The Sweetness of Liberty James (64 page)

They looked for a place to sit down – all except Liberty, who was buzzing with adrenalin and nervous energy, pacing up and down in the bay.

Edmund took over as chairman. ‘I have to apologise, firstly, to Mr and Mrs Cholmondly-Radley, as I am not sure you were expecting such a large audience to hear what you have to say.' This raised a small smile from them both and somewhat broke the ice. ‘However, I believe it demonstrates the support and love we all feel for our dear friend Liberty.'

There was a gasp from Savannah, who thought her unemotional brother must have had some sort of stroke to be so verbally demonstrative. Most eyebrows rose, except for J-T's, whose were so Botoxed that they couldn't. Paloma didn't react either, both because of her Botox and because she was of the impression that everyone knew Edmund and Liberty were madly in love and imagined there was soon to be an announcement of a
romantic nature. Liberty stopped pacing and looked at Edmund. His dark, brooding eyes met hers directly, and she felt a frisson of excitement shiver down her spine. At that moment she knew this dear man was indeed hers, and she his, but typically, in front of all these people, she could only open and close her mouth like a goldfish, albeit a very pretty one.

Edmund tore his gaze from Liberty's and continued, ‘I have been talking with Cecil and Isabelle for most of the afternoon, and it would appear that for the sake of the Radley Bank's reputation, and that of the family, which is perhaps even more important, help is needed to jolt Percy into realising he is damaging more than his liver. They have requested that Liberty make a claim on his Pissarro painting. This is the one possession he loves above any other. It will hopefully get him back under control, and shock him into realising what he is doing.'

‘But I don't want his Pissarro! I've never wanted to take anything of his. After all, it was my decision to leave him,' said Liberty, feeling awkward in front of her in-laws, worried they might think this a plan of her making.

‘Oh, no, my dear,' piped up Cecil. ‘We know you don't. But we feel that if he is told you want it, you could . . . well . . . er . . .' He searched for the correct word. ‘ . . . persuade him to come back to the bank, thereby reassuring our partners and clients that the bank is worth holding their money in, and then he might take control of himself once again, and as a result rescue what is left of our family name. Perhaps he will even take some interest in our grandchild.' At this point Isabelle gave a somewhat theatrical sob; quite unexpected from such a controlled lady.

Liberty felt a gut-gripping stab of guilt. If only she had been able to give them a grandchild herself, maybe none of this would have happened. She hurried over to her beloved mother-in-law and comforted her, her own tears spilling as the memory of her lost child flooded back. Isabelle managed to pull herself together. She was somewhat muddled as to what had
happened to Liberty. She had been told about the miscarriage by a horrified Deirdre, who had phoned her to ask how Percy could have abandoned her daughter in Italy after she had lost her baby. Isabelle had felt guilty since Liberty's visit just after she left Percy. She should have supported the poor girl more. But not knowing the full story, she had felt obliged to encourage her to stand by her son. She had always admired her daughter-in-law for her hard work, generosity of spirit and enthusiasm, and for not trading on her beauty, as so many others had done, making them lazy and complacent.

‘Would you allow me to speak?' Bob surprised everyone by standing up. J-T admired his handsome physique as Bob raised himself to his full height, grateful for the Cuban heels that allowed him to reach the mantelpiece. He commanded the attention of all in the room.

‘You may be aware that Percy and I struck up a form of friendship through our years in Cambridge, due to our mutual appreciation of art. It almost made him forgive me for being gay! Once in a while he asked me to find him small pictures to have as investment pieces. Sometimes he would sell them straight away, as they had been purchased at well below their value, and sometimes he kept them – usually in the bank's vaults – until they gained sufficient value to be sold. Over a few years this made me realise that although I needed to make money through my own art dealing, I love the pieces I buy and see value in their beauty rather than in their monetary value. Percy, on the other hand, although very knowledgeable, was more interested in making money.

‘One day, a few years after coming down from university, he approached me, saying he needed a painting to be authenticated, but on the quiet. When I asked why, he said his aunt needed to sell a piece, but she didn't want the family to find out that she had lost a fair bit of their loot by gambling. Perhaps blindly trusting a friend, I saw the picture, and authenticated an unknown Pissarro. I was so excited I wanted to let him show it before it
was sold, and I told him it would encourage a huge amount of interest and draw the big bidders in. To sell on the QT would only arouse suspicion, and lower the price. He assured me he would speak to her and try to do as I said. I heard nothing until I attended a party held at Le Manoir a few months later, only for Liberty to tell me in an unguarded moment that we were not there to celebrate her birthday at all, but rather his new acquisition! By the way, Liberty, Percy was none too pleased you had told me.'

‘Yes, I remember!' piped up Liberty. ‘I was so surprised he was cross, because I thought he would want to show off to you, of all people, that he had managed this great coup. He had talked of nothing but the Pissarro for the past few weeks, and then he got so angry with me when I mentioned it to you.'

‘It was at Le Manoir?' enquired J-T.

‘Yes! I believe it was.'

‘Uh-huh, explains a lot.'

‘Anyway, to continue,' said Bob, drawing the focus back to himself. ‘When I asked Percy what had happened and how on earth he had afforded it, he said his aunt had refused to place it on the open market, and he had decided to buy it from her instead, directly, thus cutting out the middlemen and the fees. He said he had given her my estimated price and she was pleased and content to leave it at that. I couldn't very well ask where the money had come from, and he wasn't offering to tell me.'

Isabelle and Cecil were both looking very confused, but Bob went on, ‘I believe that he maybe didn't pass on my written estimate or authentication certificate, and I also believe that at that time he wouldn't have had the sort of cash he would need for the picture. I think he may have told the aunt that it wasn't a real Pissarro, and he bought it from her at an absolute knock-down price. All we need to do is go and see the aunt. I didn't question him at the time, not sure why, but if I'm honest I've always been a little scared of the man.' At this he shot a nervous glance at the CRs, but they were still looking dazed
and confused. ‘But looking back, I feel it may have been, well, somewhat illegal. So, that is my story. What do you all make of it?'

‘Very interesting. Very, very interesting,' said Isabelle, slowly coming out of her catatonic state. She took hold of her husband's hand and said, ‘Especially as neither I nor my husband has a sister.'

It was Bob's turn to look shocked. ‘But I met her in her home. She seemed genuine, and I'm sure it was her apartment in Anstley Hall. It felt right, and she made me tea there.'

‘I don't suppose you remember her name, do you?' asked Mr CR.

‘Yes, strangely, I do. It's a one-off to see a real Pissarro, and her name was so unbelievable, it was memorable. I remember Percy saying not to laugh when he told me, and that when she married, the family giggled over it for months. It was Mrs Stickybunns.'

‘Oh, poor Sticky!' wailed Liberty and Isabelle simultaneously. Cecil, on the other hand, was not thinking about his housekeeper's unusual name; he was growing ever more furious with his son.

‘What!' he shouted so loudly that the crystals on the ancient wall sconces shook. ‘Are you seriously telling me my son swindled my housekeeper out of hundreds of thousands of pounds?'

‘Well, yes, to put it bluntly, I do think it's possible. And it was a good deal more than that,' confirmed Bob, trembling under the full glare of the elderly gentleman, who was now back to his former patrician demeanour, suddenly regaining the strength that chemotherapy had sapped for months.

‘Unless perhaps he swindled the bank to get hold of the money, and Mrs Stickybunns has been working for you out of the goodness of her heart, while all the time hoarding her millions under the bed?' suggested J-T, who was enjoying this.

Liberty was now not the only one to be opening and shutting
her mouth like a goldfish. Edmund did the only thing suitable in such a situation: he opened another bottle of Ruinart Blanc de Blancs, and topped up everyone's glass. After a few minutes of absolute silence, the room erupted with talk, everyone shouting over each other and excitedly telling Cecil to call Mrs Stickybunns immediately.

55

At that moment Mrs Goodman sounded the gong for supper, with considerable extra enthusiasm, owing to the amount of noise emerging from the summer sitting room. She was thrilled to have the house full of laughter and jollity again. The children had already snuck down and been given a tray of biscuits and a flask of hot chocolate to take up to their indoor tree house.

Back in the mayhem, Edmund took control. He handed Cecil the telephone and instructed him to phone Mrs Stickybunns, then ran into the kitchen to explain to Mrs Goodman (thank goodness his housekeeper had a sensible name) that they might still need a few minutes, and she scuttled off to put the pea mousse back in its water bath to stay warm, and to cover the resting beef again. She was muttering ‘Why do I ever expect to be able to serve on time?' but smiling as she went.

When Edmund returned to the sitting room, Cecil had obeyed the command, and was indeed on the phone. The rest of the room was silent, for once no one ashamed of eavesdropping. Isabelle even had her ear pressed to Cecil's to overhear more clearly, much to her husband's obvious annoyance, as he kept scooting down the sofa, only for her to scoot straight after him, until he was pressed between a chintz arm and a silk one.

‘Yes, yes, and did you get the authentication? Oh, rightyho. So Percy helped you, yes? And what, if you don't mind my asking, did he pay for the very poor fake? Righty-ho, all right, everything in good order in the homestead? Yes, no, not a problem. Just wanted to know. Thank you, see you later. We will be home very late, if at all. Edmund has kindly offered us a
bed for the night. Yes, yes, I have my pills. Leave the hall light on, but don't worry about staying up. Right, right. Thank you.' He was trying not to be rude but was obviously desperate to relay her side of the story, and he hung up.

‘Well?' All eyes were on him. Isabelle, who despite her husband's best efforts had heard most of the conversation, now resembled a china doll; all colour drained from her face, except for bright pink spots of rouge on her cheeks and a pursed mouth. She took a deep slurp of wine, as did Cecil, before he said, ‘Percy . . .' And then he paused, finding it hard to believe, let alone say. ‘Percy paid her the grand sum of fifteen hundred pounds for what he said was a very poor fake. Sticky said she had been given the picture by her previous employers when they moved abroad, and couldn't take her with them. She had wanted to join her sister on a cruise, but it was very expensive, and she told Percy she had a painting she thought could raise some holiday money. Knowing he was interested in art works, she asked him to take a look. He told her that although it was probably a waste of time, he wanted an expert to have a look to be sure.' Cecil was breathing heavily. He pressed his thumbs and forefingers into the corners of his eyes as he told them the news. ‘She even said, “Dear Percy, so kind of him, so caring, to bother about me.” The little bugger, he didn't pass on Bob's assessment.'

The group looked stunned, everyone trying to work out the damage and what it meant to them. Claude was filling Evangeline in on the background of how Bob and Percy and Liberty knew each other, and the circumstances surrounding the extortion. Liberty was feeling nauseous and weak at the knees, realising that the upstanding, decent man she thought Percy was at the time she married him, no matter what he had turned into since, had actually never existed. He had always been a treacherous, deceitful bastard. Did that mean she had no idea of who was decent in the world?

Alain and Deirdre understood what their daughter must be
thinking, and were in turn feeling desperate on her behalf, and incredibly angry towards Percy. Paloma and Jonathan were feeling grateful that their sons were thoughtful, considerate and honest. Edmund's heart went out to Liberty; he wanted to protect her from everything. He took her difficulty as an excuse to go over and hold her.

After a few moments of quiet, it was as though everyone suddenly realised that it was not their feelings that mattered. The only people who mattered were sitting, strangely upright and unseeing, in front of them. Liberty reluctantly let go of Edmund, went over to Isabelle and knelt beside her. Before she could say anything, Isabelle croaked out, ‘I suppose we had better start saving if we are to pay poor Sticky the real value of the painting.' She was trying to smile, but her heart had cracked deeply, and was obviously breaking as she had to face what kind of person her son, her own flesh and blood, was.

Edmund took control again. ‘Mrs Stickybunns is not the only housekeeper who may have murder on her mind tonight if we don't eat soon!' The room collectively giggled, relieved to break the tension. ‘Let's go through, then reconvene when we have fuel in our bellies, and decide what is to be done.'

Jonathan's cheeks went a little pink, not only because he was thrilled to see his son being so authoritative, but also because Paloma's hand found his bottom as they rose to go to supper.