go, then?' All eyes were suddenly upon him. He smiled, relishing the intentness of his audience. 'Have you perhaps been brought down specially to do the deed, Nicholas?'
Nick did not know how to respond. He felt his stomach
56
tighten. 'It's not a question of . . .' He looked round helplessly at his siblings. 'I mean . . .'
'I was going to raise the subject of Mr Tantris's offer, Dad,' said Irene. She set down her cup. 'We didn't draw straws to decide. It's something we all agree has to be discussed.'
'So, let's discuss it.' Michael finished his tea and beamed at them. 'Tantris has offered me half a million pounds plus my fees at some de luxe old fogeys' home in Tavistock to get his hands on Trennor. Correct?'
'Well, it's not--'
'The full story? No, it isn't, is it? About Tantris we know nothing, except that he has money and an interest in antique stained glass. Miss Hartley the ecclesiastical art historian theorizes that the Doom Window of St Neot lies hidden somewhere in this house. Tantris wants me out so that his minions can tap and scan and probe every square inch of wall and floor and ceiling in search of something that will tell them where to start in with the drills and pickaxes. To get me out, he proposes to pay me about fifty per cent more than the house is worth and to bribe you five with the cost of putting me up in conscience-salving comfort at Gorton Lodge. Since I won't get the chance to spend my savings because I'll die of sheer bloody boredom within a twelvemonth, that'll leave you to share the loot between you, which I expect you've already calculated could be substantially more than half a million pounds if you negotiate hard enough with the fabled Tantris of the bottomless pockets.'
'You're painting this in the worst possible light, Dad,' Irene protested.
T'm being accurate, my girl, that's all. The time has come to be, I rather think.'
'We're genuinely concerned about you.'
'You had a fall recently,' put in Anna.
'How considerate of me.'
'What if Pru hadn't found you?'
'It had just happened when she arrived, for God's sake. I'd have got back up without her help perfectly easily.'
57
That's not what she said.1
'She's nearly as old as I am and about one twentieth as intelligent. You can't seriously give her version of events any credence.'
'You're not getting any younger, Dad,' said Andrew. 'Sooner or later you'll have to think about moving to more practical accommodation.'
'Perhaps I'd prefer that to be later.'
'So might we,' said Irene, 'if this offer hadn't been made. But it has been. We can't ignore it.'
'I'd like to know why not.'
'There's surely a compelling reason that has nothing to do with money,' said Nick, sensing his chance had come.
'And what might that be?' His father's gaze focused on him narrowly.
'The glass. The Doom Window. You said myth can be as powerful as reality. But this is both, isn't it? A historical mystery. An artistic treasure. An archaeological quest. This should be meat and drink to you, Dad. You should be eager to lead the search, not trying to obstruct it. I don't understand. I can't believe sentiment is clouding your academic judgement. You'd condemn that in anyone else, wouldn't you?'
Michael stuck out his lower lip and glowered at Nick for half a minute of suspended silence, then growled, 'Not in these circumstances.'
'What makes them so different?'
'Judgement is the key to it, boy. I don't happen to think tearing this house apart - the house your mother died in - on the say-so of a dubiously qualified chit of a girl--'
'Oh God, Dad,' Anna interrupted. This isn't about being upstaged by a woman, is it?'
'Is there something amiss with Ms Hartley's qualifications?' Basil mildly enquired.
They're not on a par with mine, since you ask. Not remotely.'
The Bawden letter is the link between Trennor and the St Neot glass,' said Nick. 'Ms Hartley explained that quite
58
clearly. Are you questioning her interpretation of the evidence?'
'You've seen
Nick did not know how to respond. He felt his stomach
56
tighten. 'It's not a question of . . .' He looked round helplessly at his siblings. 'I mean . . .'
'I was going to raise the subject of Mr Tantris's offer, Dad,' said Irene. She set down her cup. 'We didn't draw straws to decide. It's something we all agree has to be discussed.'
'So, let's discuss it.' Michael finished his tea and beamed at them. 'Tantris has offered me half a million pounds plus my fees at some de luxe old fogeys' home in Tavistock to get his hands on Trennor. Correct?'
'Well, it's not--'
'The full story? No, it isn't, is it? About Tantris we know nothing, except that he has money and an interest in antique stained glass. Miss Hartley the ecclesiastical art historian theorizes that the Doom Window of St Neot lies hidden somewhere in this house. Tantris wants me out so that his minions can tap and scan and probe every square inch of wall and floor and ceiling in search of something that will tell them where to start in with the drills and pickaxes. To get me out, he proposes to pay me about fifty per cent more than the house is worth and to bribe you five with the cost of putting me up in conscience-salving comfort at Gorton Lodge. Since I won't get the chance to spend my savings because I'll die of sheer bloody boredom within a twelvemonth, that'll leave you to share the loot between you, which I expect you've already calculated could be substantially more than half a million pounds if you negotiate hard enough with the fabled Tantris of the bottomless pockets.'
'You're painting this in the worst possible light, Dad,' Irene protested.
T'm being accurate, my girl, that's all. The time has come to be, I rather think.'
'We're genuinely concerned about you.'
'You had a fall recently,' put in Anna.
'How considerate of me.'
'What if Pru hadn't found you?'
'It had just happened when she arrived, for God's sake. I'd have got back up without her help perfectly easily.'
57
That's not what she said.1
'She's nearly as old as I am and about one twentieth as intelligent. You can't seriously give her version of events any credence.'
'You're not getting any younger, Dad,' said Andrew. 'Sooner or later you'll have to think about moving to more practical accommodation.'
'Perhaps I'd prefer that to be later.'
'So might we,' said Irene, 'if this offer hadn't been made. But it has been. We can't ignore it.'
'I'd like to know why not.'
'There's surely a compelling reason that has nothing to do with money,' said Nick, sensing his chance had come.
'And what might that be?' His father's gaze focused on him narrowly.
'The glass. The Doom Window. You said myth can be as powerful as reality. But this is both, isn't it? A historical mystery. An artistic treasure. An archaeological quest. This should be meat and drink to you, Dad. You should be eager to lead the search, not trying to obstruct it. I don't understand. I can't believe sentiment is clouding your academic judgement. You'd condemn that in anyone else, wouldn't you?'
Michael stuck out his lower lip and glowered at Nick for half a minute of suspended silence, then growled, 'Not in these circumstances.'
'What makes them so different?'
'Judgement is the key to it, boy. I don't happen to think tearing this house apart - the house your mother died in - on the say-so of a dubiously qualified chit of a girl--'
'Oh God, Dad,' Anna interrupted. This isn't about being upstaged by a woman, is it?'
'Is there something amiss with Ms Hartley's qualifications?' Basil mildly enquired.
They're not on a par with mine, since you ask. Not remotely.'
The Bawden letter is the link between Trennor and the St Neot glass,' said Nick. 'Ms Hartley explained that quite
58
clearly. Are you questioning her interpretation of the evidence?'
'You've seen
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