This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles #7)(35)
‘Clearly, Mrs Grant, you have not experienced the British press on the rampage.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Then let me assure you, this story would run and run in the tabloids and I fear your husband would not come out of it smelling of roses. The papers will paint him as a na?ve fool, and a cuckold.’
‘Which is no more than the truth,’ said Ellie May scornfully.
‘Possibly, Mrs Grant, but is that something you want to share with the whole world?’
‘What’s the alternative?’ she demanded.
‘It’s my considered opinion that you should settle, unpalatable as that may seem. I suggest you accept the offer of a million pounds, return to America and put this whole unpleasant experience behind you. I would, however, suggest one proviso: should Lady Virginia fail to honour any of the ten payments, she would still be liable for the full amount.’ Lord Goodman waited for Ellie May’s response but she remained silent. ‘But you are the client, and naturally I will abide by your instructions, whatever they may be.’
‘My late Scottish grandfather, Duncan Campbell, used to say, “Better a dollar in the bank, lass, than the promise of a dowry.”’
‘Was he a lawyer, by any chance?’ asked Goodman.
‘It’s a damn good offer,’ said Knowles.
‘Perhaps a little too good,’ said Sloane.
‘What are you getting at?’
‘I am, as you know, Jim, suspicious by nature. Mellor might well be locked up in prison but that doesn’t mean he’s lying on his bunk all day feeling sorry for himself. Don’t forget Belmarsh houses some of the top criminals in the country, and they’ll be only too happy to advise a man they think has money.’
‘But like him, they’re all locked up.’
‘True, but just remember Mellor’s tried to stitch me up once before – and nearly succeeded.’
‘But this guy Sorkin is sending his private jet to pick us up so we can spend the weekend on his yacht at Cap Ferrat. What more could you ask for?’
‘I hate planes, and distrust people who own yachts. And what’s more, no one in the City has ever come across Conrad Sorkin.’
‘I could always go on my own.’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Sloane. ‘We’ll both go. But if I sense even for a second that Sorkin isn’t what he claims to be, we’ll be on the next flight back, and not in his private jet.’
When Virginia received a letter from her solicitor to confirm that Mrs Ellie May Grant had accepted her offer, she wasn’t sure how to react. After all, with ￡230,000 at her disposal, she could live a comfortable enough life swanning around Europe, staying with friends. But she admitted to Bofie that she would miss London, Ascot, Wimbledon, Glyndebourne, the royal garden party, the Proms, Annabel’s and Harry’s Bar, especially when all her continental buddies had migrated back to London for the season.
Although she had banked the cheque for ￡230,000 with Coutts, Virginia accepted that if she were to honour her agreement, the money would run out in a couple of years, and she wondered if she was simply postponing the inevitable trip to Argentina. But on the other hand, perhaps something else might turn up in the meantime, and she still had until April 13th before she had to make a final decision.
After changing her mind several times, Virginia reluctantly handed over the first ￡100,000 to her solicitor on April 13th, and at the same time cleared all her small debts, loans, and legal costs, leaving her with ￡114,000 in her current account. Her brother continued to supply her with an allowance of ￡2,000 a month, a sum that had dropped from ￡4,000 when she deserted Freddie. Virginia hadn’t read the small print in her father’s will. And if Archie ever found out about her windfall, she suspected he would cut her off without another penny.
The following morning, she returned to Coutts and cashed a cheque for ￡10,000. She placed the money in a Swan and Edgar bag, as Mellor had instructed, walked back out on to the Strand and hailed a cab. She had no idea where the Science Museum was but was confident the cabbie would know. Twenty minutes later she was standing outside a magnificent Victorian building on Exhibition Road.
She entered the museum and walked across to the enquiry desk, where a young woman pointed her in the direction of Stephenson’s Rocket. Virginia marched through the Energy Hall, the Space Gallery and into Making the Modern World without turning to look at any of the unique objects that surrounded her.
She spotted the peroxide blonde standing next to an old steam engine, surrounded by children. The two women didn’t acknowledge each other. Virginia simply placed the bag on the floor by her side, turned around and left the museum as quickly as she had entered it.
Twenty minutes later she was sitting in Harry’s Bar enjoying a dry Martini. A handsome young man sitting at the bar on his own smiled at her. She returned his smile.
When Virginia visited Belmarsh the following Sunday, she was relieved to discover that Desmond Mellor didn’t even know his mother had an art collection, and clearly had never heard of L.S. Lowry. He had supplied the old lady with a small monthly allowance, but confessed he hadn’t visited Salford for some years.
‘I sold her bits and pieces for four hundred pounds,’ Virginia told him. ‘What would you like me to do with the money?’