Heirs of Ravenscar (18 page)

Stephen joined Edward in front of the fire, and confided after a moment, ‘I saw Churchill the other day, at the club. Looking well, and in good spirits again, thank heavens.'

‘Glad to hear it. What's Winston going to do? Did he tell you?' Edward asked, his curiosity apparent.

‘He's still going to be a Member of Parliament, I'm certain of that. There'll be an election this year, you know, but Lloyd George is safe, and I'm absolutely certain Winston will win his seat at Dundee once again,' Stephen answered, full of confidence, his voice positive.

‘I have to agree with you there.' Edward nodded emphatically, then compressed his mouth. ‘Pity he got blamed for Gallipoli. It was not entirely all his fault, in my opinion.'

‘That's true, Ned. But look here, he was First Lord of the Admiralty at the time, and he did conceive the naval attack on the Dardanelles.' Stephen stopped, shaking his head, and finished, ‘But then what can one expect? You know only too well what politicians are like, and Churchill does have his enemies. But then, don't we all, old chap?'

‘All too true, Stephen, but my money has always been on Churchill. I have enormous respect and admiration for him, as do a lot of people I know. We've not heard the last of him, mark my words, and he'll turn out to be a godsend to this country of ours one day, you'll see.' They continued to talk politics, standing near the fire.

Before long, Fuller and the parlour maid came into the drawing room pushing tea trolleys laden with food. They were soon busy serving everyone cups of tea, small finger
sandwiches, hot scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream from Devon. And everyone exclaimed on how delicious the food was.

Friends for years, the Forths and Edward chatted about many worldly things, while Amos and Grace Rose sat together on a sofa, sipping tea, and talking about her move to Oxford in the not-too-distant future.

‘Y
ou've certainly recovered rather quickly from your bout of bronchitis, haven't you? Quite remarkable,' Edward said in an icy voice, staring across the desk at his brother George. ‘It was my understanding that this ailment lasted for a month. At the very least.' Edward's eyes raked over the other man.

‘It was a cold,' George mumbled, looking down at his hands, unable to meet Edward's direct and very fixed scrutiny.

‘How fortunate for you,' Edward murmured, and leaned back in the chair, still studying his brother. After a moment he went on, ‘Tell me about your adventures in Scotland.'

‘Not much to tell.'

‘Oh, but I beg to differ, George. I think there's a lot to tell. When you telephoned me on the Friday before Christmas, the twentieth of December to be precise, you reported that the deal was well underway, and said also that you did not foresee any problems.'

‘I didn't.'

‘They just came along, did they? One by one, is that it?' Edward's voice, though soft, echoed with sarcasm. When George made no response, and still avoided his gaze, Edward probed, ‘What about the distilleries? You visited them the following day, so I understand from MacDonald. Were you not impressed?'

Hearing this particular word, and not smart enough to pick up on Edward's scathing tone, George exclaimed, ‘That's it … I
wasn't
impressed. No, no, not at all, and the price was all wrong anyway.'

‘
Really
. That's extremely interesting. And tell me, how
was
your Christmas? I know you went to MacDonald's country house in the Lammermuir Hills. Did you and Isabel and the children enjoy yourselves?'

‘Oh, it was all right, a bit dull actually.' ‘I see. Is that why you left earlier than expected? On Boxing Day?'

‘No, no, we left on Boxing Day because Nan was ill. Isabel wanted to get back to Yorkshire, to see her mother, to make sure she was all right.'

‘But Nan has tons of servants, and her cousin's husband is a doctor in Ripon. Surely there were plenty of people to keep an eye on her, look after her.'

George shook his head, swiftly averted his face.

‘Hubris!' Edward cried, banging his hand down so hard on the top of his desk that the crystal inkpots rattled on the silver tray and George flinched, suddenly aware of his brother's roaring anger. Fear punched him in the stomach. He swallowed and tried to speak, but discovered he had completely lost his voice.

‘Look at me when I'm speaking to you, damn you!' Edward shouted, suddenly jumping up, his face cold, his fury spiralling. ‘It's quite plain to see that you've not had
bronchitis, but indeed you
are
ill. You're suffering from
hubris
. In fact, you've got a bad case of it.'

Baffled, and still at a loss for words, George gaped at his brother, wondering what he meant, and growing increasingly nervous.

A grim smile played around Edward's mouth, and leaning forward over the desk, he snapped, ‘Obviously you don't know what hubris means. It's from the Greek, and it denotes overweening pride, enormous presumption. It also means flying in the face of the gods, tempting the gods with arrogance.'

‘I still don't know –'

‘Shut up! And listen for once in your life! I sent you to Scotland to negotiate with Ian MacDonald. But you didn't do that. Instead, you destroyed the deal. So it's flown out of the window. Furthermore, we have now acquired an enemy. As if we don't have enough already. You got sloppy drunk, behaved like a dolt, a lout, and insulted a man old enough to be your father. Then you demanded a car and driver from your host, packed up your family and went back to Edinburgh. Where you lingered for several days.'

‘No, I did not! I went to Yorkshire. And straight away,' George shot back.

‘You're a liar, George, as well as an idiot. Nan told me exactly when you arrived at Thorpe Manor, and, I might add, she was also somewhat startled to hear she had been ill. She told me she was in blooming health, actually.'

‘She's recovered,' George answered lamely, running his hand through his blond hair. ‘I think she had a touch of food poisoning.'

I'd like to poison
you
, Edward thought, but said, ‘Pull the other leg, little brother, it has bells on! What's the matter with you, do you think I'm a dunce? I checked everything out, so don't even attempt to deny one single thing.'

‘You spied on me!' George shouted, forgetting himself, once again prepared to stand up to his brother, the brother he envied.

‘Keep your voice down,' Edward snarled, and lowered himself into his chair. He opened his desk drawer, took out some papers, and announced in a voice dripping ice, ‘I've paid your gambling debts. You owe me forty thousand pounds. I want it immediately.'

Stunned, taken unawares as he was, George sat up straighter in the chair, and gazed at his brother. He flushed bright red, and sudden fear rushed through him. He was totally undone, thought he was going to be violently sick.

Ignoring his brother's silence, knowing full well he was flabbergasted, shaken, Edward
waved the promissory notes in the air, and continued, ‘These are the notes you signed. I've
redeemed them. Once I have your cheque, and when it has cleared the bank, you may have them.
I think you should know that I have informed the three clubs in question that I will not pay
your gambling debts ever again. I wrote to them, explaining that I cannot be responsible. I
do believe they have automatically cancelled your membership, because of bad debts. You've
been blackballed. So, little brother, what do you have to say for yourself?'

‘I wish to know why you are meddling in my affairs,' George cried excitedly, endeavouring to recoup once more, full of bluster all of a sudden.

‘I wasn't meddling, just protecting
our
name to some extent. There was so much gossip about you and your debts, your whoring, your drinking and drug-taking I had to do something. However, I do believe
you
should do
something
about these.' Reaching into his desk drawer yet again, Edward removed a pile of bills. ‘I think you had better settle these, pay what you owe these merchants and your Savile Row tailor. I won't tolerate any more scandalous gossip about you.'

‘How did you get my bills?' George yelled, jumping up, his own fury bursting out of him. ‘How did you get into my desk? It's locked.'

‘I broke into it. And whilst we are talking about your desk, why do you keep this in it?' Edward dangled the gun on one finger.

Aghast, George sat down heavily in the chair. For a moment he was befuddled, and he shook his head as if he didn't understand what was happening, and then he looked at his brother. In that moment he felt the blood drain out of him. He was sunk.

Ned's eyes were blue ice, and his expression was one of genuine rage. ‘It's for … for … my p-p-protection,' George stammered, gulping, pushing back incipient tears, knowing he was totally at his brother's mercy. He also knew he didn't have a leg to stand on, and yet he nevertheless imagined he could somehow bluff his way out of this unexpected trouble.

Taking a large brown envelope off the desk, Edward dropped the gun into it, and went on in a cold voice, ‘This is going to be put in a safe, where it will remain forever. As I said, please pay your household bills immediately and attend to your tailor. Furthermore, I expect to have a cheque on my desk tomorrow, for the forty thousand you owe me.'

George nodded. He was white as bleached bone, and trembling inside. He hated Ned, truly detested him. He must find a way to ruin him, so that he could take over and run Deravenels, as he was supposed to do. And he knew he would run it far better than his odious brother.

‘You don't seem to have much to say for yourself.' Edward frowned, appeared puzzled. ‘Aren't you ashamed, George, or sorry for this latest trouble you have caused, and the havoc you have wreaked in Scotland? Good God, man, you're almost twenty-six, married, a father, and you are also a
Deravenel. You must show some responsibility, and a little pride as well, I might add.'

‘How dare you lecture me!' George ranted. ‘Who do you think you are? You're not God!'

‘No, I'm not. But I do know exactly who I am. My name is Edward Deravenel. I am head of the Deravenel family, Head of Deravenels, and I am your older brother. I am also the man you work for. In other words, I am your boss. And let me tell you this, if you weren't my brother I would dismiss you at once.'

‘You can't sack me. I'm a director of this company, and a Deravenel.'

‘Oh, but you're wrong. I
can
give you the sack. I can do almost anything I want within certain boundaries, as managing director. I am not going to send you packing, George, for the very reason you are my brother. And a married man, the father of children. So, I am going to be lenient. I will overlook your behaviour towards Ian MacDonald, and hopefully I will be able to get the deal back on track. But I will not overlook the money you owe me. I want that cheque tomorrow.'

‘I don't know where to get forty thousand pounds,' George wailed, his blue-green eyes sparkling with tears again.

‘Obviously, you will have to go to your wife. Isabel is the other Watkins heiress, and her mother is an enormously wealthy woman. Surely the two of them will give you a loan?' A red-gold brow shot up. ‘What do you think, Georgie? Will the ladies help you out?'

‘I don't know,' George answered, his voice shaking. He rose, started to leave the office.

‘Don't be in such a hurry, little brother. You'd better take these bills with you. Perhaps your mother-in-law will settle them for you. And as quickly as possible.'

George stepped over to the desk, grabbed the bills, and threw Edward an angry look. A second later the door banged
behind him. What a strange thing it is, Edward thought, his eyes still on the door, that such a wonderful looking young man, with the most beautiful face, those blue-green eyes, almost turquoise, and marvellous head of blond hair, can be so rotten and mean-spirited. And he is rather stupid, not at all like Richard. Those two were only a few years apart, and had grown up together, mostly at Ravenscar. They had often defended each other, and he knew that deep down they cared for each other. And yet George had always tried to lord it over Richard, and
he
had felt the need to protect his Little Fish. Greed, ambition, envy, and arrogance, those were George's true characteristics.
Hubris
. Just the word to describe him. Whereas Richard was loyal almost to a fault, very stubborn, courageous, and of a serious bent. Thank God for my Richard, Edward thought: he will be loyal to me forever. I have no worries about him. He's True Blue.

Rising, Edward walked across the room, knocked on the door to the adjoining office, where he knew Will would undoubtedly be at his desk.

‘Good morning, Ned, come in, come in,' Will exclaimed, smiling. ‘I heard raised voices. You were giving George a dressing down, weren't you?'

‘I was. He's so dense, really rather stupid. I was talking to him about the Scottish deal, I don't think he got it at all. Although he did look a bit afraid at one moment, he suddenly came back at me, full of piss and vinegar. And he actually shouted back.'

Will laughed. ‘You don't have to tell me that – I heard him. You know very well I've always thought he was three bricks short of a full load.'

Ned began to laugh with Will. ‘
Only three
?' He sat down in the chair opposite, and began, ‘Let me pose a question. Do you think the board will permit me to change one of the rules?'

‘I don't really know, to be honest. It depends what the rule is,' Will replied.

‘Women can work here as secretaries, receptionists, and telephonists. But only a woman who is a born Deravenel can hold an executive position, and also be a director of the company. However, she cannot be a board member. Only men can sit on the board. Also, even a Deravenel woman cannot be head of the company –'

‘And that's the rule you want to change?' Will cut in, biting his lip, suddenly appearing worried. ‘My God, it's a bit radical, isn't it? And anyway, why do you want to change this rule?'

‘Because I know, and you know, that women are as competent and responsible as men, and just as clever. We all have the same brain power, and to be frank, I sometimes think some women have more brains than men. In fact, I know quite a few formidable women. But look here, Will, I have four daughters, if we include Grace Rose. I want to be absolutely certain that any of them can be on the board, and be managing director or chairman, rule the roost in other words, if that is ever necessary. I have two sons, but what if I didn't have Young Edward and Ritchie, and I died? What then? Who would inherit?'

‘I don't have to think twice about that.
George would
.'

‘Correct, and it should be my brother Richard, really. But never mind this for the moment, let's stay on one subject. I have studied the rules, which my mother got out of her vault for me, and I think it comes down to this – if a dozen board members out of the seventeen members vote in favour of the change, then the new rule, whatever it is, can indeed be added.'

‘Are you sure? Really sure, Ned?'

‘I am. And Mama is an expert on these rules. She studied them for years, because of my father's problems at
Deravenels. She agrees with me. But will the board members go along?'

‘I feel certain they will. I can think of six right off the bat … Oliveri, Anthony Wyland, Frank Lane, Matthew Reynolds. They are certainties, and my vote makes five. You yourself can vote, so that is six. And there are six others I can guarantee, they'll do as you want. Maybe everyone will, actually. After all, you're the goose that lays the golden eggs.'