‘Thank you very much, Mr Chew.’ Carole drained her coffee cup. ‘Should I make an appointment with your receptionist?’ She rose as if to leave, confident that he wouldn’t let her go quite so easily.
He didn’t. ‘No need to rush away, Mrs Seddon. I always like to get to know a bit about my clients. Not nosiness, you understand – just so that one feels a personal closeness to the people one is representing in a professional capacity.’
‘Right.’ Carole sank back into her chair, waiting to see what would come next.
‘Well, you’re divorced, we’ve established that, and you live in . . .?’
‘Fethering.’
‘Charming spot, charming spot. And still working?’
Carole gave a brief history of her employment at the Home Office. She knew the solicitor was just playing for time and was interested to see how he’d get round to what he really wanted to talk about.
Not very subtly was the answer. ‘My receptionist said you had a connection with the Pillars of Sussex, Mrs Seddon.’
‘Not a direct connection. Through a friend.’
‘Ah. And that was why you contacted our firm?’
‘It was the first time I’d needed a solicitor since I moved down here. Someone in London dealt with the conveyancing and what-have-you on the Fethering house. I asked for advice from my friend and got a recommendation for Renton and Chew.’
‘Good, good.’ But he still didn’t know enough. ‘And this friend of yours is a member of the Pillars of Sussex, is that right? If so, he must be someone I know.’
‘No, not a member. It’s a she.’
He let out a patronizing chuckle. ‘Oh, then she certainly wouldn’t be. So is she married to a Pillar perhaps?’
‘No, no, she just met this young man, called Nigel Ackford –’ the name sent a flicker of paleness across the claret face in front of her ‘– and he said he worked for a solicitor and if she ever needed one, she should get in touch with Renton and Chew.’
‘Very gratifying.’ But Donald Chew didn’t sound gratified. He looked suddenly less urbane than he had for the rest of their meeting, even perhaps a little confused. Carole could see him evaluating his next move. He had an agenda, she had a feeling it was an agenda which he had been given by someone else. And one of the items on it, she felt sure, was finding out how much she knew.
Carole decided to toss something his way. ‘My friend said that Nigel Ackford was a great friend of somebody called . . . Bob Hartson?’
‘Yes. I’m not sure that “great friend” is quite appropriate, but they knew each other, certainly. Mr Hartson is another client of this firm.’
‘Oh, so you deal with the legal side of all his property deals?’
‘I suppose that is a way of putting it, yes.’
Carole pushed a bit harder. Retaining a tone of naivety, she continued, ‘My friend says the Pillars of Sussex is an organization devoted to professional backscratching.’
The description pained Donald Chew. ‘I think that’s a rather cynical view. The primary purpose of the Pillars is a charitable one. We’ve raised an enormous amount of money in the Sussex area. Recently we’ve been working for a children’s cancer ward at Queen Anne’s Hospital. We’ve raised over a hundred thousand for that – be handing over the cheque at a ceremony next week. If you saw an event like that, you’d perhaps have a more generous view of the Pillars.’
But Carole was not to be won round so easily. ‘I am afraid I’m always a bit cynical about male-only organizations.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t be. Yes, all right, some of the Pillars’ activities are strictly men-only.’ He let out a bluff, masculine laugh. ‘And we probably do drink more than we should at our dinners. But our womenfolk are involved too.’
‘Oh?’ Carole didn’t like the concept of ‘womenfolk’, with its implication that the females belonged to a different tribe.
‘The November dinner,’ Donald Chew went on, ‘is always a ladies’ night, for wives, girlfriends and –’ he chuckled ‘– other women in relationships we don’t delve into too deeply. And some of the fund-raising events are organized by the womenfolk. My wife Brenda’s very active for the Pillars. You should talk to her. That’d change your image of the society.’
‘Perhaps I should.’
‘You could actually help her too. Right now she’s organizing an auction of promises for the Pillars. Happening Saturday week. Brenda’s taken too much on herself, as usual, so she’s in need of willing helpers.’
‘But don’t the willing helpers all have to be wives of Pillars of Sussex members?’
He pooh-poohed the idea. ‘Good heavens, no. As long as they don’t mind a bit of hard work – that’s all that matters.’ So while for the men, membership of the Pillars of Sussex was an essential passport to their rituals, ‘womenfolk’ didn’t have to pass any tests to be entitled to do the boring bits.
‘As I say, have a word with Brenda. We’re in the book. Only three Chews in the local directory, and we’re the East Preston ones.’
‘Perhaps I will.’
‘She’ll put you right. Whatever image we may have locally, there’s nothing sinister about the Pillars of Sussex.’
‘But don’t you think any society that’s secretive is bound to get that sort of reputation?’
The solicitor shrugged. ‘Maybe. Like the Masons, I suppose. They’ve had their share of bad press. But there’s no basis for those kind of allegations about the Pillars of Sussex.’
‘So it’s not true that a lot of deals get made at the society’s dinners?’
‘Certainly not. The dinners are social functions – just opportunities for like-minded people to get together and relax over good food and good wine.’ He was now positively Pickwickian in his innocence.
‘I see,’ said Carole, apparently retreating. ‘My friend must’ve got the wrong end of the stick.’
‘Yes, I’m rather afraid she has.’
‘Oh, well. Perhaps I’d better be off.’
Again she made as if to leave, but again the solicitor detained her. Whatever information he had been delegated to extract, he hadn’t got it yet.
‘Mrs Seddon,’ he began, with an attempt at casualness, ‘You said your friend knew of some connection between Nigel Ackford and the Pillars of Sussex?’
‘Well, yes. He told her he was going to some Pillars of Sussex dinner, so he must have been a member and—’
‘No, no, Mrs. Seddon. He was a guest, not a member.’
She shrugged, deliberately provocative. ‘Same difference, isn’t it?’
‘Certainly not.’ He was, as she had intended him to be, affronted. Edging a little closer to what he wanted to find out, Donald Chew went on, ‘Did you actually meet Nigel Ackford?’
‘No,’ she replied, honestly.
‘Mm . . . the fact is – this is rather awkward, Mrs Seddon. You haven’t heard anything recently about Nigel Ackford, have you?’
‘No,’ she replied, dishonestly.
‘Well, I’m afraid I have rather bad news about the poor young man. He is no longer with us.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘He’s dead, Mrs Seddon.’
‘Oh dear. He was very young.’
‘Not even thirty.’
‘Poor boy. And may I ask, Mr Chew, how did he die?’
The solicitor smiled a smile of avuncular solicitude. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know, Mrs Seddon. But I’m sure we’ll hear in time. Maybe at the funeral, which, of course, as his employer, I will attend.’ Donald Chew sighed at the unfairness of life. ‘It’s very sad. Why should someone so young suddenly die?’
Why indeed? thought Carole.
Chapter Twenty-Three
After her lavish lunch with Suzy Longthorne, the last thing Jude really felt like was fish pie, but she didn’t want to offend the cook in Carole, so she did her best with her piled plateful. The new bottle of Chardonnay helped maintain the comforting haze which had been engendered by the lunchtime’s Sauvignon Blanc. She was excited too, and although Carole wanted to talk about her meeting with Donald Chew, Jude was full of what she had learned from Suzy.