‘Indeed I do, Miss Mortimer.’
She prayed she wouldn’t blush like a schoolgirl and ruin everything. Aloud, she said quietly, ‘This is rather embarrassing for us, Mr Bristow, but it seems there’s been a slight misunderstanding. It was kind of you to come to my father’s funeral service, but this lunch is restricted to family and close friends, and unfortunately …’
‘Unfortunately, I don’t fall within either category,’ Nicholas Bristow supplied calmly. ‘I’m aware of that, Miss Mortimer.’
‘Then I’m sure you won’t wish to intrude,’ Alison said, lifting her chin a little. ‘My mother, as you can imagine, is in a very nervous and distressed condition, and can’t be expected to cope with uninvited guests.’
‘Yes, I can well imagine.’ His firm mouth twisted slightly. ‘But the misunderstanding is yours, Miss Mortimer. As it happens, I have been invited here. By Alec Liddell, and also by your uncle, Colonel Bosworth.’
Alison’s lips parted helplessly in a little gasp. ‘They—did? But why?’
‘I suggest you ask them,’ he drawled. ‘And while you’re conducting your little interrogation, I’ll wait quietly somewhere where the sight of me won’t cause your mother any problems.’ As she hesitated he added quietly, ‘I’m no gatecrasher, Miss Mortimer. I do have a reason to be here.’
She said levelly, ‘I don’t pretend to understand what’s going on, but perhaps you’d wait in the study while I speak to my uncle.’ She led the way across the hall and opened the door. It was quite a small room, panelled in oak, the heavy curtains still drawn out of respect. It was the first time Alison had entered the room since her father’s death, and it seemed at once still so redolent of his personality that she checked abruptly in the doorway, her whole body tautening.
She was hardly aware of the sharp look from the man beside her, but she heard him say, ‘I think the situation would be improved by some daylight, don’t you?’ followed by the rattle of the rings along the poles as he drew back the curtains, allowing some watery spring sunshine to permeate the room.
She was back in control again. ‘Thank you,’ she said huskily. ‘There—there’s some whisky in the corner cupboard, if you’d like to help yourself.’
‘You’re very hospitable.’ The dry note in his voice wasn’t lost on her. He walked across the room, and looked down at her, frowning slightly. ‘I’m sorry about your father,’ he said at last. ‘I liked him.’
‘Thank you.’ Her voice was firmer this time. ‘Now, you’ll have to excuse me. I have to see to our—other guests.’
She closed the study door behind her quietly, and stood for a moment, forcing herself to think rapidly. It was an awful day, but it seemed to be getting worse with every moment that passed. She was more than uneasy now; she was getting frightened. From the chaos of the past week, some kind of monstrous pattern seemed to be emerging. She didn’t understand it, nor did she want to. She wanted to run away somewhere and hide.
The atmosphere in the drawing room was inevitably subdued, but as Alison moved from group to group, thanking people for coming, and accepting their condolences, it occurred to her that everyone seemed abnormally gloomy and abstracted. Or was she being stupidly over-sensitive? she asked herself, making her way towards her uncle.
But before she could reach him, she was grabbed by Melanie.
‘Who’s the dish?’ she hissed. ‘And where have you hidden him?’
‘I can’t think who …’ Alison began, but Mel gave her a little shake.
‘Oh, don’t be pompous, Ally! Tall and dark, with eyes like Paul Newman’s. I saw him arrive.’
‘You would,’ Alison sighed. ‘Well, his name’s Nicholas Bristow, and he seems to be here on business.’
Melanie rolled her eyes in mock-lasciviousness. ‘Do you think he’d do a deal with me?’ She caught Alison’s eye, and subsided. ‘I’m sorry, Ally,’ she muttered reluctantly. ‘I know I shouldn’t be making jokes at a time like this, but everything’s so—so bloody!’
Alison put her arm round her sister’s shoulders and gave her a swift hug. ‘Yes, it is,’ she said fiercely. ‘And you make all the jokes you want. Now, I’ve got to talk to Uncle Hugh.’
‘Hullo, my dear.’ His voice was awkward. ‘May I get you a drink?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m not thirsty. I just want to know what’s going on. Nicholas Bristow tells me you invited him here.’
‘Well, it was Liddell’s idea really.’ He didn’t meet her gaze. ‘He felt it might make things—easier.’
‘What things?’ Alison’s eyes narrowed. ‘Uncle Hugh, you can’t keep dropping hints like this. You’ve got to tell me!’
There was a silence, then he sighed heavily. ‘Perhaps you have the right. I just don’t know any more. And together, we might be able to cushion your mother …’ He paused again. ‘Did your father ever talk to you about money?’
She shook her head. ‘I used to ask him, from time to time, especially about the works—if the company was being affected by the recession, but he always said everything was fine.’
He pulled her into a corner. ‘Well, it wasn’t fine,’ he muttered. ‘In fact, Ally, it was just about as bad as it could be. For the last two years he was pouring every penny he could raise into the firm, but it was never enough. Oh, he could have cut back, I suppose, but it would have meant laying men off, and he wouldn’t do that. Said it was a bad sign, and reduced public confidence. Said he felt—responsible.’
Alison nodded. ‘He did. Mortimers has always been a family company. Daddy hated the idea of redundancies. He felt it was a betrayal of people who trusted him.’ She smiled sadly. ‘A rather patriarchal attitude, I’m afraid.’
‘A rather naïve one in this economic climate,’ her uncle said grimly. ‘And there was this house, of course, and your mother’s—expenses.’
Alison hands clenched into fists at her side and she looked at him levelly. ‘Uncle Hugh, are you trying to tell me that Daddy was broke?’
Unwillingly, he nodded. ‘There’s your mother’s annuity, of course, that’s safe. But as for the rest of it …’
‘Oh, God!’ Alison felt dazed, but she made herself think. ‘But there are his shares in Mortimers, they must be worth something.’
‘Only if the company itself has any value,’ Colonel Bosworth said gloomily. ‘And there’s every chance of a receiver being put in.’
She bit her lip. ‘Well—there’s this house. I know it’s big, and inconvenient, but Daddy had it valued not long ago, and if we sold it, and found somewhere smaller …’
He was shaking his head. ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you, my dear.’ His voice was awkward with compassion. ‘The house, I’m afraid, he used as security for a considerable loan. Mortimers needed new machinery for a potential order from China—engineering components, I understand. It could have been the salvation of the place, and
