Believing the Lie - Elizabeth George [186]
Her father offered coffee. Her mother offered toasted tea cakes, chocolate gateau, biscotti from a bakery in Windermere. Both Manette and Freddie demurred politely. Manette said, “Let’s sit, though,” and led Freddie to one of the sofas perpendicular to the fireplace. Her parents took the other. Both of them, interestingly, sat on the edge as if ready to spring up and run at the least provocation. It was either that or being ready to dash off for a bottle of the bubbly. Hope did always spring eternal, Manette thought, when it came to what people believed was possible.
She said, “Freddie?” as an indication to him to take the bull by the horns.
He said, looking from her father to her mother, “Bernard, Valerie, it’s about Ian and the books.”
Alarm swept across Bernard’s features. He looked at his wife as if drawing the conclusion that he’d been bushwhacked by her in a scheme with their daughter, while Valerie looked mystified although she said nothing, merely waiting for more information. Manette didn’t know if Freddie noticed this. It didn’t matter much, because he went on directly, saying, “I know this isn’t going to go down well in some quarters, but we have to sort out a way to deal with Mignon’s monthly payments. Or, preferably, to stop them altogether. And we have to get to the bottom of this matter of Vivienne Tully. What with the money that’s gone into Arnside House and the money to Mignon and the money to Vivienne… I’d love you to think Fairclough Industries is awash with cash, but the truth is that along with the expense of the children’s garden here at the hall, we’re going to have to cut back somewhere. And sooner rather than later.”
It was all so vintage Freddie, Manette thought. He was earnest and truthful, guileless to a fault. There was no possible way her father could argue that this outlay of money was not Freddie’s concern. Freddie was not accusing him of anything. In addition, no one was more appropriate than Freddie to be looking through the books to see where the business stood after Ian’s death anyway.
She waited for her father’s response. So did Freddie. So did Valerie. The fire crackled and popped and a log rolled off the grate. Bernard took this opportunity to temporise. He took up the tongs and the hearth brush and dealt with the problem while the three of them watched him.
Valerie said, when he turned back to them, “Tell me about the money going out to Vivienne Tully, Freddie,” although when she said it, her eyes were fixed on her husband.
Freddie said affably, “Well, it’s a bit peculiar. It’s evidently been going on for years, increasing incrementally. I’ve more documentation from Ian’s computer accounts to sort through, but from what I’ve gathered so far, it seems like a large pile of money went out to her— via a bank transfer— some years ago, then a gap of a few years with nothing going out to her, and then a monthly allowance of some sort appears to have begun.”
“When would this have been?” Valerie asked steadily.
“Round eight and a half years ago. Now, I know she sits on the board of the foundation, Bernard— ”
“I beg your pardon?” Valerie turned to her husband and said his name as Freddie continued with, “But that position, as with all charitable boards, would be unpaid save for expenses, of course. Only, what she’s being paid far exceeds any expenses unless”— and here he chuckled and Manette wanted to kiss him for the sheer innocence of that chuckle— “she’s dining out every night with potential donors and sending their children to public schools to boot. That not being the case—”
“I’m getting the picture,” Valerie said. “Aren’t you, Bernard? Or is the truth of the matter that there’s no picture for you to get?”
Bernard was looking at Manette. Of course he would want to know what she had told Freddie and what sort of game they were playing with him now. He would feel betrayed as well. What he’d told her on the previous day, he’d told her in confidence. Well, had he told her everything, Manette thought, she might have kept the truth to herself. But he hadn’t done,