25
THE BISHOP of Bristol looked down from the pulpit at the packed congregation of St Mary Redcliffe, and was reminded of the impact Jessica Clifton had made on so many different people in her short life. After all, a drawing of him as the Dean of Truro hung proudly in the corridor of the Bishop’s Palace. He glanced at his notes.
‘When a loved one dies in their seventies or eighties,’ he began, ‘we gather to mourn them. We recall their long lives with affection, respect and gratitude, exchanging anecdotes and happy memories. We shed a tear, of course we do, but at the same time we accept that it’s the natural order of things. When a beautiful young woman, who has displayed such a rare talent that her elders accept without question that they are not her betters, dies, we are bound to shed many more tears because we can only wonder what might have been.’
Emma had shed so many tears since she’d heard the news that she was mentally and physically exhausted. She could only wonder if there was anything she could have done to prevent her beloved daughter suffering such a cruel and unnecessary death. Of course there was. She should have told her the truth. Emma felt she was just as much to blame as anyone.
Harry, who sat beside her in the front pew, had aged a decade in a week, and wasn’t in any doubt who was to blame. Jessica’s death would continually remind him that he should have told her years ago why they had adopted her. If he had, surely she would be alive today.
Giles sat between his sisters, holding their hands for the first time in years. Or were they holding his? Grace, who disapproved of any public show of emotion, wept throughout the entire service.
Sebastian, who sat on the other side of his father, was not listening to the bishop’s oration. He no longer believed in an all-caring, all-understanding compassionate deity, who could give with one hand, then took away with the other. He’d lost his best friend, whom he’d adored, and no one could ever take her place.
Harold Guinzburg sat quietly at the back of the church. When he’d called Harry he was unaware that his life had been shattered in a single moment. He’d just wanted to share with him the triumphant news that his latest novel had gone to number one on the New York Times bestseller list.
Harold must have been surprised by his author’s lack of response, but then, how could he have known that Harry no longer cared for such baubles, and would have been content not to have sold a single copy if in exchange Jessica could be there standing by his side, and not being laid to rest in an untimely grave.
After the burial ceremony was over and everyone else had departed to continue their lives, Harry fell on his knees and remained by the graveside. His sin would not be expiated quite that easily. He had already accepted that not a day, possibly not an hour, would go by when Jessica wouldn’t barge into his thoughts, laughing, chattering, teasing. Like the bishop, he too could only wonder what might have been. Would she have married Clive? What would his grandchildren have been like? Would he have lived long enough to see her become a Royal Academician? How he wished that it was her kneeling by his grave, mourning him.
‘Forgive me,’ he said aloud.
What made it worse, he knew she would have.
CEDRIC HARDCASTLE
1964
26
‘ALL MY LIFE I’ve been considered by my fellow men to be a cautious, boring, dull sort of fellow. I have often heard myself described as a safe pair of hands. “You won’t go far wrong with Hardcastle.” It was ever thus. At school, I always fielded at long stop, and I was never asked to open the batting. In the school play, I was always the spear carrier and never the king, and when it came to exams, I passed everything, but never came in the top three. While others might have been hurt, even insulted, by such epithets, I was flattered. If you set yourself up as a fit and proper person to take care of other people’s money, then, in my opinion, these are the very qualities that should be expected of you.
‘As I approach old age, I have if anything become more cautious, more boring, and, indeed, that is the reputation I would want to take to the grave when I eventually face my maker. So it may come as something of a shock to those seated around this table that I now intend to ignore every tenet on which I have based my whole life, and it may be even more surprising that I am inviting you to do the same.’
The six other people seated around the table may not have interrupted, but they were listening intently to every word Cedric Hardcastle had to say.
‘With that in mind, I’m going to ask every one of you to assist me in destroying an evil, corrupt and unscrupulous man, so that when we are finished with him, he will be left so broken that he will never be able to harm anyone else again.
‘From a distance, I have been able to observe Don Pedro Martinez as he systematically went about destroying two decent families with whom I’ve become associated. And I must tell you that I am no longer willing to stand by and, like Pontius Pilate, wash my hands and leave it to others to do the dirty work.
‘On the other side of the cautious, boring, dull coin, is etched a figure with a reputation garnered in the City of London over a lifetime. I now intend to take advantage of that reputation by calling in favours and debts that I have stored up, like a squirrel, for decades. With that in mind, I have recently spent some considerable time devising a plan to destroy Martinez and his family, but I cannot hope for a successful outcome working on my own.’
Still no one seated around that table gave a moment’s thought to interrupting the chairman of Farthings.
‘During the past few years, I have observed the lengths to which this man is willing to go to destroy the Clifton and Barrington families, who are represented here today. I witnessed at first hand his attempt to influence a potential client of this bank, Mr Morita of Sony International, by having Farthings removed from the bidding list for a major contract, for no other reason than Sebastian Clifton was my personal assistant. We won that contract, but only because Mr Morita had the courage to stand up to Martinez, while I did nothing. Some months ago, I read an article in The Times concerning the mysterious Pierre Bouchard and the heart attack that never happened but that nevertheless caused Sir Giles Barrington to withdraw his candidacy for the leadership of the Labour Party, and I still did nothing. More recently, I attended the funeral of an innocent, highly talented young woman who drew the picture of me that you can all see on the wall beside my desk. During her funeral service, I decided I could no longer be a dull and boring man, and if it meant breaking the habits of a lifetime, so be it.
‘For the past few weeks, without Don Pedro Martinez being aware of what I was up to, I have spoken in confidence to his bankers, stockbrokers and financial advisors. All of them assumed that they were dealing with that dull fellow from Farthings, who would never consider exceeding his authority, let alone overstep the mark. I discovered that over the years, Martinez, who is a chancer, has taken several risks, while at the same time showing scant regard for the law. If my plan is to succeed, the trick will be to spot the moment when he takes one risk too many. Even then, if we are to beat him at his own game we may need to take the occasional risk ourselves.
‘You will have noticed that I have invited one other person to join us today, whose life has not been tainted by this man. My son Arnold is a barrister,’ said Cedric, nodding to the younger imprint of himself seated on his right, ‘and, like myself, he is considered a safe pair of hands, which is why I have asked him to act as my conscience and guide. Because if, for the first time in my life, I am going to bend the law to breaking point, I will need someone to represent me who is able to remain detached, dispassionate and uninvolved. Put simply, my son will act as our moral compass.
‘I will now ask him to reveal what I have in mind, so you will be in no doubt of the risk you would be taking should you decide to join me in this venture. Arnold.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Arnold Hardcastle, and much to my father’s chagrin, I chose to be a lawyer rather than a banker. When he says that I am, like him, a safe pair of hands, I consider that a compliment, because if this operation is to succeed, one of us will have to be. After studying the government’s latest finance bill, I believe I’ve found a way to make my father’s plan work, which, although not breaking the letter of the law, would certainly be ignoring its spirit. Even with that proviso, I have come up against a problem that might possibly prove insurmountable. Namely, we need to identify an individual whom no one around this table has ever met, but who feels just as passionately about bringing Don Pedro Martinez to justice as do all of you.’
Although still no one spoke, the lawyer was greeted with looks of incredulity.
‘If such a man or woman cannot be identified,’ continued Arnold Hardcastle, ‘I have advised my father to drop the whole idea and send you on your separate ways, aware that you may have to spend the rest of your days continually looking over your shoulder, never certain when or where Martinez will strike next.’ The lawyer closed his folder. ‘If you have any questions, I will try to answer them.’
‘I don’t have a question,’ said Harry, ‘but I can’t see how it’s possible to find such an individual given the circumstances. Everyone I know who has come across Martinez detests the man as much as I do, and I suspect that goes for everyone around this table.’
‘I agree,’ said Grace. ‘In fact, I’d be quite happy for us to draw straws to decide which one of us should kill him. I wouldn’t mind spending a few years in jail if it meant we could finally rid ourselves of that dreadful creature.’
‘I couldn’t help you there,’ said Arnold. ‘I specialize in company law, not criminal, so you would need to find another advocate. Should you decide to go down that route, however, there are one or two names I could recommend.’
Emma laughed for the first time since Jessica’s death, but Arnold Hardcastle didn’t.
‘I’ll bet there are at least a dozen men in Argentina who would meet those requirements,’ said Sebastian. ‘But how would we go about finding them when we don’t even know who they are?’
‘And when you did find them,’ said Arnold, ‘you would have defeated the purpose of my father’s plan, because if the action ended up in a court of law, you couldn’t claim you didn’t know of their existence.’
There followed another long silence, which was finally broken by Giles, who hadn’t spoken until then. ‘I think I’ve come across such a man.’ He had grabbed the attention of everyone around the table in a single sentence.
‘If that’s the case, Sir Giles, I will need to ask you a number of questions about this particular gentleman,’ said Arnold, ‘and the only answer that would be acceptable in law is no. Should your answer to even one of my questions be yes, then the gentleman you have in mind is not eligible to carry out my father’s plan. Is that clear?’
Giles nodded as the barrister reopened his file and Emma crossed her fingers.
‘Have you ever met this man?’
‘No.’
‘Have you ever conducted any business transactions with him, either on your own behalf or through a third party?’
‘No.’
‘Have you ever spoken to him on the telephone?’
‘No.’
‘Or written to him?’
‘No.’
‘Would you recognize him if he passed you in the street?’
‘No.’
‘And finally, Sir Giles, has he ever contacted you in your capacity as a Member of Parliament?’
‘No.’
‘Thank you, Sir Giles, you have passed the first part of the test with flying colours, but I must now move on to another series of questions that are just as important, but this time, the only acceptable answer is yes.’
‘I understand,’ said Giles.
‘Does this man have good reason to loathe Don Pedro Martinez as much as you do?’
‘Yes, I believe he does.’
‘Is he as wealthy as Martinez?’
‘Most certainly.’
‘Does he have a reputation for honesty and probity?’
‘As far as I’m aware, yes.’
‘Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, do you think he’d be willing to take a serious risk?’
‘Undoubtedly.’
‘As you have answered all my questions satisfactorily, Sir Giles, perhaps you’d be kind enough to write the gentleman’s name on the pad in front of you, without allowing anyone else around the table to see who it is.’
Giles jotted down a name, tore a sheet off the pad, folded it and passed it to the lawyer, who in turn handed it to his father.
Cedric Hardcastle unfolded the slip of paper, praying he’d never come across the man before.
‘Do you know this man, Father?’
‘Only by reputation,’ said Cedric.
‘Excellent. Then if he agrees to go along with your plan, no one around this table will be breaking the law. But, Sir Giles,’ he said, turning back to the Rt Hon. Member for Bristol Docklands, ‘you must not make contact with this man at any time, and you cannot reveal his name to any member of the Barrington or Clifton families, particularly if they are shareholders in Barrington Shipping. Were you to do so, a court might consider that you were in collusion with a third party, and therefore breaking the law. Is that understood?’
‘Yes,’ said Giles.
‘Thank you, sir,’ the lawyer said as he gathered up his papers. ‘Good luck, Pop,’ he whispered, before closing his briefcase and leaving the room without another word.
‘How can you be so confident, Giles,’ said Emma once the door had closed behind him, ‘that a man you’ve never even met will fall in with Mr Hardcastle’s plans?’
‘After Jessica had been buried, I asked one of the pall bearers who the man was who had wept throughout the service as if he’d lost a daughter and then hurried away. That was the name he gave me.’