Nine.
I needn't have worried. Susie had known all along what would happen to Joe's shareholding in the event of his death. I'd thought I'd been clever in tracking Mr. Maltbie to his lair, but unlike me, my wife is a very good and conscientious director of a public company, and she had a metaphorical finger on the pulse of every one of its members.
"Can you do anything about it?" I asked her that evening, after I had given her a run-down on my day, as we sat beside the pool enjoying a nice chilled bottle of Sancerre.
"No. Not a damn thing."
"You're not bothered?"
"Of course I'm bloody bothered! I don't want to be connected with him in any way. I wish with all my heart that it was him in that box in the undertaker's and not Joe. But sadly it isn't. He's still drawing breath and, no doubt, ordering his guards about each and every day, as if he was still the big cheese. Happily, that's one thing he'll never be able to do to me again. I may have to have him back as a shareholder, but his influence will never reach into my office, or into our boardroom."
"How would you feel if I contacted his trustees in lunacy, or whatever the hell they're called, and offered to buy the shares? Just so you can be rid of him for good."
Susie smiled at me. "Curator bonis," she said.
"What's that? An ice-cream or something?"
"A Curator bonis is a person appointed by the court to look after the affairs of someone who's mentally handicapped. You're a love, Oz, but I couldn't let you do that. Have you any idea what Joe's shares are worth?"
"About four million. Do you know what I'm going to earn this year, given the deals that Roscoe's done for me?"
She reached across and squeezed my hand. "You're a love, you really are. Listen, I know you've been buying shares on the quiet, but that's too big a chunk."
I shrugged. "At the current price it would be a good investment. I might just do it anyway. The way I understand it, now the shares have reverted back to Jack, you don't have a veto over their sale."
"That's true, I don't. But there are other reasons why you shouldn't do it. For a start, you need a willing seller to do a deal. I don't know who the Curator bonis is… although I'm bound to find out when Joe's estate is processed and the transfer is notified to the company's registrar… but given the value of the property he's looking after, he's probably a big-firm accountant or a heavy duty corporate lawyer.
Whatever, he isn't going to be a mug, and if he's doing his job properly, he'll view those shares as a good long-term investment. If he sells them at all, it'll be at a premium. You'll have to pay over the odds, and if you do that…" She took a sip of her wine and gave me a knowing look. When Susie's business brain moves into overdrive, I struggle to keep up with her, but I always do my best.
"You and I are husband and wife; effectively what's mine is yours and vice versa. I own sixty per cent of the business as it is, through the trust; if you do this deal it'll take our family holding to damn near seventy per cent. On top of that, if you buy at the price Jack's Curator's likely to settle for, word will get around. What if the other shareholders, who are mainly institutional, get wind and come to us wanting the same price for theirs. We'd be in a pickle."
"Couldn't the group buy them in?"
She snorted. "Sure, and fuck up its cash position. We'd be back where we started, a family-owned business at the mercy of those fickle bastards who are decision-makers in the banks, who are in turn at the mercy of their institutional shareholders. No, Oz my darling boy; noble as your motives may be, I'm not going to let you compromise us."
"What are you going to do, then?"
"Nothing. When the transfer takes effect I'll sit tight and see what the Curator does. My guess is he'll do nothing at all."
"What if he offers you the shares?"
"Why the hell should he do that?"
"Does Jack know that you know he's not your real father?"
She seemed to jump in her chair, then settled back into its thick cushions, her brow suddenly furrowed by a frown. "I don't know," she murmured. "But unless Joe told him, I can't imagine how he would. You know I haven't seen him or spoken to him since he went away, but I can't say for sure that Joe didn't keep in touch with him. They were friends from way back, after all."
"Has Jack ever tried to contact you?"
"Only the once, after he was committed to the State Hospital. I had a letter from him."
"You never told me that."
"You never asked me till now. But that's not surprising. Let's face it, Oz; if one of us has a reason to hate Jack Gantry it's you, rather than me. I found out everything he did, from Mike, and I know that Jan's death wasn't an accident."
I looked away from her, across the pool, as I replayed in my mind's eye my last meeting with the maniacal Lord Provost, when he had justified himself to the last. I had wanted to kill him then, and if my friends hadn't been there to prevent me I might have done just that. I had never spoken of that night to Susie, and even if Mike Dylan had when he was around, I still didn't want to.
"So what did you do with the Lord Provost's letter?" I didn't ask her what it had contained.
"I sent it back to him, via the State Hospital superintendent, and told him that I wanted no further contact with him, of any sort. The superintendent replied; he said that he understood, and that he would take care of it for me. So far he's been as good as his word."
"Long may it stay that way," I said, a touch grimly, 'and long may the old bastard stay out there in Carstairs, enjoying his drug-infested porridge."
I resolved to think no more of Jack Gantry, and to forget any notion of bidding for his shares in the group that still bore his name. Instead, I settled into my chair, smiled at my wife, and thought of my own Dad.
I was due to give Mac the Dentist a phone call. I had still to tell him about Joe: I had put off doing that until I could give him the whole package, funeral arrangements and everything.
There was something else I probably had to tell him too. She had not been at the forefront of my thoughts since the bombshell in Mother well had exploded, but Andrea Neiporte was still there. I had wondered whether to spill the beans to Mac or not, but I was coming down on the side of "Yes'. If she was capable of tossing a can of paint at me, she was probably still capable of making trouble for him.
Jay had reported to me, that evening and the night before, that there had been no sightings of her on the video cameras at the entrance to the estate, or anywhere else for that matter. That was good; my guess was that the thing at the premiere had been her way of getting back at me for roughing up her old man. Still, I couldn't be certain, so Mac had to be told.
Susie, on the other hand, had not; she had written the incident off as a nutter at work, and there was no sense in making her any the wiser.
I decided to speak to my Dad as soon as Susie left for work next morning. That was first on my list. But what further action to take against the Neiportes ran it a close second.
Ten.
I had intended to phone Mac the Dentist, but with a long, almost empty day stretching out in front of me I decided to give him the bad news in person. So, once Susie had gone, driving herself in the big Beamer, I told Janet that she was going to see her Granddad, and loaded her into the Freelander that we kept for knocking around the estate.
I'd have left it as a father and daughter outing, but Jay Yuille is a conscientious guy. He pointed out that he was employed principally as our bodyguard and that he could hardly be guarding them if they were seventy miles away. I have to confess that there have been occasions when I've found Jay's omnipresence just a wee bit intrusive, but I've always managed to keep those feelings to myself, since I'm the guy whose lifestyle made him necessary in the first place.
So I yielded to his insistence and let him come with us. I took the wheel, though, with him in the front passenger seat fulfilling the valuable function of picking Janet's toys up and handing them back to her each time she threw one on the floor. I drove sedately, because
of the precious passenger, and because the Freelander, while it's a chunky motor, isn't exactly a flying machine.
The Forth Bridge was quiet heading north… it always is in the morning, but wait till the Edinburgh commuters head for home… and soon we were on the new road which heads for the East Neuk in more or less a straight line. Normally I'd have headed for Anstruther through Elie and St. Monans, but there was a degree of urgency, in that Janet would soon be needing a pit stop.
My stepmother was at home when we arrived; she'd taken early retirement from teaching, and was only doing the occasional supply job. Things were completely natural between the two of us now, and I was grateful for that. Mary had been my mother-in-law before she'd married my Dad; Jan's death had shattered her as much as it had me.
Afterwards she'd had to live with Prim's return to the scene, then our break-up. I hadn't been sure how she'd react to wee Janet, but she'd been a gem, accepting her as she would have any grandchild. As usual, she was all over her like a rash when we pulled up, unannounced. "Why didn't you warn me?" she scolded me.
Janet had been to Enster often enough to have sussed out its main attractions. For example, there's a cafe on the harbour front.
"Ice-cweam," was all she needed to say to Mary before she found herself loaded into her push-chair and heading for the town. Once again Jay insisted on going along, and this time I had no qualms about it, as the idiocy of bringing my daughter to a place where people might be after her father and grandfather began to dawn on me.
We had passed the Neiporte cottage on the way through Pittenweem, and I had pointed it out to Jay. He had said nothing, but a cold light had seemed to come on in his eyes.
When they had gone, I was left alone in my Dad's house, waiting in his kitchen for him to come through from the surgery, once he had finished mauling his twelve o'clock patient. I allowed him his usual twenty-minute average. I filled the kettle on the quarter-past mark, and five or six minutes later was stirring two mugs of coffee by the sink when I heard him walk in behind me.
"What the f…"
I turned to face him at the sound of his hearty greeting, a mug in each hand… and almost dropped them. There were dark circles under my father's eyes that I had never seen before. His broad shoulders seemed to droop as he stood there, and his pale blue nylon surgery tunic seemed to hang loose on him. I felt as if I was looking at a man I didn't know.
"No, Dad," I said. "That's my line."
I handed him one of the mugs, turned him around and propelled him through to the living room. When he was sat in his armchair, I leaned forward in mine and looked at him, forcing him to look in my direction.
"You look like the picture in Dorian Gray's fucking attic," I told him. (My Dad and I have never been anything other than frank with each other.) "Thanks, son, for your vote of confidence," he retorted. Even his voice sounded weary. "You look pretty sharp yourself. Are you here alone?"
"No, I'm with you. Janet and Mary have gone on an ice-cream mission;
Jay's with them."
"Jay? Kevin bloody Costner, you mean, or should it be Frank bloody Farmer… whatever his name was in that bodyguard movie. He didn't do you and Susie much good at the premiere the other night."
"Yes he did. He took most of the stuff. Jay's a good guy, so don't worry about us. What's with you? Have you been bothered by that American twat again?"
"Not him."
"I didn't mean him."
"She's English, remember. Yes, I had a call from her. It was…"
"Does she still want money?" I interrupted "No, she didn't say any more about that. It was… it was unpleasant, that's all. She just screamed abuse at me, called me terrible names, said terrible things to me."
"How many calls?"
"Two. One the day after you were here, then another a few days ago, the day after your premiere in fact."
I heard a low growl, and realised that I was its source. "Bitch," I rumbled. "I'm sorry, Dad: I made a mistake. I put the fear of God almighty into the husband, thinking that would be enough. Clearly, I should have done the same to her. That's not beyond redemption, though."
Mac the Dentist shook his head. "Don't make it any worse, son. Leave her alone, please."
"I don't know if I can do that. It was Andrea Neiporte who chucked that can of paint at me at the premiere."
His mouth dropped open, revealing his crooked, coffee-stained lower teeth… funny thing, but as far as I've seen, dentists rarely present good advertisements for their profession. Wh…" He looked stunned.
"How do you know that?"
"The police showed me a photo."
I'll swear he went white under his tan. "You didn't tell them who she was, did you?"
"Of course not."
"Will they find out?"
"Not unless her mug's on the police computer and they do a check. They won't, though."
My Dad stared at the empty fireplace. "Let it rest, son."
"It's hard for me to do that. The woman's tried to extort money from you; now she's persecuting you."
"I know, I know. She's a nasty piece of work. But I set myself up for it. I should have stopped the procedure when Arthur was called away.
Christ, I should never have done it in the first place. I should have told her that if she wanted a general she'd have to go to the dental hospital."
"You mean there could be professional implications for you if the story comes out?"
"It's possible."
"But that's ridiculous," I protested. "You've practised impeccably for thirty-five years."
"Means nothing. If this goes public I could be for the high jump. So please, son. Let's just hope that she's got her frustration out of her system. Leave her alone."
I had never seen him like this before, not even after my Mum's death, when he hit the bevvy pretty hard. That made me even angrier with Mr. and Mrs. Neiporte, but I heard what he was saying. "Okay," I said, eventually. "I'll steer clear… until the next time she calls you, or shows up anywhere near me. She does that, and she gets a correction, as a friend of mine used to say."
Eleven.
By the time Grandma Mary, Janet and Jay came back from the harbour, I had reassured my Dad as best I could. I'd also given him the bad news about Joe Donn. He was as shocked as I knew he'd be, and he asked me for the funeral details, insisting that he'd be there if it meant cancelling appointments.
I kept an eye on Mary over lunch, but she didn't seem worried about him. Sometimes, the closer you are to someone, the less likely you are to notice change, if it's gradual.
Once we had eaten, and Janet had been toileted, we got ready for the road. Rather than going straight back home, we took a detour over the hill to St. Andrews. It was Friday afternoon, so Jonathan and Colin would be clear of school and I decided to give them a chance to see the wee cousin on whom they both doted. As I've said, I'm very attached to both my nephews, having become a bit of a surrogate dad since Ellen and Allan split up, but I keep a particular eye on Jonny. The older he's grown, the more of myself I've seen in him, and I'm determined that only the good bits are going to come to the surface. Colin, on the other hand… well he's just Colin. He's as wild as purple heather, but I've a strange notion that if either of them takes after his father and becomes a work-obsessed nerd, it'll be him.
There was a time when Allan Sinclair tried to be a normal family guy.
My Dad and I took him golfing with us, but he was crap; he just didn't like the game. I tried him out at fishing, but all he ever did was fall in. He joined a five-a-side group at work, but broke his ankle.
He even joined a rough shooting group, but after not very long they asked him to stay away for everyone's safety. Then the job in France came up; he moved Ellie and the kids out to a remote picturesque village, and left them there all day as he worked longer and longer hours.
Finally, my sister did the inevitable; she moved out, went home to life and found a teaching job. Allan made a few noises, but the truth was that he was so wrapp
ed up in his computer development work that he hardly noticed.
We found the lads where I'd guessed, kicking a ball around outside their mother's school, waiting for her to finish her week's admin so that she could knock off too. If Ellie was surprised to see us, she didn't show it, but she did button-hole me at the first opportunity.
"You seen Mac?" she asked. She's always been less reverent towards our father than me.
"What's up with him? I was down there with the boys last weekend and he was like a bloody grizzly. Colin was mucking around, and he actually fetched him a clump round the ear. He's never done that before. I don't remember him ever laying a finger on either of us when we were kids. I hit the roof, of course; I took the boys home, and I haven't spoken to him since. I'm worried about him, though, Oz. Has he said anything to you?"
I hadn't been ready for that, and I was angered by it, but I husked it as best I could. "Yes. He's got a bit of man's trouble," I said, mysteriously, but as casually as I could make it sound. "It's the sort of thing that comes with age, and it's nothing serious, so don't worry about it."
"What, you mean getting up to pee in the middle of the night, that sort of man's trouble?"
"You get the idea." Being a good actor is an advantage in many ways.
"Make allowances for him; give him a wide berth for a while if you think it's best. I'll give him a bollocking and tell him to make it up with Colin. He seems to be growing by the day too. Is he needing a new bike?"
"In-line skates," she replied. "You know, roller-blades. They're the rage in St. Andrews right now."
I slipped her a hundred from the roll in my pocket. "Buy them and tell him they're from the Old Man. I'll get the dough off him next time I see him."
She took it, but snorted. "It'll cost him more than that. Jonny's still upset with him; you know how he looks out for his wee brother."
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