A Dangerous Fortune - Ken Follett [49]
For a moment Augusta wondered if he was right. Was she in danger of killing the goose that laid the golden eggs? But there was so much money in the bank that they could never spend it all even if none of them ever did another day’s work. Anyway, it was ridiculous to say that Joseph would be bad for the bank. There was nothing very difficult about what the partners did: they went into the bank, read the financial pages of the newspapers, loaned people money and collected the interest. Joseph could do that as well as any of them. “You men always pretend that banking is complex and mysterious,” she said. “But you don’t fool me.” She realized that she was being defensive. “I’ll justify myself to God, not to you,” she said.
“Would you really go to my father, as you have threatened?” Samuel said. “You know it could kill him.”
She hesitated only for an instant. “There is no alternative,” she said firmly.
He stared at her for a long time. “You devil, I believe you,” he said.
Augusta held her breath. Would he give in? She felt that victory was almost in her grasp, and in her imagination she heard someone say respectfully, Allow me to present Mrs. Joseph Pilaster—the wife of the Senior Partner of Pilasters Bank….
He hesitated, then spoke with obvious distaste. “Very well. I shall tell the others that I don’t wish to become Senior Partner when my father retires.”
Augusta repressed a smile of triumph. She had won. She turned away to conceal her elation.
“Enjoy your victory,” Samuel said bitterly. “But remember, Augusta, that we all have secrets—even you. One day someone will use your secrets against you this way, and you’ll remember what you did to me.”
Augusta was mystified. What was he referring to? For no reason at all the thought of Micky Miranda came into her mind, but she pushed it aside. “I have no secrets to be ashamed of,” she said.
“Don’t you?”
“No!” she said, but his confidence worried her.
He gave her a peculiar look. “A young lawyer called David Middleton came to see me yesterday.”
For a moment she did not understand. “Should I know him?” The name was disturbingly familiar.
“You met him once, seven years ago, at an inquest.”
Suddenly Augusta felt cold. Middleton: that had been the name of the boy who drowned.
Samuel said: “David Middleton believes that his brother Peter was killed—by Edward.”
Augusta wanted desperately to sit down, but she refused to give Samuel the satisfaction of seeing her rattled. “Why on earth is he trying to make trouble now, after seven years?”
“He told me he was never satisfied with the inquest, but he remained silent for fear of causing his parents even more distress. However, his mother died soon after Peter, and his father died this year.”
“Why did he approach you—not me?”
“He belongs to my club. Anyway, he has re-read the inquest records and he says that there were several eyewitnesses who were never called to give evidence.”
There certainly were, Augusta thought anxiously. There was mischievous Hugh Pilaster; a South American boy called Tony or something; and a third person who had never been identified. If David Middleton got hold of one of them the whole story might come out.
Samuel was looking thoughtful. “From your point of view it was a pity the coroner made those remarks about Edward’s heroism. That made people suspicious. They would have believed that Edward stood on the edge dithering while a boy drowned. But everyone who’s ever met him knows he wouldn’t cross the street to help someone, let alone dive into a pool to rescue a drowning boy.”
This sort of talk was complete