‘Have you still got it?’
‘You know, I think I probably have. I never used it though. The trail on that story had gone cold and something happened in Parliament the next day that put it all out of my head. But he might remember me if he saw me again.’
‘He must have wined and dined hundreds of women since then. Did he know you were a journalist?’
‘God, no, I didn’t tell him that. Said I was teaching English as a foreign language, like every other British person out there.’
‘Right. So – would it matter so much if he recognised you?’
‘I’m not sure. He might just think it’s a bit of a coincidence, that’s all. Might want to investigate me.’
Joss pinched his lips. ‘He might want to do more than investigate you.’
We fell into a stagnant silence.
‘You’re right,’ he said after some thought. ‘We can’t go ahead with this. You say the story won’t be printed and it’s too risky anyway. So that’s my place in the history books assured. The man who lost Willingham Hall.’
It looked hopeless enough. ‘It’s not your fault you were saddled with your father’s debts,’ I said. ‘Can’t you just live with the status quo? Let Voronov carry on with his monthly visits, take his rent and keep the rest of the house for yourself? It’s not too terrible an inconvenience, is it?’
‘It’s humiliating,’ he muttered. ‘He treats me like a serf. Besides, in the end he’ll take the house from me, lock, stock and barrel. I know it.’
‘He can afford any house he wants. Why should he be so set on yours?’
‘Because it’s fun for him to treat me like this, that’s why. He’ll turn the screw until I have to sell up. He asked me once if I wanted to accept double the rent in return for attending one of his parties.’
‘What? Surely you accepted?’
‘As a submissive,’ hissed Joss. ‘The point is, I’m an English aristocrat and it amuses him to see me humbled. He loves to demonstrate that money is superior to birthright. Obviously I refused. But he keeps repeating the offer.’
I had no more words to say. I couldn’t see how the situation could ever be resolved. There was no story in it for me and no hope of Joss ever prising Voronov out of the east wing. Indeed, it was surprising that Voronov hadn’t just gone ahead and bought the Hall outright. But perhaps he was saving that special pleasure for later, a kind of coup de grâce, so he could savour Joss’s utter defeat.
‘Let’s think about this,’ I said, without much enthusiasm. ‘Voronov has been leasing part of your house for his parties. You want him out. He wants more than a nice venue for his kinky scenes – humiliating you is an integral part of the pleasure for him … what can we do?’
Joss shrugged and lay flat on the bed.
‘So there’s nothing I can do but put it on the market,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I said, the beginning of an idea dawning, albeit probably an unworkable one. ‘After all, it still belongs to you. What’s the stuff he knows about your parents?’
Joss put his hands over his face, then spoke in a dull, dead tone.
‘They used to host these parties on their yacht. Hedonistic isn’t the word. Makes this place look like Balamory. Voronov went to a few. He has footage. Drugs, prostitutes, international criminal playboys everywhere.’
‘Bloody hell.’ I resisted the natural urge to comment on what a great story that would make. I can be sensitive. ‘I see.’ The beginnings of my plan melted into mist. I was stumped.
‘I’m fucked, aren’t I?’ said Joss mournfully.
‘I think it does look that way. Sorry.’
* * *
We returned to Tylney in low spirits. Our trip to London had been a bit of a pointless waste of time, if a pleasurable one. All bets were off. The grand scheme would have to be abandoned.
It hadn’t all been completely futile, though. I had Joss, and I had found an elusive part of my self in the process. Our peculiar plot had grown and flourished like a plant in rich soil, bearing unexpected flowers.
‘Do you still want to stay with me?’ he asked, parking the car with a dejected air in the Hall grounds.
‘Oh, Joss. Do you really think I was only with you for the story?’