title, I do have something
to pass on to you. I believe now is the time.'
'Now?' One word. Safe enough.
'You are a young man. You are studying at university.
You are beginning to chart the course of your own life.'
Sir Darius measured his words. 'Aubrey, you are a fine
individual, with many gifts. Your conduct on the Electra was exemplary.'
Aubrey swallowed. 'Thank you, sir.'
'It is difficult, being a parent. Especially a father.'
'Sir.'
'I feared my father, Aubrey. He believed, as did all
men of his generation, in discipline as the way to raise
children. There was nothing gentle about him. He was
fair, but stern, distant and judgemental.'
Aubrey was fascinated – and embarrassed. His father
had never spoken to him this way. The old Duke of
Brayshire was a dim memory to Aubrey, the grandfather
who gave piggy-backs. The man must have softened in
his old age. 'I . . .'
'Don't say anything, Aubrey. I realise this must be
awkward for you, and talking is your first reaction in all
circumstances. Listen this time, there's a good chap.'
Aubrey subsided.
'I vowed I wouldn't raise my son as my father raised
his.' Sir Darius found an interesting piece of lint on his
lapel. 'I dare say that's a promise that's been made more
than once in history, but it was the best I could do. I may
have been harsh with you, Aubrey. Difficult. It was with
the best of intentions.' Sir Darius stood. 'I want you to
come with me.'
'Where?'
'To the Bank of Albion.'
The landau was waiting at the front door. The weather
being fine, Aubrey thought the open carriage a splendid
choice, but his mind was racing. His father was being
mysterious, but clumsily so. This was no clever joke or
elaborate charade – there was something endearingly
uncomfortable about the whole affair. It showed a side of
his father that he'd rarely seen.
The driver eased the matched greys out of the gates of
Maidstone. With Sir Darius sitting in reflective silence
and Aubrey unwilling to spoil the moment, the carriage
clip-clopped along Highton Street towards the city.
The black motorcar following closely was a sign of the
increased diligence of the Special Services bodyguards.
Approaching noon, the streets were busy. Sir Darius
drummed his fingers impatiently on the rail until a
policeman, passing on a bicycle, stopped. 'Care for some
help, Prime Minister?'
'Constable, you are a veritable lifesaver. If you would.'
The policeman saluted, grinned, then proceeded to
lead the carriage through intersection after intersection,
with the connivance of his colleagues who were on point
duty. Each of them saluted Sir Darius, who shouted his
thanks as they trotted past.
'Two birds, Aubrey. One stone,' Sir Darius said abruptly
as they passed the Gallery of the Arts.
Aubrey twisted this cryptic utterance around until he
thought he had an answer. 'You're meeting someone at
the bank?'
'Indeed.' Sir Darius took out his pocket watch. 'Clive
Rokeby-Taylor. That's why I don't want to be late.'
'Meeting at the bank? Odd, isn't it?'
'Rokeby-Taylor and money were never far apart,'
Sir Darius said dryly. 'Especially other people's money.'
With the help of the friendly police constable, the
landau drew up right outside the Bank of Albion, with
the Special Services motorcar right behind. Aubrey had
never been inside the Grand Dame of Woolcroft Street,
but knew the imposing edifice by sight. Grimy from city
smoke, the bank still managed to look both stately and
intimidating. This was an institution that was serious
about money, its architecture announced, and it took
such a long, steady, safe view of investment that it
regarded glaciers as reckless daredevils of speed.
One of the bank's managers, grandees or high potentates
marched out as Sir Darius alighted. He was stout,
with a pointy beard, and a cutaway coat in a style that
was forty years out of date, even though it looked as if it
had been made that morning. 'Prime Minister. We have
a special room ready for you.'
'Sir Norman. I
to pass on to you. I believe now is the time.'
'Now?' One word. Safe enough.
'You are a young man. You are studying at university.
You are beginning to chart the course of your own life.'
Sir Darius measured his words. 'Aubrey, you are a fine
individual, with many gifts. Your conduct on the Electra was exemplary.'
Aubrey swallowed. 'Thank you, sir.'
'It is difficult, being a parent. Especially a father.'
'Sir.'
'I feared my father, Aubrey. He believed, as did all
men of his generation, in discipline as the way to raise
children. There was nothing gentle about him. He was
fair, but stern, distant and judgemental.'
Aubrey was fascinated – and embarrassed. His father
had never spoken to him this way. The old Duke of
Brayshire was a dim memory to Aubrey, the grandfather
who gave piggy-backs. The man must have softened in
his old age. 'I . . .'
'Don't say anything, Aubrey. I realise this must be
awkward for you, and talking is your first reaction in all
circumstances. Listen this time, there's a good chap.'
Aubrey subsided.
'I vowed I wouldn't raise my son as my father raised
his.' Sir Darius found an interesting piece of lint on his
lapel. 'I dare say that's a promise that's been made more
than once in history, but it was the best I could do. I may
have been harsh with you, Aubrey. Difficult. It was with
the best of intentions.' Sir Darius stood. 'I want you to
come with me.'
'Where?'
'To the Bank of Albion.'
The landau was waiting at the front door. The weather
being fine, Aubrey thought the open carriage a splendid
choice, but his mind was racing. His father was being
mysterious, but clumsily so. This was no clever joke or
elaborate charade – there was something endearingly
uncomfortable about the whole affair. It showed a side of
his father that he'd rarely seen.
The driver eased the matched greys out of the gates of
Maidstone. With Sir Darius sitting in reflective silence
and Aubrey unwilling to spoil the moment, the carriage
clip-clopped along Highton Street towards the city.
The black motorcar following closely was a sign of the
increased diligence of the Special Services bodyguards.
Approaching noon, the streets were busy. Sir Darius
drummed his fingers impatiently on the rail until a
policeman, passing on a bicycle, stopped. 'Care for some
help, Prime Minister?'
'Constable, you are a veritable lifesaver. If you would.'
The policeman saluted, grinned, then proceeded to
lead the carriage through intersection after intersection,
with the connivance of his colleagues who were on point
duty. Each of them saluted Sir Darius, who shouted his
thanks as they trotted past.
'Two birds, Aubrey. One stone,' Sir Darius said abruptly
as they passed the Gallery of the Arts.
Aubrey twisted this cryptic utterance around until he
thought he had an answer. 'You're meeting someone at
the bank?'
'Indeed.' Sir Darius took out his pocket watch. 'Clive
Rokeby-Taylor. That's why I don't want to be late.'
'Meeting at the bank? Odd, isn't it?'
'Rokeby-Taylor and money were never far apart,'
Sir Darius said dryly. 'Especially other people's money.'
With the help of the friendly police constable, the
landau drew up right outside the Bank of Albion, with
the Special Services motorcar right behind. Aubrey had
never been inside the Grand Dame of Woolcroft Street,
but knew the imposing edifice by sight. Grimy from city
smoke, the bank still managed to look both stately and
intimidating. This was an institution that was serious
about money, its architecture announced, and it took
such a long, steady, safe view of investment that it
regarded glaciers as reckless daredevils of speed.
One of the bank's managers, grandees or high potentates
marched out as Sir Darius alighted. He was stout,
with a pointy beard, and a cutaway coat in a style that
was forty years out of date, even though it looked as if it
had been made that morning. 'Prime Minister. We have
a special room ready for you.'
'Sir Norman. I
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