Bolt - By Dick Francis Page 0,88
whom lawyers came.
Roland said that if I would look up Gerald’s home number and get through to it, he would speak to Gerald himself, if he were in, and in a short time the appointment was made.
’He will come here on his way to his office,’ Roland said, handing me the receiver to replace.‘Eight-thirty. Give him breakfast.’
‘Yes, monsieur.’
He nodded a fraction.‘Goodnight, Kit.’
I went down to dinner, which took place in more silence than ever, and later, as he’d threatened, Nanterre telephoned.
When I heard his voice, I pressed the record button, but again not that for conference.
’I’ll talk to anyone but you,’ he said.
‘Then no one.’
He shouted,‘I want to talk to Casilia.’
‘No.’
‘I will talk to Roland.’
‘No.’
‘To Beatrice.’
‘No.’
‘You’ll regret it,’ he yelled, and crashed down the receiver.
NINETEEN
Litsi and I entertained Gerald Greening in the morning room, where he ate copiously of kippers followed by eggs and bacon, all furnished by Dawson, forewarned.
‘Mm, mm,’ Greening grunted as we explained what we wanted.‘Mm … no problem at all. Would you pass me the butter?’
He was rounded and jovial, patting his stomach.‘Is there any toast?’
From his briefcase, he produced a large pad of white paper upon which he made notes.‘Yes, yes,’ he said busily, writing away.‘I get the gist, absolutely. You want your intentions cast into foolproof legal language, is that right?’
We said it was.
‘And you want this typed up properly this morning and furnished with seals?’
Yes please, we said. Two copies.
‘No problem.’ He gave me his coffee cup absentmindedly to take to the sideboard for a hot refill. ‘I can bring them back here by …” he consulted his watch, ‘… say twelve noon. That all right?’
We said it would do.
He pursed his lips. ‘Can’t manage it any faster. Have to draft it properly, get it typed without mistakes, all that sort of thing, checked, drive over from the City.’
We understood.
‘Marmalade?’
We passed it.
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes,’ Litsi said, fetching from a side table the buff French form which had been in the notary’s briefcase,‘some advice on this.’
Gerald Greening said in surprise,‘Surely the Frenchmen took that away with them when Monsieur de Brescou refused to sign?’
‘This is a duplicate blank copy, not filled in,’ Litsi said.‘We think the one Henri Nanterre wanted signed would have represented the first page of a whole bunch of documents. Kit and I want this unused copy to form page one of our own bunch of documents.’ He passed it to Greening.‘As you see, it’s a general form of contract, with spaces for details, and in French, of course. It must be binding, or Henri Nanterre wouldn’t have used it. I propose to write in French in the spaces provided, so that this and the accompanying document together constitute a binding contract under French law. I’d be grateful,’ he said in his most princely tone,‘if you would advise me as to wording.’
‘In French?’ Greening said apprehensively.
‘In English … I’ll translate.’
They worked on it together until each was satisfied and Greening had embarked on round four of toast. I envied him not his bulk nor his appetite, but his freedom from restraint, and swallowed my characterless vitamins wishing they at least smelled of breakfast.
He left after the fifth slice, bearing away his notes and promising immediate action; and, true to his word, he reappeared in his chauffeur-driven car at ten minutes to twelve. Litsi and I were both by then in the library watching the street, and we opened the front door to the bulky solicitor and took him into the office used by the elfin Mrs Jenkins.
There we stapled to the front page of one of Greening’s imposing-looking documents the original French form, and a photocopy of it to the other, each with the new wording typed in neatly, leaving large spaces for signing.
From there we rode up in the lift to Roland de Brescou’s private sitting room where he and the princess and Danielle were all waiting.
Gerald Greening with vaguely theatrical flourishes presented the documents to each of them in turn, and to Litsi, asking them each to sign their names four times, once on each of the French forms; once at the end of each document.
Each document was sewn through with pink tape down the left hand margin, as with wills, and each space for a signature at the end was provided with a round red seal.
Greening made everyone say aloud archaic words about signing, sealing and delivering, made them put a finger on each seal and witnessed each signature himself with precision. He required that I also witness each