Dick Francis's Gamble - Felix Francis [96]
“Was he teetotal because of his heart condition?” I asked.
“Heart condition?” Ben said. “Whatever gave you the impression Uncle J had a heart condition? His heart was as strong as an ox. Or at least we all thought it was until last Monday.”
Perhaps Ben hadn’t known about his uncle’s heart condition, I thought. After all, it’s not the sort of thing people usually advertise about themselves.
“Tell me about your trip to Bulgaria,” I said. “When you went to see the factory.”
“There’s absolutely nothing there,” he said. “Nothing at all. And the locals know nothing about it. They’ve never even heard of any plans to build a factory, let alone the houses.”
“Are you sure you were in the right place?” I asked.
He glanced at me with a look that could only be described as one of contempt.
“Of course I’m sure,” he said. “I took all the details with me so that I would be able find it. My family are so proud of what the Trust does to help those less fortunate than ourselves. That’s why I was so keen for the skiing club to go to Bulgaria in the first place, and especially to Borovets. It was close enough so I could spend a day going to see the factory if I wanted.”
“Did anyone know you were going to the factory?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I wasn’t absolutely sure that I would. It depended on the snow and the weather. To be honest, I’d much rather ski than visit factories, but on one day the cloud was right down on the slopes so I went, but the factory wasn’t there.”
“Where was it meant to be?” I asked.
“Close to a village called Gorni, south of Sofia. But when I saw the site, it was nothing more than a toxic waste dump left over from the mass industrialization of the country during the Soviet era.”
“So what have you done about it?” I asked. “Your family has invested a lot of money in the project.”
“Yeah, and lost it all too.” He sounded resigned to the loss.
“Aren’t you even going to try to get it back?”
“I don’t expect so,” Ben said. “My father is worried that the family name will be discredited. What he means is that we will be shown up to have been bloody fools—and fools that were easily separated from their money. He is furious about it, but mostly because he was talked into it by Uncle Jolyon and some financial adviser chap.”
“Gregory Black?” I asked.
“He’s the one,” he said.
“So your father says to forget it? Forget five million pounds just like that?”
“It’s only money,” he said almost flippantly. “And money is fairly easy to replace. It’s not like one’s family reputation. It can take many generations to repair damage to one’s family’s standing, and sometimes it can never be restored.”
It sounded to me that he was quoting his father.
“But it’s not possible to replace your uncle Jolyon,” I said.
“That’s surely all the more reason to forget about the whole thing. If the stress of this factory business gave Uncle J his heart attack, then we should unquestionably let sleeping dogs lie. Otherwise, our foolishness will be shown to have cost the family far more than mere money.”
“But I believe your uncle was murdered,” I said. “Don’t you want justice?”
“Would that bring him back?” he said angrily. “No, of course it wouldn’t. And, anyway, I believe that you are wrong. In fact, I believe you are just here to cause my family trouble.” He stood up quickly, bunching his fists. “What is it you’re really after? Do you want money? Is that it? Money or you’ll go to the papers?”
This could get very nasty, and very quickly, I thought.
I didn’t move but just sat still on the bench, not even looking up at him.
“I don’t want your money,” I said calmly.
But what did I want?
Did I really care if some clever eurocrat in Brussels and a Bulgarian property entrepreneur were conspiring to steal a hundred million euros from the European Union with or without the help of Gregory Black? Or did I care that the Roberts Family Trust had been duped out of five million