This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles 7)

However, when the weather changed from a chilly November to a freezing December, Virginia began to despair, and decided that she had no choice but to tell Perry the truth, whatever the consequences.

She selected his seventieth birthday as the day of revelation, during a celebration dinner at Le Gavroche. She was well prepared, having spent most of her monthly allowance on a gift for Perry that she could ill afford. Cartier had crafted a pair of gold cufflinks, engraved with the Hertford crest. She would need to choose the right moment to present them, and then explain why she would be leaving for Buenos Aires early in the New Year.

During the meal, which consisted mostly of vintage champagne, the duke became a little maudlin and began talking about “crossing the finishing line,” his euphemism for death.

“Don’t be silly, Perry,” Virginia reprimanded him. “You have many years ahead of you before you need to think about anything quite so depressing, especially if I’ve got anything to do with it. And don’t forget, I promised the children I’d keep you going.”

“And you’ve more than kept your end of the bargain, old gal. In fact, I don’t know how I would have survived without you,” he added as he took her hand.

Virginia had become accustomed to the duke’s little signs of affection, even a hand reaching under the table and ending up on her thigh. But tonight, it remained there while the maître d’ opened another bottle of champagne. Virginia had drunk very little that evening, as she needed to be as sober as a judge when she delivered her plea in mitigation. She chose that moment to present him with his birthday present.

He slowly unwrapped it, before opening the leather box.

“My darling Virginia, how kind of you. I’ve never had a more thoughtful present in my life.” He leaned across and kissed her gently on the lips.

“I’m so glad you like it, Perry. Because it’s almost impossible to find something for a man who has everything.”

“Not quite everything, my darling,” he replied, still clutching her hand.

Virginia decided there was never going to be a better moment to tell him about her problem with the taxm

an.

“Perry, there’s something I need to ask you.”

“I know,” he said. Virginia looked surprised. “You were going to ask, your place or mine?”

Virginia giggled like a schoolgirl, but didn’t lose her concentration, although she suddenly realized she should perhaps delay telling him about her imminent departure, as there might be an even better opportunity to plead her case a little later.

The duke raised his other hand, and a moment later the maître d’ appeared by his side bearing a silver tray on which there lay a single slip of paper. Virginia had become used to checking the details of every bill before allowing the duke to write out a check. It was not unknown for a restaurant to add an extra dish, even another bottle of wine, after a guest had consumed a little too much.

It was when she opened the bill and saw the figure £18.50, that the idea first crossed her mind. But could she risk it? She had to admit such a gift-wrapped opportunity was unlikely to present itself again. She waited for the sommelier to pour him a second glass of Taylor’s before she declared, “The bill’s fine, Perry. Shall I write out a check while you enjoy your port?”

“Good idea, old gal,” said the duke, taking out his checkbook and handing it to her. “Be sure to add a generous tip,” he said as he drained his glass. “It’s been a memorable evening.”

Virginia wrote out the figure 185,000, having moved the comma and added two noughts. She dated the check December 3rd, 1982, before placing it in front of him. He signed unsteadily, just below where Virginia’s finger covered the noughts. When he disappeared to “spend a penny,” another of his oft-used euphemisms, Virginia deposited the check in her handbag, took out her own checkbook, and wrote out the correct figure. She handed it to the maître d’ just before Perry returned.

“It’s the duke’s birthday,” she explained, “so it’s my treat.”

Marco didn’t comment that she’d forgotten to add the generous tip the duke had suggested.

Once they were seated in the back of the duke’s Rolls-Royce, he immediately leaned across, took Virginia in his arms, and kissed her; the kiss of a man who was hoping for more.

When the car stopped outside the duke’s home in Eaton Square, the chauffeur rushed around to open the back door, giving Virginia enough time to straighten her dress while the duke buttoned up his jacket. The duke led Virginia into the house, where they found the butler waiting for them, as if it was midday, not midnight.

“Good evening, your grace,” he said, before taking their coats. “Will you require your usual brandy and cigar?”

“Not tonight, Lomax,” the duke replied, as he took Virginia by the hand and led her up the sweeping staircase and into a room she’d never entered before. The bedroom was about the same size as her flat, and dominated by an antique oak four-poster, adorned with the family crest Ever Vigilant.

Virginia was about to comment on the Constable hanging above the Adam fireplace, when she felt the zip on the back of her dress being clumsily pulled down. She made no attempt to stop it falling to the floor, and began to unbuckle the duke’s belt as they edged unsteadily toward the bed. She couldn’t remember when she’d last made love, and could only hope that the same was true for the duke.

He was like a schoolboy on a first date, petting and fumbling, clearly needing her to take the lead, which she was happy to do.

“That’s the best birthday present I could have hoped for,” he said once his heartbeat had returned to normal.

“Me too,” said Virginia, but he didn’t hear her, because he’d fallen asleep.

When Virginia woke the following morning, it took her a few moments to remember where she was. She began to consider the consequences of everything that had taken place the previous evening. She had already decided not to present the check for £185,000 until December 23rd, confident that it wouldn’t be cleared before Christmas, possibly even the New Year.