He was a little taken aback by William’s non-committal response. He was quite cool; it appeared that his mind was elsewhere. All he said was: ‘Good, but you realize it’ll have little to do with me personally? Apart from the money, it’ll all be down to you. I’ll see you at my lawyer’s tomorrow.’
Maynard’s cosmetic makeover took more time to finalize than the legal accountancy and drawing up of acceptable bank accounts. It was imperative that the monetary transactions could not possibly be construed as a bribe from William, especially considering the fuss that had been made over the recent Aitken case. As Maynard had insisted it was all above suspicion: no ulterior motive could be detected behind his benefactor’s generosity. The contract went back and forth and Maynard pored over it for anything that might be misconstrued if it ever became public knowledge.
Six months after their breakfast at Claridge’s the change in Maynard’s appearance was beginning to pay off. The fact that the tailoring and the dental work had taken so long was a blessing, because no one was able to pinpoint any dramatic change in Maynard and therefore didn’t whisper about his growing show of confidence and polish, and William enjoyed watching his protégé emerge.
Neither did success come overnight — it took a great deal longer. Three years after that breakfast meeting, Maynard’s star at last rose. He took his seat in a by-election, and became the young hope of the Conservative Party. Aged thirty-eight he was now courted by the Party elders, who showed interest in grooming him for a big political future.
For William, it was not a question of basking in the young man’s glory, but of watching his protégé quietly from the sidelines with almost fatherly pride. Maynard became well known for his fearless stance, and was an almost constant media focus. Acting classes and elocution lessons improved his pose and diction, which meant that his television appearances gained him respect and attention. He ate up his fame with relish. Without doubt Andrew Maynard was earmarked to rise to the top.
Even though William had never hinted that he wished to be repaid for his generosity, it was at this time that he was knighted for his constant support to the Party. His charitable donations brought him to the attention of the peripheral socio-political scene and he was more socially active than ever before.
Sir William was inundated with invitations to fund-raising events and charitable functions. He couldn’t calculate on how many boards he now sat as an ‘honorary member’, and he enjoyed his new standing. He was a wealthy man but, until this stage in his life, had kept a low profile. It was not until Maynard had crossed his path that he had appreciated his fortune or used it for anything other than to expand his own companies. He continued to work on pet projects but only when he felt so inclined.
William knew that his seemingly bottomless wallet was his biggest social asset but he nevertheless found most of the company he attracted delightful. A number of ladies used him as their escort, and he took on this role with enthusiasm. Not that he found any of them sexually attractive — far from it. It was being at the hub of the social world that he liked, and he took to collecting all the newspaper photographs and articles in which he featured. And all of the changes in his life had come about through Andrew Maynard, who now occupied the place of the family he had lost. He had little contact with his own children due to his ex-wife’s bitterness, and at times he looked on Maynard as a son. It was as if Maynard had opened a door inside William that allowed him, at this stage of his life, to enjoy living.
Even with all his millions, William had always felt second rate. His self-consciousness when moving in his ex-wives’ aristocratic circles made him uncomfortable and aware of his social short-comings. Now he blossomed, and for the first time discovered he was comfortable with himself. His background, which had been an embarrassment to his wives, was acceptable. As a self-made businessman he was applauded in the post-Thatcher line-up. And it was all due to Andrew.
Niggling doubts arose only on the odd occasion when he had dinner with Maynard. Sometimes William felt as if the young man only accepted his invitations out of politeness, but they were still pleasant evenings. The pair would discuss the present day’s news, Party developments and so forth, but nothing personal. In fact William could not recall ever having any conversation with Maynard that embraced his private life, apart from on one evening. Maynard told him of how he had lost both parents and then, shortly after his mother’s death, his elder sister had been killed in a car accident. William had commiserated, hoping for more details, but Maynard had been his usual reticent self: he said that his sister was much older and they had little knowledge of each other’s lives — she worked abroad as a nanny and had never shown any interest in his political hopes. He invariably turned conversation back to William, fascinated by how he had accrued his wealth.
William had never known anyone to take such an interest in his career and enjoyed talking about his success. The first company he founded designed and developed computer chips, sold software programs, and designed and built computers. He had recently, partly out of boredom, begun manufacturing CD-ROMs, and had opened up a four-storey factory to develop computer games with experts brought in from Japan and the USA. He was selling on the Internet, and opening more factories to take over the European market. William had made his first million before he was twenty-eight.
Maynard, however, even in the relaxed atmosphere, would never talk about his own life and William did not like to press him. In some ways, though, their relationship was moving closer, albeit at a mutual-admiration level. It was, however, a deeper friendship than he had ever shared with another man. Yet after five years, all William knew about Maynard was what every newspaper reporter knew: his age, where he was brought up, and that he had been to grammar school outside Leatherhead before winning a scholarship to Cambridge.
At one dinner party hosted by a famous novelist and paid for by a glossy magazine, William defended Maynard when a gossip columnist, Meryl Delaware, spoke in a derogatory fashion about his lack of private life and his colourless background. ‘My dears, that young man is like one of those awful Russian dolls. You keep on opening it up and out pops another and another, and they are all as boring as each other!’
At this point William leaned across the table and asked if perhaps she was confusing Maynard with herself: she appeared to have more in common with a rotund Russian doll than the intelligent young politician.
She sat back and glared hard at him, her mascara-caked eyelashes like tiny spikes. He should perhaps have taken this as a warning: the tentacles of Meryl Delaware’s journalism crawled a considerable distance, and what might not do for her society magazine would perhaps find a place in a number of down-market newspapers. Now Meryl Delaware leaned closer to William. ‘Sweetie, you should be careful. Your protégé is very cagey about himself. Perhaps one of his layers will be peeled off to reveal a deep and nasty secret...’ William laughed dismissively, but later that evening Meryl Delaware sidled up to him: ‘I meant no offence, dahling. Perhaps the reason he’s so hush-hush about his private life is because he’s as flawed a human being as the rest of us.’
William gave a stiff smile. ‘Speak for yourself, Miss Delaware.’
‘Oh, sweetie, don’t tell me you won’t admit to having flaws?’
William shook his head. ‘I doubt my faults would be of any interest to anyone, especially your readers.’
‘You’d be surprised, Sir William...’ And with that she swanned off into a small throng of people.