Next of Kin (23 page)

Alexander bit his lip. ‘I think you need to be careful then, Gareth,' he said. ‘Don't expect too much from Owen.'

‘I believe I'll talk to him,' he said quickly. ‘He struck me as a very interesting character.'

‘Oh he is that all right.'

‘Thanks, Alexander,' he said, standing up. ‘I'll let you get back to your book.'

‘Do you have to?' he asked with a groan. ‘I'm worried that the more I read the closer I'll come to having an aneurysm.'

Gareth smiled, patted him on the shoulder and walked back to retrieve his coat and hat. Alexander watched him for a few moments, wondering why Montignac would have offered a job to a complete stranger. It seemed quite out of character for him. And then, before returning to page one hundred and forty-three, he spent several minutes convincing himself that, unlike the novels he spent so much time reading and reviewing, everything would turn out fine in the end and that there was nothing for him to worry about at all.

9

‘YOU MAKE A START
on it,' Montignac told Jason Parsons, who wanted help in clearing the paintings off one of the walls in order to prepare for the new delivery. ‘That's what you're paid for, isn't it?'

‘It's a two-man job,' he protested. ‘Some of those pieces are too heavy to handle on my own.'

Montignac sighed and ran a hand across his eyes in frustration. ‘Well just get going with the smaller ones for the moment then,' he said. ‘And I'll be with you in a few minutes, all right?'

Jason stared at him irritably, wanting to protest but lacking the confidence to do so, and made his way back down the stairs, muttering as he went.

‘I should probably go,' said Stella, who had been watching out the window at the street below while the two men talked, filled with the kind of tension she had hoped would never exist between her and her cousin again. ‘I can see you're busy.'

‘A little bit, but it's all right,' said Montignac. ‘I am sorry about last night, you know,' he added in a neutral tone after a moment.

Stella stared at him, unsure whether he was being sincere or not. ‘If you'd just give Raymond a chance,' she began hurriedly but he cut her off.

‘If it makes you happy, then I'll try,' he said. ‘Although I doubt that I'll be seeing all that much of him, will I?'

‘Why not?'

‘Well I'll have to spend most of my time in London, working. While you'll be down at Leyville. And I don't think that Raymond and I are going to be meeting up in town to go to the theatre together anytime soon.'

‘Don't suddenly stop coming down, though,' said Stella. ‘Leyville's your home too.'

‘Is it?'

‘You know it is. For pity's sake, Owen, haven't we always made you feel welcome there?'

Montignac stared at her, amazed that she could say something so insensitive. The thing that Stella seemed so keen to forget was that the house, by rights, should have come to his father and not hers, and thereafter to him. For after all, Henry had been the elder of the two boys.

Throughout their childhoods and adolescences, William Montignac had doted on both his sons but, like a monarch who has provided an heir and a spare, he concentrated most of his time and affection on Henry, who was the elder by two and a half years, and left Peter to the care of his mother.

Henry was taught to hunt and to manage the estates. He was encouraged to read all of William Montignac's favourite volumes from his library, to sit in on the meetings he had with his lawyers and estate managers while he was a teenager. The Montignac minions knew that they had to show deference to the heir presumptive, who showed an aptitude for his learning as well as a pleasant disposition and cheerful nature. William wanted him to be tough and harsh, but these were characteristics that were not part of the boy's character. He hoped that he would excel at sports but he turned out to be merely adequate and had no taste whatsoever for the hunt. As he reached his late teenage years William Montignac found himself increasingly disappointed that his son was not more like him. Even his looks disappointed him, for Henry didn't have the distinctive dark hair and eyes of the Montignacs, but rather the paler skin and blonde hair of his maternal grandparents. Still, for all his disappointment, William believed in tradition and knew that his son was an honourable boy and would be a worthy heir when the time came.

However, events at Leyville were to overshadow that.

In the spring of 1905 a couple of young French housemaids were employed by Margaret Richmond's predecessor at Leyville and one of them—Nathalie Reims—caught the eye of Henry Montignac. Like him, she had thick blonde hair and pale eyes but she was shy and found it difficult to make eye contact with any of her new English masters, particularly the handsome young man who seemed to be always watching her and would appear as if from nowhere whenever she went for walks around the estate.

Over the course of a year of illicit meetings and secret conversations the two fell in love and Henry informed his parents that they were to be married. For several months the house was thrown into chaos as the French maids were despatched back to their homes just south of Paris while Henry was placed under virtual house arrest. William Montignac refused to countenance the marriage and even locked his son into his room at one point for almost three weeks as he tried to make him see sense. When the dispute between them finally became violent, Henry was banished from Leyville and moved to France, where he married his paramour within a few days.

Naturally, he was quickly disinherited and Peter Montignac then found himself in the unexpected position of first son and heir. Had his grandfather not been so violently opposed to the marriage, however, not only would Owen Montignac's parents have lived, but they would have ended up as master and mistress of Leyville, and he would have been master in turn after his father's death.

The house and the fortune, therefore, rightly belonged to him.

‘Haven't you always made me feel welcome there,' repeated Montignac in a quiet voice, as if he was trying out the words for himself just to hear how ridiculous and selfish they really were.

‘Don't say we haven't,' said Stella defensively, who had no idea of what he was thinking. ‘My father always made it clear to us that you had as much right to be there as any of us.'

‘That was guilt, I imagine,' said Montignac.

Stella stared at him. ‘Whatever happened between your father and our grandfather is nothing to do with either of us,' she said, trying to keep calm. ‘We shouldn't let it come between us after … after all that we've been through. And it's certainly not why Father didn't leave Leyville to you.'

‘Isn't it?'

‘Of course it isn't,' she said, raising her voice now. ‘If he had any negative feelings towards you, then why would he have taken you in in the first place? Why would he have brought you up and given you a good education? He could have let you stay in France. He could have just let you fend for yourself.'

‘I had family there too,' he pointed out. ‘I'm sure I wouldn't have starved.'

‘He offered you a better life.'

‘I suppose so,' said Montignac, who suspected a lot more about his uncle's reasons for disinheriting him than she did.

‘We were always told to treat you like a brother, and that's what we did,' she insisted, looking to be on the verge of tears now and with this line he could hold back no longer.

‘Really, Stella?' he asked, dumbfounded by her ability to rewrite history. ‘Just like a brother! Are you seriously saying that to me? After all this time? That you treated me just like a brother?'

Stella swallowed nervously and looked away. ‘I'm not getting into all of that, Owen,' she said, brushing past him.

‘No, I didn't think you'd want to.'

‘You're obviously not in any mood to have a civilized conversation so perhaps I should just leave you alone for now.'

‘Yes, I think you should,' he replied, watching as she picked up her coat and shopping bags.

‘I just want to say this,' she said, turning back to him and he was surprised by how the appearance of tears in her eyes could still pull at his heartstrings. ‘My home is your home. There is no distinction in my eyes. It should have been Andrew's, it might have been yours, it happens to be mine. And if you turn your back on your home, then it's like you're turning your back on me,' she added in a softer tone. ‘And I don't want that. I don't want that at all.'

‘I don't want it either,' he muttered, turning away so as not to have to look her in the eyes.

She reached across and touched his arm but she took him by surprise and he recoiled, as if he had just been struck by an electrical charge.

‘After all we've been through, after all we've survived, Owen,' she said, laying a stress on the words, ‘it would be ridiculous for us to fall out now.' She hesitated before adding, ‘Just think how much worse things could have been. If it hadn't been for Margaret.'

Montignac breathed in heavily, wanting her to leave now; he didn't want any more part of this conversation.

‘I have to get back to work,' he said. ‘We'll speak soon, though.'

‘Do you promise?'

‘I promise.'

‘And you'll make an effort with Raymond?'

‘I'll make an effort with him,' said Montignac. ‘For your sake, not for his.'

‘That's all I ask. He's really a very nice chap when you get to know him.'

Montignac felt an irresistible urge to laugh but hid it carefully. There was nothing more to be said between them and Stella reached forwards and brushed her lips casually against his cheek, holding them there for a moment, breathing in the scent of him before turning around and leaving the shop without looking back.

‘That your sister?' asked Jason Parsons, coming up beside him now and watching her disappear down the street.

‘My cousin,' said Montignac, watching too.

Jason let out a low whistle of appreciation. ‘She's a bit special, isn't she?' he said. ‘No offence, like,' he added quickly, noticing the look of irritation on his employer's face.

‘Don't we have a wall to clear?' asked Montignac, brushing past him before the urge to hit his assistant became too strong.

10

MONTIGNAC STAYED IN THE
gallery later than usual that night; the prospect of returning home to the empty flat in Bedford Place and trying to concoct a scheme to escape the clutches of Nicholas Delfy not being an attractive one. The work on the new additions had been completed successfully and he'd already managed to sell two pieces in the afternoon and interested a private collector over the phone in another, which meant that he wouldn't have to look at the hideous creation for any longer than necessary.

A few regular customers had been lingering later in the day and had tried to engage him in a conversation about an artist's exhibition that had just opened at a rival gallery along the street, but he was unusually taciturn.

‘Have you seen it yet?' asked one lady, who had spent many thousands of pounds in the Threadbare Gallery and displayed no traces of discernment whatsoever.

‘I dropped in yesterday morning,' said Montignac.

‘I didn't care for it,' she said. ‘I don't know what they're doing giving the artist so much space. I can't see any of it selling, can you? The things you bring in here are so much more interesting. So different. So challenging, don't you agree?'

‘Absolutely,' Montignac said, although for him the only real challenge lay in resisting the urge to take a pair of scissors and destroy every one of them before they could decrease the aesthetic value of the world any further.

‘Of course the exhibition I'm most excited by will be the Cézanne,' she continued.

‘Yes, I've heard about that,' said Montignac; Arthur Hamilton from the Clarion Gallery next door had already told him how a dozen or so paintings from the exhibition were coming to his gallery for some restoration work before joining the touring collection, and he hoped to get a private viewing.

After Jason Parsons left at six o'clock he locked the door from the inside and went back to his desk, pouring himself a glass of whisky from a bottle he kept locked away in the bottom drawer and began work on the ledger he kept, recording all transactions made during the month. His stomach started to rumble as he had barely eaten all day. Lunch had been disturbed by Stella's visit and by the time she left he had looked at the sandwich that his assistant had brought for him and found that his appetite was gone; he regretted having thrown it away now as the thought of drinking on an empty stomach only increased his depression.

This was mind-numbing work and it always took him an hour or two to balance all the receipts for sundry expenses against the bankings, but his employer, Mrs Conliffe, examined them herself on a monthly basis and made sure that every pound, shilling and halfpenny was accounted for. On this occasion, however, he quite enjoyed the monotony of the job as it kept his mind off the various problems which were threatening him at the time.

The debt to Nicholas Delfy of fifty thousand pounds, ten grand of which had to be paid off within the month.

The loss of Leyville, its associated capital, landownings, income and rent, all of which rightly belonged to him.

Stella's relationship with that fool Raymond Davis and her absurd idea about marrying him. Issue of that marriage would leave him ever further away from his rightful inheritance and the life he wanted to live. But he shouldn't care about any of that, he thought bitterly in his mind, because he'd always be welcome in her home.

He considered making his way to a noisy bar in the West End, somewhere he could slip in unnoticed to a table in the corner and drown his sorrows over an evening's drinking, but the thought of spending yet more money and waking with a hangover was too much for him. He thought about gambling, numbing the pain of these hours with the brief hope of victory at the tables or around the baize but that too seemed like it might only make matters worse. His mind drifted to the idea of a woman but his body was left behind; it had been weeks, in fact, since he had enjoyed any physical comfort but the idea was of little interest to him now. He had to do something, he realized. Something that might fix all his problems at once.