‘Which means you will make the decisions. It is for me to rubber stamp them.’
‘Stamp or otherwise, it makes little difference to us.’
‘You certainly screwed my father, and you say he was sane.’
‘He was, ask the experts. Let me know what your decision is. Either you are with us, or you are not, but I have had a long time to ensure that the Dundas family is in control. You may regard this as a hostile takeover if you like, but remember, the law is on my side, not yours.’
Caroline looked over at Jill Dundas, could see the smug look on her face. Now, Caroline knew the truth. For all those years, as her father had slowly declined, her mother propped up in her bed upstairs, Leonard Dundas had been subtly engineering his control of the empire her father had set up. She could not speak, other than to weakly nod her head.
Chapter 13
Michael Lawrence, now under the tutelage of Giles Helmsley, the eccentric leader of the Anarchist Revolutionaries of England, was, for once, not drunk or drugged. He was coherent and feeling as sick as a dog.
He was in Helmsley’s flat, not the dosshouse which was more in keeping with the disreputable state of the grandson of the property mogul: his lank hair, the tattoos, the smell of alcohol, and the years of living rough.
‘Michael, it’s our chance to strike a blow for the cause,’ Helmsley said. If the young man had been awake and aware, he would have noticed the insincerity in the tone of his leader’s voice, the man almost choking as he spoke what he did not believe.
‘Go away, I’m ill. I need a fix,’ Michael said as he retched, his stomach incapable of emitting any more.
‘You need to stand up and be counted. It is time for us to strike at the system.’
Michael Lawrence moved away from the chair where he had been sitting and leant over the kitchen sink. His head throbbed, his body shook, and he was shivering, even though the flat was warm. Helmsley knew he needed Michael functional, although he was not sure how he could use him, or how long it would take. He did not relish the man occupying the bed in the second bedroom, but for the cause, his cause, he would suffer.
‘I need a fix,’ the young man said yet again. Helmsley knew he had a poor specimen of manhood, but he had no option but to use him.
Within his group of degenerates, one or two were committed to the cause, the others were only interested in banging whatever drum it was that gave them what they wanted, which in the case of Michael Lawrence was a ready supply of heroin and alcohol, coupled with the occasional woman. And now Helmsley could see the way to move his cause forward, while at the same time embellishing his bank account.
Luckily for him, he knew, he had within their midst the grandson of a wealthy and dead man, a grandson who must surely be entitled to some money. Not that the complaining youth cared, but Helmsley was a man of strong personal convictions, a man who had dedicated his life to the less fortunate and found most of them lacking in the moral fibre and tenacity that he possessed.
‘I need you to stand up and claim your inheritance,’ Helmsley said. He thrust Lawrence under a hot shower and liberally applied the soap to him. It was not the first time that the leader of the Anarchist Revolutionaries of England had been excited by the sight of a naked man, but now was not the time and the place.
Once Michael was out of the shower and dry, Helmsley removed his earrings and studs. Not much could be done with the tattoos, only a long-sleeved shirt to cover them the best he could. Once he looked more normal, Helmsley took him to a hairdresser to get his hair cut into a more conventional style.
Two days later, a man entered the office of Leonard Dundas and his daughter. It was Jill, the daughter, who invited him into her office after he had said who he was.
‘I believe that my grandfather has died,’ Michael Lawrence said.
‘You were mentioned in his will, but how did you know?’ Jill said. She looked at the man in front of her. If this was the Michael Lawrence that they had been told about, then either the information had been wrong, or the man had changed.
‘I believe there are conditions placed on me.’ He was dressed in a red-striped shirt, a pair of blue trousers, and a navy jacket. He did not like the look, but Helmsley had explained it all to him carefully.
‘Play your part, help the cause,’ Helmsley’s repetitive chant over the last few days. He, Michael Lawrence, knew what was required of him, and if it was dressing in clothes that he did not like, pretending to be one of those he despised, then that was what he would do.
‘How do you know about the conditions?’
‘I was told. It doesn’t matter, does it?’ It did to Jill Dundas, but she chose not to comment.
‘Are you still on drugs?’
‘I’m clean, although I need help.’
‘One of the conditions is that you will check into a drug rehabilitation centre. Is that acceptable?’
‘Yes.’
‘Today?’
‘I’ll need money for expenses.’
‘At the centre, you will need nothing, but I will authorise payment of five thousand pounds to your bank account.’
‘Thank you.’
‘It is not for drugs.’
‘I will adhere to the conditions,’ Michael said, his stomach cramping.
Michael Lawrence had prior to meeting with Jill Dundas, and with Helmsley’s prompting, contacted his aunt, Caroline, who
