'Staying with friends.'
'I offered him a bed here,' he said angrily, 'but I'm not good enough, I suppose.'
'He wanted to be away from the family,' I said neutrally.
'But he's with you.'
'No, not any more.'
He seemed to relax a little at the news. 'Did you quarrel again?' he said hopefully.
We were still standing in the centre of the room, as the offer of a drink hadn't extended to a chair also. There were fat chintz- covered armchairs in a stylised flower pattern on a mottled grey carpet, heavy red curtains and a brick fireplace with a newly-lit fire burning. I'd been in his house about as seldom as in Ferdinand's, and I'd never been upstairs.
'We haven't quarrelled,' I said. 'Do you remember when old Fred blew up the tree stump?'
He found no difficulty in the change of subject. 'Ferdinand said you'd asked that,' he said. 'Yes, of course I remember.'
'Did Fred show you how he set off the explosive?'
'No, he damn well didn't. You're not trying to make out that I blew up the house, are you?' His anger always near the surface, stoked up a couple of notches. 'No,' I said calmly. 'I should have said, did Fred show you or anyone else how he set off the explosive.'
'I can only speak for myself,' he said distinctly, 'and the answer is no.'
Gervase was heavy and, I thought, getting heavier. His suit looked filled. I had never quite grown to his height. He was the tallest and biggest of all Malcolm's children and easily the most forceful. He looked a strong successful man, and he was cracking up for lack of a piece of paper that no one gave a damn about except himself. Perhaps, I thought, there was something of that obsessive ness in us all. In some it was healthy, in others destructive, but the gene that had given Malcolm his Midas obsession with gold had been a dominant strain.
Gervase said, 'Will Malcolm ante up anything before he dies?' His voice was as usual loud and domineering, but I looked at him speculatively over my glass. There had been an odd sub-note of desperation, as if it weren't just of academic interest to him, but essential. Norman West's notes recycled themselves: 'lost his nerve and was selling only gilts. Too much playing safe was bad stockbroking…' Gervase, who had seemed comfortably fixed, might all of a sudden not be.
I answered the words of the question, not the implications. 'I did ask him to. He said he would think about it.'
'Bloody old fool,' Gervase said violently. 'He's playing bloody games with us. Chucking the stuff away just to spite us. Buying bloody horses. I could strangle him.' He stopped as if shocked at what he'd more or less shouted with conviction. 'Figure of speech,' he said, hard-eyed.
'I'll try again,' I said, ignoring it, 'but Vivien tried, and rubbed him up the wrong way so that he stuck his toes in. Malcolm's obstinate, the way we all are, and the more anyone tries to push him, the harder he'll resist.'
'It's you that got him to buy horses. He wouldn't have thought of it on his own He was glaring at me. 'Two million pounds for a bloody colt. Do you realise what two million pounds means? Have you any idea? Two million pounds for a four-legged nothing? He's raving mad. Two million pounds invested in any one of us would give us freedom from worry for the rest of our lives, and he goes and spends it on a horse. Retarded children are bad enough, half a million for retarded children… but that's not enough for him, is it? Oh no. He buys that bloody horse Blue Clancy, and how many more millions did that cost him? How many?' He was insistent, belligerent, demanding, his chin thrust aggressively forward. 'He can afford it,' I said. 'I think he's very rich.'
'Think!' Gervase grew even angrier. 'How do you know he isn't flinging away every penny? I'll find a way of stopping him. He's got to be stopped.'
He suddenly stretched out his free hand and plucked my half-full glass from my grasp.
'Go on, get out of here,' he said. 'I've had enough.'
I didn't move. I said, 'Throwing me out won't solve any problems.'
'It'll make a bloody good start.' He put both glasses on the table and looked ready to put thought into action.
'When Malcolm fled to Cambridge,' I said, 'did Alicia tell you where he was?'
'What?' It stopped him momentarily. 'I don't know what you're talking about. Go on, get out.'
'Did you telephone to Malcolm's hotel in Cambridge?'
He hardly listened. He embarked on a heartfelt tirade. 'I'm fed up with your sneers and your airs and graces. You think you're better than me, you always have, and you're not. You've always weasel led into Malcolm's good books and set him against us and he's blind and stupid about you… and get out.' He stepped forward threateningly, one hand in a fist.
'But you still want me to plead your case,' I said, standing still.
His mouth opened but no words came out.
'Alicia tells you I sneer at you,'I said, 'but I don't. She tells you lies, you believe them. I've never set Malcolm against you. You hit me now, and I might think of it. If you want me to try to get him to cough up, you'll put that fist down and give me my scotch back, and I'll drink it and go.'
After a long staring pause, he turned his back on me. I took it as agreement to the terms and picked up one of the glasses, not sure whether it was mine or his.
It Was his! The drink was much stronger, hardly any water in it at all. I put it down and picked up the other. He didn't turn round, didn't notice.
'Gervase,' I said dispassionately, 'try a psychiatrist.'
'Mind your own bloody business.'
I drank a mouthful of scotch but as a token only, and put the glass down again.
'Goodbye,' I said.
He still showed me his back, and was silent. I shrugged wryly and went out into the hall. Ursula and the two girls stood in the kitchen doorway looking anxious. I smiled at them lopsidedly and said to Ursula, 'We'll get through it somehow.'
'I hope so.' Forlorn hope, she was saying.
'I'll be back,' I said, not knowing if I meant it, but meaning anyway that anything I could do to help her or Gervase, I would do.
I let myself out of the front door quietly, and back at Cookham telephoned to the Canders in Lexington. I talked to Mrs Cander; Sally.
Malcolm had gone to Stamford, Connecticut with Ramsey, she said. She thought they were fixing some kind of deal. She and Dave had really enjoyed Malcolm's visit and Malcolm had just loved the horse farms. Yes, of course she had Ramsey's phone number, he was an old friend. She read it out to me. I thanked her and she said sure thing and to have a nice day.
Ramsey and Malcolm were out. A woman who answered said to try at five-thirty. I tried at five-thirty Connecticut time and they were still out. The woman said Mr Osborn was a busy man and would I like to leave a message. I asked her to tell Mr Pembroke that his son Ian had phoned, but that there was no special news. She would do that, she said.
I went to bed and in the morning rode out on the Downs, and afterwards, from the house of the trainer whose horses I was riding, got through to Superintendent Yale's police station. He was there and came on the line.
'Where are you?'
'At the moment in a racing stable near Lambourn.'
'And your father?'
'I don't know.'
He made a disbelieving grunt. 'What time could you meet me at Quantum House?'
I looked at my watch. 'In riding clothes,' I said, 'in forty-five minutes. If you want me to change, add on an hour.'
'Come as you are,' he said. 'Mr Smith says there's something to see.'
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
