‘Definitely a criminal mastermind,’ I murmured. ‘Just look at those friendly, twinkly eyes.’
Chapter Eight
‘I am addressing the Earl of Radcliffe?’ The villain of the piece looked as though he could make a good living as either Mr Pickwick or Father Christmas. On the least likely suspect scale, this surely had to be our man. ‘Pray excuse my accostin
g you, but I believe I have you to thank for taking care of my poor young colleague, Mr Coates.’ He suddenly seemed to notice that I was with Luc and broke off. ‘I do apologise, I should not speak of such things in front of a lady.’
‘Please, don’t mention it. I was at his lodgings, comforting the landlady, poor woman. Such a dreadful thing to happen to a promising young man. He was promising, I take it?’
Mr Salmond looked a bit taken aback at my question. ‘Well, naturally. I only employ intelligent and hard-working young gentlemen, Miss er…’
‘Miss Lawrence, my cousin from America,’ Luc said. ‘Cassandra, Mr Salmond of the Home Office.’
‘We visited your offices this afternoon and met some of your young men,’ I said. ‘They were so hospitable and intelligent. I am just fascinated learning about your government and everything British.’
He beamed at me. ‘How delightful to find a lady interested in such matters. You obviously have a wide and enquiring mind, Miss Lawrence.’
‘Well, I do hope so. It must have been a very sad loss, poor Mr Coates. Was he in a very responsible position – or is that some deep, dark state secret?’
‘No, he had nothing too taxing yet. He was just starting out, you understand, been in post about eighteen months, but I’m sure he would have been making his way up the ladder of advancement in a year or so. He was fulfilling everything asked of him most satisfactorily.’ He sighed heavily. ‘A waste of a young life.’
Well, that firmly put the lid on the pressures of work theory, I thought as I nodded in agreement. Not over-burdened, apparently keeping pace with expectations and no promotion in view for months.
‘On a lighter note, I did enjoy the visit. I was amazed to meet a Frenchman, even!’
‘Ah yes, our invaluable émigré. So useful to have a really reliable translator. No-one ever thinks the Home Office needs them, but we’re dealing with every nation under the sun it feels sometimes.’
‘It seemed strange, that was all – with this country being at war with France.’
‘And your country being at peace with them.’ The look he gave me was suddenly very sharp, very shrewd. Not Mr Pickwick after all. ‘But de Hautmont is opposed to our enemies, my dear. His is a personal hatred that we cannot match.’
We chatted of trivial matters for a while, then he drifted away with further thanks for Luc’s efforts at Coates’s lodgings. ‘I will see you at the inquest, no doubt, my lord.’
‘He isn’t the cuddly old buffer he seems to be, is he?’ I mused as Luc handed me a glass of champagne.
‘If a cuddly old buffer is what I think, no, he isn’t. He’s intelligent and tough and I don’t think that there’s a great deal of love lost between him and Sir Thomas, somehow.’ Luc scanned the room. ‘I wonder how James has been getting on.’
James, it seemed, had no information, but had picked up more than a little panic amongst his friends. ‘Can’t talk here,’ he said, smiling as someone passing greeted him. ‘And it isn’t useful information,’ he added out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Just fear about blackmailing murderers. I think the usual clubs and meeting places are going to be rather quiet for a week or so.’ He was making a joke of it, but I could see the tension in his face.
I couldn’t blame his friends for wanting to go to ground. With the penalties for homosexual behaviour what they were, life as a gay man must have been a constant matter of precaution and suspicion. Add blackmail and murder to that normal level of threat and there was every excuse for alarm. As it was all over the world still, I reminded myself with a mental nudge to stop being smug about my safe, tolerant, comfortable existence.
‘So, what now?’
‘Home for us, I think,’ Luc said. ‘James?’
‘Hmm?’ He was staring across the room and I followed his gaze.
‘Wow.’ That was inadequate, but it was all I could manage.
‘What?’ Luc demanded. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, the pair of you. Stop it.’
‘What, stop gazing at the most beautiful young man I have ever seen? Spoilsport.’ I elbowed James in the ribs. ‘But you had better stop dribbling.’
‘Who the hell is that?’ James asked. He had at least got his mouth shut now.
‘The black-haired man talking to Sir Thomas? That’s his nephew and heir, Elliott Reece, who works in his section at the Home Office,’ Luc said. ‘Objectionable character, I thought – very full of himself.’
‘Comes of being so handsome, I suppose,’ I said. Thick, raven’s-wing black hair, high cheekbones, a beautifully sculpted mouth, elegant figure and eyes so blue I could make out the colour from where we stood. This was what the men in Salmond’s office must have meant when they dropped hints about nepotism – Sir Thomas favouring his nephew.