The Woman from Paris(139)
Suddenly, his quest wasn’t about finding out whether or not Julius and Phaedra had been lovers, but about finding Phaedra. There on the pavement outside her house, a small window of light materialized for him to leap through and forgive her. He simply couldn’t live without her—that was all there was to it. However grave her crime, he couldn’t remain angry with her forever. She had been deceived, the same as his mother. If anyone was to blame, it was his father.
But how could David find her when she had left no trail? There was only one person who might know. He lifted his head out of his hands, and his face hardened: Julius Beecher.
* * *
Julius’s office was in an elegant Georgian building off Berkeley Square in London’s smart West End. When David announced his name, the receptionist paled. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Lord Frampton. I’ll let Mr. Beecher know you’re here,” she said, and picked up her telephone. A moment later Julius was in the hall, his arms outstretched, a disingenuous smile broadening his pink face. David noticed that his eyes remained as cold as concrete. He had never liked his father’s lawyer. Now he liked him even less.
“My dear David. What a nice surprise.” He extended his hand, and David shook it without returning his smile. “Come into my office. Mrs. Carrington will get you a cup of tea, or would you prefer coffee?”
“Nothing, thank you,” David replied. “This won’t take long.” He followed Julius down the carpeted corridor into an airy room on the left. The windows faced directly onto the little garden in the center of Berkeley Square. Julius’s desk was vast, piled high with neatly organized papers in leather trays and two computer screens. There was a sofa and a pair of armchairs arranged around a coffee table laden with Christie’s catalogues and glossy volumes on English country houses. The mahogany bookcase was full of antiquarian books and the latest history and biography prizewinners in hardback. A few silver trophies took pride of place in the middle, above the flat-screen television. David wondered what they were for. He doubted the portly little man had ever won anything. Perhaps they had belonged to his father.
As he swept his eyes around the room he noticed the large collage of photographs that took up an entire wall. They were all of George—every single one—either Julius with George, or Julius with George and some dignitary. David felt uneasy seeing his father’s face smiling out like that from so many frames; it reeked of obsession. He had always known Julius had admired his boss; he had just never known how much. “Ah, you’ve noticed my wall of fame,” Julius laughed. “I thought very highly of your father, as you know. He was a great man. It was a tragedy—that’s all I can say. A tragedy that has changed my life forever. There’ll never be another George Frampton.”
He took the chair behind his desk and knitted his fingers expectantly. “So what brings you up to the Big Smoke?”
David bristled at his sarcastic tone. “You lied about the DNA test,” he replied, sitting down opposite.
Julius’s face darkened, the smile gone as quickly as if he had pulled off a mask. “So you know.” He shrugged. “It was bound to come out sometime.”
“No, it only came out because you let it. You knew full well what was on that DVD.”
Julius picked up a pen and began to twirl it between his stumpy fingers. He sighed insincerely. “Oh dear, that must be very distressing for your mother. I’m so sorry.”
“Spare me your sympathy, Julius.”
A small smile curled the corners of the lawyer’s lips. “I don’t suppose Phaedra’s so welcome now at Fairfield. Such a pity. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
David watched him gloat at Phaedra’s demise, and suddenly, it all became very clear. “She rebuffed you, didn’t she?” he said, heart racing.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You thought you’d take revenge by sending my mother the DVD because Phaedra had hurt your pride. After all you did for her, plotting and scheming, she didn’t want you.”
“David, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“You not only betrayed Phaedra, you betrayed my father.” He swept his eyes over the wall of photographs. “You profess to care about him, and yet you destroy his memory and all those he loved.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Julius growled. “I’d have given my life for George. Your father was a better man than any of his sons.”
“He had a lapse of judgment when he chose you as his man Friday. Or perhaps he chose you because you were underhanded. I always considered my father an honorable man. Now I’m not so sure.”