Children of the Revolution

by Peter Robinson

  Banks expected her to go for a salad, but she chose the confit of duck with dauphinoise potatoes. Banks decided on steak frites, the steak medium rare.

  ‘Drinks?’ asked the waiter, after he had taken their orders.

  Normally, in a pub, Banks would have ordered beer, but this place seemed more like a posh restaurant, and he was having steak, so he asked about red wine by the glass and settled for a Rioja recommended by the waiter. Oriana asked for the same, so the waiter brought a half carafe. ‘We shouldn’t be over the limit if this is all we have,’ said Banks.

  Oriana smiled. ‘You’re the policeman. I am in your hands entirely.’

  ‘I noticed you didn’t seem too pleased the other day when I turned up at Brierley for the second time,’ Banks said.

  Oriana frowned. ‘There was a bad feeling around the place. I don’t like that. Ronnie was worried. It makes for a bad atmosphere. Perhaps I blamed you a little bit. But I …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You call her Ronnie? I noticed that the other day.’

  ‘Of course. Why not?

  ‘I thought you worked for her, that’s all.’

  ‘I do. But our families are old friends. We don’t stand on formality.’

  ‘I know a little bit about your history,’ Banks said.

  She cocked her head to one side. ‘You have been checking up on me.’

  ‘No, nothing as serious as that. Just a little background research. How is your grandfather, by the way?’

  Her brow furrowed. ‘It can’t be long now,’ she said. ‘Have you ever wished for something to happen with every fibre of your being, yet hoped that it never would? That’s how I feel about him. Mostly he’s not my grandfather any more, but sometimes he is. Mostly he remembers no one, and he is so frightened by everything, then sometimes he’ll smile and say my name, and it makes my heart melt.’ Tears came to her eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, not at all. Alzheimer’s?’

  She gave a little shudder. ‘I hope that never happens to me. I hope someone would kill me first.’

  ‘Maybe that’s not the sort of thing you should be saying to me,’ said Banks.

  They both laughed; it broke the tension and dispelled some of her sadness.

  The waiter appeared with their drinks and a plate of crusty bread with olive oil and balsamic vinegar for dipping. Banks didn’t like either, so he left it well alone. The waiter then poured the wine from the carafe into their glasses and slipped away.

  ‘I understand that your families have had a very long relationship,’ Banks said. ‘And, believe me, I really haven’t been spying on you, and I wouldn’t want you to betray any confidences in any way. I just got the impression that you were perhaps as concerned about Lady Chalmers as you were angry at my reappearance.’

  ‘Any anger was because of the upset it caused. I mean, it wasn’t you. And that man Nathan. I don’t like him.’

  Like a fool, Banks asked why, and the look she gave him told him everything he needed to know about Nathan. It should have been obvious: Oriana was young and beautiful; Nathan was young and full of himself. Blushing a little at his lack of insight, he picked up his wine glass. They clinked and made a quick toast, then he moved on.

  ‘And Anthony Litton?’

  ‘Oh, Tony’s all right, I suppose,’ she said. ‘I’ve known him for a long time. I don’t think I’m giving away any family secrets when I say I think he’s a bit of a pompous arse, not to mention a bit of a bully. He’s used to giving the orders and getting his own way. But you’d expect that of a Harley Street specialist, wouldn’t you? I’m certainly glad I’m not one of his patients, though I understand he’s a very good doctor.’

  ‘I gather he’s still practising.’

  ‘Only part of the time. He keeps his surgery, and he has other doctors who work with him. He goes down to London regularly and, of course, he keeps the most prestigious, wealthy and famous patients for himself.’

  Banks laughed. ‘How long have you worked for Lady Chalmers?’

  Oriana arched an exquisitely plucked eyebrow. ‘You don’t know? I thought you knew everything about me.’

  Banks smiled. ‘I’m sure it’s in the file somewhere.’

  ‘Just over ten years,’ Oriana answered. ‘Since shortly after I left university.’

  ‘And you live at Brierley House?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t always. I had a flat in York for a while. But I do for the moment. It suits us all very well.’

  ‘You’re mainly a researcher, am I right?’

  ‘Yes. I do the research for Ronnie’s books. I enjoy it, and she doesn’t. I also organise her schedule, drive her to book signings and other promotional events. I also accompany her on overseas book tours. Australia. South Africa. The USA. Canada. Also various cities around Europe, places where there are book fairs and festivals and so on. She’s translated into nearly thirty languages, you know.’

  ‘A busy life. It’s a wonder she gets any time to write.’

  ‘It can be. But I enjoy it. I find travel very stimulating.’

  ‘Do you also act as her literary agent?’

  ‘No. That would be too much. Her agent is in London.’

  ‘What about the housekeeping?’

  Oriana laughed. It was a charming, musical sound. ‘I’m not a housemaid, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ she said. ‘Can you picture me on my knees scrubbing the kitchen floor?’

  ‘Not exactly, no.’

  ‘I answer the door if I’m at home and not otherwise occupied. Ronnie doesn’t like to be disturbed when she’s working. It breaks her rhythm. I do some of the cooking because I love to cook. It’s a passion of mine. That’s all. My mother was an excellent cook, and she taught me all she knew.’

  ‘In Italy?’

  ‘Yes. In Umbria. You know the region?’

  ‘Just a little. I’ve been to Perugia, and Assisi. It’s a very beautiful area.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why did your family leave Umbria?’

  ‘There wasn’t much for them there. My father was not a natural man of the soil, like my grandfather, and he wasn’t interested in winemaking. He tried for some years, when I was still a child, but he wanted a city career, so he came back here to go to university. In Hull. And my mother wanted more from life, too. She had grown up country poor, and she saw her chance, I think, in my father’s connections with England. Also, I think Father had found his roots in Italy, and he decided he preferred the ones he had in England, but in a way my mother never left home. Living in the countryside is very beautiful, and easy to remember through rose-coloured glasses, but it is also very hard work to make ends meet. I was only about six when we came here. I don’t really remember it very well. My father studied hard, and in the end he became a land surveyor, and now he travels all over the place. He’ll be retiring soon. Something he’s not looking forward to. But it’s not me and my family you want to talk about, is it?’

  Banks was actually more than happy to sit there and listen to her talk about herself and her life all day, but he realised he should get down to business. Their food appeared. Banks’s steak was perfectly cooked, the frites crisp and skinny. Oriana said her duck was perfect, too.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s about Lady Chalmers. I’m sorry that my talks with her seem to have upset the household so much. As you probably know, I’ve been warned off by my bosses, so I’d be grateful if you would keep this little meeting secret.’

  ‘You want me to keep secrets for you now?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘A secret tryst? How exciting.’ Then she turned coquettish, casting her eyes down and smiling shyly. ‘But are you sure you can trust me?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Banks. ‘It seems that if I want to know anything more about what’s going on at Brierley, I have no choice.’

  ‘There’s nothing I can tell you, so I’m afraid there won’t be very much to keep secret.’

  ‘I’d just rather no one know we�
��ve met, that’s all.’

  ‘Including Ronnie?’

  ‘Not Lady Chalmers so much. I’ll leave that up to you. I’m more worried about Anthony Litton and Ralph Nathan than about her.’

  ‘In that case, you needn’t worry. I certainly won’t tell either of them.’

  They ate in silence for a while. It certainly beat Banks’s usual lunchtime fare at the Queen’s Arms or the Indian takeaways that often passed for dinner, though any meal would have to go a long way to beat the game pie at the Low Moor Inn. Perhaps Oriana would enjoy that, too. What a stupid thought, he realised, and got back to business. ‘Do you know anything about this telephone call I asked Lady Chalmers about?’

  ‘No. As you know, I was out. I visit my grandfather every Monday. I often come here for lunch afterwards, too. Usually alone. I like to sit and read a book while I eat sometimes.’

  ‘Me, too,’ said Banks, ‘when I get the chance.’ He paused, trying to find a way of getting around to hinting that Lady Chalmers was lying without offending Oriana. ‘Only, it seems like a long telephone call about something she wasn’t interested in. Does Lady Chalmers often spend a long time talking to strangers on the telephone?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. Ronnie is always polite on the telephone, even to those people who pester her trying to sell things. I tell her she should tell them to go away and hang up, but she tells me they have a job to do, and it’s not her place to be rude to them. What can I say?’

  ‘You don’t usually answer the telephone for her?’

  ‘Sometimes I answer it, if she’s busy. Not always.’

  ‘So you don’t find it odd that she spent seven minutes talking to Gavin Miller?’

  ‘No, not really. If they were both at the same university, they might have had some memories in common they chatted about. Remembering their professors, other students, funny things that happened. It wouldn’t have to mean they knew each other at the time.’

  ‘It’s possible, I suppose.’ Banks showed her the two pictures of Gavin Miller, old and new. ‘Do you recognise this man? Have you ever seen him? Has he ever been to Brierley House?’

  Oriana squinted as she stared, her dark glossy hair framing her oval face. ‘No,’ she said finally, pushing them back towards Banks. ‘I have never seen him. Is it the person who phoned?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He was quite handsome when he was younger.’

  Banks re-examined the image, taken from the group photo outside a college building twenty-five years ago. She was right. Miller had been quite good-looking as a young man. Again, that set his mind wandering back to the University of Essex in the early seventies, when Miller and the lovely young Ronnie Bellamy had been students at the same time. ‘Did Lady Chalmers ever talk about her student days?’ he asked.

  Oriana thought for a moment, then said, ‘Just sometimes, years ago, when I was still at university myself.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  Oriana was silent for a few moments, then she said, ‘Mostly she used to complain what a drab and self-centred lot we students were these days, only interested in getting our degrees so we could get good jobs and earn a lot of money. She talked about the “old days” like you people do, as if they were some sort of Golden Age. The revolution. You were children of the revolution. Always fighting for the cause. Always altruistic, never self-interested.’ She laughed at Banks’s expression. ‘What? Am I not telling the truth?’

  ‘I suppose there is a certain amount of nostalgia for the old days,’ Banks admitted. ‘But it did seem real enough at the time. It seemed within our power to change things. Make a better world.’

  ‘Is that what you wanted to do? Is that why you joined the police?’

  ‘I suppose it is, in an odd sort of way. It seemed better than throwing ball bearings under the feet of police horses in Grosvenor Square.’

  ‘Then you grew older, yes, and you no longer wanted to change things. And just look at the world now.’

  ‘Well, someone said that if you’re not a communist when you’re twenty, you’ve got no heart, and if you’re not a conservative when you’re forty, you’ve got no brain.’

  Oriana laughed at that. ‘So true.’

  ‘So Lady Chalmers was a left-wing firebrand at university, was she?’

  ‘So it seems. She went on demonstrations against the government, against wars and dictatorships, that sort of thing. Yes. And I don’t think I’m giving away any secrets to say that I think she also needed to rebel against her family, against the privilege in which she had been brought up. The grand mansion. The servants. And there was the way they earned their fortune. I’m not entirely clear about it, but I think much of the family fortune came from colonialism, perhaps even the slave trade, or at least from the exploitation of native populations. That wouldn’t sit well with Ronnie’s Marxist ideals at the time. She made none of the choices her parents would have wanted her to make. She is very independent-minded and strong-willed. Stubborn and hard-headed, too, sometimes, Jem says. I have to confess that I wasn’t very political at university. Perhaps I spent too much time on my studies and not enough out on the picket lines, though I don’t remember any picket lines.’

  ‘Margaret Thatcher got rid of them all. How do you get along with Sir Jeremy?’

  ‘Jem? Fine,’ said Oriana. ‘He’s kind, considerate, intelligent. And he knows so much about theatre, its history, characters. He has such wonderful stories to tell. Funny, too. It’s just a pity he’s away so much.’

  ‘His work demands it?’

  ‘Yes. If he’s not abroad somewhere, he’s down in London at the offices. Mind you, Ronnie’s also away a fair bit, especially when there’s a new book out. Me, too.’

  ‘How do he and Lady Chalmers get along?’

  Oriana narrowed her eyes. ‘I told you. No family tales. They get along fine.’

  Was there a hidden message there, Banks wondered, or was Oriana merely being discreet? So what if there was a little turbulence. Most marriages suffer turbulence every now and then, as Banks well remembered. ‘The girls?’

  ‘Hardly girls any more. Well, Sam’s still at university – St Andrews, studying Drama. She likes to come down for the weekend when she can get away. She hasn’t decided yet whether she wants to be a rock star like your son or a famous actress. Those are the best times, when the family’s all at Brierley. Angelina’s “in between” at the moment. She got a decent enough degree at St Hilda’s, in Oxford, and I’m sure she’ll find a job eventually, but right now she’s enjoying her horses.’

  ‘What line of work is she interested in?’

  ‘Well, her degree is in History, but she’s horse crazy. Who knows which direction she’ll go in? Right now, it wouldn’t surprise me if she took a job as a stable “lad” just to get a foot on the rung. They’re wonderful girls. My “little sisters”.’

  Banks took another photograph out of his briefcase, one he had examined in great detail through a magnifying glass the previous evening. It showed a large group of students marching, carrying banners in favour of the miners. Banks pointed to one blurry figure, clearly a young blonde woman, her head just visible between two other burlier figures. ‘Is that her?’ he asked. ‘Is that Lady Chalmers?’

  Oriana peered at the photograph then gave a dismissive pout. ‘It could be,’ she said. ‘But perhaps not. It is hard to tell.’

  ‘Lady Chalmers went to the same university at the same time as the man who got killed, you know, the man who phoned her.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean she knew him. He’s not in the photograph, too, is he?’

  ‘Not that one, no,’ said Banks. ‘But if he did know her, and if he was in trouble or something, and for some reason he called her …’

  ‘Then she would be lying about the reason for the telephone call.’

  ‘About its content, yes.’ Banks didn’t like the way this was going; he thought he was losing Oriana. At that moment, the waiter came by to take away their plates and ask if they wanted
anything else. They both ordered coffee; Oriana’s an espresso. She swirled what was left of her wine in the glass then set it aside. Banks finished his off.

  When they had their coffees, Oriana leaned forward towards Banks, resting her hands on the white tablecloth. Her fingers were long and tapered; she wore no rings. He could just see the tempting line of olive cleavage below the neckline of her top. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘you probably know this already, but the only reason I’m talking to you is because I’ve been worried about Ronnie. She’s been distracted since that day. Very jumpy. I didn’t know it was the telephone call that upset her because I didn’t know about it until you came, but now I think it is. The timing is right, and I can think of nothing else to explain her behaviour. Now, all this week, she has seemed distant and has been very quiet. Whether this has anything to do with what you’ve been asking questions about, I don’t know, only that she hasn’t been herself, and I’ve been worried about her.’

  ‘So you’re willing to admit that she might be lying about the call?’

  ‘If she is, it’s for a good reason.’

  ‘I’m afraid that doesn’t help me. Have you tried talking to her?’

  ‘I’ve asked her several times if there’s anything wrong, but she won’t say. Something is bothering her, though. I can tell.’