‘Good afternoon, Miss Wilson,’ he said. ‘My name is Ray Pascoe.’
Beth smiled. ‘Danny liked you,’ she said.
‘And I admired him,’ said Pascoe, ‘but that’s not why I’m here. Allow me to carry that for you,’ he said, taking the box from her as they started to walk down the corridor. ‘I wanted to find out if you still intend to try to have the appeal verdict overturned.’
‘What’s the point,’ said Beth, ‘now that Danny’s dead.’
‘Would that be your attitude if he was still alive?’ asked Pascoe.
‘No, of course it wouldn’t,’ said Beth sharply. ‘I’d go on fighting to prove his innocence for the rest of my life.’
When they reached the front gates Pascoe handed the box back to her and said, ‘I have a feeling Danny would like to see his name cleared.’
40
‘GOOD MORNING, Mr Munro,’ said Danny, thrusting out his hand. ‘How nice to see you again.’
‘And you, Sir Nicholas,’ Munro replied. ‘I trust you had a pleasant journey.’
Nick had described Fraser Munro so well that Danny almost felt he knew him. ‘Yes, thank you. The train journey allowed me to go over our correspondence once again, and reconsider your recommendations,’ said Danny as Munro ushered him into a comfortable chair by the side of his desk.
‘I fear my latest letter may not have reached you in time,’ said Munro. ‘I would have telephoned, but of course . . .’
‘That wasn’t possible,’ said Danny, only interested in what the latest letter contained.
‘I fear it’s not good news,’ said Munro, tapping his fingers on the desk – a habit Nick hadn’t mentioned. ‘A writ has been issued against you’ – Danny gripped the arms of his chair. Were the police waiting for him outside? – ‘by your uncle Hugo.’ Danny breathed an audible sigh of relief. ‘I should have seen it coming,’ said Munro, ‘and therefore I blame myself.’
Get on with it, Danny wanted to say. Nick said nothing.
‘The writ claims that your father left the estate in Scotland and the house in London to your uncle and that you have no legal claim over either of them.’
‘But that’s nonsense,’ said Danny.
‘I entirely agree with you, and with your permission I will reply that we intend to defend the action vigorously.’ Danny accepted Munro’s judgement, although he realized that Nick would have been more cautious. ‘To add insult to injury,’ Munro continued, ‘your uncle’s lawyers have come up with what they describe as a compromise.’ Danny nodded, still unwilling to offer an opinion. ‘If you were to accept your uncle’s original offer, namely that he retains possession of both properties along with responsibility for the mortgage payments, he will give instructions to withdraw the writ.’
‘He’s bluffing,’ said Danny. ‘If I recall correctly, Mr Munro, your original advice was to take my uncle to court and make a claim for the money my father borrowed against both houses, a matter of two million, one hundred thousand pounds.’
‘That was indeed my advice,’ continued Munro. ‘But if I recall your response at the time, Sir Nicholas – ’ he placed his half-moon spectacles back on the end of his nose and opened a file – ‘yes, here it is. Your exact words were, “If those were my father’s wishes, I will not go against them”.’
‘That was how I felt at the time, Mr Munro,’ said Danny, ‘but circumstances have changed since then. I do not believe my father would have approved of Uncle Hugo issuing a writ against his nephew.’
‘I agree with you,’ said Munro, unable to hide his surprise at his client’s change of heart. ‘So can I suggest, Sir Nicholas, that we call his bluff?’
‘And how would we go about that?’
‘We could issue a counter-writ,’ replied Munro, ‘asking the court to make a judgement on whether your father had the right to borrow money against the two properties without consulting you in the first place. Although I am by nature a cautious man, Sir Nicholas, I would go as far as to suggest that the law is on our side. However, I’m sure that you read Bleak House in your youth.’
‘Quite recently,’ admitted Danny.
‘Then you will be acquainted with the risks of becoming embroiled in such an action.’
‘But unlike Jarndyce and Jarndyce,’ said Danny, ‘I suspect Uncle Hugo will agree to settle out of court.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘He won’t want to see his picture on the front page of the Scotsman and the Edinburgh Evening News, both of which would be only too happy to remind their readers where his nephew had been residing for the past four years.’
‘A point I had not taken into consideration,’ said Munro. ‘But on reflection, I have to agree with you.’ He coughed. ‘When we last met, you did not seem to be of the opinion that . . .’
‘When we last met, Mr Munro, I was preoccupied with other matters, and was therefore unable to fully grasp the significance of what you were telling me. Since then I have had time to consider your advice, and . . .’ Danny had rehearsed these sentences again and again in his cell, with Big Al playing the role of Mr Munro.
‘Quite so,’ said Munro, removing his spectacles and looking more carefully at his client. ‘Then with your permission, I will take up the cudgels on your behalf. However, I must warn you that the matter may not be resolved quickly.’
‘How long?’ asked Danny.
‘It could be a year, even a little longer, before the case comes to court.’
‘That might be a problem,’ said Danny. ‘I’m not sure there’s enough money in my account at Coutts to cover . . .’
‘No doubt you will advise me once you have been in touch with your bankers.’
‘Certainly,’ said Danny.
Munro coughed again. ‘There are one or two other matters I feel we ought to discuss, Sir Nicholas.’ Danny simply nodded, as Munro put his half-moon spectacles back on and rummaged among the papers on his desk once again. ‘You recently executed a will while you were in prison,’ said Munro, extracting a document from the bottom of the pile.
‘Remind me of the details,’ said Danny, recognizing Nick’s familiar hand on the lined prison paper.
‘You have left the bulk of your estate to one Daniel Cartwright.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Danny.
‘From that, am I to assume that you wish to reconsider your position, Sir Nicholas?’
‘No,’ said Danny, recovering quickly. ‘It’s just that Danny Cartwright died recently.’
‘Then you will need to make a new will at some time in the future. But frankly, there are far more pressing matters for us to consider at this moment in time.’
‘Like what?’ asked Danny.
‘There is a key that your uncle seems most anxious to get his hands on.’
‘A key?’
‘Yes,’ said Munro. ‘It seems that he is willing to offer you one thousand pounds for a silver chain and key that he believes are in your possession. He realizes that they have little intrinsic value, but he would like them to remain in the family.’
‘And so they will,’ responded Danny. ‘I wonder if I might ask you in confidence, Mr Munro, if you have any idea what the key opens?’
‘No, I do not,’ admitted Munro. ‘On that particular subject your grandfather did not confide in me. Though I might make so bold as to suggest that if your uncle is so keen to lay his hands on it, I think we can assume that the contents of whatever the key opens will be worth far more than a thousand pounds.’
‘Quite so,’ said Danny, mimicking Munro.
‘How do wish me to respond to this offer?’ Munro asked.
‘Tell him that you are not aware of the existence of such a key.’
‘As you wish, Sir Nicholas. But I have no doubt that he’ll not be that easily dissuaded, and will come back with a higher offer.’
‘My reply will be the same whatever he offers,’ said Danny firmly.
‘So be it,’ said Munro. ‘May I enquire if it is your inte
ntion to settle in Scotland?’
‘No, Mr Munro. I shall be returning to London shortly to sort out my financial affairs, but be assured I will stay in touch.’
‘Then you will require the keys to your London residence,’ said Munro, ‘which have been in my safekeeping since your father’s death.’ He rose from his chair and walked across to a large safe in the corner of the room. He entered a code and pulled open the heavy door to reveal several shelves stacked with documents. He took two envelopes from the top shelf. ‘I am in possession of the keys to both the house in The Boltons and your estate here in Scotland, Sir Nicholas. Would you care to take charge of them?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Danny. ‘For the time being I only require the keys for my home in London. I would be obliged if you retained the keys to the estate. After all, I can’t be in two places at once.’
‘Quite so,’ said Munro, handing over one of the bulky envelopes.
‘Thank you,’ said Danny. ‘You have served our family loyally over many years.’ Munro smiled. ‘My grandfather—’
‘Ah,’ said Munro with a sigh. Danny wondered if he’d gone too far. ‘I apologize for interrupting you, but the mention of your grandfather reminds me that there is a further matter that I should bring to your attention.’ He returned to the safe, and after rummaging around for a few moments, extracted a small envelope. ‘Ah, here it is,’ he declared, a look of triumph on his face. ‘Your grandfather instructed me to hand this to you in person, but not until after your father had died. I should have carried out his wishes at our previous meeting, but with all the, er, constraints you were under at that time, I confess it quite slipped my mind.’ He passed the envelope to Danny who looked inside, but found nothing.
‘Does this mean anything to you?’ Danny asked.
‘No, it doesn’t,’ confessed Munro. ‘But recalling your grandfather’s lifelong hobby, perhaps the stamp might be of some significance.’
Danny placed the envelope in an inside pocket without further comment.
Munro rose from his chair. ‘I hope, Sir Nicholas, that it will not be too long before we see you in Scotland again. In the meantime, should you require my assistance, do not hesitate to call.’
‘I don’t know how to repay your kindness,’ said Danny.
‘I’m sure that after we have dealt with the problem of your uncle Hugo, I shall be more than adequately compensated.’ He smiled drily, then accompanied Sir Nicholas to the door, shook him warmly by the hand and bade him farewell.
As Munro watched his client stride back in the direction of the hotel, he couldn’t help thinking how like his grandfather Sir Nicholas had turned out to be, although he wondered if it had been wise of him to wear the regimental tie – given the circumstances.
‘He’s done what?’ said Hugo, shouting down the phone.
‘He’s issued a counter-writ against you, making a claim for the two million one hundred thousand you raised on the two properties.’
‘Fraser Munro must be behind this,’ said Hugo. ‘Nick wouldn’t have the nerve to oppose his father’s wishes. What do we do now?’
‘Accept service of the writ and tell them we’ll see them in court.’
‘But we can’t afford to do that,’ said Hugo. ‘You’ve always said that if this case were to end up in court, we’d lose – and the press would have a field day.’
‘True, but it will never come to court.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because I’ll make certain that the case drags on for at least a couple of years, and your nephew will have run out of money long before then. Don’t forget, we know how much is in his bank account. You’ll just need to be patient while I bleed him dry.’
‘What about the key?’
‘Munro is claiming that he doesn’t know anything about a key.’
‘Offer him more money,’ said Hugo. ‘If Nick ever discovers what that key opens, he’ll be able to watch me bleed to death.’
41
ON THE TRAIN back to London, Danny took a closer look at the envelope Nick’s grandfather must have wanted him to have without his father knowing. But why?
Danny turned his attention to the stamp. It was French, value five francs, and showed the five circles of the Olympic emblem. The envelope was postmarked Paris and dated 1896. Danny knew from Nick’s diaries that his grandfather, Sir Alexander Moncrieff, had been a keen collector, so the stamp might possibly be rare and valuable, but he had no idea who to turn to for advice. He found it hard to believe that the name and address could be of any significance: Baron de Coubertin, 25 rue de la Croix-Rouge, Genève, La Suisse. The baron must have been dead for years.
From King’s Cross, Danny took the tube to South Kensington – not a part of London in which he felt at home. With the aid of an A–Z bought from a station kiosk, he walked down Old Brompton Road in the direction of The Boltons. Although Nick’s suitcase was becoming heavier by the minute, he didn’t feel he could waste any more of his rapidly dwindling reserves on a taxi.
When he finally reached The Boltons, Danny came to a halt outside number 12. He couldn’t believe that only one family had lived there; the double garage alone was larger than his home in Bow. He opened a squeaky iron gate and walked up a long path covered in weeds to the front door. He pressed the bell. He couldn’t think why, except that he didn’t want to put the key in the lock until he was certain the house was unoccupied. No one answered.
Danny made several attempts at turning the key in the lock before the door reluctantly opened. He switched on the hall light. Inside, the house was exactly as Nick had described it in his diary. A thick green carpet, faded; red-patterned wallpaper, faded; and long antique lace curtains that hung from ceiling to floor, and had been allowed to attract moths over the years. There were no pictures on the walls, just less faded squares and rectangles to show where they had once hung. Danny wasn’t in much doubt who had removed them, and in whose home they were now hanging.
He walked slowly around the rooms trying to get his bearings. It felt like a museum rather than someone’s home. Once he’d explored the ground floor, he climbed the stairs to the landing and walked down another corridor before entering a large double bedroom. In a wardrobe hung a row of dark suits that could have been hired out for a period drama, along with shirts with wing collars, and on a rail at the bottom were several pairs of heavy black brogues. Danny assumed that this must have been Nick’s grandfather’s room, and clearly his father had preferred to stay in Scotland. Once Sir Alexander had died, Uncle Hugo must have removed the pictures and anything else of value that wasn’t nailed down, before committing Nick’s father to a million-pound mortgage on the house while Nick was safely locked up in prison. Danny was beginning to think that he might have to settle with Hugo before he could turn his attention to the Musketeers.
Having checked all the bedrooms – seven in all – Danny selected one of the smaller rooms in which to spend his first night. After he’d looked through the wardrobe and the chest of drawers, he concluded that it had to be Nick’s old room, because there was a rack of suits, a drawer full of shirts and a row of shoes that fitted him perfectly, but looked as if they had been worn by a soldier who spent most of his time in uniform and had little interest in fashion.
Once Danny had unpacked, he decided to venture higher and find out what was on the top floor. He came across a children’s room that looked as if it had never been slept in, next door to a nursery full of toys that no child had ever played with. His thoughts turned to Beth and Christy. He looked out of the nursery window on to a large garden. Even in the fading light of dusk he could see that the lawn was overgrown from years of neglect.
Danny returned to Nick’s room, undressed and ran himself a bath. He sat in it, deep in thought, and didn’t move until the water had turned cold. Once he’d dried himself, he decided against wearing Nick’s silk pyjamas and climbed straight into bed. Within minutes he was fast asleep. The mattress was more like the one he had beco
me accustomed to in prison.
Danny leapt out of bed the following morning, pulled on a pair of pants, grabbed a silk dressing gown that was hanging on the back of the door, and went in search of the kitchen.
He descended a small uncarpeted staircase to a dark basement, where he discovered a large kitchen with an Aga and shelves full of glass bottles containing he knew not what. He was amused by a line of little bells attached to the wall, marked ‘Drawing Room’, ‘Master Bedroom’, ‘Study’, ‘Nursery’ and ‘Front Door’. He began to search for some food, but couldn’t find anything that hadn’t passed its sell-by date years before. He now realized what the smell was that pervaded the whole house. If there was any money in Nick’s bank account, the first thing he needed to do was employ a cleaner. He pulled open one of the large windows to allow a gust of fresh air to enter the room, into which it hadn’t been invited for some time.
Having failed to find anything to eat, Danny returned to the bedroom to get dressed. He chose the least conservative garments he could find from Nick’s wardrobe, but still ended up looking like a Guards captain on furlough.
As eight o’clock struck on the church clock in the square, Danny picked up the wallet from the bedside table and put it in his jacket pocket. He looked at the envelope Nick’s grandfather had left him, and decided the stamp had to be the secret. He sat down at the desk by the window and wrote out a cheque to Nicholas Moncrieff for five hundred pounds. Was there five hundred pounds in Nick’s account? There was only one way he was going to find out.
When he left the house a few minutes later he pulled the door closed, but this time he remembered to take the keys with him. He strolled to the top of the road, turned right and walked in the direction of South Kensington tube station, only stopping to drop into a newsagent and pick up a copy of The Times. As he was leaving the shop, he spotted a noticeboard offering various services. ‘Massage, Sylvia will come to your home, £100.’ ‘Lawnmower for sale, only used twice, £250 o.n.o.’ He would have bought it if he had been confident there was £250 in Nick’s bank account. ‘Cleaner, five pounds an hour, references supplied. Call Mrs Murphy on . . .’ Danny wondered if Mrs Murphy had a thousand hours to spare. He made a note of her mobile number, which reminded him of something else he needed to put on his shopping list, but that would also have to wait until he had discovered how much money there was in Nick’s account.
A Prisoner of Birth Page 24