Casanova's Chinese Restaurant - Anthony Powell [94]
Even if St John Clarke had left his worldly goods to ‘the Party’, Frederica would scarcely bother about that, finally though such a bequest might confirm her distrust for men of letters. I was at a loss to know what had happened. Frederica saw she had said enough to command attention. To hold the key to information belonging by its essential nature to a sphere quite other than one’s own gives peculiar satisfaction. Frederica was well aware of that. She paused for a second or two. The ransoming of our curiosity was gratifying to her.
‘Who?’ I asked.
‘Whom do you think?’
‘We can’t spend the afternoon guessing things,’ said Isobel. ‘Our invention has been exhausted by Priscilla’s possible fiancés.’
Robert, who probably saw no reason to concern himself with St John Clarke’s affairs, and was no doubt more interested in speculating on the prospect of Chips Lovell as a brother-in-law, began to show loss of interest. He strolled across the room to examine a picture. Frederica saw that to hold her audience, she must come to the point.
‘Erridge,’ she said.
That was certainly an eye-opener.
‘How did you discover this?’
‘Erry told me himself.’
‘When?’
‘I stayed a night at Thrubworth. There were some legal papers of mine Erry had to sign. Taking them there seemed the only way of running him to earth. He just let out this piece of information quite casually as he put his pen down.’
‘How much is it?’ asked Robert, brought to heel by the nature of this disclosure.
‘That wasn’t so easy to find out.’
‘Roughly?’
‘St John Clarke seems to have bought an annuity of some sort that no one knew about,’ said Frederica. ‘So far as I can gather, there is about sixteen or seventeen thousand above that. It will be in the papers, of course, when the will is proved.’
‘Which Erry will get?’
‘Yes.’
‘He will hand it over to his Spanish friends,’ said Robert tranquilly.
‘Oh, no, he won’t,’ said Frederica, with some show of bravado.
‘Don’t be too sure.’
‘One can’t be sure,’ said Frederica, speaking this time more soberly. ‘But it sounded as if Erry were not going to do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘He didn’t leave Spain on very good terms with anyone.’
‘The money would pay off the overdraft on the estate account,’ said Isobel.
‘Exactly.’
‘And the woods would not have to be sold.’
‘In fact,’ said Robert, ‘this windfall might turn out to be most opportune.’
‘I don’t want to speak too soon,’ said Frederica, ‘especially where Erry is concerned. All the same, so far as I could see, there seemed hope of his showing some sense for once.’
‘But will his conscience allow him to show sense?’ said Robert.
I understood now why Quiggin had been so irritable when we had last met. He must already have known of St John Clarke’s legacy to Erridge. By that time Quiggin could scarcely have hoped himself for anything from St John Clarke, but that this golden apple should have fallen at Erridge’s feet was another matter. To feel complete unconcern towards the fact of an already rich friend unexpectedly inheriting so comparatively large a capital sum would require an indifference to money that Quiggin never claimed to possess. Apart from that was the patron-prot