to Deravenels, Mr Watkins. It’s some time since you’ve been here. Over a year, if I recall correctly.’
‘That’s true,’ Neville responded and lowered himself into the chair. His gaze remained on Aubrey Masters, who had gone to sit down behind the desk.
‘Please accept my condolences, Mr Edward, for this awful loss you have suffered, and you too, Mr Watkins. My deepest condolences to you both,’ Masters began. ‘This tragedy has been a blight on the company for the last few days, since we received the dreadful news. Everyone has been plunged into sorrow and gloom—’
‘Thank you,’ Edward said peremptorily, cutting Masters off sharply. ‘My cousin and I are most appreciative of your kind thoughts and sympathy, and we certainly thank you for sparing our mothers undue and additional heartache. To have received the news by telephone would have been perfectly ghastly for them both, unbearable actually.’
‘Yes, it would. It seemed to me at the time that contacting Mr Watkins was the right and proper way to handle the matter,’ Aubrey Masters answered, leaning forward over the desk, his hands clasped together.
‘Most sensitive indeed,’ Neville interjected, his eyes appraising as he studied Masters, weighing him up.
‘Mr Watkins and I are very anxious to know exactly what happened to our fathers and brothers in Carrara, Masters. We have been given only the slightest information about their deaths, and we hope you will now supply more of the details.’
Clearing his throat several times, Aubrey nodded. ‘I’m sorry to say I do not have a great deal of information, Mr Edward. All I know is that a fire started in the hotel last Sunday night. I was informed on Monday, by telegram from Carrara.’
‘And who sent the telegram?’ Edward asked, keeping a tight rein on his emotions. He was re-discovering his inherent antipathy towards Masters, who had never been a particular favourite of his father’s either. There was something shifty about him, and Edward was convinced that his loyalty was for sale, and always had been. Edward now wondered about the man’s integrity. Certainly it was not a characteristic he associated with the head of the Mining Division.
Aubrey Masters, staring at Edward in return, said in the most matter-of-fact voice he could summon, ‘I was informed of the tragedy by Alfredo Oliveri.’
‘Isn’t he the manager of our business affairs in Carrara?’
‘Yes, he is. He works with the superintendent of the mines.’
‘I see. And there’s another manager in Florence, isn’t there?’ Edward remarked. ‘Fabrizio Dellarosa.’
Masters nodded. ‘Dellarosa runs our overall business in Italy, and he was the one who worked most closely with Mr Richard—er, your father.’
‘Has he been in touch with you?’
‘Yes, he has.’ Aubrey sat up a little straighter, more intent on his visitors, looking from Deravenel to Watkins, suddenly detecting hostility. He wondered why. A rush of panic hit him. Had he forgotten something? Did they know more than he did? If there was more to know. Clearing his throat, he announced in a clear, firm voice, ‘Look, I have told you everything I know, Mr Edward.’
‘Were they badly burned in the fire?’ Neville asked, swallowing, not permitting his heartache to surface.
‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know. Oliveri told me by telegram that they were found in the hotel and that their bodies had been taken to the hospital in Florence. That they were being held there until the arrival of the family members. That is yourselves, of course.’
‘And that’s all you know?’ Edward said, incredulity echoing in his voice.
Masters appeared to be mystified by this question. ‘There’s not much else to know,’ he murmured, looking confused and worried.
‘Were they all together? Were they in a lounge or the foyer? Or in their bedrooms? How long did the fire burn? Why were they not rescued before it was too late? What did the police report say?’ Edward stared hard at Aubrey Masters, his eyes narrowed. ‘There’s a great deal more I want to know about this matter, and so does my cousin.’
‘Oh, dear, maybe I’ve made an error.’
‘What do you mean?’ Edward asked quickly, fixing his bright blue gaze on Masters.
‘Perhaps I should have gone to Italy at once, to look into the situation instead of leaving it to the Italian managers.’
‘Perhaps you should,’ Edward shot back coldly, glaring at him.
The silence in the room was deafening.
Edward sat perfectly still in the chair, filled with frustration. Was Aubrey Masters really a nincompoop or was he a clever dissembler? He wasn’t sure, and suddenly he made up his mind to leave this office at once. There was nothing he and Neville could learn here, that was patently obvious. Once they arrived in Italy in the next few days they would gather the facts themselves.
After leaving the Deravenel offices Edward and Neville went out into the street, where Neville spoke to the driver of his carriage. The two men then walked across the Strand and entered the Savoy Court, the forecourt to both the Savoy Hotel and the adjoining Savoy Theatre.
Neville broke his stride as they approached the theatre, and turning to Edward, he said, ‘It’s thanks to those Gilbert and Sullivan operettas that Richard D’Oyly Carte was able to build this theatre and the hotel a few years ago, you know. All those profits from them, he made a veritable fortune.’
Edward nodded. ‘So my father told me. He loved the operettas, especially The Mikado and H.M.S. Pinafore.’
‘Not to my taste. I much prefer Mozart.’
Once they were seated at their table, Neville ordered a bottle of dry white wine and sat back in the chair, regarding his cousin intently. ‘You don’t like Aubrey Masters, do you, Ned?’ he said at last.
‘It’s not a question of liking or disliking him…I’m not sure that I trust him. He never was a favourite of Father’s, and when we were at the offices I began to wonder if he was stupid or a clever dissembler.’
‘If he’s given to dissimulation then he’s a mighty fine actor. Personally, I think he’s a trifle dimwitted. Which brings me to a leading question. Why is he in that position? Who made him head of the Mining Division?’
‘Henry Grant, of course. Aubrey Masters is a relative, a cousin twice removed, I do believe.’
‘Nepotism again, eh?’ Neville shook his head. ‘Weren’t you surprised, not hearing from Henry Grant, not receiving condolences?’
‘Not really. You see, before Father left for Italy he told me that Henry was out of sorts, not feeling his best, and that he had gone into a religious retreat in Cumbria for two months. So presumably he’s still there, and perhaps no one’s bothered to inform him of our tragedy.’
‘If that is so then I find it quite preposterous he’s been kept in the dark.’
‘So
