by Miles Hadley
‘He did tell me about that,’ said Gary.
‘The country has gone to rack and ruin if you ask me,’ replied Maggie. ‘Nobody gives a damn anymore except people like Terry. Men like him were the salt of the earth. It’s hard to find them nowadays. He likened our societal collapse to the fall of the Roman Empire in Britain. Place has gone to the dogs. No respect for our history – it’s just pissed away. Nothing is sacred, it all has a price on it nowadays. Our family were never left wing, but there does need to be something done. A bit more love and respect, as Terry would say.’ Maggie chuckled. ‘He was a cheesy old fool. But you know what? He was right!’
35
Archie was now determined to take on board what Henry had said to win more business for Focus 1. The Zugalovs’ South Kensington residence was huge. It included a large swimming pool in the basement, as well as a panic room attached to one of the bedrooms. Archie hated the furnishings and decoration of the Zugalovs’ interior, deciding that it rivalled that of the Arab Prince in the South of France for its garishness. However, he was envious of the size of the place, which dwarfed that of the Hodgkin-Smiths’ Chelsea residence. He now had house as well as yacht envy – something that made him feel very bitter inside.
Lucinda Blythe was with Archie. She was interviewing Konstantine for a feature in one of the glossies. The feature was called ‘Bon Vivant up close and candid’. Archie could not help but feel threatened by it all and this was covered up by a veneer of fake smiles, chuckles and pats on Konstantine’s back. Archie felt cheap. Subservient. Almost like a vassal of the spoilt Russian shit, he thought. He had succumbed to the arse-lickiness of Henry, only Archie wasn’t really doing it ‘With Pleasure’.
Lucinda asked Konstantine a question. ‘So, Konstantine, I suppose this is the question on everyone’s lips – are you single?’
‘No,’ he replied smugly.
‘Oh,’ said Lucinda. ‘I didn’t see your girlfriend at Archie’s studio launch.’
‘She wasn’t invited.’
Archie interjected, nearly knocking over his lighting equipment. ‘Actually, mate, I think you’ll find that she was invited.’
‘She wasn’t on the guest list,’ said Konstantine.
‘No, but the... expectation was that you could bring her if you wanted.’
‘Oh... I wish she’d have known that,’ said Konstantine. ‘She was very disappointed not to have gone.’
Archie noticed Lucinda look at him and then at Konstantine. She seemed to be suppressing a smirk.
‘What’s her name and what does she do?’ asked Lucinda.
‘Donna,’ replied Konstantine.
Lucinda repeated ‘Donna’ and wrote the name down. Archie watched as she seemed to suppress another smirk.
‘She works in property development for her father’s company,’ said Konstantine. ‘They also own a string of nightclubs.’
‘Lap dancing clubs, aren’t they?’ Archie needed to ruin this interview so desperately that he couldn’t resist.
‘They are not lap dancing clubs,’ said Konstantine. ‘They are Gentlemen’s clubs.’
‘What, like Spratt’s, you mean?’ Archie said, holding back his own smirk.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Konstantine coldly. ‘I’m not a member of Spratt’s. I’ve tried to apply, but got rejected.’
‘Got rejected from Spratt’s...’ Lucinda began to write down.
‘You don’t need to put that part in my interview,’ Konstantine said to her.
‘Aren’t you a member of Spratt’s?’ Lucinda asked Archie.
Archie hesitated. ‘I am.’
‘So are Henry Arbuthnott-Percy and Roger Raynard,’ Konstantine said grimly.
‘Couldn’t you...’ Lucinda looked at Archie.
‘Against club rules. No,’ Archie responded.
‘I see,’ Lucinda responded doubtfully.
‘Apparently, it’s the same with the Real Tennis club,’ Konstantine said wistfully.
‘Aren’t you a...’ Lucinda looked at Archie.
Archie interrupted with a fake chuckle. ‘Look, Lucinda... Who are you supposed to be interviewing here? Me or him?’ He nodded his head towards Konstantine.
Lucinda refocused her attention on Konstantine. ‘So, your family owns this house and one near Slough, is that correct?’
‘I prefer to say that it’s in Berkshire, near Windsor,’ said Konstantine.
Archie couldn’t help but interject. ‘But the Framptons’ old place is actually closer to Slough, isn’t it?’ Archie looked at Lucinda with a glint in his eye. Ruined! he thought to himself. Mr Bon Vivant – pah!
Konstantine was getting visibly irritated. Archie could see this through his camera lens and grinned to himself.
‘It’s actually equidistant to Windsor and Slough,’ said Konstantine. ‘I believe we are marginally closer to Windsor.’
‘Mate,’ said Archie, ‘we understand. It’s like Cheltenham and Gloucester, or Leamington Spa and Coventry.’ He began clicking a few shots. ‘Tell her about the ice sculptures, mate.’
‘What ice sculptures?’
‘At Frampton Hall, for your birthday,’ Archie said.
‘Yes. There were some ice sculptures in the marquee for my birthday,’ said Konstantine.
‘Oh, really? What of?’ Lucinda asked intrigued, jotting down some more notes.
‘I believe they were of Britannia and Mother Russia holding hands.’
‘How... touching.’ Lucinda suppressed another smirk as she noted this down.
‘It was an awesome party, wasn’t it, mate?’ Archie kept snapping the button on his camera. ‘There were balalaikas and everything.’
‘What’s a balalaika?’ asked Lucinda.
Konstantine snapped. ‘There weren’t just balalaikas. There was an orchestra as well.’
‘And an ice rink,’ continued Archie. ‘I had such a great time. Hardly skated before.’
‘What’s a balalaika?’ Lucinda repeated.
‘A sort of twangy Russian folk instrument,’ Archie said.
‘I wouldn’t say it’s twangy,’ Konstantine interjected.
‘Anyhow, twangy or not, it was a bloody good party,’ said Archie. ‘And that Lamborghini! Wow! I wouldn’t mind one for myself! Vroom vroom!’ He adjusted his lens slightly.
‘Well, perhaps I’ll give you a spin in it sometime,’ Konstantine almost snapped again.
‘What other cars do you drive?’ Lucinda asked.
‘I have a lot of cars.’
‘Specifically?’
‘Ferraris, Astons, Bentleys...’
‘Lots of black Mercedes, judging by the party,’ Archie interrupted.
Konstantine looked deliberately at the camera lens. ‘Our family also has a yacht in the Mediterranean – the Tolstoy II. We bought it last year.’
Archie could have thumped him, there and then. He almost felt a twisted pain in his stomach. He remembered how impressed Polly had been. Then he remembered his own behaviour.
‘What hobbies and interests do you have?’ asked Lucinda.
‘I like fine wines, cigars, single malt whiskeys,’ replied Konstantine. ‘I also collect art. I’ve been on the committee of two Anglo-Russian cultural organisations...’
‘You’re a Director of a tuna canning company, aren’t you?’ Archie asked. ‘Or was it tuna fishing?’
‘Yes. Canning,’ Konstantine said abruptly. ‘I’m also a Director of an oil pipeline financing company. Both companies are subsidiaries of my father’s.’
‘Based in the Cayman Islands and Panama, aren’t they?’ Archie had to suppress a snigger. He was thankful that his face was partially obscured by his camera.
‘I think that where they are both based is immaterial to this interview,’ said Konstantine.
‘I love the decor i
n your house,’ said Lucinda quickly. ‘Who is your interior designer?’
‘Thank you. Donna designed it.’
‘Is that a Lucian Freud over there?’ Lucinda asked, indicating to one particular painting.
‘No, it’s a Bacon Triptych.’
‘I see. I get my Bacons and Freuds mixed up, I’m afraid,’ Lucinda said. ‘And is that a Hirst over there?’
‘Yes.’
Archie was seething inside now. It had now become one of his ambitions to amass his own collection of contemporary and modern art in the vein of Piers Raynard. He had not realised that the Zugalovs had bought so much from the auction houses. So far, all Archie could afford were a few Hockney prints.
After a few more questions, Lucinda concluded her interview. Then, noticing that her phone was buzzing, she said that she had better be off.
Archie was not happy with the photographs and said that he would stay a while to get them right.
Once Lucinda had left, Konstantine turned to him.
‘You know, I wasn’t really offended.’
Archie looked briefly around his camera with feigned innocence. ‘What do you mean, mate?’
‘On the Tolstoy, in the summer. I wasn’t really offended.’ Konstantine smiled. ‘After all, we’re both old Meltonians. Am I right?’
‘Oh, absolutely, mate.’ Archie gave a fake nod in agreement. There was a brief awkward pause.
‘Mate,’ began Archie. ‘Perhaps if you stood a little to the left… that’s it. The light is a little better.’
‘I often found my time at Melton quite difficult,’ said Konstantine. ‘Quite harrowing, in fact.’
‘And move to the left, just a little… slightly more.’
‘I hated being away from my motherland, but my parents insisted we build a better life here.’
‘Well, it does sort of make sense,’ said Archie. ‘You wouldn’t want the Russian government breathing down your necks.’
Konstantine frowned. ‘What do you mean by that? All of my family’s wealth is legitimate. It was built up during the Yeltsin years. Why is it always assumed that our money is not legitimate?’
‘Oh, come off it, mate,’ Archie laughed. ‘One individual does not just magically make that amount of money in a short space of time and then squirrel it away in the UK without good reason.’
‘What are you inferring?’
‘Oh, nothing. It’s just...’
‘Just what?’
‘Nothing. Move to the right a little, please.’
‘No,’ said Konstantine. ‘I want to know what you mean.’
‘I mean…’ began Archie. ‘Look, mate. This is really tricky to say, but you can’t just walk in and buy up everything and then expect everybody here to like you.’
‘Our backgrounds are not dissimilar,’ said Konstantine. ‘I’m descended from white Russian stock.’
‘Mate. So you keep saying,’ Archie responded.
‘Is that what the problem is? You think I’m nouveau riche? And, therefore, not entitled to anything in high society?’
‘No, mate,’ Archie laughed defensively. ‘Look. You’re a great guy,’ he lied. ‘Let’s get back to the photography.’
36
Gary sat beside Maggie Swinton in the small solicitors’ office of Maynard Thomas. He noticed that the solicitor appeared quite scruffy, despite his suit. There was a stain on his jumper beneath his worn blazer. He looked quite old. He was about Maggie’s age, with a bald head and tufts of white hair that seemed to be stuck on to the sides of his head. Around the room, Gary saw files stacked upon each other haphazardly.
Maynard looked sharply at Gary over his half-moon spectacles. ‘Now then, Mr Brown,’ he began, in a very matter-of-fact manner after coughing slightly. ‘The deceased has specifically mentioned you and his sister-in-law here in his Will. Mr Bollard wanted you to be left all of his books. It would seem that he was very fond of you and that he wanted you to continue in the best way possible with the study of History. Other than the books, Ms Swinton here is to be left the bulk of the deceased’s estate, with a sum of five thousand pounds and the remainder of his chattels.’
The solicitor looked directly at Gary again. ‘He has also left a smaller sum to you, Gary. He leaves you two thousand pounds for the purpose... now, this is rather vaguely worded…’ The solicitor looked down at his notes before continuing. ‘For the purpose of “self improvement”. Once probate goes through, which should be very straightforward, the monies shall be distributed to you each by myself. In the meantime, the monies shall be held in an account.’
Gary felt confused all of a sudden. He had not known Bollard for that long and yet, here he was, with the prospect of being given two thousand pounds in the near future. He wondered what he should do with the money. One of the first things he wanted to do was fill the food cupboards at home for Sheila. Not with crap, but good stuff – good, wholesome food like their mum used to cook.
He wondered what ‘self improvement’ should mean. He asked Maggie.
She responded after smiling, ‘Well, what do you think it should mean?’
‘I dunno... I’m a bit shocked, to be honest. Don’t you mind?’
‘Of course not!’ Maggie smiled. ‘It doesn’t surprise me at all. Like I said before, you cannot deny a dead man their Will.’
Gary frowned thoughtfully. ‘What about my education?’
‘Well, he certainly does hint at that by leaving you his books,’ Maynard said, peering over his spectacles again with a twinkle in his eye.
‘I’m not that well educated,’ Gary said.
‘But Terry started teaching you, didn’t he?’ Maggie said. ‘Which implies that he saw great potential in you. If there were any possessions Terry prized the most, it was his books – except, of course, his photographs of my sister.’
‘What should I do?’ Gary asked.
‘Well, there is time to think about it before you receive the money,’ replied Maggie. ‘In the meantime, let’s go to Terry’s house together and sort out his books for you.’
‘It just feels so wrong,’ Gary said.
‘What does?’ Maggie asked.
‘To be left all his books and the money.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she chuckled. ‘It happens all the time... just not...’ Her voice faltered and she did not carry on with the sentence. She looked at the solicitor, who smiled at them both.
***
In Bollard’s tiny bungalow, Maggie went straight into the kitchen, where she began to sort out items from the cupboards. Gary remained in the living room and looked at the shelves and frowned. He would keep a catalogue. A catalogue to keep the books in order; Bollard’s order. There were not just history books, but books about, or by, the great philosophers such as Plato, Aristotle, Lao Tze, Confucius, Foucault, and Camus. There were also the literary greats such as Chaucer, Shakespeare, Dryden, Austen, the Brontes, Hardy, Lawrence, Dickens, Woolf – and, of course, thought Gary, Orwell.
Maggie came back into the living room and asked Gary if he was okay.
‘I didn’t mean for all this to happen…’ Gary began.
‘I know, love,’ she said with gravity. ‘I’ll pop the kettle on and then we’ll continue.’
Gary watched as Maggie came back in and placed the tea tray on the coffee table. She had even laid out digestives and ginger nuts, just as Bollard would have done. Gary looked at them and smiled, remembering old Bollard. He tried to imagine Bollard offering him a cup of tea and a biscuit. He remembered him shouting to Christine in the kitchen seeking verification on a Shakespeare quote, or reciting historical gems. It seemed strange that Maggie was in the space of the bungalow and not Bollard and his dead wife.
Gary looked at the photographs of Christine for the last time. ‘What was she like?’ he asked Maggie.
Maggie picked up
a photograph of her sister and looked at it for a moment. She smiled back wistfully at Christine’s smiling face.
‘Oh, she was gorgeous, my sis,’ said Maggie. ‘She laughed very easily, always giggled, but incredibly bright at the same time, and at times sharp. She was a difficult one to cross. If you did, she wouldn’t speak to you for days. She was much prettier than I was, and I suppose I slightly envied her for this. There was a bit of sibling rivalry, but we were close growing up. I have to say, I got a bit jealous of Terry always spending time with my sis. I wish I’d have seen more of her. She was a star, really. Taught English literature. In some ways, she and Terry were like chalk and cheese, but they got on like a house on fire. They were definitely in love. You could tell that, when they were together. They both had this glint in their eyes when they looked at each other. That glint never faded, even when they were in financial trouble.’ Maggie sighed as she gazed at the photograph.
‘If they were in financial trouble, how did Terry manage to save seven grand?’ asked Gary.
‘There was no telling with Terry,’ Maggie chuckled. ‘Maybe it was a small inheritance from his side, later in his life?’
‘What did you do?’
‘You mean, for a career?’
‘Yes.’
‘I decided to become a nurse,’ said Maggie, ‘and then I trained to became a midwife. You see, I reached a point where I couldn’t have a child of my own. I was never in a relationship long enough, and then I got too old. I decided to go into midwifery to sort of compensate for that. It’s a lovely job, watching babies being born. I would always wonder who they would become. At first, it was quite painful watching the mothers go through so much pain. But I got used to it and learnt the right things to say and at what moment to say them. Eventually, the bureaucracy of being a midwife – the paperwork – got a bit much, so I took semi-retirement and eased myself out of it.’
Gary and Maggie smiled at each other.
‘Right then, Mister,’ said Maggie. ‘We’d better get these books sorted out, hadn’t we?’ She rolled up her sleeves. ‘You read the title, author and date of publication out to me, and I’ll write it down. Then I’ll have it all typed up properly – understood?’