Gemini - Dorothy Dunnett [100]
The fat man was smiling, today. ‘Quite. The law will be happy not to pursue a case against Henry, provided Henry drops his complaint against Mar. The men who attacked you at Bonnington will, alas, remain for ever unpunished.’
‘Mar will try again,’ Nicholas said.
‘Of course,’ said St Pol. ‘What can one do, except hope my poor Henry survives it? You can’t imagine I care?’
‘Then why take him back?’ Nicholas said.
‘What shall I say?’ said Jordan de St Pol. ‘He reported a few of your minor business dealings but, really, not enough to be worth it. You learned even less, I am sure, and indeed suffered some loss. You have no idea what plans Henry now has for his horses. In fact … I have a theory. I think you were trying to suborn Henry from his grandfather’s bosom. Should I be right?’
This time, the smile of the fat man was lavish; the eyes bright, the lips a voluptuous rose. He waited. It was so quiet that Nicholas could hear the beat of his own heart.
‘No one could do that,’ Nicholas said.
The snowfield stilled; the hissing springs drained; far off under the glacier, Hekla breathed.
‘I should have killed you,’ said Jordan de St Pol; and rose; and walked out.
Nicholas remained on the window-seat. Presently, since there was a great deal to do, he swung his feet down and went to his desk.
PRIMED BY THE padrone himself, Kathi Sersanders was able, more than most, to appreciate what was happening during the following weeks.
Over the road, Robin’s father, in his level way, had resumed business; and the grandfather had retired, at last, to the family estate at Templehall. Saunders, under the impact of the murmured word Berwick, had ceased to be ashamed of his uncle, although he hadn’t brought himself to meet Phemie yet. Nor had he any idea what had happened at Berwick, save to mutter that it was years ago and irrelevant.
In their own house, the children had settled with Cristen, and Dr Tobie and Clémence had made a home of their building in the same yard. Robin was mobile now, wheeled from one room to another, and often over the road to Saunders’s office. It had once belonged to Nicholas, and had its own door. The counting-house, which was not so easy to reach, was upstairs. If Crackbene was about, he sometimes carried him.
Once installed, Robin would sit listening with frightening intensity to what was being said, and would take a determined part in all the discussions. To begin with, Archie steered these into areas with which Robin was conversant, but Robin soon noticed, and recognised when his ignorance was being treated with tolerance. Very soon, with ferocious dedication, he had set aside pain to master all they could tell him. And when Nicholas visited, which he did within their old house, Robin would test himself further, disputing over the developing business, which had once taken second place in his heart to the active world he had lost.
As he had been to Kathi, so now Nicholas was candid to Robin. Again, for the first time, he laid before the boy in the chair all his thoughts and his plans, and listened to Robin’s views. With Nicholas, Robin dropped the curt, probing manner he used with his peers, and relaxed into the low-key, speculative style that Nicholas encouraged. Only, as had happened with Kathi, Nicholas did not talk to him of Henry, or of anything personal. In some respects, no one could blame him. But he should, she believed, share some of his apprehensions with Robin—over the St Pols, for example, and Simpson. Robin wanted to help.
For the moment, though, he was fighting his way along the path they had designed for him, and it seemed to be succeeding, even if Dr Tobie sometimes left Robin’s bed, frowning, after one of the excursions over the road. You would say that Robin was learning to become used to his disabilities, except for those times when, talking business, someone would lift and flourish a paper, or cross the room to a map, and Robin would instinctively