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had to say, sat bolt upright in the chair. Momentarily stunned, he gaped at Edward, and then exclaimed, ‘Ned, that’s preposterous—’ Will cut himself off abruptly. Leaning forward, he fixed his eyes on Edward intently, and in a quieter voice, added, ‘Perhaps it’s not so preposterous, after all. There has been bad blood between your father and his cousin Henry Grant for years. Is that what Neville is suggesting? That Henry Grant got rid of your father because he feared him, feared that he would endeavour to take over Deravenels?’

      Edward nodded. ‘That’s the gist of it. But of course Neville doesn’t mean Henry, but his subordinates, and he doesn’t have anything pertinent or concrete to go on, as of this moment. It’s what he calls a gut feeling, an instinct. And you know very well that Neville is a masterful businessman of no mean talent, and he has great psychological insight into people.’ Edward sighed. ‘He’s convinced he is right in this assumption, and I can’t argue with him. It seems to me he’s correct. And so we are going to Italy to investigate what actually happened. Really happened. Maybe we will find something, maybe we won’t. And once we’ve finished checking the facts, we will bring the bodies back for burial. We plan to leave for Florence on Friday, actually, by way of Paris.’

      ‘Where was the fire in Florence?’ Will asked, wondering why he had not read about it in The Times. After all, Florence was the greatest Renaissance city in the world, and a fire anywhere there would be bound to make news.

      ‘It wasn’t in Florence, Will. The fire was in Carrara, in the hotel where they were staying. My father had gone to Carrara to look into a problem with our marble quarries. Edmund had begged to go with Father, because he’d never been to Italy, and Uncle Rick and Thomas asked if they might accompany them, because my uncle was eager to buy sculpture and art for his house. Naturally Florence was a very tempting place to visit.’

      ‘I understand,’ Will answered, and then hesitated for a moment, looking down into the amber liquid in his glass, his expression thoughtful. After a second, he asked, ‘Could I come with you and Neville, Ned? I think I might be of some help, useful to you, and if you don’t think I can do anything special for you, do remember I can give you moral support. I’m very good at that, don’t you know.’

      A smile flitted briefly across Edward’s mouth, and was instantly gone. He glanced across at Will, his expression suddenly quizzical. ‘What about Oxford? Your studies? We were supposed to go back there this coming weekend, you and I.’

      ‘That’s absolutely true. But isn’t this an emergency?’ Not waiting for an answer, Will continued, ‘We could return together in a few weeks, when this problem has been resolved.’

      ‘I won’t be going back to university, Will. This is it for me, I’m afraid. My mother informed me yesterday that I must take my father’s place at Deravenels. That’s the family rule.’

      Will looked crestfallen. ‘So you won’t be coming back? Not ever? Is that what you mean, Ned?’

      ‘I do. And of course I do regret that. On the other hand, there is nothing I can do about it, since that rule has been in existence for several hundred years. Don’t forget, the Deravenel Company was originally founded by my ancestor, Guy de Ravenel, once he’d settled in Yorkshire after the Norman Conquest. At that time, he started importing wines, and exporting raw wool, spun wool and woollen goods.’

      ‘It’s amazing, when you think about it, Ned. Eight hundred years of trading.’ Will shook his head. ‘Few companies are that old.’

      ‘Yes, you’re right. But it didn’t really come into its own as a proper company until the fifteenth century, when Deravenels began trading all over the world, importing and exporting goods…everything under the sun, in fact. And we still do. I suppose we are the largest trading company in existence today, and I know my father felt he had entitlement to it.’

      ‘I’ve never really understood the bad blood between members of your family. What is it all about?’

      ‘It’s actually fairly simple, Will. Sixty years ago, Henry Grant’s grandfather deposed one of our cousins, who was running Deravenels. He did this by slurring the man’s reputation, putting out bad stories about his private life, along with harmful allegations about his abilities. In fact, he made our cousin look incompetent and reckless. Because our cousin had no children, his direct heir was a second cousin, Roger Morton Deravenel. However, this man died, and so it was Roger’s son Edmund who was next in line. But he was a child, only seven and obviously he couldn’t run the company.’

      ‘Henry Grant’s grandfather just grabbed the top position because one man was weak, another had just died and the next in line was too young to run Deravenels,’ Will interjected. ‘What an opportunity that was. Irresistible.’

      ‘That’s true, and very suddenly the Lancashire Deravenel Grants were in control, having pushed the Yorkshire Deravenels out. In other words, us. Not long after this, our cousin, who had been shoved out, died in mysterious circumstances, and so there was no opposition left. Henry Grant’s grandfather was tough, strong, and ruthless, and that’s the reason our side of the family has been in second position at Deravenels all these years. But it truly should be ours.’

      ‘Cousins fighting cousins,’ Will muttered.

      ‘A family feud of long standing. But we do try to be civil with each other…at least my father did. I don’t know that I can be.’

      Will half smiled, then asked, ‘Well, what do you say, old chap? May I join you on this trip to Florence?’

      ‘If you are inclined to do so, then why not? I am quite certain that Neville will appreciate your presence, as indeed I will.’

      After Will Hasling had gone home, Edward hurried up to his father’s study on the next floor. He went in, snapped on the electric light, and recoiled slightly. The room had a faint lingering odour of the cigars his father had enjoyed, mingled with the scent of the bay rum aftershave lotion he had always favoured.

      In his mind’s eye, Edward saw his father sitting behind the large Georgian desk at the far end of the room, smiling across at him, and a lump came into his throat as a sudden rush of intense emotion swamped him. He had loved his father, admired him, and he would miss him inordinately, as would his brothers and sisters.

      For a moment he thought of walking out, going up to his bedroom, and then changed his mind. He would have to become accustomed to these flashes of overwhelming feeling, the vivid memories, and face them squarely, not run from them. His father was dead, just as Edmund was, and nothing would bring them back. However, the remembered past and their lives existed inside him, were deep in his heart, and so there was really no death in his lexicon. These two men lived on in his heart, and for as long as he was alive then they would be alive, too, and part of him forever.

      He walked over to the desk, went around its bulk and sat down in the comfortable black leather chair. He knew at once that he would find nothing of any importance here because all of the drawers had keys in the locks.

      Nothing to hide, nothing to find, Edward thought, as he opened the top middle drawer. It contained only a few items, none of any importance, and as he went through each drawer, he discovered the same thing. Basically there was nothing of interest to him, and certainly nothing alluding to the Grants.

      Closing the last drawer, Edward sat back in the chair, sighing to himself. He wondered what he had been looking for…he had no idea really, but he had thought that perhaps somewhere there might be a piece of damning or revealing evidence about Henry Grant and his cohorts, the men who surrounded him, or his French wife.

      Glancing around the room, Ned suddenly saw it more objectively than ever before. He had always liked its warmth and handsome overtones; the deep red-flocked wallpaper, the large, comfortable sofa covered in a matching red velvet fabric, the worn black leather armchairs near the fireplace, the wall of leather-bound books. Despite the general prevalence in most homes of that tabletop clutter of the recent Victorian era, there

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