Sarah Rayne - What Lies Beneath

He’s avoiding the words ‘insanity’ or ‘madness’, thought Crispian.

‘Who else knows about this apart from my mother and Flagg?’ he asked.

‘No one. Flagg and his wife can be trusted, you know.’

‘I know that. I’m thinking of Cadences,’ said Crispian. ‘If any of the investors were to know…’ He paused, looking even more anxious. ‘It could be the end of the bank.’

‘Could it? Yes, I can see that’s a possibility.’

‘I’m also thinking of my mother’s safety.’

‘Oh God, so am I,’ said Martlet angrily. ‘Why d’you think I suggested that grisly little room? Your mother – Flagg too – have learned to recognize the signs now. They call for me at once, I sedate him and we get him into that room until it passes.’

‘But that can’t go on,’ said Crispian, appalled. ‘Not after last night.’

‘No. Oh, no. But until we can think of an alternative…’

‘I’ve thought of one,’ said Crispian. ‘I’ll take him away from London. Somewhere where he can be kept safe. Somewhere where no one knows him.’

‘What about Cadence Manor? That cousin of Sir Julius lives there, doesn’t he? Colm, is it?’

‘Yes, Colm. He’s Jamie’s father,’ said Crispian. ‘He’s lived quietly at the manor since Jamie’s mother died. You remember her, I dare say?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Martlet sadly. ‘A beautiful creature.’

‘But the manor is the first place people would think to look,’ said Crispian. ‘Also, my father could escape too easily. So,’ he said determinedly, ‘I think we’ll have to go out of England altogether. A sea voyage – a long one. Down to the Mediterranean and then round the coast of Greece, perhaps. We needn’t go as far as the Turkish coastline, of course, certainly not with that trouble in the Balkans last year, although Thomas Cook say it’s all died down.’

‘Crispian, you can’t do that on your own.’

‘I know. I’m going to ask Jamie to come with us. I think he’ll agree.’

‘That’s a good idea.’ Martlet thought for a moment. ‘But even with two of you, there might be times when it won’t be easy to control your father. I wonder – would you consider taking a second companion?’

‘Who?’

‘Gil.’

Gil. Oh God, thought Crispian, and his mind went back to the last time he had seen Dr Martlet’s son. Gil had been escorting two ladies along a London street, the three of them apparently bound for Gil’s rooms where the two ladies, who proclaimed themselves artistes from the music hall, were going to demonstrate their performance to Gil in private. ‘Would you like to join us, Crispian?’ Gil had said.

He was smiling and Crispian had no idea if he was being serious. He said, as cordially as possible, that he preferred his pleasures in private.

‘Pity. Fair enough, though. Good night.’ The trio went boozily on their way singing cheerfully, and hailed a cab at the end of the street.

Crispian pulled his mind away from this scrappy memory. Martlet was saying that he would provide sufficient funds for Gil. ‘That must be clearly understood. And I know he’s a little wild at times, a little frivolous,’ he said, ‘but he’s actually very trustworthy when it comes to things that matter.’

Crispian hesitated. He did believe Gil could be trusted over this; the trouble was that Gil could not be trusted in other directions. If he accompanied them Crispian and Jamie would spend half the time keeping him away from women and the other half dragging him out of gaming hells.

He said, ‘But would Gil want to come? Would he want to leave London? I thought—’ He broke off, trying to frame his next question tactfully. ‘I thought he was studying medicine at Guy’s. Fourth year, wasn’t it?’

‘It was,’ said Martlet drily. ‘But at present he’s not likely to be reaching the fifth year, let alone the final one.’

Clearly there had been some new scandal, and if Gil had not actually been thrown permanently out of Guy’s, he had obviously been rusticated. Crispian did not want to enquire too closely into the circumstances, and Dr Martlet was watching him with such entreaty that he said, ‘Yes, all right. He can come with us.’

‘I’m more grateful than I can say,’ said Martlet, and Crispian nodded and hoped the old boy was not going to become maudlin. But he merely said, with a touch of awkwardness, ‘You should be warned about Gil’s particular weaknesses, I think.’

‘I know Gil’s particular weaknesses,’ said Crispian rather caustically. ‘And I’ll hide the brandy and the cheque books.’ As Martlet winced, he said, ‘I’m sorry, that was unnecessary. And in the situation we’re facing, things like that aren’t very important. I’ll be glad of Gil’s company.’

And I will be glad of it, he thought determinedly. Jamie’s a bit of dry stick these days and I’ll probably be ready to scream at him before we get as far as Calais. At least Gil’s good company and he’ll balance out Jamie’s earnestness.

Martlet said, very seriously, ‘Crispian, you do realize that this journey could last much longer than you envisage? The four of you might not see England again for a very long time.’

‘We might never see a great many things again,’ said Crispian grimly.

There was one thing Crispian was determined to see before leaving, and that was Cadence Manor. He was not sure he liked the place much. It was a vast echoing mansion, built by his great-grandfather, who could remember the decadent grandeur of his childhood in Florence, and consequently had a taste for ornate black marble and palladian pillars. But it was Crispian’s family’s place, and if, as Martlet said, he might not see England again for a long time, he would like one last sight of it.

He caught a train to the small halt at Bramley. A trap generally met the London train, so that travellers and their luggage could be taken to their destinations, but Crispian, intending to return to London by the eight fifteen train that same evening, had no luggage.

In any case, he liked the walk along the lanes, from where he could look across to the nearby villages, and he liked walking along Sparrowfeld Lane and Mordwich Bank, whose names evoked a much older English countryside. After the stuffy railway carriage, the air was fresh and clean, the hedgerows were frothy and the fields splashed with buttercups. In a distant copse he could see a hazy shimmer of bluebells. I’ll miss this, he thought. Oh God, I’ll miss England so much.

Jamie’s father, Colm Cadence, met Crispian in the big echoing hall of Cadence Manor. Colm was a mild-mannered man, who found London in general and the world of banking in particular bewildering. He had not wanted to join Cadences Bank, so Crispian’s father, with careless generosity, allowed him to live in a suite of rooms at the manor in return for acting as caretaker. Colm occupied three rooms, wandering around his well-stocked library, sometimes venturing into Priors Bramley, occasionally travelling to Oxford to potter happily among the groves of academe. Someone from the village went in to clean and cook meals for him, and the odd, hermit-like existence seemed to suit him.

Crispian explained that he was going out of England on a long journey and wanted to take a last memory of Cadence Manor with him.

‘Jamie’s coming with us,’ he said. ‘I think he’s written to tell you about it.’

‘The post is quite erratic down here,’ said Colm, apologetically.

‘We want to study foreign methods of banking and foreign finance laws,’ said Crispian, hating the need to lie to the unworldly and trusting Colm.

‘Ah. Foreign methods. I see. That will be very helpful to Jamie’s career, I dare say. Paris and Rome, will it be?’