independence, after all.”
Charles Whitstable looked as embarrassed as a captain of industry could ever be seen to be. “Well, I couldn’t completely abolish the system. But the Calcutta police were becoming suspicious. I had to take control. I had the family’s best interests at heart. The machine provided the competitors of those marked for removal because it was regularly updated in London by Tomlins. I had no idea that the system had begun to backfire, or that it would kill my own family. James Makepeace Whitstable used everyone – his craftsmen, his lawyers, the heirs of his most loyal members of staff. That was the simple beauty of his scheme. All the dirty work was done overseas, thereby keeping his own hands clean. James never dreamed that one day it would all come home.”
“That was why the assassins used such old-fashioned methods of execution,” May realized. “They were working to a tried and trusted formula. When Max Jacob’s killer used cottonmouth snake venom, it was probably the closest he could get to a native Indian reptile.”
“What an apt Victorian process,” snorted Bryant. “Butcher your rivals, dupe the locals, and improve your own fortune. If anyone gets caught it’s only an invisible foreigner, a third-class citizen, and who’ll believe him against the word of a white man? So men like poor Denjhi had their lives destroyed by the debts of their forefathers. His conscience prevented him from killing Daisy Whitstable, so he was used again. But he beat the system a second time. Instead of lethally poisoning Peggy Harmsworth, he diluted the concoction, hoping to spare her life without failing to honour his debt.” Bryant rose and refastened his shapeless brown cardigan. “You have the deaths of your own family on your conscience. It’ll be interesting to see if we can make you pay in the courtroom.”
? Seventy-Seven Clocks ?
54
Mother & Daughter Revisited
Gwen Gates stared at the glowing end of her cigarette and smiled ruefully. The room was flooded in cold sunshine as panels of light reflected from the wet pavements outside. She wore no make-up and was wrapped in a heavy white towelling robe. Jerry had rarely seen her mother like this, in what Gwen would regard as an unfinished state.
The hour was still early. Jack had gone to thrash a ball about at the Highgate Golf Club. Gwen had heard Jerry moving about and had come down, almost as if she had sensed something was different about today. She looked up at her daughter now, and for a moment Jerry felt a flicker of sympathy. It had been a shock to discover that Gwen’s desire to improve her social standing had outweighed her love for her only daughter, but it was as if something Jerry had always suspected had now proved to be true.
The knowledge produced little satisfaction, only the bitter taste of betrayal. Her love had been weighed as a commodity, quantified and traded off for something more rewarding. And yet, there was still the faintest trace of a bond between them.
“If it’s any consolation, I’m ashamed for not speaking up and stopping you going back to Charles Whitstable’s house.”
“You just wanted me to work for him and be accepted by the Whitstable family,” Jerry replied, folding the flap of the nylon backpack over and clipping it shut. “You’d convinced yourself I wouldn’t remember what had happened. Even if I’d taken up Charles’s offer, he would never have given you the things you wanted. If and when he gets out of jail, that’s assuming he even goes, he’ll carry on with his business quite happily without me or you. All of them will. The Whitstables will carry on long after all the press and television coverage, after all the scandals and investigations. The Whitstables don’t need anyone else. Poor Gwen, let down by yet another man. First Jack, then Charles Whitstable.”
“You’re a very cruel girl.”
“I’m not a girl any more, Mother. You must have been able to see that nothing would ever change for us. What were you hoping for? Did you think you would get Jack’s respect back? That’s long gone. What do you want any more privileges for, anyway? It’s not as if they would have made us different people.” She checked the spines of a few paperbacks and added them to the bag. There were some books she had to take with her wherever she went.
“I thought it would be nice if you could marry well.” Gwen’s voice was soft and tired.
“If I really wanted what the upper classes have, I’d have to be as dishonest as them.”
“I never meant to be dishonest with you, Jerry.” Gwen seemed to find the taste of the cigarette disagreeable, and ground it out. “I simply wasn’t honest with myself. You have no idea what it was like being so close to them, and so far away. To tiptoe around the edges of their lives, always within sight of something better. I wanted to have what they had, for you as well as me. It didn’t seem fair.”
“Well, it’s not what I want.” Jerry picked up the bag and walked to the door. “That’s why I have to go. I want to make my own changes. You’re right, the Whitstables aren’t fair. They keep what’s theirs by building barriers. The whole rotten country’s founded on them. It’s a nation of boxes and walls. Mostly walls.”
“You’re being naive if you think you can change anything. Nothing changed for me.” Concern shadowed Gwen’s face. For whom, Jerry couldn’t tell. “You have no idea of the things that went on.”
“Perhaps not,” said Jerry. “You never talked about – ”
“What could I have said? How could I have described the contemptuous looks on those damned faces?” She checked herself. “Half the family hasn’t talked to me for years. Oh, they’ll give cold smiles when you’re around, and cut me dead behind your back. All the clever little cruelties, the endless subtle indignities. Because of you, and the way you behaved. The trouble you caused.”
“I’m sorry, Gwen. I didn’t know.”
“Well,” she said bitterly, “there’s a lot you still don’t know. People are monstrous. When you’re protected by money, there are a thousand ways to hurt someone.” She clearly had no intention of allowing her daughter to feel sorry for her, and changed the subject. “What are your plans? Where are you going to go now?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll try to find some places where there aren’t so many restrictions.”
“That’ll be a lot harder than you think. God, you’ve some learning to do.”
“Then I’ll learn.”
Jerry’s career at the Savoy had ended. She had been forced to give it up after realizing that it was Nicholas who had collected the photographs for Peter Whitstable. May had uncovered that particular detail during his interviews. The management had subsequently caught her slapping Nicholas around the face. The satisfaction of her stinging palm still stayed.
Her mother was pacing in front of the lounge door, as if frightened to see it opened. “You barely know this boy Jacob.”
“His name’s Joseph. He wants to travel for a while, and so do I.”
“You’re not planning on getting married, are you?” Gwen asked cautiously.
“Of course not. It’s the seventies. Nobody needs to get married any more. We’re just friends.”
“Well, I don’t suppose there’s anything I can say that will make you change your mind.” Gwen searched for a fresh cigarette, something to occupy her hands.
Joseph Herrick had talked about touring Europe, and Jerry had jumped at the chance. His Christmas, unlike hers, had been a quiet one.
“Say good-bye to Dad for me. Don’t let him worry.”
“I think he’ll be rather pleased for you. Especially if he sees it as a defeat for me.”
“Oh, Mother. What are you going to do?”
Gwen glanced up at the clock. “I’m supposed to be chairing one of my charities in an hour. I have a feeling it’s arthritis.”
“Then you’d better get ready,” Jerry said, smiling.
Gwen lit her cigarette and looked out of the sun-smeared window. “I don’t know. I may go for a walk instead.”
“The park should be nice.”
“I was thinking more of Harrods.”
She turned back to Jerry, her eyes narrowing. “Tell me,” she asked, “what’s the point of having children if they only leave?”
