David Wishart - No Cause for Concern

Right. So what we’d got here was the old story of the domineering father – stepfather, in this case – straight-arming his son to do something he didn’t want to do, and the son taking the simplest way out. I could understand that: I’d been through it myself when I was a lot younger than this Titus. And I’d bet that when it came to straight-arming, Eutacticus wouldn’t exactly be subtlety personified. Still, the young guy sounded like he was no soft touch, either, and reading between the lines I’d guess that ‘they’ve never really got on’ was a whopping understatement. Life in the Eutacticus household over the past couple of years must’ve been fun, fun, fun.

‘You have any idea where he might’ve gone?’ I said.

‘Oh, yes. I’m fairly certain about that. His…my late husband was an actor.’ She blushed: in the social scheme of things, actors rank about as high as fluteplayers and jugglers, which means barely into the sentient bracket. ‘An actor-manager, actually. He had a company that worked the north as far as Perusia, playing the local theatres. He took Titus with him as soon as he was old enough, and Titus loved it. Then when Marcus – that was my husband, Marcus Luscius – died his brother Sextus took over the troupe, and Titus went along with him every year, acting the female leads. Only when we married, Publius thought it wasn’t very…you know, not the proper thing, and he stopped him doing it. Titus wasn’t happy about that at all.’

‘So you think he’s gone off to join his uncle?’

‘I’m almost sure of it. I don’t know exactly where they’ll be at present – it’s quite late in the season now, so they’ll probably be working their way back – but you could ask Sextus’s wife Tullia. She should know.’

‘She’s here in Rome?’

‘Yes, on the Aventine. I’ve written down directions so you can find her.’ She took a rolled-up piece of paper from her mantle and handed it to me. ‘Valerius Corvinus, I know this is… Publius goes at things like a bull at a gate, it’s a great deal to ask, particularly as it’s really so trivial, but I honestly am grateful.’

Yeah, right. Mind you, I knew how young Titus Luscius – presumably that was still the kid’s name, if he hadn’t been formally adopted yet – felt; it would’ve taken real guts to go against a stepfather like Eutacticus. And the chances were several thousand to one that there was no real cause for concern: he had simply – sensibly – taken off for the tall timber and was doing something he enjoyed for a change. On the other hand, Eutacticus had made it very clear that a refusal on my part to look for him wasn’t an option, and messing with that bastard wasn’t a hassle I needed. Trivial or not, no cause for concern or not, I was stuck with the job.

‘That’s okay, lady,’ I said. ‘It’s not your fault. I’ll do what I can.’ I swallowed the last of my wine and stood up. ‘Was there anything else? I mean, did he take anything with him? Money, for example?’

‘I don’t know, but probably. Money wouldn’t’ve been a problem. Publius lets him have as much as he likes, when he likes. He’s very generous, to both of us.’ Occusia stood up too. ‘Oh, he did take his personal slave with him. Lynchus. That was no surprise. They’ve been together since they were children, and they’re more friends than slave and master.’

‘Right. Well, it’s a start, anyway. Fair enough, I’ll let you know how I get on.’ I was on my way to the door, but then I stopped. ‘One thing. If I do find him, what do you want me to do?’

‘Persuade him to come back. If you can.’

‘And if he won’t come?’

The mousey eyes blinked at me again. ‘I don’t know.’

Great. There’s nothing like firm instructions from a client. But we’d cross that bridge when we came to it.

Laughing George – I supposed I’d better call him Satrius, now we’d been formally introduced – wasn’t in evidence: probably he’d had a hard day’s mugging and needed to curl up with a good book and a cup of warm milk. I was heading for the stairs, but I’d only got half way when a door further along the gallery opened and a girl came towards me. Forget mousey dumpling, this one was a stunner: early twenties, smallish but compact, midnight-dark hair and the poise of an Imperial. Sempronia, presumably, but if so then she didn’t take after her father.

I stopped.

‘Valerius Corvinus?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’m Sempronia. I was wondering if I could have a word with you before you go.’

‘Sure.’

‘Not here, please. In private. Come into my room.’

‘Ah -’

‘Oh, it’s all right. My maid’s there already.’

‘Fine, then.’ I followed her into the room she’d come out of. Not a bedroom, a day-room with couches. The maid, a wispy little thing about the same age, was sitting on a stool in the far corner, hands clasped in her lap and eyes lowered. Puffy face: she looked like she’d been crying a lot recently. She didn’t look up as we came in, and the girl ignored her.

‘Have a seat, please.’

I sat down on one of the couches and she lay down opposite me.

‘You’ve talked to my stepmother. And my father.’

‘Yeah, well, not so much to the latter,’ I said. ‘It was mostly one way. Let’s just say we communicated.’

‘Yes.’ Voice as expressionless as her face. ‘He can be a bit like that. Or a lot like that, really. I’m sorry.’

‘That’s okay. I wasn’t expecting anything different.’

‘I thought someone had better tell you a bit more about Titus. And the situation here. More than my stepmother probably did, at any rate. If you’re going to look for him then you need to know the whole picture.’

‘Fair enough,’ I said cautiously. ‘Go ahead.’

‘Occusia told you about the quarrel?’

‘Not as such, no. But there’d have to have been one, so I sort of took it as read.’

‘Mm.’ She rested her chin on her hand. ‘It happened the evening before he left, but it’d been building for months. Years, really, ever since Father married again. He wanted Titus to be part of the firm. That’s what he calls it, by the way.’ Her voice was still neutral. ‘I did have a brother once, a real one, but he died of a fever a year before the wedding. Titus was the replacement.’

‘Only he doesn’t want to be?’

‘No. Titus hates everything about my father. He would’ve stopped Occusia marrying him at all if he could, but she talked him round. It was that or starve, or go crawling to Tullia and her husband. Did Occusia mention Tullia?’

‘Her sister-in-law. Yeah.’

‘Well, they’ve never got on, and she and Sextus Luscius are living on the breadline in any case. So Father it was. Not that it was much of a hardship. As long as he gets his way, Father’s a pussycat.’

Oh, really? ‘And if he doesn’t?’

Her eyes rested on me for a moment, then shifted aside: okay, it had been a pretty stupid question at that. ‘Titus fought a running battle with my father for two years,’ she said. ‘He wouldn’t be adopted, he wouldn’t get involved with the firm. Oh, he never got into an argument. At a certain point he just said “No”, very politely, and Father didn’t press him any further. That was the situation until three days ago.’

‘The day of the quarrel?’

She nodded. ‘Father took him into the study and told him he’d had enough. He was going to make a formal application for adoption, and unless Titus gave him his full co-operation he was out completely. He also hinted that he’d start divorce proceedings against my stepmother.’

Shit! ‘He’d do that?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Couldn’t he just have adopted someone else? I mean, brought them into the family as an heir? It’s done all the time, and with his money he could pick and choose.’