Son of Perdition (Chronicles of Brothers) (25 page)

She drew Jason down next to her.

There was a soft knock on the door and Maxim wheeled in a silver tray of canapés.

‘Refreshments, Madam Lilian.’ He studied Jason in approval. ‘And your sedatives.’

He frowned at her, then looked at Jason. ‘She refuses to take them, Master Jason.’

Jason held out his hand out. ‘Here. She’ll take them.’

Jason placed the two tablets gently in Lilian’s palm, then gave her the glass of water.

‘Drink it, Mother,’ he instructed. ‘You’ve got a stressful few days ahead with the funeral.’

Lilian smiled faintly.

‘Lily’s coming for Christmas lunch with us.’

‘I know. Now drink up.’ He smiled gently at her. Lilian took the pills.

‘Good girl.’

‘Madam Lilian, I am on the other end of your bell if you require me in the night,’ Maxim said. Bowing, he disappeared through the drawing-room doors.

Jason stood.

‘It’s late, Mother. You’ve got a long day tomorrow. You need your rest.’

He helped Lilian to her feet and they stood together in the dark for a long moment.

Finally, Jason spoke. ‘I miss Nick,’ he whispered.

Lilian held his face in her hands. She looked deeply into his eyes.

‘When he was very young, you were his hero. All his life until the accident, he relied on your strength – the strength he knew he never had . . . ’

She clasped Jason to her.

‘He loved you, Jason.’ She kissed him tenderly on his head as she had done when he was a boy.

‘He was too soft,’ Jason mumbled. ‘He was a fool.’

Tears streamed down Jason’s cheeks.

‘A fool, but I loved him, Mother.’

Jason strode from the room, leaving Lilian staring alone into the darkness.

Chapter Twenty-six

The Funeral

28 December 2021
All Souls Church, Langham Place, London

Jason stood inside the foyer of the church, safely out of sight of the media circus, as Adrian’s cavalcade drew up outside the circular columned portico of All Souls Church. Jason squinted as the light from the paparazzi’s ever-present cameras flashed.

Adrian De Vere had arrived.

Jason turned and walked down the aisle towards the front row of the church. It was crammed to overflowing with a‘Who’s Who’ of both British and American political and corporate society. He took mental notes as he walked. On the right-hand side of the aisle he recognized four MPs, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, the newly elected Conservative Prime Minister, the President of France, the King of the Netherlands and four lesser-known British royals. On the left-hand side sat the chairmen of the Bank of England and North Sea Oil, along with four US congressmen and three senators he recognized from the news, including one from New York with whom he played golf every month.

His expression softened as he recognized the distinguished features of Xavier Chessler, President of the World Bank – his godfather.

Jason paused and leaned over Chessler’s shoulder.

‘Uncle Xavier,’ he said. Chessler looked up.

‘Jason.’ He stood and embraced him. ‘I’m so sorry, my boy, it’s devastating. Nick was so young.’

Jason nodded.

‘I had breakfast with your mother this morning,’ Chessler said. ‘You know we’ll look after her.’

Jason smiled. ‘You’ve been a brick, Uncle Xavier. I don’t know what she would have done without you.’

‘Your father was my oldest friend. I’m here for you too, Jason. Why don’t we catch up this week in New York?’

‘I’ll be back on Thursday.’

‘How about that eclectic bar, Nick’s favourite?’

Jason nodded. ‘The Gramercy,’ he said, softly. ‘The Rose Bar.’

Chessler smiled. ‘I met him there last summer. Let’s say Thursday night. Nine-thirty. In the Rose Bar. For a toast to Nick.’

‘A toast to Nick,’ Jason echoed.

He clasped Chessler’s hand, then walked past the remaining two rows, full of Nick’s friends. He recognized two international models, a leading British recording artist, three famous Hollywood actors, celebrities from a top British reality TV show and . . . he stopped. He’d know that profile anywhere even covered by a black veil.

Julia.

He turned away abruptlyand made his way past the minders to the front row of chairs, where Lilian sat staring straight ahead, dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Lily sat on her right. Alex and Polly on her left.

‘Dad.’ Lily pulled Jason down next to her, her eyes red-rimmed from sobbing. She clasped his hand.

‘Dad, I’m worried about Alex. He’s closed us all out.’

Jason frowned. He leaned forward and spoke to Alex ‘Sorry, bud. I know how close you were.’

Alex scowled at Jason, then returned to staring into his hymn book.

Adrian slipped into the row. He looked worn to the point of exhaustion.

He sidled past Jason to embrace Lilian and kiss Lily on both cheeks before sitting down next to Jason. Directly behind Adrian sat Guber and Travis.

‘Dad, don’t you even feel bad you never even returned Nick’s calls?’ Lily whispered.

Lilian shook her head warningly at her grandchild.

‘Of course he feels bad,’ she said, softly.

Adrian took Lily’s hand. ‘He just can’t admit it. You know your Dad. Stubborn as always.’

Lilian smiled faintly. ‘Just like his father.’

‘Poor Nick.’ Adrian sighed deeply. ‘Last time I saw him at Mother’s birthday supper in Rome, he was skin and bone.’

Jason frowned. ‘Wasn’t he with you the night of his accident?’

Adrian shook his head. ‘He was on his
way
to the Abbey when he crashed. But, no, he didn’t arrive.’

Jason frowned. ‘He was travelling late.’

‘You know Nick.’ Adrian shrugged, ‘He was meant to arrive at noon. He phoned, said he’d been held up and would arrive late.’

He looked at Jason. ‘He never arrived.’

Jason nodded. ‘It’s just strange, that’s all. He left me a message which sounded like he’d just been with you. Some incoherent rambling about you master-minding an insane barter deal with the Israelis. And the Ark of the Covenant.’

‘Did he say anything else?’

‘No.’ Jason glanced in the direction of Julia. She was gazing directly at him.

‘Who’s that with your mother?’ he whispered to Lily.

‘It’s Callum Vickers. Good-looking, isn’t he?’ She waited for effect. ‘And young.’

Jason turned round again, on the pretence of getting Xavier Chessler’s attention.

Julia was now in deep conversation with the man who he presumed was Vickers. He frowned.
The guy must be at least ten years younger than her. Longish blond hair, tan. Thirty, thirty-two max. Probably an actor or a model. One of Julia’s PR celebrity types.

Lily looked at him intently. She read her father like a book.

‘He’s actually a top London surgeon, Dad,’ she declared.

‘Plastic surgeon, I’ll bet.’

Lily heaved a sigh. ‘Neuro, actually.’

Jason turned round for one more look at Callum Vickers, then stood up to pray for the soul of his youngest brother – Nicholas De Vere.

* * *

Maxim bent over the bonnet of the Bentley, painstakingly polishing the winged badge.

‘A butler. How appropriate.’

The familiar voice came from directly behind him. Maxim froze.

Charsoc clasped and unclasped his long fingers, cracking his knuckles loudly. ‘My, my, Xacheriel. From taking my throne at the right hand of Jether the Just to buffing the automotive ornaments of men. Oh, how thou hast fallen.’

Maxim continued his deliberate polishing.

Charsoc studied Maxim’s untameable mop of wiry hair for a moment, then fished a Mason Pearson hairbrush from his carpet bag and held it out.

‘My promise.’

At that moment, Jason rounded the corner with Lily in her wheelchair, followed by Jontil Purvis.

He frowned. ‘Von Slagel.’

Charsoc bowed slightly. ‘Mr De Vere.’

Jason looked at the hairbrush. He raised an eyebrow.

‘You
know
Von Slagel, Maxim?’

Maxim rose to his full height. He turned to face Charsoc.

‘I have had the displeasure of his acquaintance in my former life.’ He glared down at the hairbrush. ‘
Before
I went into service, Master Jason.’

Maxim opened the car door for Lily and eased her into the Bentley as Jason folded up the wheelchair. Jason shook his head, baffled.

‘Maxim worked for you, Von Slagel?’

Charsoc smiled thinly. ‘Many years ago. He served me well.’

Jason took another look at the hairbrush, then at Maxim’s hair, grinned and climbed in next to Lily.

Maxim closed the door, then turned to face Charsoc.

‘You have no place here.’

‘Oh, but you see, Xacheriel, I do. Jason De Vere’s demise after the Seventh Seal is opened is essential to our strategy.’

He looked at Maxim through narrowed eyes.

‘I know Jether resides somewhere on this dirty little planet.’

Maxim stood expressionless.

‘I shall find him.’

Maxim climbed into the front seat and drove off leaving Charsoc standing in the falling rain.

Lanesborough Hotel, London

Jason stood at the far side of the conservatory under the high glass roof, watching Adrian make small talk with Lord Kitchingham, former chairman of BP, a man with a ruddy face and a waxed moustache. Behind him was the normal line-up of politicians, industrial magnates and oil barons, all fawning over the recently inaugurated President of the new European superstate.

Jason read his brother at a glance. Anyone watching the animated young politician would conclude he was vitally engaged in conversation, but Jason knew that in reality he was bored. His left hand tapping rhythmically on an antique table next to him gave it away Jason walked towards him, side-stepping the discreetly placed Secret Service men.

‘Hey, pal,’ he whispered. ‘Need a drink?’

He put his arm around Adrian’s back. Guber frowned. Jason ignored him and surveyed an escape route.

Adrian shook hands with the effusive Lord Kitchingham and allowed himself to be guided by his elder brother towards the well stocked-bar.

‘Sir James Fulmore,’ Jason muttered, indicating a stout gentleman with a bow tie. ‘He’ll be wanting your support.’

‘And Owen Seymour – ex-governor of the BBC – he’ll be wanting my support.’

‘Why Babylon?’ Jason asked as they entered the bar.

Adrian nodded. ‘After the Treaty’s signed on 7 January, the oil will start flowing again like Niagara Falls. Everybody wants a share in Babylon.’

Jason turned to the bartender. ‘Whisky.’ He looked enquiringly at Adrian.

‘Perrier.’

Jason shrugged. ‘Perrier water for the European President.’

The bartender nodded, staring at Adrian, awestruck.

Jason leaned against the bar. ‘Levine told me the New York and Moscow stock exchanges move permanently in July.’

Adrian nodded. ‘And Bombay. The entire Asia Pacific exchange moved last month – Shanghai, Hong Kong, Tokyo, and Milan, Frankfurt and London will become permanent fixtures in the new International Exchange Edifice in January.’

‘You’ve got to admit, though,’ Jason continued, ‘the catalyst was the United Nations move from New York to Babylon in July.’

Adrian nodded. ‘That and the fact that the EU and the World Bank pumped in over two trillion dollars to reconstruct the city.’ He sipped his Perrier water.

‘And bulldozed Saddam Hussein’s prehistoric blot on the landscape,’ Jason added, ‘as Nick used to call it.’

They both fell silent at the mention of Nick’s name.

‘Seriously, are you okay?’ Jason asked. ‘The funeral I mean. It must bring back bad memories.’

Adrian looked out at the view of Hyde Park. ‘You mean Melissa and the baby?’

Jason nodded.

Adrian continued his staring, expressionless. ‘It’ll take years, Jason.’ he hesitated. ‘To get over their deaths, I mean.’

Jason studied Adrian intently. Adrian wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

‘Sorry, pal. Didn’t mean to upset you,’ Jason said.

Adrian instantly regained his composure.

‘It’s okay. I have to learn to live with my own ghosts.’

Jason took a slug of his whisky and slammed the glass down on the polished countertop. He surveyed the room.

‘I hate these things. My social skills have completely slipped.’

A faint smile glimmered on Adrian’s lips. He put his hand on Jason’s arm.

‘Aw, c’mon. You never had any social skills.’

Jason grinned just as Lilian came up to them, followed by a posse of well-heeled suits whom she proceeded to introduce.

Owen Seymour, the former BBC man, rushed over to join them.

‘Jason, please accept my sincerest regrets.’ He put his hand out to Adrian. ‘Mr President.’

‘Well, Mother,’ Jason said, drawing Lilian to his side and leaning closely to her. ‘between Adrian and myself, it looks like we’ve got both the political arena and the media sown up.’

Jason continued. Relentless. ‘They all want something.’ He downed the whisky. ‘And it wasn’t Nick.’

Lilian removed the glass from Jason’s hand and placed it firmly on the bar counter.

Adrian rested his hand affectionately on Jason’s shoulder.

‘It’s politics, Jason. We all play it.’ He grinned. ‘You do, too. Ah, there’s the Queen of Spin.’ He looked at Jason, mischief in his eyes. ‘Julia.’

Jason paled, took a deep breath and steeled himself.

‘Levine, another whisky.’ He watched Julia coming towards him with Lily in tow. ‘A big one.’

Lilian turned round from her guests.

‘That’s your third, Jason,’ she whispered. ‘
And
you refused breakfast.’

‘Trust me, Mother,’ he muttered, watching Julia glide towards him in her five-inch Chloe heels and a close-fitting black Chanel suit. ‘This is no time to be sober.’

Lilian reached out her hand to Julia.

‘Julia – meet Lord and Lady Kirkpatrick. Margaret – this is the daughter I never had – Julia St Cartier.’

Jason seethed as Julia charmed Lilian’s friends. Her long ash-blonde hair was swept up beneath a classic black hat with a long black tulle veil.