The Parliament House

    'Clearly, no expense has been spared.'

    'More to the point, my clients have paid both architect and builder. That's not always the case, believe me. With some projects, I've waited up to a year for my fee.'

    'You should ask for more money in advance.'

    'People are not always in a position to pay it.' He heard footsteps in the room above his head and moved closer to her. 'Before the others come back, I wanted to ask you about your father. Why does he seem so uncommonly contented?'

    'Contented?'

    'Sir Julius is truculent as a rule.'

    'That's just his way, Christopher. Father is always rather blunt.'

    'He's positively joyful today.'

    'I think he's pleased to meet Mr Everett again.'

    'It goes deeper than that,' said Christopher. 'There was a moment earlier on when I caught him standing at the window, staring out with a broad smile on his face. He was completely lost in thought. Something has obviously brought happiness into his life.'

    Susan was almost brusque. 'It's not happiness,' she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. 'Father hates idleness. Now that parliament has been recalled, he'll be employed again and that's what he enjoys most. He thrives on the rough and tumble of debate.'

    Christopher had a feeling that the mellowing of Sir Julius Cheever had nothing to do with parliament, an institution whose activities, more often than not, tended to enrage him beyond measure. Nor could his reunion with Bernard Everett explain his uncharacteristic mildness. It had another source. In trying to find out what it was, Christopher had unwittingly thrown Susan on the defensive. He regretted that. Not wishing to upset her any further, he abandoned the subject altogether.

    Having inspected the upper rooms, the others rejoined them in the hall. Food and wine had been set out on the long oak table and a servant handed the refreshments out to the guests, Everyone was very complimentary about the house and shop. Christopher basked in their approbation. Since it was a purely functional property, it had not been the most exciting commission of his career but it had won him new admirers and would act as a clear advertisement for his talents. Sir Julius had passed on his name to Francis Polegate. Christopher hoped that Polegate would, in turn, speak up on his behalf to others.

    Calling for silence, the wine merchant raised his glass.

    'I think that we should toast the architect,' he said.

    'The architect,' responded the others in unison. 'Mr Redmayne!'

    'Thank you,' said Christopher, modestly, 'but we must not forget the builder. Without him, an architect would be lost.'

    'Without you,' Polegate noted, 'a builder would be unemployed.'

    'Yes,' said Sir Julius. 'You are an artist whereas he is a mere labourer, skilled enough, in his own way, but lacking the ability to conceive the house in his mind's eye. We are fortunate to get this young man, Francis,' he continued, indicating Christopher. 'He is destined for great things. In a few years, he may be well beyond our price.'

    'I doubt that, Sir Julius,' said Christopher.

    'You have ambitions to prosper, surely?'

    'Of course.'

    'And a desire to work on a grander scale?'

    'In time, perhaps.'

    'Then you will soon be emulating Mr Wren.'

    'Emulating and surpassing him,' said Susan, loyally. 'There will soon be only one Christopher they speak of in London and it will not be Mr Wren. He will have been eclipsed.'

    'You are too kind,' said Christopher, touched by her comments. 'I like to think that I have artistic gifts but they will never compare with those of a genius. Who, in years to come, will feast his eyes on Mr Polegate's house when St Paul's cathedral has been rebuilt?'

    'Hester and I will do so,' attested Polegate.

    'Yes,' said his wife. 'It will always come first in our affections. Let us ask an outsider for his opinion. What do you think, Bernard?'

    Everett grinned. 'This house has something that a cathedral will never have,' he pointed out. 'A wonderful wine cellar. Mr Redmayne is to be congratulated on his design.'

    'Wait until you see our home,' said Sir Julius. 'It's an example of Christopher at his most inventive.'

    'I thought you were taking me to the Parliament House first.'

    'Ha!' Sir Julius was derisive. 'It’s a den of iniquity.'

    'Nevertheless, I have to take my seat there.'

    'You shall take it beside me, Bernard. We could do with some more commonsense in there. Most of the members are charlatans, sycophants or ranting lunatics. The Parliament House is a species of Bedlam.'

    'Yet it exercises so much power.'

    'And does so very irresponsibly. My view is this, you see…'

    'Why not discuss it later on?' suggested Susan, interrupting her father before he started on a diatribe. 'We are not here to talk politics.'

    'No,' agreed Hester Polegate. 'We're here to celebrate.'

    'Eat, drink and enjoy yourselves,' urged her husband, slipping an arm around her shoulders. 'The Polegates are at home to their friends. Have everything that you wish.'

    Everett drained his glass. 'I'll have a spare key to the wine cellar.'

    'Behave yourself,' chided his sister, good-naturedly.

    'If I'm to lodge here when I'm in London, I can help Francis by acting as his taster. I have a most discerning palate.'

    'You're not here to drink away our profits, Bernard.'

    'You'll be amply repaid,' Everett joked. 'When I take my seat in parliament, I'll introduce a bill for the abolition of all import duties on wine. Sir Julius will support me - won't you?'

    But the other man did not even hear him. He had drifted off into a reverie and there was a faraway smile on his lips. Christopher noticed it at once. His gaze shifted to Susan, plainly discomfited by her father's behaviour. The normally belligerent Sir Julius Cheever was acting very strangely. Christopher wondered why.

    It was hours before the jollity came to an end. While the party was being held in the hall, Polegate's assistant was serving the first customers in the shop below. Both the house and business had been duly launched. Christopher Redmayne took the opportunity to conduct Susan around the property and she marvelled at some of its finer points. In designing the place for work and occupation, the architect had not wasted a single inch of space. Susan was impressed. When they returned to the hall, her father was getting ready to leave. Bernard Everett was going to share his coach so that they could call at the Parliament House together.

    Christopher was sorry that the time had come to depart. He had been enjoying Susan's company so much. While she accompanied her father in the coach, the architect would have to ride home to his house in Fetter Lane. There was one consolation. The rain had eased off. Though it was still drizzling, the earlier downpour had spent its force. They would get wet but not thoroughly soaked. After a flurry of farewells, they descended to the ground floor in their coats and hats.

    The coach was waiting in the street outside. Christopher escorted Susan to it and opened the door for her so that he could steal a kiss as she got in. Her smile was all the gratitude he required. Their eyes locked affectionately. Behind them, Sir Julius and Bernard Everett came into the street side by side. A voice suddenly rang out.

    'Up here!'

    The two men instinctively looked upwards. There was a loud report and Bernard Everett was knocked backwards as a musket ball went under the brim of his hat and burrowed deep into his skull. He was out of luck this time. There was no hope of survival. With blood gushing down his face, he landed in a puddle and splashed water everywhere.