Barbara Taylor Bradford – The Complete Ravenscar Trilogy: The Ravenscar Dynasty, Heirs of Ravenscar, Being Elizabeth (страница 32)
Nan stared into the room absently, thinking of young Tom. How Neville had grieved in the last few weeks. But she had helped him as best she could, and so had his brother John…Johnny they all called him, such a kind and gentle young man.
She would never dare say a wrong word about Johnny to Neville, but she knew deep in her heart that it was Ned who held his loyalty and love. She also knew that Edward Deravenel knew this, and sometimes it disturbed her.
Instinct, she thought. I have instinctive feelings about such things, instincts I cannot and must not fault. I’m right more often than I am wrong, aren’t I?
It was the same with young Richard. There were times when Neville treated him like the son he had not yet had but hoped one day to have; Richard was the stand-in perhaps, yes, in a sense it
Then there was George, the middle Deravenel brother. He had no loyalty to anyone but himself, of that she was utterly certain. One day it will all explode, go up in smoke, Nan said to herself, and then wondered why she had had such an irrational and silly thought.
The two clans of Watkins and Deravenel were intertwined forever. An unbreakable bond. That was what they all said. She just hoped it was true…
The four men who were seated at the table in Neville’s handsomely-furnished dining room were quite different in style and personality, for the most part as disparate as any men could be.
Seated at the head of the table was the host. A patrician of undoubted aristocratic stock, slender, dark-haired, with those mesmerizing turquoise eyes in his lean, good-looking face, he was elegance personified.
Neville’s superbly-cut, dark-grey worsted suit was from the best tailor in London. It looked it. His white shirt, made of the finest blend of Egyptian cotton, was enhanced by a deep-purple silk cravat, elaborately tied in a fancy knot and finished with a discreet diamond pin. He wore a crested signet ring; heavy gold cufflinks fastened his French cuffs; his handmade shoes shone like glass. Neville had dressed with flair and style, and today he more than lived up to his reputation as a dandy, the Beau Brummell of his time.
At the other end of the table sat his cousin Edward Deravenel. Ned dominated the scene because of his height and physique, his handsome face, startling blue eyes and red-gold hair. Edward also wore a well-tailored Savile Row suit, although one not quite as expensive as that of his cousin. Dark blue in colour, it had the popular flared frock coat and narrowed trousers; his shirt was white, his jewellery simple—his father’s gold pocket watch and cufflinks. The pearl stick pin which he now treasured so much was fastened in his dark blue cravat.
Edward’s overwhelming presence, his aura of raw masculinity and sex appeal was balanced by his charm and amiability, his friendly smile and his genuine interest in other people. Although a man of exceptional personal appeal to women, he was, nonetheless, well liked by other men.
Facing each other across the long mahogany table were Alfredo Oliveri and Amos Finnister. They appeared to be comfortable and at ease with each other, as well as with the patrician cousins and their luxurious surroundings.
Despite having had an Italian father, Alfredo appeared very English in his plain, dark grey suit, with his carrot top red hair, pale skin and freckles. Of medium height, he was slight of build and looked much younger than his forty-one years. A product of the lower middle class, he was a clever man with a good brain who had been well educated, and he was a hard worker. His refined manner and pleasant demeanour attracted people to him, and gave them confidence in him.
Amos Finnister was in his mid-forties, tall and thin with a slight stoop. His jet black hair was touched with strands of grey, but his pencil-thin moustache was as black as his coal-dark eyes. He, too, was from the lower middle class. Intelligent, worldly wise, he was a man with strong instincts about people; it was this psychological insight into people which made him such an excellent private investigator.
Amos had started his professional life as a policeman on the beat, before turning to private investigating. His years with the police force had served him well, and he had continued to nurture most of his contacts long after he had left the force. Contacts who were as diverse as Scotland Yard detectives and coroners, thugs, thieves and underworld characters, with information to deal or information to sell.
Conservatively dressed in a black suit this afternoon, he was always unremarkable in his appearance; Amos could move through the diversely different worlds he travelled without causing a single ripple, or drawing attention to himself. He liked to boast that he was invisible, and this was true.
Despite their differences, the four men were, conversely, very similar. They all had integrity, a deeply ingrained sense of duty and of what was right and wrong. They also now shared the same motive, which was to put Edward Deravenel in the seat of power at Deravenels. They believed, indeed were convinced, that as Richard Deravenel’s son he was the true and rightful heir to the company, knew without a trace of doubt that they were righting a terrible wrong committed over sixty years ago.
Each of them had vowed to stop at nothing in order to achieve their goal, fulfil their purpose. And because they were so certain they were fighting a deadly enemy there were no holds barred.
For the last hour over lunch they had touched on many subjects which interested them, but had not mentioned the business at hand. Neville had made it clear, as they had walked across the hall to the dining room, that it would be wiser to wait until they were alone again before discussing their imminent plans.
Now, as they sipped their coffee and nursed their balloons of Calvados, Neville spoke about their current business.
He said quietly, ‘So, let us now review things.’ Turning to Amos, he went on, ‘You have given us the best ammunition so far, the knowledge that Grant is most probably insane. And you
Amos nodded. ‘Consider it done. And my people will take any other records pertaining to Grant. We’ll make a good job of it, have no fear, sir.’
‘Excellent, and I think now would be a good time to fill us in about John Summers and his crew. You did say you had information.’
Amos shifted slightly in the chair, and cleared his throat. ‘That’s right, Mr Watkins, I do. However, about Summers himself, there’s nothing, nothing at all. He’s as clean as a whistle. And so is Margot Grant, by the way, except for the resurfacing of that old rumour about her son’s legitimacy. But some of the others, well, they’re tarnished, sir, and in my opinion that plays in our favour.’
His three companions leaned forward, looked at him eagerly, alertly.
Amos smiled thinly, as he explained, ‘They are so tarnished, in fact, they have left themselves wide open to blackmail.’
‘Have they now?’ Neville exclaimed, his eyes narrowing. But he was not at all surprised, having a low opinion of the Grant faction. ‘Please do fill us in, Amos.’
‘James Cliff is finding himself in an extremely difficult situation. He has rather foolishly antagonized both his wife and his mistress. He’s caught in a vice between the two of them, who are both tough, hard-bitten and cold-hearted females. Each is demanding more of his time, his constant presence. There’s a strong rumour that his mistress is pregnant, which would really throw a spanner in the works if it were true, since his wife is the one with the money.’ He began to chuckle.
Everyone laughed with Amos, and Neville said disparagingly, ‘Yet another fool about to take a fall.’
Amos continued, ‘Then there’s Philip Dever, a secret homosexual with a hot young buck for his lover. No one knows this, of course, including his wife. And then there is Jack Beaufield, whom, I have discovered, has extremely sticky fingers. Financial problems and complications in his last position at another company. Not too careful, our Jack, when it comes to other people’s money. And that’s all I have at the moment, but there’ll be more, I’m quite sure of that, sir. My operatives are still digging.’
‘Well done, very well done indeed,’ Neville said, and took a long swallow of the brandy.
‘I’m wondering about Aubrey Masters,’ Edward began, and his eyes met Oliveri’s. Ned went on, ‘Finnister, did you manage to get anything at all on the head of the mining division?’
‘Not a lot, Mr Edward,’ Amos replied. ‘Masters is considered to be a little weird, in fact, by the other employees. He’s a vegetarian, and obviously there’s nothing amiss in that, except that he does follow a strange diet, consuming roots, seeds, pods, flowers, grains and all manner of rather unusual things, and he’s attempted to get others to join him. With no success, I might add. He has a wife but no children, as you no doubt know. The wife stays in the background, a bit of a recluse, seemingly. He’s considered to be an indifferent manager by some of his staff, dismissed by many as ineffectual and boring, and he’s definitely not popular. Seemingly, he doesn’t like to travel, which his staff have taken umbrage to because he is the head of the mining division.’