‘I know, sir, but they’ve been out there since you left this morning. We have contacted the police and they—’
‘Call the Chief Superintendent. No, get me Commander Jameson. I’ll talk to him.’ Michael bustled around the study, stacking documents on the desk. Every single phone was ringing. ‘Turn the bloody phones off! This is ridiculous. Get Mrs Fuller to bring me some coffee and—’ William snatched at one of the telephones and barked into the receiver. ‘Yes?’
It was an irate Myers Summers. ‘Where, in Christ’s name, have you been? I’ve been calling since seven o’clock. Have you seen the papers?’
‘Not yet. I’ve been trying to get rid of the press. They’re like hornets outside.’
‘Well, read them and call me straight back.’
William took half an hour to get through every newspaper. By the time he had finished, Myers Summers was sitting in his study.
‘You’re telling me you went to see this Chalmers in the flesh?’
‘Yes.’
Summers rested his head in his hands. ‘Did anyone see you?’
‘No. Why are you getting into such a state?’
Summers took a deep breath. ‘This is serious, William. You walk off with diaries and documents. You spend — how long at Maynard’s place before you call the police? You then pay some fucking fruit half a million—’
‘Quarter of a million.’
‘Why? What the fuck for? I mean, who is he?’
‘The last person to see Maynard, that’s who. And he’s a screamer so I got rid of him.’
‘Do you think he killed Maynard?’
‘No, Maynard cut his own wrists, Myers, with—’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know, with an open cut-throat razor, silver and bone handle, inscription from you! Now, it seems to be a bone of contention that the cuts were deep, and to both wrists. Apparently that’s odd. If you slash one open it’s pretty tough to slash the other. So we won’t be certain it was suicide until after the post-mortem. He could have a six-inch blade shoved up his arse for all you know, and this poofter might have done it! And you go round personally and pay him off!’ He sighed and flopped back in his chair. ‘Why?’
‘To minimize the risk of scandal I bought his silence.’
‘Are you joking?’ Summers sat forward again. ‘Don’t you see the implications of that?’
‘Quite frankly, no, I do not. Right now the “poofter”, as you call him, is probably on his way to Paris. Gone. Finished with.’
Myers Summers closed his eyes. ‘Well, I’ll have to find out more about him. You’re sure no one else saw you visit him?’
‘Certain. I told you, it was six o’clock in the morning, there wasn’t a soul around. Just milkmen, newspaper boys...’
‘All right. Now, yesterday, did Maynard’s cleaner see you remove anything?’
‘No, she wasn’t in the room.’
‘Well, that’s something. And she called you as soon as she discovered the body?’
‘Yes, there was a memo stuck on his desk telling her to call my number.’
‘What? He left a memo? With some kind of instruction?’
Suddenly William found himself blushing: it hadn’t occurred to him how strange it was that Maynard should leave a sticker on his desk for his housekeeper to find, with William’s private number and instructions not to enter the bathroom. Of course it was suicide. Maynard must have known exactly what he was doing.
‘Come on, man, was there anything else this woman might have seen you remove?’
William was irked by the way Summers was speaking to him. ‘Listen to me, Myers, I took the personal items because there were details of how much he had been forking out to this guy and it was a lot of money. Whether it was blackmail or not is immaterial now. Chalmers is out of the loop. I was just trying to protect Maynard’s reputation, and mine and the Party’s. He’d have been misappropriating funds, for Chrissakes.’
Myers Summers got to his feet and walked round the room as he spoke. ‘All right, then, let me put it to you another way. His bank will have particulars, won’t they? His bookkeeper, accountant. Maybe friends of this Justin Chalmers character knew about the money. Maybe there are other Maynard pickups in other diaries — last year’s for instance. The police will be looking into everything.’ He laid a hand on the mantelpiece and turned to face the desk. ‘Can’t you see, Sir William? This is a huge story. I mean, the man was supposed to be some great political hope, and he’s climbing the ladder like a trapeze artist when he tops himself because he’s heartbroken about some bloody poof. How much sleaze do you need to make a juicy front page?’
Myers pulled at his pinstriped waistcoat, then his tie, then his jacket, as if to calm himself. ‘Okay, Sir William, I’ll tell you what’ll happen. You give a statement — I’ll get my people to write it for you — and in it you say nothing about the diaries or documents you took. Nothing. You happened to be there as you had a meeting scheduled. After finding the body you were deeply distressed and needed a few moments to collect yourself before calling the police. I’ll talk to the housekeeper. I’ll also run a trace on Chalmers. List the other names you found in the diaries and I’ll give them the once-over as well.’
‘Is all this necessary?’ William asked.
Myers Summers picked up his bulging briefcase: he was already running late for his next appointment. ‘If Andrew Maynard was murdered, then it’s abso-fucking-lutely necessary and even if he committed suicide, drunk or drugged up, whatever, it’s still gonna be headlines for weeks because the press will want to find out who his boyfriends were, what his relationship was with every male he knew, in fact. And you can bet they’ll come after you. You found him dead, you financed him to the hilt, and it’s public knowledge that he’s your mentor when it comes to public-speaking. Everyone knows you scratch each other’s backs. What they’ll wonder is just what else you’ve mutually scratched.’
‘It’s okay, Myers. I get the picture. But no one’s going to think that of me.’
Myers Summers raised an eyebrow. ‘They’ll believe anything, if they’re told it often enough. Isn’t that why you have a publicity agent?’ He rested his hand on the door handle. ‘I’m just warning you, as one of the mega-rich, you are just the type the tabloids will go for. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. And all those little people you may have forgotten treading on when you were climbing up will come crawling out of the woodwork.’ He paused and faced William. ‘Just for the record, were you having a scene with Maynard?’
William gasped. ‘What?’
‘Are you queer?’
William sucked in his breath, shocked. ‘No, I am not. And how dare you speak to me like that!’
‘Well, that’s the best news so far. I’ll deal with it,’ Myers said, and with that he opened the door to the hall. ‘I’ll be in touch shortly — if I make it through that mob and live to tell the tale.’
William remained in his study. Up to now, he would have described himself as unshockable; a tough man who had made it to the top by his own hard graft but who now enjoyed rubbing shoulders with the British aristocracy. For the first time, he realized the depth in him of a naïvety he had never previously suspected. He checked his watch and buzzed for his secretary.
Michael scooted in. ‘Yes, Sir William?’
‘I’m due at lunch. Can you call the Ritz and—’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Sir William, Lady Thorn called, but I didn’t want to interrupt your meeting with Mr Summers. She sends her apologies, but has come down with flu.’
William sat down behind his desk. ‘Perhaps, under the circumstances, it’s a good thing.’