Heirs of Ravenscar (19 page)

‘Thanks for that,' Edward laughed. Stretching out his long legs, he steepled his fingers and brought the tips to his mouth, looking reflective for a moment, then lifting his head finally he focused on Will Hasling.

‘What is it?' Will asked. ‘You look as if you're about to ask me something quite momentous.'

‘Not really. But it's certainly important. What do we know about this chap Henry Turner, who lives in France?'

‘Not a lot. He's a sort of pretender to the throne of Deravenels, I suppose, on the Lancastrian side that is. You know very well his half-uncle was Henry Grant. His mother is Margaret Beauchard, and she was married to Henry's half-brother Edmund Turner … I think that's correct.'

‘You're absolutely right. But is that
all
we know, though?'

Will nodded. ‘I'm afraid it is.'

‘I wish I could send Finnister to France, but no one can travel just yet …'

‘I'll do a bit of digging, and as soon as we are able we'll send Amos to gay Paree.'

Once more, Edward laughed. ‘You always manage to bring a smile, cheer me up.' Ned stood. ‘I'd better go along to see Oliveri. Let's have lunch, the three of us. All right?'

‘I'll book a table at Rules. Shall I invite Richard? We can go over our travel plans, and the Scottish deal.'

‘Good thought.'

A
lfredo Oliveri was the first to arrive at Rules, and as he was shown to their usual table and sat down, he focused his mind on George Deravenel.

That he was a problem was known; that he now appeared to be dangerous was a new element that had to be put into the equation. Alfredo had been as alarmed as Amos and Edward when he had heard about the gun, a somewhat bizarre accessory to take to the office under any circumstances. It smacked of violence to him.

Leaning back against the banquette, he pondered the current situation, wondering what they should do with George within the company. Having once thought it would be a good idea to send him travelling, to get him out of Edward's hair, he now realized he would only make a mess of Deravenel business abroad. It would be foolhardy not to have him in their sights at all times.

His mind began to work as he contemplated a variety of solutions. Oliveri, now in his early fifties, had been at
Deravenels for over thirty-four years. When Edward had taken over the company fourteen years ago, Alfredo had already been working there for twenty years, having begun as an apprentice. At that time, he was considered part of the old guard. He was certainly that now, one of the old-timers who had become part of the very modern present.

Having started out in the mining division, now he was head of that division on a worldwide basis. All of their mines around the globe came under his aegis … diamond mines in India, diamond and gold mines in South Africa, and other mines in South America and Asia that produced emeralds, sapphires and rubies; their opal mines in Australia were a new and successful acquisition.

He and Edward Deravenel had first met in Carrara, when Edward and Neville Watkins had come to investigate the murder of their fathers and brothers. Will Hasling had been with them. At that time, Oliveri was overseeing the Deravenel marble quarries in Italy, and he had quickly made it known to the three men that he had much more of an affinity with the Yorkshire Deravenels than with the Lancashire Deravenel Grants. Edward's father had been good to him over the years, and seen that he got the proper promotions when they were due him.

Alfredo had helped them as much as he could in Carrara, and had then come to London almost immediately, ostensibly to check in with the head office and his boss, Aubrey Masters. But he had really come to see them, and he had soon become their spy inside the company.

Apart from being one of the greatest experts on mines and mined stones, he was a tireless worker, and a pleasant, amiable man with a talent for getting the best out of people. Everyone liked him; as an executive he was revered.

Most people thought of him as more English than Italian. Certainly his looks were English. Pale of complexion, his
face was scattered with freckles and when he had been a young man he had the brightest of red hair, which had earned him the nicknames of ‘Carrot Top' and ‘Red'. Now his hair was a sandy colour, a sort of salt-and-pepper grey with a hint of faded auburn underneath. He was a nice looking man, always well dressed, although not as elegant or as fashionable as Edward and Will.

Alfredo was happily married to an Englishwoman, had two sons aged twenty-two and nineteen, and he loved his family wholeheartedly. His mistress, a very demanding one, was Deravenels. The Mining Division and its continuing success throughout the world consumed him.

Edward was wont to say that Oliveri had given his entire life and most of his love to the company, and whilst this was true to a certain extent, Oliveri knew full well that Edward Deravenel had done exactly the same thing. He was certain his employer could not have made the company so enormous, bigger than ever, and such a great institution if he had not. And this was a bond that forever bound them together.

‘A penny for your thoughts, Oliveri,' Edward said, staring at one of his favourite executives, a man he now considered a true friend as well as a loyal and devoted colleague of long standing.

Oliveri stared up at him, and answered softly, ‘Pondering George.'

‘That's not surprising.' Edward sat down next to Oliveri on the banquette. ‘I'm holding my breath, waiting to see if he brings me a cheque tomorrow.'

‘He will. He'll more than likely go to Nan Watkins to ask her for the money,' Oliveri volunteered, and then looked towards the door as Richard walked in, looking agitated, very nervous. The younger man was still wearing his overcoat, and his face was pinched, worried.

Edward followed the direction of Oliveri's gaze and jumped
up swiftly as Richard hurried forward. Edward knew him so well, knew at once something was amiss. Richard's face was white as chalk, his slate-grey eyes filled with alarm.

‘Good Lord, Dick, what is it?'

‘I just ran into George. He … accosted me, and that's the only word for it. And in the lobby of our building. He was shouting at me like a maniac saying that he would kill you one day. And then he screamed, “Tell him I'll find the money somewhere, and do whatever I have to do to get it.” Then he ran out into the street. I watched him rush heedlessly across the Strand. He almost got knocked down by a motor car. I couldn't believe his behaviour.'

Edward shook his head, a sad and knowing look clouding his blue eyes. ‘He gets more incomprehensible by the day. There's something wrong with him. And if Nan won't help him, he'll get the money he owes me from Mother. He'll go with a sad story and ask to borrow from her, and she'll give it to him; she's always protected him since he was a child. Now, Dick, calm down, catch your breath, you're very upset. And do go and take your coat off.'

‘I'm all right, honestly, Ned, I'll be fine in a moment. And I won't take my coat off, since I can't have lunch, actually. As I told Will earlier, I have a bad tooth. I must go to the dentist, I'm in terrible pain. I made an appointment early this morning, and I can't miss it. So sorry about lunch.'

‘That's all right, just take care of yourself and get that tooth attended to right away.' Edward went back to the banquette.

Richard offered Oliveri a faint smile. ‘Sorry for bursting in like that, didn't mean to upset.'

‘It's fine, no problem,' Alfredo answered, and announced to no one in particular, ‘Ah, here's Hasling.'

Richard took his leave after greeting Will and hurried out, and Will sat down, murmured in a low voice, ‘Well, I suppose
you already know about the scene in the lobby. Apparently a rather loud scene at that.'

Edward sighed deeply, thinking of George, who worried him no end. ‘Richard just came to tell us. I do think George is daft in the head … at least some of the time.'

‘Most of the time, if you ask me,' Will raised his hand, beckoned the waiter. ‘Let's have a glass of claret, shall we, chaps? It's a cold day, and I for one need a drink.'

The other two men agreed with him, and Will glanced at the wine list, ordered, and then sat back and regarded Edward and Alfredo. Both were sitting opposite him on the banquette. Will's face was serious, and when he spoke his voice was sombre, somehow seemed to hold a warning.

‘You are part of a dangerous triangle,' Will said, directing his gaze at Edward. ‘Extremely dangerous indeed, and I'm not talking about women and your private life, Ned. I'm referring to your brothers and yourself.'

Taken aback by this unexpected comment, Edward simply stared at Will. After a moment, he said, ‘Continue, please.'

Lifting a finger, Will drew the shape of a triangle in the air. ‘You, Ned, are at the top of the triangle, at the very tip. Your two brothers are at each side, at the bottom. Let's consider George first. He is envious, petulant, ambitious and treacherous by nature.
You
know that, we all do. He envies you, wants to
be
you, and he would stab you in the back to get what he wants. You know how easily Neville Watkins led him into
his
intrigues and acts of treachery against you. Let's put you to one side, for the moment, and consider Richard. He and George were close when they were children, but Richard is your
favourite
, and therefore George is angry with you, and with Richard. And he envies him. He is also hostile towards him because Richard did, finally, marry Anne Watkins, the other Watkins co-heiress, along with George's wife Isabel. George truly does begrudge Anne's share
of Neville Watkins's fortune, and that's the real reason he endeavoured to stop Richard's marriage to her but you surely do know all this. Finally, Richard, for his part, is utterly devoted to you, loyal to you beyond reason, and he's a hard worker, intelligent, clever, even formidable in certain ways, and all of these attributes anger George, too.'

‘In other words, I can't win … George is dead set against me for many reasons, not the least of which is for … just being me?'

‘In that you are correct,' Will agreed. ‘Good, here is the waiter with our glasses of claret.'

After toasting each other, it was Oliveri who looked at Edward and said quietly, ‘He's tried your patience for years, and sometimes he goes too far. Mistakenly, I recently said we should send him travelling, but that is not a good idea. We need him where we can keep an eye on him.'

‘I agree,' Will exclaimed. ‘No more trips for Master George.'

‘That's right.' Edward took a long swallow of the red wine, and went on, ‘I've little or no confidence in him now, not after his behaviour in Scotland. Thank God Ian MacDonald really wants to make this deal. If he didn't, we'd be out, that's a certainty.' He gave his closest friend a long stare and asked, ‘So tell me, Will, what do I do? Should I say aloud those famous lines? “Who will rid me of this turbulent priest?” Is that it?'

Oliveri chuckled. ‘Better not.'

Will shook his head. ‘There is nothing you can do about George, Ned, honestly there isn't. But I do suggest you watch your back, and I'll watch it also and so will Oliveri and Amos.'

Edward smiled.

Will said a trifle vehemently, ‘No, don't smile. Please don't, Ned. I am very, very serious. George is a born intriguer and
exceedingly treacherous. I've never trusted him. There's many a murder that gets passed off as an accident, always remember that. Now, shall we order lunch?'

‘Do you honestly think George would commit fratricide?' Edward asked, frowning, looking momentarily concerned, his eyes troubled. ‘Surely not, Will. I am, after all, his brother.'

‘That's true,' Will responded noncommittally. ‘I think I shall have the grilled plaice. What about the two of you?'

‘The same,' Edward said.

‘I might as well have the fish too.' Oliveri sat back, sipped his wine, and wondered how to murder George without getting caught.

Julian Stark, owner of Starks, the gambling club, looked startled when his secretary put her head around the door and said, ‘Mr George Deravenel is here, Mr Stark. He says he doesn't have an appointment, but will you see him for a minute, or two?'

‘Send him in, Gladys,' Stark answered at once, wondering what this was all about.

A moment or two later he found out. After greeting George Deravenel in a neutral voice, he asked, ‘And what can I do for you?'

‘Nothing, nothing at all, Stark. But I might be able to do you a favour.'

‘Oh, really. What kind of favour?' Stark asked.

‘I'll get straight to the point. I have a good tip, a good business tip. Not for you, actually, but for your brother, Alexander. I know he's a financier in the City, that he has some big clients. I'd like to pass on some information about a deal that's not yet actually on the market yet, so to speak. But it will be and very quickly.'

Puzzled, yet intrigued, Stark nodded. ‘What is the deal, Deravenel?'

‘The MacDonald Distillery Company is up for grabs.' Reaching into his jacket pocket, George
took out an envelope and handed it to Julian Stark, leaning across the latter's desk to do
so. ‘Everything is here – all the details.'

Staring at the envelope, Stark put it down on the desk and asked, ‘Why are you bringing this to me? After all, I banned you from my gambling club.'

‘Old school tie and all that … and you were always decent to me when I was a member, held my notes for the longest time.'

Leaning back in the chair, Julian Stark, a shrewd judge of character, instantly understood what this was all about. But he decided to play George along for the moment. ‘And what do you want in return for this so-called important information?'

‘Nothing, nothing at all,' George answered, and stood up. ‘The information came into my hands, and I thought I would pass it on to you. Do what you like with it.' George walked across to the door, and turned around, his hand on the knob. ‘Thanks for seeing me at such short notice.'

He left the office without another word.

Julian Stark stared at the door, shaking his head. What a treacherous bastard George Deravenel was. He was convinced this was a deal George's brother Edward was working on, and now the disgruntled little brother was trying to scuttle it for some reason. Sighing, Stark opened the envelope, read the two sheets of paper, and then reached for the phone; he found the number he wanted in his address book, dialled it, and asked, ‘Is that you, Howard?'