safety.
Taking a deep breath, John said, ‘There is no evidence that the Deravenels did anything. Laidlaw agrees with the coroner’s verdict that this was an unfortunate accident. You know as well as I do that Aubrey Masters had the weirdest eating habits. I am certain he ingested digitalis by accident.’
‘I do not believe this.’
‘If it was not an accident then it must have been intentional, suicide,’ John suggested, his voice even and steady, reflecting his unruffled demeanour.
‘Suicide. Bah, he wouldn’t do that! Non, non, jamais.’
John remained silent, thinking of the discrepancies he had recently discovered in the accounts which pertained to the mining division. As yet he couldn’t quite fathom out what Masters had been up to, and who else might be involved. If there was a problem, that is. He decided not to mention this new and troubling development to Margot. She was far too volatile tonight, and he had no intention of inflaming her further.
Suddenly the door opened and Henry Grant stood on the threshold, wearing an old blue velvet dressing gown and slippers and looking rumpled. There was a vacant expression on his face and in his eyes a lost look.
‘Ah, Margot, there you are,’ Henry began and shuffled into the room, a man old beyond his years.
At once, Margot stood up, went across the floor and took hold of his arm. ‘Come, Henry, sit down, John is here, he came to visit you.’
Henry turned. A gentle smile spread across his face when he saw his cousin. He shuffled forward, offering his hand.
Immediately, John was on his feet, shaking Henry’s hand, smiling, affecting a look of pleasure. But inside he was troubled and dismayed. More than ever, the head of