‘There’s something in what you say. Well, are you offering me something else to celebrate? Has my adopted son come into enormous wealth or a title?’
‘No title. Some wealth I guess, if he’s the man. Other considerations are more important. I’m concerned about the family.’
He drank again and smacked his lips. ‘You should be. It pains me to say it of someone I raised, but if anything good is going to happen to Warwick it will be a colossal injustice. He’s one of the most worthless people that ever lived.’
This pronouncement seemed to give Keir heart.
‘He’s rubbish,’ he said. His father said nothing and his confidence went up. ‘Father I simply can’t believe this. He’s snooping about something else.’
All that did was tell me that there was something else to snoop about. Baudin senior tilted his head at him and he subsided.
‘Keir was born less than a year after we took Warwick. It was one of those cases. The two boys never got along.’
I nodded. ‘His character isn’t really my concern. I’d better come clean with you. I’m pretty sure he is the man I want. A physical similarity to other members of the family would help. Do you have a photograph of him?’
‘No,’ Keir snapped. ‘We have nothing.’
Something in the way he said it made panic jump in me. ‘You don’t mean he’s dead?’ Then I remembered Keir’s earlier remark.
The relief must have showed. ‘This is important to you, Mr Hardy?’ Baudin’s face seemed to lose flesh with the effort of talking.
‘Yes. Do you know where Warwick is now?’
I expelled smoke and waited for an answer. Keir supplied it from the middle of a smirk across his pasty face.
‘No, we don’t.’
Baudin pere didn’t contradict him. Instead he drank the rest of his whisky and set the glass down as if he’d lost interest in liquor forever.
‘That boy was the trial of my life,’ he said in his faint, falling tones. ‘Everything else I touched turned out just right except… except Warwick. He was trouble from the start. Enormously gifted but a monster. He killed my wife. She loved him more than me, more than Keir. She called him her marvellous boy and he killed her with worry and shame.’
‘What sort of trouble Mr Baudin?’
‘Everything — cars, girls, drink, cheques. Everything.’
‘Where was this?’
‘Everywhere. Here, Sydney, London, New York, Rome.’
Keir was loving it but he was a hypocrite to the core. ‘Really father, is this wise? I don’t trust this man an inch. His story is quite unbelievable. He’s in this with Warwick, you can bet your life on it.’
‘Bet my life,’ the old man said dreamily. ‘A good expression for the young. It doesn’t carry much punch at my age. It might interest you to know, Keir, that I’d bet my life Mr Hardy here is telling the truth.’
‘Why?’ Keir said petulantly.
‘God boy, you’d better sharpen up. If you can’t judge character better than that you’ll be on the dole before I’m cold. Have a look at the man for Christ’s sake, does he look like a confidence trickster?’
‘He’s in a cheap trade,’ Keir muttered.
‘There!’ the father said triumphantly. ‘There! You accept that he’s an enquiry agent. You’re confused. You’re believing what you want to believe.’
The unequal contest was starting to bore me. I wanted facts and leads, not a sparring match. All I had were impressions and hostilities; it would be hard to concoct a professional-looking report for Lady Catherine on what I had so far. The cigarette was a dead stub between my fingers.
‘Let me get this straight, Mr Baudin. Your son is something of a black sheep, or was. But he’s a grown man now. You mentioned gifts, what did you mean?’
‘Everything again,’ Baudin said slowly. ‘He was brilliant at everything. God you should have seen him run… cricket… tennis
… matriculated with honours…’ He was weary. The whisky seemed to have hit him. His eyelids were flickering as if he were fighting to keep them up. Keir watched him intently and expertly and I realised that this was what he had on him — the staying power of fewer years on the clock.
‘My father is tired, Hardy, and I have nothing to say to you.’
‘When did you last see your brother?’ I snapped.
‘Three years ago.’ Again, it came out too quickly; my firmest impression of this wispy young-old man was that he lied almost every time he opened his mouth. ‘You have to go,’ he said smugly.
There was no arguing with it, the old man was drooping. I put in a last desperate question.
‘Mr Baudin, what was the last address you had for Warwick?’
‘Sydney,’ the old man whispered.
‘He’s wandering,’ Keir said brightly. ‘It was London, a slum in Islington. Don’t make the trip, it wouldn’t be worth it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Warwick is a drunk among other things. His last card was a drunken…’ He stopped as if he was unhappy at giving this information away but I misinterpreted him. His pale face turned blotchy with anger and he seemed to be recalling nursery days. His voice went soft, almost babyish.
‘I wouldn’t put it past Warwick to dream up something like this. He hates me.’ It was interesting psychologically but I needed facts.
‘Have you got the card?’ I said.
‘What? No. I tore it up. Get out, get out!’
A light snore from the old man did the trick. Baudin senior was dead asleep in his chair. His hand rested an inch away from his glass which still held a few drops of whisky, just a few.
15
The sky had darkened and the party had thinned by the time I got outside. The secretary was hovering and he bustled back into the house when he saw me. I wondered which Baudin he served, Senior or Junior, or if he knew. Kay was sitting under a tree a little apart from the hard core drinkers. I walked over to her with that little pilot light of excitement burning.
‘Did you get what you wanted?’ She got up smoothly but didn’t seem to mind my token help in the form of a hand on her arm. Her arm was cool and soft and I kept hold of it.
‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I’m a bit too tired to think about it right now. I’ll worry about it later. Do you want another drink here or will we go somewhere else?’
‘I’d like to eat. I’m starving.’
She went into the house and came out with a shoulder bag. We went down the drive past the remaining imported cars to my honest Falcon.
‘No car?’ I said.
‘Cab — expenses.’
She untangled the crescents and circuits for me and steered me towards the city. Otherwise she was quiet and didn’t volunteer much. I had to prompt her hard to find out that she worked two days a week at the university as a research assistant in Political Science and two days as a feature writer for The Canberra Times. She preferred the journalism but the two jobs complemented each other. We pulled into a big parking lot behind a department store and she stared out at the city lights.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m not used to talking about myself.’
