Peter Corris - The Marvellous Boy

Before I could answer the other man put in his oar.

‘Don’t be foolish father, what could you possibly have to say to someone like this?’ There was a sneer in his voice but some apprehension also; he leaned over and peered at the card. ‘A private detective who knows Rose and that slut Kay Fletcher. This is obviously some kind of newspaper muck-raking.’

‘This is my son, Keir,’ Baudin said. ‘This is his house.’

‘It used to be yours,’ I said for no reason.

Keir took another drink. ‘Researching the family Hardy? Won’t do you any good. There are no skeletons in our cupboard.’

The skin on the old man’s face tightened, his hand shook as he took a sip but he didn’t say anything. I was feeling out of my depth; here were two people very much on edge and all I’d done was present my card.

‘My father is ill as you can probably see — he mustn’t be upset.’

There wasn’t a lot of conviction in his voice and still some provocation. It crossed my mind that he wouldn’t worry if Dad did get a bit upset. I decided I didn’t like Keir. I addressed myself to the old man.

‘I’ll try not to upset you, Mr Baudin. I’m making enquiries about your adopted son but there’s nothing sinister in it.’

‘Warwick!’ Keir almost shouted the word and I could feel his apprehension and aggression go up a hundred points.

I said ‘My client…” and stopped. The pace had been too hot for me to think out in advance how to approach this moment. And I hadn’t expected it to come up so soon. How do you prise your way into the secret vault of adoption? Except that this wasn’t an ordinary adoption. That gave me some leverage. Keir’s obvious disaffection could be useful too, if I could play it right.

‘We’re waiting, Hardy,’ Keir purred. ‘Your client…’

‘I can’t give you the name of course,’ I said, knowing how lame it sounded, ‘but my client believes that your adopted son is properly part of her family. She wants to establish the connection; she’s old, it’s important to her.’

‘I was always curious about Warwick’s genes,’ Nicholas Baudin said.

This galvanised Keir. He slurped down his drink and his previously carefully modulated voice went up into a squeak.

‘Who are these people? Who?’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that at this stage. There are a lot of threads to tie up. This could be a false lead, if it’s not you’ll get all the details in time.’

‘Thanks very much.’ Keir again. He got up and stood as tall as he could — about five foot six. ‘This is preposterous. I won’t have it. I’m going to call Rogers and have this character thrown out. It’s an original line, I’ll say that for it.’ He moved up to his father’s chair keeping well away from me, still standing. He noticed that his glass was empty and went across to the bar for more. He slammed the glass down on the bar and turned dramatically.

‘Of course! This is Warwick’s idea! Come on father, this is some sort of hoax.’ He took his drink across and stood protectively near the old man’s chair. ‘You’re not a bad actor, Mr Hardy, you had me fooled. But I can’t for the life of me see how Warwick would get anything out of this.’

‘You’re babbling,’ I said. ‘I’ve never met your brother.’

‘Don’t call him my brother.’ The squeak was back. ‘He forfeited that right years ago.’

‘I’d like to hear about it.’

‘Well you won’t. Clear off.’

He was red in the face with anger and from the effort of keeping himself at his full height. I looked down at his feet and realised that I’d over-measured him; he wore built-up shoes that must have given him a couple of inches. Short men who want to impress should cultivate an icy mien or be jolly — I knew a few who did it successfully. I grinned at him.

‘I’d say that was up to your father. I’ve told you the truth, as much of it as I can.’

The old man seemed to get the message. He pulled himself up in the chair and shoved his glass at Keir. ‘Don’t brawl Keir, it’s not your forte. And for God’s sake get me a decent drink, it’s a crime to drown good whisky like this.’

The son snatched up the glass clumsily; his father could strip him of composure so quickly I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

‘Sit down, Mr Hardy.’ The old boy pointed to the chair nearest him. ‘Will you have a drink?’

‘Thanks, no, I’ve got things to do tonight.’ I took out my tobacco and held it up enquiringly.

‘Go ahead.’ He took the glass from Keir without acknowledgment; the drink was dark this time, neat scotch over ice. He drank some and settled back in his chair.

‘That’s better. Do you know the occasion for this gathering?’

I worked at the makings. ‘Something to do with mining I heard.’

‘That’s right. A mine. It’ll be operational in five years — I’ll be dead.’

Keir made a noise that was hard to interpret, perhaps shock, perhaps dutiful protest. Baudin ignored it. So did I.

‘I’m nearly eighty and that’s the sort of thing I have to celebrate. What do you think of that?’

I had the cigarette going and took in a lungful. ‘I don’t know. You could celebrate being nearly eighty. A lot of people don’t make it so far.’

His snort could have been amusement. His old eyes just looked old.

‘There’s something in what you say. Well, are you offering me something else to celebrate? Has my adopted son come into enormous wealth or a title?’

‘No title. Some wealth I guess, if he’s the man. Other considerations are more important. I’m concerned about the family.’

He drank again and smacked his lips. ‘You should be. It pains me to say it of someone I raised, but if anything good is going to happen to Warwick it will be a colossal injustice. He’s one of the most worthless people that ever lived.’

This pronouncement seemed to give Keir heart.

‘He’s rubbish,’ he said. His father said nothing and his confidence went up. ‘Father I simply can’t believe this. He’s snooping about something else.’

All that did was tell me that there was something else to snoop about. Baudin senior tilted his head at him and he subsided.

‘Keir was born less than a year after we took Warwick. It was one of those cases. The two boys never got along.’

I nodded. ‘His character isn’t really my concern. I’d better come clean with you. I’m pretty sure he is the man I want. A physical similarity to other members of the family would help. Do you have a photograph of him?’

‘No,’ Keir snapped. ‘We have nothing.’

Something in the way he said it made panic jump in me. ‘You don’t mean he’s dead?’ Then I remembered Keir’s earlier remark.

The relief must have showed. ‘This is important to you, Mr Hardy?’ Baudin’s face seemed to lose flesh with the effort of talking.

‘Yes. Do you know where Warwick is now?’

I expelled smoke and waited for an answer. Keir supplied it from the middle of a smirk across his pasty face.

‘No, we don’t.’

Baudin pere didn’t contradict him. Instead he drank the rest of his whisky and set the glass down as if he’d lost interest in liquor forever.

‘That boy was the trial of my life,’ he said in his faint, falling tones. ‘Everything else I touched turned out just right except… except Warwick. He was trouble from the start. Enormously gifted but a monster. He killed my wife. She loved him more than me, more than Keir. She called him her marvellous boy and he killed her with worry and shame.’

‘What sort of trouble Mr Baudin?’

‘Everything — cars, girls, drink, cheques. Everything.’

‘Where was this?’

‘Everywhere. Here, Sydney, London, New York, Rome.’