That was certainly true enough, Julian thought.
“—and that he'd finally come to understand that if he didn't mend his ways, he'd drive you off as well. Of course, I told him that you'd never leave him. After all, anyone can see you're devoted. But the point is that he wants to change. He's ready to change. And I've been looking for you because … Well, I had to tell you. Aren't you pleased? And I'm not making up a word of what happened. It was bottle after bottle. Gin down the drain and bottle smashed in the sink.”
Julian knew at heart that there was more than one way to look at what his father had done. True as it might be that he wanted to get off the drink, like all good alcoholics he could also be doing nothing more than positioning his players where he wanted them. The only question was why he might be positioning his players at this precise moment. What did he want and what did wanting it now mean?
On the other hand, what if this time his father actually meant what he said? Julian wondered. What if a clinic and whatever it was that could follow a clinic would be enough to cure him? How could he—the only child Jeremy had left with enough concern to do something about the situation—begin to deny him that opportunity? Especially when it would take so damn little to obtain the opportunity for him.
Julian said, “I'm finished in here. Let's walk back to the house,” in a bid for time to gather his thoughts.
They left the kennels. They started down the overgrown lane. He said, “Dad's talked about giving up booze before. He's even done it. But he only makes it for a few weeks. Well … once it must have been three and a half months. But apparently now he's come to believe—”
“That he can do it.” Samantha finished the thought for him and linked her arm with his. She squeezed gently, “Julie, you should have seen him. If you had done, you'd know. I think that the key to success this time round is if we can come up with a plan that will help him. Obviously, it's done no good in the past to pour out the gin, has it?” She gave him an earnest gaze, perhaps seeking to see if she'd somehow offended him by pointing out what he'd previously done to attempt to wean his father from the piss. “And we can't exactly stop him going into an off-licence, can we?”
“Not to mention barring him from every hotel and pub from here to Manchester.”
“Right. So if there's a way … Julian, surely we can put our heads together and come up with something.”
Julian saw that his cousin had just given him the perfect opportunity to speak to her about money for the clinic. But the words that went with that opportunity were large and unpalatable, and they stuck in his throat like a piece of rotten meat. How could he ask her for money? For that much money? How could he say Could you give us ten thousand quid, Sam? Not lend us, Sam—because there wasn't a snowball's chance in the Sahara that he'd be able to repay her anytime soon—but give us the money. Lots of it. And soon, before Jeremy changes his mind. Please make an investment in a yammering drunk who's never kept his word in his life.
Julian couldn't do it. Despite his promises to his father, he found that face-to-face with his cousin, he couldn't even begin to try.
As they reached the end of the lane and crossed the old road to make for the house, a silver Bentley pulled round the side of the building. It was followed by a panda car. Two uniformed constables emerged first, peering round the grounds as if they expected ninja warriors to be lurking in the bushes. Out of the Bentley climbed the tall blond detective who'd first come to Broughton Manor with Inspector Hanken.
His cousin laid a hand on Julian's arm. Through it, he could feel how she'd stiffened.
“Make sure the house is secure,” DI Lynley said to the constables, whom he introduced as DCs Emmes and Benson. “Then do the grounds. It's probably best to start with the gardens. Then go on to the kennel area and the woods.”
Emmes and Benson ducked inside the courtyard gate. Julian watched, astonished. Samantha was the one who said, “Hang on, you lot,” and her tone was angry. “What the hell are you doing, Inspector? Do you have a warrant? What right have you to barge into our lives and—”
“I need you inside the house,” Lynley told her. “Quickly. And now.”
“What?” Samantha sounded incredulous. “If you think we're going to jump just because you say so, you'd better think again.”
Julian found his voice. “What's going on?”
“You can see what's going on,” Samantha said. “This twit has decided to search Broughton Manor. He's not got a single reason in hell to tear things apart, aside from the fact that you and Nicola were involved. Which, apparently, is some sort of crime. I want to see your warrant, Inspector.”
Lynley came forward and took her by the arm. She said, “Get your hands off me,” and tried to shake his grip.
He said, “Mr. Britton's in danger. I'd like him out of sight.”