Sue for Mercy - Veronica Heley Page 0,43

you think of the idea, Robert? I thought you might appreciate some extra capital, and if Julian puts in only a minimum of work... it would have to be a proper partnership agreement of course, with Julian getting his due share of the...”

“What about me?” demanded Bianca. “What becomes of me under such an agreement? Two thousand a year, and slaving at that second-rate firm? We could hardly keep this house going and... my dress bills alone...”

“No one asked your opinion,” said J.B. His hands trembled. He stilled them by laying them flat on the table. “What do you say, Julian?”

It was a straightforward bribe. If J.B. could buy off Julian and Robert, he would save his own life. It also offered Julian freedom from Bianca, because if he accepted she would leave him. She would never confine herself to that sort of income.

Julian didn’t seem capable of speech. He clutched his glass with both hands, and then took one away to cover his wobbling chin.

“We must think about it, eh?” said J.B., granting him extra time.

“No need,” said Bianca. “Julian and I think alike. He deserves better at your hands. Shabby treatment, indeed, for your only son. You talk of blood being thicker than water, but...”

“Julian?” asked his father.

“I...” Julian shook his head.

Robert reached for his inhaler. His eyes went from Julian to Bianca and back again. He cleared his throat. “From my point of view, I wouldn’t mind having the extra capital... but of course it’s up to Julian to decide.”

Ruth Maudsley was crying, as was usual with her in times of stress.

Julian drained his glass and filled it again. His face was as pale as Charles’. “What about the yacht, father? And Whitestones? Then there’s the flat in Paris, and...”

“You couldn’t afford to keep them up. If I did leave them to you, you would use them for a while, then they would become neglected and eventually have to be sold. I don’t like to think of their being neglected. The Paris flat will be sold on my death, and the money will go to a French orphanage. Whitestones will be offered to the National Trust with a suitable endowment. The yacht will be sold and the money turned into the Trust Fund. Think about it; I am offering you a comfortable if not lavish income for life. I will even buy you into the Maudsley firm straight away, if you like. Provided I live long enough after that, there wouldn’t be any death duties on the purchase price. I will guarantee you freedom from poverty, but I will not contribute to your unhappiness by offering you luxury.”

We all knew what he meant. I thought it was a very fair offer, and I had no doubt at all that it was a genuine one.

Julian looked as if he were about to be sick. His wife stood up abruptly, throwing her knife and fork on to the table. We all saw him stiffen under her eyes.

“If you make a Will like that,” he said to his father, “then I’ll contest it in the Courts. I am your only son and I deserve to be your only heir.”

There was a sigh of defeat from J.B. I suddenly felt cold. The faces of the conspirators bore identical expressions of grey implacability. Ruth had even stopped crying, now that everything was decided.

“Will you collect the plates, Susan?” asked Bianca. “And bring in the syllabub and cheese.”

“Not for me,” said J.B.

“Just coffee then, Susan,” smiled Bianca, and led the way out of the dining-room. I wondered if Charles might help me to clear away, so that we could have a word together, but he stuck close to J.B.

By the time I had brought the coffee into the living-room everyone except Julian had settled down around the fire. Julian wandered around, not looking into anyone’s face, fiddling with this and that. Charles looked remote; the profile of his head looked like a cameo, pale against the dark wood of the armoire. Robert alternatively inhaled and sneezed. Ruth was trying to hide her tear stains by putting too much powder on her face.

“Coffee?” I asked J.B., who appeared to be on the verge of dozing off. He looked right through me.

“Charles — did you cancel that meeting?”

“You know I did,” said Charles quietly.

“Can’t trust anyone!” observed J.B. “Do you think I don’t know you pry through my papers?”

It was Bianca’s chance, and she took it. “Not only your papers, but your cheque-book, too. Have