Next of Kin (55 page)

‘The three of you dined together not so long before his untimely passing, didn't you?' asked Sir Quentin.

‘I'm sorry?' he asked, starting to panic a little.

‘The three of you—your cousin, Miss Montignac, her fiancé, Mr Davis, and you. You dined together a few weeks earlier.'

Montignac shrugged. ‘We may have,' he said. ‘I can't remember a specific meal—'

‘Can't you? I have it here that you dined at Claridge's on July the sixth, the same night in fact that you met Mr Bentley, but you left the restaurant early that evening, before the puddings were served.'

‘I may have done.'

‘Any particular reason why?'

‘None that I can recall.'

‘I see. And when he died, Mr Davis was coming to visit you in your flat. Do you know what he wanted to see you about?'

‘I haven't the faintest idea,' said Montignac. ‘You would have to ask him. Of course he was murdered, so—'

‘Yes, one last question, Mr Montignac,' said Sir Quentin, interrupting him gruffly. ‘Just so I'm clear about what you're telling us. You have stated that the defendant was intelligent, friendly and eager. Is that correct?'

‘Yes.'

‘And that you bought most of the drinks on the night of the murder?'

‘Yes.'

‘And that he was so paralytic that he couldn't even get into a taxi without assistance or climb the steps to your flat without the help of a driver?'

‘Yes,' said Montignac reluctantly.

‘And that you sent him to that flat alone where your cousin's fiancé mysteriously arrived later and, despite his condition, the defendant is alleged to have murdered him?'

‘Your Honour, the witness has testified to no such thing,' shouted Harkman, rising to his feet.

‘Indeed not, Your Honour,' said Sir Quentin triumphantly. ‘I do apologize, I was simply trying to get the matter straight in my head. I have no further questions.'

‘Thank you, Sir Quentin,' said the judge, eager for the beef, potatoes and two veg that would be waiting for him in his chambers. ‘Nothing further, Mr Harkman?' he asked hopefully.

‘Just one quick question, Your Honour,' he replied, rising to his feet. ‘Mr Montignac, you gave this young man here an opportunity for a career, did you not?'

‘Yes.'

‘And you would have continued to support him as he learned the business?'

‘Indeed, yes.'

‘And after you offered him the comfort of your flat, a murder took place there.'

‘That's right.'

‘And your cousin lost a fiancé.'

‘Yes.'

‘And you a friend.'

‘Yes,' he said quietly.

‘Mr Montignac, do you regret the night that you met the defendant?'

Montignac narrowed his eyes and looked towards the dock where Gareth sat looking miserable and lost. Enough damage had been done, he decided; the last thing he needed was for Gareth to think that he was his enemy.

‘No I don't, Mr Harkman,' he said. ‘I believed then and believe now that Mr Bentley had many fine traits. I regret the fact that I didn't take him home myself that night. I regret that I didn't return to my flat earlier. I regret that I wasn't there to stop him when he attacked Raymond. But I don't regret meeting him. I believe the events of that night constituted a moment of madness for Gareth and are not part of his true character. The whole thing, if you want my honest opinion, is a terrible tragedy for all concerned.'

He looked towards Gareth again who nodded his head and gave a small smile of appreciation towards his former employer.

‘Yes, thank you, Mr Montignac,' said Harkman in frustration who had anticipated a more damning reply and regretted asking it now.

‘Thank you all,' said the judge, rising before any further questions could be asked. ‘Let's say two o'clock.'

3

MONTIGNAC DID A DOUBLE
take when he saw Margaret Richmond waiting on the street outside the Old Bailey. He was coming down the steps, looking for a phone box to call the gallery before going for some lunch when he saw her familiar figure standing there, speaking to someone through the open window of a car before it drove off. She seemed smaller to him as she stood on the busy London street, away from her natural habitat of Leyville, and more vulnerable.

‘Margaret?' he said, approaching her and she spun around in surprise.

‘Owen,' she said.

‘What on earth are you doing here?' he asked, surprised that she was there at all.

She was dressed formally and carrying her most expensive bag, even wearing a hat; he guessed that she must have been inside the courtroom during his testimony but he had spent most of his time in the stand deliberately avoiding catching the eyes of any of the spectators so as not to distract himself from his main mission.

‘We just came out,' she explained. ‘Stella's just left this minute.'

‘Stella?' he asked. ‘Stella was in court?'

Margaret shook her head and looked quite sad as she explained. ‘I tried to persuade her not to go,' she said. ‘I knew it would only bring up bad memories for her. Of course I'd tried to keep a lot of the more lurid details away from her, hiding newspapers and so on, but you know what she's like. When she's determined about something there's no changing her mind. She came expecting to hear Gareth Bentley testify and then, instead of him going into the witness box, there was you.'

‘Gareth is testifying after lunch,' he explained. ‘Will she be coming back for that?'

‘I don't think so. She's gone back to Leyville. I said I'd follow on the later train. She found it all terribly upsetting. Listening to you up there acting as if Raymond was just a friend of hers and nothing more.'

Montignac frowned. ‘I didn't want to desecrate his memory,' he said.

‘Really.'

‘Come on,' he said, taking her by the arm. ‘Let's get some tea. We can talk in private there.'

They settled into a small tea shop at the corner of the street and Margaret explained the events of the night before.

‘Sir Denis Tandy came to Leyville yesterday afternoon,' she said. ‘Stella wanted to talk to him.'

‘Not about this idea of hers, surely?'

‘She told you about it?'

Montignac nodded. ‘She said she wants to give the house over to the National Trust,' he said. ‘The National Trust!' he repeated with a laugh. ‘She's made some poor decisions in her life, but this one…'

‘She claims she's going to travel,' said Margaret, equally appalled. ‘She wants nothing to do with the place any more. Not since Raymond's death. They had such plans, you see, the two of them. You know he was going to take some time off from the RHS and devote it to re-landscaping the grounds?'

Montignac tried to contain his natural inclination to point out that as far as he was concerned Raymond Davis had no business even entering the grounds of Leyville, let alone redesigning them, but he let it slide.

‘It's as if she sees nothing worth staying for any more,' continued Margaret. ‘I don't know what will become of me. Of her,' she said, correcting herself quickly.

Montignac nodded; it was clear to him where her real concerns lay. ‘You're worried that you're going to be left homeless?' he asked.

‘She might never come back,' said Margaret, sidestepping the question. ‘She's a beautiful, rich young woman. You don't think she'll meet a handsome, eligible young man in America? I imagine there are many there, just waiting for someone like her.'

‘I would think it's extremely likely,' said Montignac bitterly.

‘After all, if an English king can find an American woman, then an American man can surely capture an English princess.'

‘Indeed.'

‘You have to find a way to stop her.'

‘Me?' he asked, surprised. ‘But what can I do about it? We're not even talking at the moment,' he added, wondering whether his former nanny knew about the incident at the weekend when he had slapped Stella's face.

‘There was a time,' said Margaret cautiously, ‘when you would have wanted to stop her.'

He stared at her, unsure what she was getting at. ‘How do you mean?' he asked.

‘Stella doesn't think there's anything to stay here for,' she said. ‘She's brokenhearted, can't you see that?'

‘She liked him,' he conceded. ‘But she didn't love him. I don't believe that for a moment.'

‘No, she didn't love him,' said Margaret, leaning forwards. ‘I've seen her in love. I've seen how she behaves when she's in love. And what she felt for Raymond wasn't that.'

‘I thought you were in favour of him?' he asked.

‘Oh I was. He was a very pleasant fellow. And they would have settled down at Leyville, had a family there. That was what I wanted. But she didn't love him. That's why she feels so guilty now. I don't think she's ever loved anyone the way she loved you.'

He breathed in heavily; he felt as if he'd just been slapped himself. ‘That was all a long time ago,' he said.

‘Ten years ago this summer,' she said. ‘But she hasn't forgotten it. And I don't think you have either.'

‘Of course I haven't forgotten it. How could I forget something so…? But I don't…' His mind was confused; to hear Margaret talking like this, bringing up the great unmentionable subject between them, baffled him. ‘Why are you bringing this up now anyway? You were the one who … put a stop to everything.'

‘I put a stop to it because it was wrong then,' she said. ‘You were just children. And cousins too. I was trying to protect you both. If Stella's father had found out, he would have killed you. I don't exaggerate, Owen, he would have taken a gun and shot you dead.'

‘He would have tried, certainly,' said Montignac.

‘Do you remember the day you both came to me?' she asked. ‘When you told me what had happened and asked for my help?'

He felt a lump form in his throat. The memories of that afternoon were among the worst in his life. Stella and he had spent almost a week discussing the problem they faced, not knowing what to do to make things right, terrified at what would be the outcome of what they had done. Andrew had only been dead a couple of months. Peter Montignac was barely himself. Had they gone to him and told him that she was to have a baby … it would have been catastrophic.

‘You promised never to mention that time again,' said Montignac, looking away.

‘Unless I had to. And I have to now. Because she's making the worst mistake of her life and you're allowing her to do it.'

‘You're sure that you're not just worried about losing your home? Being alone? Being left out in the cold like you left us?'

‘I didn't leave you anywhere,' she said angrily. ‘I did what I did for the best. If I hadn't persuaded your uncle to send Stella away, Andrew wouldn't have been the only Montignac killed that summer.'

‘But he wasn't, was he?'

‘What's that?'

‘I said he wasn't the only Montignac killed that summer. Thanks to you and Stella.'

Margaret sighed. She had considered telling him the truth, that the child was alive and well, but was unsure how he would react to it. Owen had a volatility that she could not control. If he was to find out that both she and Stella had lied to him ten summers ago, then there was no knowing what he might do out of vengeance.

‘Owen,' she said. ‘It was so long ago. You can't hold me responsible for—'

‘Margaret, I don't know what you expect from me,' he hissed. ‘I can try to talk to Stella if you like but I don't think it will do any good, do you? If she wants to go, I don't see what I can do to stop her. If she wants to get rid of the house, I don't see how I can prevent her. My hands are tied. Uncle Peter saw to that.'

‘But it's your house, Owen,' she protested, her hands curled into fists on the table. ‘It's rightfully yours, isn't it? Not hers? It was stolen from you, just like it was stolen from your father thirty years ago.'

‘Of course that's true, but I don't see what I can do about it now.'

‘You can tell her how you feel about her.'

Montignac sat back in the chair, wide-eyed. ‘Tell her how I—?'

‘You told me once that you loved Stella. When she went away, you wept for weeks on end. You lay on your bed as if the whole world had come to an end. Don't you remember?'

He curled his lip in distaste at the memory. ‘I remember being a bloody fool,' he said. ‘I remember thinking that she loved me and being bitterly disappointed. I remember her betrayal.'

‘But she does love you, Owen. Can't you see that?'

He shook his head. ‘No,' he insisted. ‘That's all over now. It was too long ago. We've hurt each other too much in the time in between.'

‘It doesn't have to be,' she said, reaching forwards and taking his hand. ‘If you want Stella to stay, then just tell her so. Your uncle's dead, your aunt's dead, Andrew's dead. There's nothing to stop you now. Nothing at all.'

He looked at her, amazed that the very person who had ripped them apart was trying to piece them back together again so long after the event. ‘I can't believe you're saying all this,' he said. ‘Are you really that afraid of being alone?'

‘Yes,' she said bitterly. ‘Yes I am. You children never even took notice of me, and I did everything for you. Where were your aunt and uncle when you were growing up? Can you tell me that? How often did you see them? Almost never. It was me who was there for you, wiping your tears, helping you with your homework, bandaging your knees. It was me, Owen, not them. You think you were the only one left embittered by your uncle's will? You three were like my own children. And you never, not one of you, even looked at me like I was anything other than a paid employee.'