‘Do you know anything at all about the woman who’s about to become your daughter-in-law?’ I demanded.
‘Not a great deal, no,’ my father admitted.
‘And haven’t you even tried to find out?’
My father put his hands – locked together – on the table. It was almost as if he were praying.
‘John’s an adult …’ he began.
‘But even so …’
‘… and therefore perfectly capable of taking his own decisions. Besides …’
‘Besides what?’
‘I’m so relieved that John is getting married at all.’
Because I wasn’t, I assumed. Because at least one of his sons was prepared to make the effort to continue the family name.
‘I still think you should have done some checking up on her background,’ I said sulkily.
‘And I think you shouldn’t be so wrapped up in your own miseries that you fail to notice what’s going on in other people’s lives,’ my father replied.
It was perhaps the harshest thing he ever said to me, and it hit me like a slap in the face.
Was he telling me that I was the one who should have checked up on Lydia? Or that I should try to see things more from his point of view?
I had no idea. All I did know was that, whatever was behind the rebuke, I’d probably deserved it.
I hung my head in shame. ‘What do you want me to do?’ I asked.
‘I want you to give your brother all the support he needs – both now and in the future,’ my father said. ‘That’s all any of us can do.’
Yes, I thought, even Grandfather couldn’t do more than that.
The service went without a hitch. John was splendid in his morning dress. Lydia, in her white bridal gown, looked everything a blushing bride should be. They both proclaimed their vows with a clarity and sincerity which had at least a couple of our female relatives sniffing into their handkerchiefs.
Then, for better or worse, it was all over. As we posed outside the church for the inevitable wedding photographs, I took a quick, sideways glance at my brother. John was looking considerably happier than he had earlier that morning, so perhaps he’d been suffering from no more than pre-marital nerves after all.
As soon as the reception was over, John and Lydia were flying to Greece for a fortnight’s honeymoon.
And after that?
After that, they would naturally be returning to the village – and moving into the house on Smithy Lane which Grandfather had bought them as a wedding present.
‘You’re all too close,’ I could almost hear my darling Jill whispering in my ear as I stood next to my brother and grinned for the camera, ‘That’s the trouble with your family – you’re all far too close.’
Yet we weren’t – at least, not in the conventional way. Some families shared their joys and sorrows, their triumphs and defeats. All we shared was a common home village and an interlocking web of companies which Grandfather had spun around us as skilfully as any spider could have done.
Once the photographer was satisfied he had captured the moment forever, we all trooped down the short slope to Grandfather’s house, where a marquee had been erected for the reception.
Inside, standing under the canvas roof, I looked around at all my relatives. There were my parents, holding hands as if they both needed the support. There was Grandfather, looking every inch the patrician he actually was, and Grandmother, who had lived her life so much in his shadow that she hardly seemed to cast one of her own.
There was my uncle Tony with his latest girlfriend on his arm. She seemed quite young, and it occurred to me that the older he got, the younger his women seemed to be getting.
Did Uncle Tony ever wonder about what happened to the wife who left him to pursue her acting dreams? I asked myself.
Then again, did he actually need to wonder? True, he never talked about her, but wasn’t it perfectly possible he’d known all along where she was, and perhaps even sent her money to help her out? After all, why shouldn’t he have? She’d certainly done him a great favour, because in abandoning him in the way she had, she’d left him in sole charge of the son he so obviously adored.
Philip, the son in question, was standing by the entrance to the marquee. His left hand held a glass of champagne, and his right arm was resting on the bare shoulder of a very pretty blonde girl. He caught me looking at him and winked lasciviously.
I turned away. I loved my brother dearly and had been happy to serve as his best man, but there was no denying the fact that I would be glad when this whole show was over, and I could get back to my safe, busy office in Oxford.
I felt a tap on my back and turned to find Philip standing there. From the look in his eyes, it was obvious he’d started celebrating long before the actual service began.
‘So what do you think of young Enid?’ he asked me, slightly slurring his words.
‘Enid? Is that what the girl you’re with is called?’
‘They’re all called Enid,’ Philip replied, contemptuously. ‘Can’t, for the life of me, remember what the real name of this particular Enid is, but I’m sure it’ll come to me again when I need it to.’ He swayed a little. ‘Anyway, I noticed you couldn’t take your eyes off her.’
‘That’s rather an exaggeration,’ I said mildly – because the last thing I wanted was a scene at my brother’s wedding. ‘I may have glanced at her, but you were the one who got most of my attention. You’re looking well.’
I wasn’t lying. He’d been rather pasty as a child, but he’d grown out of it, and was now a healthy young man.
‘I’ve only just met this Enid, but I’ll have her before the night is out – just see if I don’t,’ Philip boasted. He sniggered. ‘Even if I don’t get all the way, I’ll probably have more luck than your John will.’
‘And just exactly what do you mean by that, Philip?’ I asked, my voice hardening.
My cousin’s mouth dropped open in a look of comical amazement. ‘You don’t know, do you?’ he said. ‘You really don’t know.’
‘Know what?’ I demanded. ‘Is this something to do with Lydia?’
Philip laughed. ‘Well, bugger me,’ he said. ‘And I always thought you were the smartest out of the three of us.’
‘If you’re aware of something which might hurt John, you should tell me about it right now,’ I said.
‘You never did like me much, did you, Rob?’ my cousin slurred.
‘We’re not talking about you and me,’ I told him. ‘It’s my brother that I’m concerned about now.’
‘Well, I’ve never liked you much, either,’ Philip continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. ‘And I’ll tell you something else. I wouldn’t lift a finger – not one little finger – to help either you or your brother.’
He was so obviously drunk that I should have let it all wash over me, yet despite my best intentions, my head began to pound and I found I had clenched my fist.
‘Now you listen to me …’ I began.
There was suddenly a new person standing between us – a man in his mid-twenties.
‘Mr Conroy,’ he said, addressing me. ‘I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Paul Taylor, your father’s new executive assistant. I wonder if you could spare me a few moments.’
And almost before I knew what was happening, he had one hand on my shoulder and another on my elbow and was steering me away from Philip.
We came to a halt near the buffet table.
‘So what do you want to see me about, Mr Taylor?’ I asked.
Taylor grinned. ‘Nothing really,’ he admitted. ‘It’s just that in another two or three seconds, you’d have taken a swing at your cousin. And I really didn’t think that was a good idea.’
He was right, of course, on both counts. I would have knocked Philip down – and it wouldn’t have been a good idea.
I took a proper look at my rescuer. Paul Taylor was tall and slim. He had silky blond hair which touched lightly on his collar, and his eyes were a very de
ep blue. The overall impression was one of gentleness – perhaps even weakness – but there’d been nothing weak about the way he had stepped in and saved me from myself.
‘How long have you been working as my father’s assistant, Mr Taylor?’ I asked.
‘Not long,’ Paul told me. ‘A matter of weeks – long enough to know that your cousin likes to cause trouble. What was he trying this time?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said.
Paul Taylor nodded, but that didn’t mean he was prepared to leave the matter there.
‘If you asked me to guess, I’d say he was speculating about how long your brother’s marriage is going to last,’ he said.
Which, I supposed, was close enough.
‘How long do you think it’s going to last?’ I asked.
Paul shrugged. ‘Who can say how long any marriage is going to last these days? It could be for a lifetime. It could be over in a matter of weeks. Only time will tell. But I am convinced that your brother wants it to work.’
I liked Paul Taylor, I decided. Despite his soft appearance, he seemed a stable, decisive young man, and I was pleased that he would be working beside my father.
‘Let’s get a drink?’ I suggested.
‘I’d love to,’ Paul replied, ‘but I rather think the big boss would like a word with you.’
I turned around, and saw that Grandfather was indeed signalling me to go over to him.
‘Maybe we can have a drink later,’ I said to Paul
‘I’ll be around,’ he promised.
I made my way over to where Grandfather was standing. The old man was, I noted, leaning much more heavily on his stick than he would have done a couple of years earlier.
‘How are you, Grandfather?’ I asked.
‘What was that all about?’ he replied.
‘I was just talking to my father’s new executive …’
‘That’s not what I mean – and you know it.’
So he had not missed the exchange with Philip. I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised. The old man rarely missed anything.
‘Philip was drunk, and because he was drunk, he was rude,’ I said. ‘There was nothing more to it than that.’
‘Your cousin hasn’t had it easy,’ Grandfather said.
‘Hasn’t had it easy?’ I repeated, incredulously – and determined not to be intimidated even if it was Grandfather I was talking to. ‘He’s had it all on a plate. He got his own brand-new car on his seventeenth birthday.’
‘I’m not talking about things,’ Grandfather said. ‘I’m talking about feelings. Oh, your uncle Tony did his best for him – I’ll not deny that – but there’s no substitute in this world for a mother. I used to watch the way young Philip acted towards those women who your uncle would bring home. He desperately wanted affection from them, and sometimes they’d give it – but then Tony would get bored with the woman and trade her in for a new model, and Philip would be left alone again.’
‘Even if he did have a rough time when he was growing up, it still doesn’t excuse the way he’s acting now,’ I said.
‘I love all my family, whatever their faults,’ Grandfather said softly, ‘and you’re not without a few big faults of your own, you know.’
A bit below the belt, I thought – but if anybody had the right to take a low punch, it was Grandfather.
‘I know I’m far from perfect,’ I admitted.
‘I love you all,’ Grandfather repeated, ‘and I want you all to get on together. And you’re going to have to learn how to do that quickly – because if you don’t, there’ll be a civil war that nobody can win after I’ve gone.’
I laughed. ‘Civil War!’
Because the idea was ludicrous – each of us would inherit enough to live comfortably for the rest of our lives, and without Grandfather as the focal point of the family, we would simply drift apart.
‘I’m being serious,’ the old man said sharply. ‘The company matters to me – I’ve put my life into it – and knowing me as well as you do, you should already have worked out what that will mean.’
But I hadn’t – though, God knows, I should have.
I wondered later, as I was driving back to Oxford after the wedding, which it was that Grandfather cared most about – the family or the company.
It probably wasn’t that simple, I decided, because for him the family was the company, and the company was the family.
We were all a part of his plan – each one of us a piece of the jigsaw which comprised his elaborate vision. And even if Jill hadn’t died – even if I hadn’t had my nervous breakdown – I would have ended up working for him eventually, because he would have piled offer on top of offer, until eventually he made one that I couldn’t refuse.
As I changed gear, my thoughts shifted from my grandfather to my brother. I should have asked him more about Lydia’s background before I started to give him advice on whether he should or should not marry her. Perhaps I should even have done a little investigating of my own. Yet my father didn’t seem concerned – or if he was, he had a very different concern from my own.
Another gear change, and I was thinking about Philip. What exactly had he meant at the reception? Did he really know something I didn’t? Had he been snooping around and uncovered a dark secret in Lydia’s past – a secret he was now taking malicious glee in hiding from the rest of us?
Then I saw a signpost which announced that it was now a mere fifty miles to the city of Oxford, and my thoughts – I’m ashamed to admit – turned to the mountain of work which would inevitably have built up on my desk during my absence and would be demanding my immediate attention.
Six years had passed since that wedding – hardly a moment in the existence of the forbidding church I was standing in front of now, but a fair chunk of a human life. And still I had no answer to the questions I had raised with myself back then.
But that didn’t seem so important anymore, because as intriguing as they were, they didn’t seem to me to be the right questions – the questions which might have helped me to save my brother’s life. Those questions lay buried even deeper in the sludge at the bottom of my mind and would have to be painfully and painstakingly dredged out.
I checked my watch. I was not due at Philip’s house for the reading of Grandfather’s will for another half hour, and though I knew it was probably a mistake to have too much to drink before lunch, I went back into the George and Dragon, and ordered myself another pint.
SIXTEEN
I had expected Cousin Philip’s car to be parked next to his house, but the space it usually occupied was empty. I wondered, briefly, if he’d forgotten we were due to hear Grandfather’s will in less than half an hour – but knowing my cousin as I did, that didn’t seem likely.
I walked on to the end of the dirt track and looked down the steep slope at the path which led across the fields and down to the mere. A week earlier, it would have been a simple enough matter for me to follow that path myself, I thought, but since the crash, everything had become more complicated, and my injured leg was already sending out signals that I had probably overdone things that morning.
There was the sound of a car engine behind me, and turning, I saw that my cousin’s Audi had just rounded the bend. I took a step forwards and felt a stab of pain in my leg. It didn’t bother me much – I could handle physical pain.
Philip stepped nimbly out of his car. He was wearing a very smart business suit and carrying an expensive executive briefcase.
‘You’re lucky I made it on time,’ he said crisply, by way of greeting. ‘I just managed to get the last First Class seat available, and even so, my plane only landed three quarters of an hour ago.’
‘You’ve been away?’ I asked.
‘You don’t normally take a plane unless you’re intending to go somewhere,’ Philip replied. He took out his keys and opened the door. ‘Let’s go through to my study.’
I followed him down the hallway and into the high-tech office which, in Uncle To
ny’s day, had been full of antique furniture and over-stuffed sofas. I accepted my cousin’s invitation to take a seat – one of a pair of chrome and leather ones in front of his desk – but turned down his offer of a drink.
Philip poured himself a generous glass of scotch, then sat down on the other side of the desk.
‘Yes, I’ve been away,’ he said, about as pleasantly as he ever got with me. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve been down to Swansea.’
‘Swansea?’ I repeated stupidly. ‘Why did you go to Swansea?’
My cousin sighed, his moment of amiability obviously over.
‘Did you suffer brain damage as well as everything else?’ he asked. ‘You were going to Swansea when you had the crash. Do you remember why you were going? Remember the deals you were trying to close.’
‘Oh yes,’ I agreed, though after all I’d been through, the idea of closing deals now was as unreal to me as the thought of walking on Mars would have been.
‘Well, aren’t you at least going to ask me how all it went?’ Philip said.
‘How did it go?’ I said, dully.
A complacent smile came to my cousin’s face. ‘All signed and sealed. I’ve saved the company.’
‘Congratulations,’ I said, and though I knew that meant he had also saved Cormorant Publishing, I still found it hard – at that precise moment – to raise much enthusiasm.
‘Yes, it was rather clever of me,’ Philip said, ‘though I must admit, the crash helped.’
I had no idea what he was talking about.
‘The crash?’ I repeated. ‘You’re saying that helped?’
‘Of course. You remember the customers had their doubts about giving their business to us?’
‘I know your father was rather concerned the deal might not go through.’
‘And he was quite right to be. After the way they’d been treated by Western Haulage, the people in Swansea were very dubious about continuing to use it, even under new management. But, you see, the crash changed everything. The customers couldn’t really fail to give us a chance to prove ourselves after such a family tragedy. No one likes to kick a man when he’s down.’
The Company Page 14