Dick Francis's Gamble - Felix Francis [97]
No, I decided. I didn’t care about either of those things.
And was I really bothered whether Jolyon Roberts had died of natural causes or if he’d been murdered?
No, I suppose I didn’t even care about that. He had been a nice enough man, and I was sorry he was dead, but it didn’t make any real difference to me how he’d died.
But I did care that someone had killed Herb Kovak, and I cared very much more that they were trying to kill me too.
“So what, exactly, do you want?” Ben Roberts asked belligerently from somewhere above my eye line.
“I want what is right,” I said. Whatever that meant.
And, I thought, I want to live a long and happy life with my future wife.
I looked up at his face. “What is it that you want?” I asked back. He didn’t answer, and I went on looking at him. “Your uncle told me you wanted to change the world.”
He laughed. “Uncle J was always saying that.”
“And is it true?” I asked.
He thought for a moment.
“It’s true that I want to be a politician,” he said. “And all politicians hope to be in power. To be in a position to make the changes they believe in, otherwise there’d be no point.” He paused. “So, yes, I suppose I do want to change the world. And for the better.”
“For the better, as you see it,” I said.
“Obviously.”
“So,” I said, “is it for the better that you value your family’s reputation ahead of doing what is right by your late uncle?”
He sat down again and stared at me.
“What’s your real name?” he asked.
“Foxton,” I said. “Nicholas Foxton. I am a financial adviser with Lyall and Black, the same firm where Gregory Black works.”
“Well, Mr. Nicholas Foxton, financial adviser, what is it that you really want?” he asked. “And why have you come here?”
“I need to find out more about your family’s investment in the Bulgarian project,” I said. “I simply don’t have enough information to take my concerns to the authorities. They’d probably laugh at me. All I have are some copies of the original transaction report, some e-mails between someone in Brussels and a man in Bulgaria, and a sackful of suspicion. And now that your uncle is dead, I can’t ask him.”
“So why don’t you go and ask Gregory Black?” he said.
“Because I’m not altogether sure that I trust him.” In fact, I was sure I didn’t.
“OK. I’ll speak to my father about it,” Ben said. “But I can tell you now, he won’t like it, and he probably won’t talk to you.”
“Ask him anyway,” I said.
“How do I contact you?” he asked.
“Leave a message on my mobile.” I gave him the number, which he stored on his own phone.
“Please speak to him soon.”
“I’m going home tonight for the weekend,” Ben said. “I’ll try to find the right moment to speak to him on Sunday afternoon. He’s always at his most relaxed after a good Sunday lunch.”
I hoped it would be soon enough.
When I returned to Jan’s place in Lambourn at four-thirty, I found her, Claudia and my mother sitting around the kitchen table, and they were already hard at the vino.
“Bit early, isn’t it?” I said, looking at my watch and declining the offered glass of Chardonnay.
“Early?” Claudia said with a giggle. “We started at lunchtime.”
The others giggled with her.
“Are you sure it’s wise to drink so soon after surgery?” I asked. “Especially on top of your painkillers.”
“Don’t be such a killjoy,” Jan said amid more sniggering.
What a fine state of affairs, I thought. I was trying to keep us alive, and my mother and fiancée were drunk.
“So what have you done today other than drink?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Jan said. “We’ve been talking, that’s all.”
“I thought you’d be at the races,” I said to her.
“No runners today,” she said. “But I’ve got to go now to evening stables.” She stood up with a slight wobble and giggled again. “Oops, I think I’ve had a bit too much.”
A lot too much, I thought. But, what the hell, it was Friday afternoon, and it had been quite a week.
I left them refilling their glasses and went upstairs to fetch my computer. I then used Jan’s broadband to connect to the Internet and checked my e-mails. As always, there were the usual collection from fund managers,