Exposure (45 page)

The envelope with her name on it was propped on top of it where she couldn't fail to see it. Gloria picked it up; she felt a surge of panic standing in the empty room, opening a letter written to her by her father. He had fine handwriting, legacy of a teacher who expected a fine German
Schrift
and got it by the use of a sharpened ruler across his pupils' knuckles. The page was covered in his writing, but it sprawled, as if his hand was unsteady and the pen slipped between his fingers. She read it, mouthing the words.

‘My darling Daughter. Something has happened and you have got to be very brave. I employed a man called Joe Patrick. You may have seen him, he came to the house once or twice. He took care of problems for me. When you are Harold King you need people like that. He has been arrested and charged with murder. I heard it on the car radio tonight. It's just been on the TV news. I gave him a special job to do and he bungled it. He will implicate me. I'm not going to stand in a court and let them throw mud at me. My enemies would love it. So many people want to see me brought down. I won't give them that satisfaction. And you wouldn't want me to. I know that. So I write this letter to you, because when it's written I am going out and I won't be coming back. Everything is in order; you will want for nothing, your mother is well provided for. I saw Leo Derwent tonight. He tried to blackmail me with photographs of what you did together. Now you know what he is worth, you will know what to do when he tries to come back. He will, once I am gone. I have left you great power and all the money you can imagine. Use them as I would have done. You are part of me – I shall go on living through you. No-one but you must read this letter. Destroy it. Always remember two things: you are my daughter, and I am your loving Daddy to the end.'

Gloria knelt by the fire, poked at the smouldering logs until a little flame spurted and then fed the letter to it till it blazed up briefly and then fell into ash.

She went on kneeling by the fire, not moving, not even able to weep. The world had come to an end. He had gone and he was never coming back. She was so chill and numb she felt as if she had died with him. She didn't move till she heard the doorbell ringing and then, after an interval, men's voices, and her mother screaming. Slowly she raised herself, smoothed her dress, lifted her head, and went out to take control.

She packed her mother off to bed and summoned the doctor, who gave her an injection. She was interviewed by the police officers in the sitting room. They were sympathetic and very tactful. Harold King's car had been found wrecked on the road to the valley below. He had driven straight into a tree, and died instantly. Privately, they remarked on her extreme composure. She didn't shed a tear. She turned her pale eyes on them and just nodded and said, ‘It must have been a heart attack.' And dared them to question that solution.

There would be an inquest, all very unfortunate and distressing for her and her mother, but, of course, the Swiss authorities would make the ordeal as easy for them as possible. She thanked them gravely, and ended the interview by standing up and walking to the door with them. Then she summoned the staff. They gathered round her in the hall, headed by the housekeeper. She was an upright, austere German Swiss who had been with them for ten years. Gloria addressed them.

They looked shocked and subdued; they had felt secure in King's tyranny. Without it they were uneasy. Gloria said, ‘You must know by now that my father died in a motor accident tonight. When this is known, the media will come here and we will be under siege. They will turn my father's death into a circus. If any one of you, or any member of your families, is induced to speak to anyone about this, you will be instantly dismissed without a reference. And I will make certain that no-one else in Gstaad ever employs you. My mother is in shock. I won't be taking any calls or receiving any visitors. Without exception. Nobody is to be allowed in. Is that understood?'

The housekeeper took a step forward. ‘It's understood, Fräulein Gloria. You can be certain of our loyalty to you and to Frau King. We are all very shocked by this terrible thing that has happened.'

‘Thank you,' Gloria said. ‘You will be glad to know that it was instantaneous. My father didn't suffer. Good night.'

One by one they filed past her and went through the service door to their own quarters. She put the lights out and locked the doors herself. Then she went upstairs to her own room. She was alone. She would always be alone from now on. The tears began to stream down her face.

Ben had taken Lucy to Euston. On the platform she hugged him. ‘Thanks for everything; you've been great to me. Everyone has. And you will come up and see me, won't you?'

‘Don't worry,' he assured her. ‘I'm not losing you a second time. Give my best to your mother. Call me in a day or two. I'll be at the hotel till I get myself a rented flat.'

Lucy held on to his arm. ‘Dad … don't lose Julia, will you? She's pretty special. Don't make the same mistake again … Like you did with Mum.'

That surprised him. He said, ‘What do you mean?'

‘Being too proud to make it up. Mum would have gone back if only you'd got in touch. She's happy enough now, but she was miserable for a long time. Don't mind me saying it, will you?'

Ben put his arms around her. ‘I don't mind. I'm just sorry I screwed up on all of you. You'd better go, sweetheart – find yourself a decent seat. And don't forget to ring.'

‘I won't,' she smiled at him and paused on the step of the carriage to wave. ‘Bye, Dad. Don't screw up a second time!'

He turned and walked down the platform and into the body of the station. A muffled announcement about a train departure boomed out over the loudspeakers. He thought it might as well have been Swahili it was so indistinct. As he came out into the street he saw the huge headlines on the
Evening Standard
billboard,
HAROLD KING DEAD
. He stopped, stared, then rushed to buy the newspaper. More headlines, splashed across the front page.
MYSTERY OF TYCOON
'
S DEATH
.
FATAL CAR CRASH AT SWISS HOLIDAY RESORT
. Ben read it through at speed, only too familiar with the news format. It was unbelievable. King was dead, killed in his car in an unexplained drive from his chalet down twisting roads at night. The information was still sketchy, so speculation was passed on as news. A probable heart attack. His wife and daughter were flying back to England. They were refusing to make any statement. He got into his car and listened to a newsflash. It had a slightly more slanted angle than the newspaper story.

It was reported that the financier and publishing magnate had been seen leaving the Regent Hotel shortly after eight o'clock in a distressed state. Distressed, Harold King … It was newspeak for a variety of conditions. He couldn't imagine which one it could be. When he got back to his hotel room there was a message for him.

A Miss Julia Hamilton had called from a Swiss telephone number. What had she done …? She and Felix … What part had they played in this incredible development? Or had Fate intervened to settle it for them? He felt sick with jealousy. He banished Lucy's parting words in angry denial. Julia had broken faith with him, turned for support to another man, put her crusade above their relationship … He wasn't going to call that number. Or take a call from her if she tried again. He dialled reception and said, ‘I'm not accepting any calls from Switzerland,' and the girl said, ‘There's a call on the line for you now, Mr Harris. A Mr Sutton … Shall I have the switchboard put him through?'

‘Yes,' Ben said quickly. ‘I'll talk to
him
…'

He heard Felix's cheerful voice. ‘Are you opening a bottle?'

‘Aren't you?' Ben demanded aggressively.

‘Bloody amazing, isn't it?' Felix went on blithely. ‘Bet Julia's over the moon.'

‘You tell me,' Ben snapped at him.

There was a pause, and then Felix said, ‘What's that supposed to mean? What's going on? I just rang up to share the glad tidings …'

‘She's out in Gstaad,' Ben said slowly. ‘I thought you were with her …'

‘Me? I'm in bloody London, in the office … Are you off your trolley?'

Ben took a breath and said, ‘Not now, but I was … Sorry, Felix. What's the word in the office? Was it an accident? What was all that about him being distressed when he left the hotel?'

‘About as distressed as a bull elephant,' Felix retorted. ‘Rumour going round is he was pissed … staggering.'

‘He was teetotal … never touched booze …'

‘Well, it sounds like he broke the golden rule last night,' Felix answered. ‘Maybe the arrest of that little sleaze-bag Joe Patrick had something to do with it … He's been charged with murder – that old widow Julia was so worked up about. All happened within hours, his legman gets picked up, he gets boozed and runs into a tree. Why aren't you at the hot spot? What's Julia doing out there on her own? And why the hell did you think I was with her?'

Ben said, ‘Why don't we open that bottle together? If you don't mind drinking with a bloody fool.'

Felix Sutton laughed. ‘I'll drink with anyone so long as they're paying. See you around seven.' He hung up.

Joe Patrick had been arrested for Jean Adams' murder. He had been occupied with taking Lucy out to a film and giving her dinner on their last evening together. He hadn't switched on a TV set or opened a newspaper that morning because she was catching an early train. He had missed out on it all till he saw those flaring headlines outside the station.

He switched on the set in time for the twelve-thirty news bulletin on ITV. It was the lead item. There were clips of Harold King, comments by media experts and then, staring at him from the screen, William Western.

‘A remarkable figure in the world of publishing and communication,' the precise voice intoned, the expression suitably grave. ‘We had differences of opinion about a great many issues, but his energy and abilities earned the respect of everyone in the media. His contribution to our industry will be greatly missed.'

‘Christ Almighty,' Ben exploded. He snapped the control to ‘off', fading that calculating, lying image into darkness.

Then he picked up the telephone and asked for a call to Switzerland.

‘I didn't think you'd forgive me,' Julia said. ‘I didn't expect you to …'

‘I didn't think I would, either. When does your flight get in?'

‘Six o'clock your time. Ben, I can't wait to get away from here and get home. Are you sure you want to come and meet me? I've got so much to tell you … I've got a tape of the whole thing. I wish I felt happy about it, but somehow it's left such a filthy taste … I had to do it. I had to follow it through. Please try and understand … I tried to explain in my letter.'

‘I know,' he said. ‘We'll talk about that later. I'm glad about one thing. Jean Adams.'

‘That's the best part,' Julia said slowly. ‘It helps to make sense of the whole dreadful nightmare. Oh Ben – I do want to talk to you – tell you—'

Ben Harris said, ‘We've got a lot to talk over, Julia. I'll see you at six.'

‘You came over beautifully, Billy,' Evelyn Western said. ‘Just the right balance. Dignified, generous … Oh, what a wonderful relief!'

He held her hand under the table. They were lunching at the Connaught; she looked so animated and beautiful, he was proud to show her off.

He felt twenty years younger. He kept smiling all the time. ‘Word is', he told her, ‘he committed suicide. There's a lot of rumours flying about … he seemed to be drunk when he left the hotel. There was a time lag unaccounted for when he came home and then went out again. And that Irishman being charged with Jean Adams' murder on the very same night … I think he realized the game was up, and he killed himself. Well, my darling, here's to him. I only hope hell's hot enough!'

They lifted their glasses of champagne, and drank the toast together. Evelyn Western said gently, ‘You've nothing to worry about any more. It's all over.'

William Western looked at her. ‘If you wanted a quiet life, Evie, you shouldn't have married me. Hasn't it occurred to you that there's nobody there to pick up the pieces. He only had that daughter. I think the whole thing will be up for grabs. And I'm going to take the first handful.'

‘Knowing you,' his wife said calmly, ‘you'll take it all.'

‘Julia – I thought you were in Switzerland?'

‘Felix … how are you?'

‘Pissed off; Harris asked me round to the hotel for a drink, and never turned up. I had to pay for my own. What the hell happened?'

‘He came to the airport to fetch me and forgot,' she said. ‘He's here. Do you want to talk to him?'

‘No, I don't want to disturb the reunion. Just tell him he owes me.'

‘I will,' she promised. ‘And, Felix … we're getting married. You'll have to come.' She looked across at Ben Harris. ‘He says the cat went on hunger strike when I left, that's why he asked me.'

She heard Felix laugh. ‘Sooner you than me. But good luck, anyway. You won't be asking for your old job back?'

‘I'm quitting journalism. I've got a book to write and a man with a cat to look after. I'll let you know the time and the place.'

Ben Harris came and took the telephone away from her. She reached up to him and said, ‘I'm so happy.'

He said before he kissed her, ‘So am I.'

It was strange, they admitted, how well she filled her father's chair at the head of the boardroom table. Nothing had been changed in his office except that the portrait of him that used to hang in that same boardroom now hung on the wall opposite his desk, where Gloria King could see it. There were six men sitting there grouped up one end. The finance director, the deputy chairman of a major London merchant bank, and a director of Field who had flown in from New York. The company secretary had been Harold King's employee for twenty years. King had trusted him, and bound him to loyalty with share options. There were two other directors present, both seasoned King employees. The principal board meeting would follow in a week's time, followed by an Extraordinary General Meeting of the shareholders. This had been postponed till after the funeral as a mark of respect. The inquest had revealed that Harold King had a high alcohol content in his blood, and the verdict was accidental death. Over two million pounds in Life Assurance had been claimed for his estate.