Carole had no problem reading the subtext of this announcement. Sheila Cartwright had once again wrong-footed Gina by calling the meeting; she wasn’t going to be allowed to reinforce her dominance by chairing it too.
‘Have you had many calls from the press?’ asked Carole, remembering her interrogation by the intrepid boy reporter.
‘Quite a few. Referred them all to the police. That’s the official line, incidentally. We have no information here. When there is anything to say, the police will be the ones to say it.’
‘Any press actually turned up here?’
‘One or two. All firmly turned away. As you know, the house and gardens have been closed to the public. And we’ve kept the gate from the car park locked right through the day. Only just had it opened, so that you Trustees can get in.’
‘Have you seen Professor Marla Teischbaum?’
‘No.’ Gina Locke looked surprise. ‘Should I have done?’
‘She was here. I just saw her talking to Sheila.’
The surprise in Gina’s face turned to white-lipped anger. ‘She should have come to see me. If Marla Teischbaum comes to Bracketts, it should be to see the person in charge!’
Carole Seddon made no comment.
Attendance at the Emergency Trustees’ Meeting in the dining room at Bracketts was depleted. No Lord Beniston, and Josie Freeman’s social calendar was far too rigidly set in stone to be altered for anything less than a family funeral – and even then her appearance would have depended on whether it was her own or her husband’s side of the family. (In fact, that Friday evening had been long booked for a visit with her husband to a production of Parsifal at the Royal Opera House. He would be bored rigid throughout, and wouldn’t understand the story – nothing to do with car-parts – but it was the kind of place where his wife told him he should be seen, and he knew she knew about that kind of thing.)
George Ferris was at the meeting in ginger tweeds, more than ever like a smug inhabitant of Middle Earth. Graham and his aunt also attended, she as ever vague and quite possibly on a different planet, while he looked tense and fragile. Carole found herself wondering how real his suicide threat had been. There was an unnerving lack of stability about the man.
But of course the main adversaries at the table were the current Director of Bracketts and the woman who still thought she was in charge of the place. They must have done some deal before the meeting started, though, because Sheila Cartwright meekly allowed Gina Locke to welcome the Trustees and outline the main business on their agenda.
‘I’m sure you all know by now that the discovery of the corpse in the kitchen garden is public knowledge. The skeleton is, literally, out of the cupboard, and some of you have no doubt already had approaches from the press about it . . .’
Graham Chadleigh-Bewes nodded agreement at this, showing in his pained face what a hardship and intrusion this had been for someone as sensitive as he was.
‘Well, it was bound to happen at some point. And,’ she went on, in a conciliatory tone, ‘we all owe a great debt of gratitude to Sheila for using her influence to keep the story out of the press for nearly a week.’
Gina’s rival gave a magnanimous nod of acknowledgement.
‘So the main purpose of this meeting – and once again may I say how much I appreciate your making time in your busy schedules to be with us tonight – the main purpose is to talk through how we’re going to answer press enquiries . . . to see that we’re all on-message and, as it were, singing from the same hymn-sheet.
‘What we’re aiming to achieve is a uniform approach that will keep the press off our backs, but – very importantly – not antagonize them. There’s already a degree of resentment from the media about the way the story’s been kept from them and, whatever we do, we don’t want to make that feeling any worse than it currently is.’
Sheila Cartwright was unused to being silent so long, and the Director’s taking a breath gave her an opportunity to butt in. ‘I think what Gina’s trying to say—’
‘I know exactly what I’m trying to say, thank you very much.’
The look that accompanied this would have frozen a fire-hose at a hundred metres, but it didn’t stop Sheila Cartwright. ‘The important thing is that no rumours get around. Any dead body discovered in these circumstances is going to prompt speculation. It’s up to us to ensure that such speculation is kept to a minimum.’
‘Thank you, Sheila,’ said Gina with commendable coolness. ‘Everyone at the meeting will get their opportunity to speak at the appropriate time.’ The edge in this line did momentarily take the wind out of her opponent’s sails, and Gina took the opportunity to press on. ‘Now I have today spoken to the Detective Inspector in charge of the investigation, and at this time there is no further information the police wish to disclose about the body. Forensic tests are still continuing, and when there is something substantial to report, another statement will be made by the police.’
‘We know all that,’ said Sheila Cartwright unceremoniously. ‘The important thing is not what the police say, it’s what we say. The casual use of a word like “murder” by someone actually involved in the Bracketts set-up could cause untold damage.’
‘We’re all aware of that,’ said Carole frostily. Sheila was annoying her, and she reckoned Gina needed some support. ‘There’s no need to talk to us as if we are schoolchildren.’
Support came from an unexpected quarter. ‘I agree,’ said Graham Chadleigh-Bewes. ‘And, anyway, the danger from the press is considerably less than that posed to everything Bracketts stands for by the presence very near to us of one Professor Marla Teischbaum. The Teischbaum Claimant.’ The half-joke got no acknowledgement from the assembled meeting. ‘That woman’s biography is going to be a complete hatchet job on the reputation of Esmond Chadleigh.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said George Ferris. Then, with a snidely sideways look at Graham, he went on, ‘Professor Teischbaum is at least a serious academic with a record of successful publication. I think she has considerable insight into Esmond. I was discussing him with her only this afternoon.’
Sheila Cartwright flared up at that. ‘You shouldn’t have been speaking to her. We’ve agreed that, as Trustees—’
‘I wasn’t speaking to her as a Trustee of Bracketts,’ he countered complacently. ‘I do have other hats, you know. One of which is advising the County Library and Records Office about research enquiries from visiting academics. I’ve even written a book on the subject, entitled How To Get The Best From The Facilities Of The County Records Office.’ (This reminder was now so familiar that it prompted no reaction at all.) ‘Without in any way compromising my position at Bracketts, it falls within the domain of my responsibility to direct Professor Teischbaum towards available research sources, and I would be failing in my duty if I did not fulfil that function. I also—’
This Local-Government-Speak looked set fair to continue for some time, had it not been cut short by a petulant outburst from Graham Chadleigh-Bewes.
‘Professor Teischbaum’s biography will be a travesty of the truth, and an offence to everything that we at Bracketts hold dear. And it must not be allowed to appear in print!’
George Ferris sniggered. ‘If your biography had been delivered when it was meant to be, we wouldn’t have this problem. You’d have got in first and garnered all the available publicity for Esmond. Marla’s coming out so soon after would have vanished without trace.’