‘Not so much dirt as facts, sir, which are more important in the long run, wouldn’t you say? First off, I’d like to say this…In my opinion Henry Grant is not simply pious, scholarly and religious, as everyone claims he is. I believe him to be so seriously unstable, it’s more than likely he’s actually quite insane. I discovered that he has been in two different mental institutions in the last few years. And no, they were not retreats, as was claimed at the time. They were insane asylums.’
There was a moment of silence, and then Edward said in a low tone, ‘Oddly enough, my father once said to me that he thought Henry was extremely unbalanced, but he never took it any further than that, never said anything else. Not to me.’
‘Good God!’ Neville looked at Edward and then at Amos, obviously aghast. ‘Surely that’s enough of a reason to have him removed from the chairmanship of Deravenels, isn’t it?’ He stared hard at Ned, his eyes full of questions.
‘Listen,’ Alfredo cut in, ‘I’ve heard it said he was off his rocker, a doddering fool, loopy, nutty…words like that were used about him. But yes, if he was in an asylum it suggests much worse, doesn’t it?’
‘It does,’ Ned finally said. ‘And I think you’re right, Neville, insanity would justify removal from the board and from the company. And not just at Deravenels either, at any company. Nobody would disagree with you, it’s common sense, pure and simple.’
‘If I might suggest something,’ Amos murmured. ‘Perhaps no one ever really believed he was seriously mentally disturbed, perhaps everyone thought he was just an…ineffectual sort of chap, and left it at that, let him be.’
‘Maybe,’ Neville agreed. ‘Otherwise he would have been removed promptly, by Summers and his gang, we can be certain of that.’
Alfredo stood up, paced in front of the fire for a few seconds, and then turning to Neville he said, ‘I must tell you, this news is lethal, it really is. And it’s a huge weapon for us.’ Turning to Amos, he asked, ‘Do you have proof? Hearsay and innuendo won’t be enough to convince the Deravenel board. We must have absolute proof that he was in two asylums, at different times, presumably. Otherwise, they’ll laugh in our faces.’
‘Proof does exist, Mr Oliveri, but I don’t actually have that proof in my hands at this moment I’m afraid,’ Amos replied.
‘But could you get it?’ Neville asked, giving Amos a sharp look.
‘Oh, yes, course I could, Mr Watkins. But you do understand I’d have to have it…stolen. I would have to get…one of my contacts, so to speak, a specialist in that area, if you get my drift, to break into the two different asylums and pinch their records.’
‘Then have it done. At once,’ ordered Neville and without any hesitation.
‘Would anyone guess we had stolen those records? I can’t help wondering that.’ Edward looked pointedly at Amos.
Amos answered swiftly, ‘No, no, they wouldn’t, because his incarcerations have been secret, or, more accurately, it’s been passed around that he was in religious retreats. Correct?’
Edward nodded. ‘True.’
‘So nobody’s going to point a finger at you,’ Amos continued. ‘Anyway, someone might have brought those documents to you…as a good deed let’s say. Someone who wanted the record set straight for the good of the company.’
‘How soon can you get them? Because I do agree with my cousin that you should go after them,’ Ned said, staring at Amos.
‘How soon? Not sure. It’ll take a bit of working out, getting the proper crew together. Can’t afford mistakes.’
Alfredo went back to his empty chair. Turning to Edward, he said, ‘We can’t have any scruples at this moment in time. Very simply, we can’t afford scruples. There’s a great deal at stake here, and not only justice for you, Mr Edward, and you, too, Mr Watkins, because of the deaths of your kin. There’s also a huge company at stake. Its very survival, actually. A company that employs thousands of people all over the world. We must think about them, too, they should have a fair shake.’
It was Neville who spoke first. He answered quietly, ‘Yes, you’re correct, Oliveri, it would be criminal to let Deravenels go down the drain after eight hundred years of trading. Besides, it belongs to Mr Edward, at least the top job belongs to him. It’s his inheritance, and I aim to make sure he gets his inheritance and that Deravenels not only survives the thieving Grants, but goes on to become bigger and better than ever under our management.’
Edward pondered for a moment, then addressed Neville. ‘Stealing the records to prove Henry Grant is insane is only one step. Surely we need much more to wrest the company from their hands? They could easily put Margot Grant in, to take Henry’s place, to run the company until their son Edouard came of age.’
‘They wouldn’t dare,’ Alfredo exclaimed, shaking his head most vehemently. ‘Trust me on that. Yes, she manages to insinuate herself these days, but she does not have a role, a position or a title.’
‘I have it on good authority that she is extremely unpopular,’ Amos told them. ‘Disliked by most of the people working there. Only Summers, Cliff and Beaufield are her true adherents, her closest friends. Oh, and by the way, there’s a rumour surfacing—people are saying that her son is the half-brother of John Summers, that it was his father who impregnated Margot, not pious old Henry at all.’
‘Old? He’s only thirty-nine,’ Edward muttered.
Neville glanced at him, and said, ‘Too old to beat you.’ Then turning to Amos, Neville continued, ‘So, that old story has sprung up again, has it?’ He began to laugh uproariously, and then clearing his throat he said, with another glance at Amos, ‘It might be a good idea to get some of those chaps of yours onto it. Blacken the name of the Grants, that’s all par for the course.’
Harrison hovered in the doorway. ‘Luncheon is served, sir,’ he announced.
Nan Watkins sat alone in the conservatory, sipping a tall glass of mint tea and nibbling on a small smoked salmon tea sandwich. She was happy to take her lunch alone here in this sunny glass room filled with potted palms, exotic rubber plants and her prized white orchids. It was a tranquil, peaceful spot in their busy household.
The girls were having lunch upstairs on the nursery floor with Nanny, and Neville was entertaining his guests in the dining room. She herself had planned the menu with Cook, and she hoped they were enjoying her choices.
She had selected Neville’s favourites, as usual wanting to please him. The first course was a light vegetable soup, something similar to minestrone, which she knew Alfredo Oliveri would enjoy; the second was grilled plaice, served with parsley sauce, croquette potatoes and peas. For dessert she had asked Cook to make her famous bread pudding, with extra creamy custard and raisins, which was everyone’s favourite. She had left the wine selection to her husband.
Her husband. Neville Watkins. A man she had fallen in love with at first sight, when he had come to her family home in Gloucestershire. He had had business with her father, and had ended up marrying her. She had never quite recovered from
