fortune.’
‘Yes. He was an amazing character. He understood money,’ said Gerald with respect, ‘and, having made one mistake, determined that most of it would die with him.’
‘Will it affect my inheritance?’ Jacqui asked anxiously. ‘Ah, who knows?’ Gerald smiled. ‘That all has to be sorted out by solicitors and accountants.’
Charles gave a mock yawn. ‘I know. Endless meetings, confabulations, discussions and mumblings about the law. Where does all that get you?’
‘Rich,’ said Gerald smugly.
At half past eleven, they all left the house to go to the April Fools’ Midnight Matinee at the Parthenon. Bartlemas and O’Rourke had dressed in their Victorian first-night gear specially. They looked like a pair of Dickensian undertakers.
The bright young theatrical crowd (including Gerald, who had decided he would go after all) piled into Bernard Walton’s Bentley, leaving Charles and Joanne on the pavement outside the house. ‘See you,’ yelled Jacqui out of the window as the great car roared off.
‘How’ve you been?’ Charles asked Joanne.
‘All right.’
‘You still miss Marius?’
‘Yes, but the new job’s very busy, so it’s not too bad.’
‘Good. Do you fancy a drink somewhere?’
‘Thanks very much, but no, I don’t think so. I’ve got to be up early in the morning.’
Charles found a cruising taxi to take Joanne Menzies home. Then he hailed another for himself and gave the driver the address of the Montrose.
