The Repentant Rake

    'And you, I understand, were an equally obliging architect. He found you polite and efficient, able to give sound advice yet willing to obey his wishes. Thanks to you, the place was built a month ahead of schedule.'

    'Only because I chose a reliable builder.'

    'Such men, I gather, are few in number.'

    Christopher was circumspect. 'That's an exaggeration, Sir Julius. There are plenty of excellent builders in London but they are, for the most part, already engaged on the major projects that were necessitated by the Great Fire. Others, less scrupulous, have flocked to the capital. Speculators are the real problem,' he went on, a slight edge in his voice. 'Ruthless men who put commercial gain before architectural considerations. They throw up whole streets of houses in no time at all, augmenting their number by giving them narrow frontages and small gardens. Simplicity is their watchword, Sir Julius. They erect identical brick boxes for their clients. Whereas a true craftsman will build an individual dwelling.'

    'That's what I require, Mr Redmayne.'

    'Then I'll be happy to discuss the matter with you.'

    'The plot of land is already secured.'

    Christopher nodded. 'So you said in your letter, Sir Julius. I took the liberty of visiting the site. It's well chosen. You invested wisely.'

    'Not for the first time, my young friend.'

    'Oh?'

    'I have an instinct that rarely lets me down.'

    'You've bought property elsewhere?'

    'From time to time, but I was not thinking of the purchase of land.' He took a step closer. 'The name of Colonel Pride is not, I dare say, unknown to you.'

    'Everyone has heard of Pride's Purge,' replied Christopher. 'His hostility to the House of Commons was given full vent when he expelled all those members from their seats. I fancy that he gained much satisfaction from that day's work.'

    'Tom Pride and I fought together,' said Sir Julius, 'but our friendship did not end there. We went into business together. Colonel Pride was head of a syndicate that secured a contract to victual the Navy. I was one of his partners.' He gave a complacent smile. 'As I told you, farming is only one string to my bow.'

    Christopher was grateful for the information. He had known that he had heard of Sir Julius Cheever before but could not recall when and in what context. His memory was now jogged. Sir Julius had been mentioned in connection with the Navy.

    'My brother, Henry, dealt with your syndicate, I believe,' he said.

    Sir Julius shook his head. 'Henry Redmayne? Don't know the fellow.'

    'He holds a position at the Navy Office.'

    'Does he?'

    'Henry handled the victualling contracts at one point.'

    'They were very profitable, in spite of a few ups and downs. So,' said Sir Julius, appraising him afresh. 'You have a brother, do you? Any other siblings?'

    'None, I fear.'

    'And no family of your own, I'd guess. You have the look of a single man.'

    Christopher grinned. 'Is it that obvious, Sir Julius?'

    'There's an air of independence about you.'

    'Some might call it neglect.'

    'Why have you never married? Lack of opportunity?'

    'Money is the critical factor,' admitted Christopher. 'I'm still making my way in my profession and have yet to establish a firm enough foundation to my finances. A husband should be able to offer a wife security.'

    'Quite so,' agreed the other. 'Romantic impulse is all very well but a full purse is the best guarantee of a happy marriage. That's the one asset my son-in-law does actually possess. Lancelot has little else in his favour.' He gave a nod of approbation. 'You're a practical man, Mr Redmayne. I admire that in you. And after Elijah's recommendation, I have no qualms about your ability as an architect. That brings us to the crucial question.'

    'Does it, Sir Julius?'

    'Yes, my young friend. What are your politics?'

    Christopher gave another shrug. 'I have none.'

    'None at all?'

    'Not when I'm working for a client.'

    'You have no views, no opinions on the state of the nation?'

    'Only on the state of its architecture, Sir Julius.'

    'Every sane man takes a stand on politics.'

    'Then I'm the exception to the rule,' said Christopher with a disarming smile, 'for I find politics a divisive issue. Why look for a reason to fall out, Sir Julius? If we can come to composition over the design of a new house, that is all that matters. My politics are immaterial. You'd be employing me as an architect, not appointing me as the next Lord Chancellor.'

    Sir Julius was so taken aback by the rejoinder that he goggled for a full minute. Surprise then gave way to amusement and he emitted a peal of laughter that filled the room. It was at that precise moment that his daughter entered. Susan Cheever was clearly unaccustomed to seeing her father shake with mirth. She blinked in astonishment at him. Christopher rose swiftly from his seat, partly out of politeness but mainly to get a clearer view of the beautiful young woman who had just sailed in through the door. Susan Cheever was a revelation. A slim, shapely creature of medium height, she had none of her father's salient features. For all his eminence, he was patently a son of the soil, but she seemed to have come from a more ethereal domain. It was the luminous quality of her skin that caught Christopher's eye. It glowed in the bright sunlight that was flooding in through the windows. When she spoke, her voice was soft and melodious.

    'I wondered if your guest would be dining with us, Father?' she asked.

    'Oh, yes,' he replied firmly. 'Mr Redmayne will not only be gracing our table at dinner, he'll be here for the rest of the day. Mr Redmayne will need a bed for the night as well,' he decided. 'I think I've found the right man at last, Susan. He's just made the most politic remark about politics.'

    Sir Julius laughed again but Christopher ignored him. His gaze was fixed on Susan Cheever. Attired in a dress of blue satin whose close-fitting bodice advertised her figure, she looked delightfully incongruous in a rambling farmhouse. Their eyes locked for the briefest moment but it was enough to give him a fleeting surge of excitement. Offering him a token smile, she left the room. Her father's comment carried with it the seal of approval. If he were being invited to stay the night, Christopher must have secured the lucrative commission. He was thrilled. He would not only be designing a house for an interesting client, he would have the pleasure of getting to know Sir* Julius Cheever's younger daughter. The long ride to Northamptonshire had been more than worthwhile.

    He could still smell the fire. It was almost two years since the fateful night when he had been hauled from his bed to fight the conflagration but Jonathan Bale still had that whiff of smoke in his nostrils. As he walked along the dark street, he could even feel the heat striking up at his feet again from the scorched ground. His clothing became an oven. Sweat began to trickle. Invisible smoke clouded his eyes. He was untroubled. Jonathan was used to being tormented by such memories. When he heard the crackling of the flames and the screams of hysteria, he shook his head to dismiss the familiar sounds. The Great Fire would burn on in his mind for ever. He had learned to live with it.

    'Will it ever be the same again?' he asked.

    'What?' grunted his companion.

    'Our ward.'

    'No, Jonathan. We've seen the last of the real Castle Baynard.'

    'Much has been rebuilt, Tom.'