‘Yes, I do.’
‘He was found dead yesterday morning.’ Chalmers showed no flicker of emotion. ‘With his wrists slit in his bathtub.’
‘Really? Sorry, I forgot to ask, do you take sugar?’
‘No, thank you.’ William took a sip of coffee. ‘I’m aware that you had an ongoing relationship with him.’
‘So?’ Chalmers sank back into his cushion and blew on his coffee. ‘There are biscuits too, if you’d like one.’ William was alarmed by the young man’s response. This was not how it was meant to go. Chalmers pulled a face. ‘So you found him, did you? Must have been unpleasant. A lot of blood, I suppose? Cutting your wrists sends a massive spray.’
‘You saw him last Thursday. What time did you leave?’
There was a pause as Chalmers gazed intently at William. ‘You seem very well informed.’ He leaned back and closed his eyes. ‘I went round at about seven thirty in the evening. I was having dinner elsewhere, but Andrew wanted to see me, so I obliged. I left about an hour later. Around eight thirty, perhaps a quarter to nine.’
‘Did you have an argument?’
‘I don’t think that’s any of your business.’
William placed his cup down and leaned forward. ‘You mind if I call you Justin?’
‘I don’t mind if you call me Jack the Ripper.’
William talked across Chalmers’s laughter. ‘You see, Justin, the press will hound you if they discover what was going on between you and Andrew Maynard. I am aware that he paid you large sums of money.’
Chalmers stared. William was unnerved by his assurance and turned away. He chose his words carefully. ‘It would be preferable, Justin, if your relationship was not made public.’
‘I have no desire to discuss my relationship with Andrew. We were good friends and I was very fond of him, although not as exclusively as he wanted.’
‘Did he kill himself because of you?’ William blurted out.
Chalmers shrugged. ‘I have no idea. He seemed quite together when I saw him but, then, one can never tell another person’s real feelings, especially when that person is a politician.’ He laughed, softly, leaned back and stretched like a cat, his sexuality and sensuality filling the room.
William felt distinctly uneasy in his presence. Suddenly doubts started to filter through his mind. Could it have been murder?
As if reading William’s mind, the other man leaned forward. ‘I didn’t kill him. I can tell you’re thinking it’s a possibility, but I didn’t. He was too useful and, as you so rightly pointed out, I received a considerable amount of money from him and hoped to continue doing so.’
William stayed another fifteen minutes, in which time he agreed that a sum of money would be paid into Chalmers’s bank account on the condition that he left London immediately and did not speak to the press or anyone else about his relationship with Andrew Maynard. The young man did not quibble over the amount, but accepted a hundred thousand pounds immediately and said he would be on the next flight. William was relieved that the negotiations had gone so smoothly, but as he shook Chalmers’s hand, he felt the man’s fingers grip his own.
‘You have his diaries?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do the police know you removed property from the scene?’
‘No. They will be destroyed. No one will know of their contents.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Chalmers sighed and smiled simultaneously. ‘But I know... and I also know I could make a lot more than a paltry hundred grand in one exclusive to any number of tabloids.’ He let the veiled threat hang in the air briefly then continued, ‘Because I did care for poor old Andrew, I’ll accept your offer — but I’d appreciate it if you remember you’re getting off very lightly.’
‘I have nothing to worry about,’ William said, removing his hand from Chalmers’s grasp.
‘Really? Then I’ve misjudged you, Sir William.’ He crossed his arms and propped himself against the door-frame. ‘Look at the facts. You have come here personally and you have taken possession of his diaries. It can only mean one thing: you are worried that Andrew Maynard’s private life might contaminate your own.’ Chalmers chuckled to himself. ‘After all, you did finance his career and, knowing the gutter press, they will dig deeply into your...’ he snorted before continuing, making speech marks in the air ‘...“predilections”. Perhaps they will assume that you too are a “friend of Dorothy” as they say. They may force you to come out.’
He smiled at William’s discomfort, but his eyes showed no signs of amusement. William grasped the subtext and reluctantly upped the kiss-off price to a quarter of a million. It was accepted.
William drove back to The Boltons in a fury. He didn’t mind spending the money — that had not irked him — it was the arrogance of the man, the confidence with which he had played his hand so perfectly. Justin Chalmers had class and William knew it. No matter how rich he was, he would never be able to match that sort of man’s aristocratic air, and he felt sure that that had not been the last time he would see him.
The crisp morning made William feel a bit better. The traffic in Park Lane was still moving freely, enabling the gleaming Rolls to move swiftly down and round Hyde Park Corner. On occasions, William enjoyed driving himself instead of being chauffeured and already he felt more confident, as if the power he was wielding over the car was somehow mirroring the control he had taken over his life. Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds was chicken feed to a man as wealthy as William, and he had been prepared to pay a lot more. He would clear up this unfortunate Maynard business quickly, and that would be that. A minor setback. He slotted a CD into the stereo and drummed his fingers on the steering-wheel as Beethoven exploded from the speakers.
As he drove towards The Boltons, his mood lifted even higher. He had a full day ahead: a luncheon with Lady Thorn to discuss a charity benefit, then back-to-back business meetings for the rest of the afternoon before dinner with a senior member of the Royal Family to discuss sponsorship for the Royal Horse Show. As he mulled over the day ahead he succeeded in putting Maynard’s suicide to the back of his mind.
However, as he turned into The Boltons, it all came flooding back. The roadway outside his house was swarming with reporters and photographers, and a TV news team was setting up its cameras. William was forced to slow to a crawling pace as the hordes converged on his car. The flash of cameras made his eyes water, and there was a sudden burst of voices as they recognized him and attempted to stop the car to interview him there and then. ‘Sir William, SIR WILLIAM... Daily Mail... Daily Telegraph... the Sun.’ They surrounded the car, shoving microphones towards him, and he almost ran over a few as he attempted to get into his driveway. The electronic gates half opened, but the journalists took that as an invitation to move further on to his property.
He lowered the window, and barked, ‘You are trespassing. Please move out of the way of the car. Move away from the car. No comment. No comment. Get out of my way, please.’
Not until the gardener, the valet and Michael, his secretary, came out did William try to step out of the car. As the gates closed behind him, he saw his employees trying to remove two men who were attempting to squeeze past them.
Michael opened the driver’s door and gestured for him to hurry inside. ‘We’ve been inundated, sir. The phones are ringing, the fax machines haven’t stopped, and there are people trying to get over the back wall.’
Inside the elegant hallway, William headed straight for his study. ‘Call the bloody police, Michael. They’re trespassing, for God’s sake. Legally they can’t put a foot in the driveway.’