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Back from the street, Andy was slumped, staring vacantly ahead, even more dispirited, when Cynthia brought him an unbidden cup of coffee. "You look like you could do with a pick me up."
"Thank you." Andy had assumed Cynthia was plotting her official complaint and wouldn't want to make concessions to the enemy. He didn't like to have his underlings at war with him, especially one who was as formidable as Ma, and was so pleased with Cynthia's rapprochement he told her, "I'm sorry I lost my cool with you, Cynthia."
"Oh, don't be silly, Andy," she said. "You can't imagine the things Ralph Gisborne used to say." She smiled in reminiscence. "He was always screaming that he was going 'to fucking castrate' someone or other."
"I see." Andy coughed. "Obviously it's your right, and I wouldn't think of interfering with that, but do you mind if I ask you whether you're going to continue with your complaint?"
"Oh Andy, I was never going to make a complaint against you. I think of you as the clever son I never had. That was all just Shirley Gore stirring things up again. That woman spends her life causing trouble. She needs a bit of male attention if you ask me. I was a bit tired, that's all. I've had my daughter-in-law and my grandchildren staying with me. It's all been a bit much for me, to be honest."
This was more insight into Cynthia's personal life than Andy needed. "Well, that's great," he said and glanced down at his papers. Cynthia took the hint and left. Alone once more, Andy was overcome with panic about tomorrow's board meeting. He flitted through the reams of financial data appended to the board papers but couldn't take them in. He knew the Chairman and his deputy, Michael Dyer, would have parsed every word and analysed every number.
The consultants' fees now exceeded the salary bill for the remaining staff. This meant costs were increasing, despite the retrenchments and the radical outsourcing Andy planned. On top of this, the consultants were entitled to a generous bonus based on costs permanently reduced, which excluded their own fees. And so, they would earn a huge premium for increasing current costs. Andy was no longer convinced of the wisdom of this arrangement he’d championed, and was far from confident he’d be able to persuade the board about its desirability.
Indeed, Andy remembered how Sir Gerald had avoided making any decision on strategy. "That's your call, Andrew," he'd said.
"He means 'it's your cock on the block', mate," Michael added. His grin had been memorably unpleasant.
45
Toni negotiated the curves of Washburn's driveway at speed, and wheel span on the gravel as she pulled out onto the highway. Rob was gushing about the wonderful man and his beautiful property.
"Are you serious? God I just had to get out of there. That man gave me the creeps."
"No, he didn't," Rob said. "Finding out you'd been walking where he found Artemis's body gave you the creeps."
Toni thought, Don't you dare tell me what gives me the creeps, but didn't bother to put him right. "And to tell you the truth," she said. "I don't like birds either. They've got mean eyes – and so did he."
"He did look a bit like a bird, didn't he? Perhaps he's part penguin on his mother's side."
"No." Toni was certain. "She must have been an eagle or something spiteful like that."
Rob said nothing. Perhaps he was beginning to see the light about Dr Washburn.
"And what did you think when he called Artemis 'an airhead'?" she asked.
"That did seem a bit off."
"Yeah, a bit." She dropped to third gear and powered past the truck in front of them. "No one can say a bad word about her – except her husband. How horrible is that?"
"That's true. Something else strange – Washburn and Owen are both Free Masons. You'd expect them to be arch enemies, and yet they're the best of mates when they're spanking each other's bums down at the Masonic temple."
"What makes you say that?"
"The photographs on Owen's office wall make me say that. Of course, I didn't recognise Washburn as one of the men with Owen in the fezzes and leather aprons, until we met him at Arcadia. But it was definitely Washburn.
"Weird. Do you think that means anything – about Artemis?"
"I don't know." Rob looked troubled. "I suppose everyone around here of any consequence is a Mason but I think Washburn was trying to give us the impression that he doesn't have any contact with Owen, but obviously he does."
"And why do you think all the pictures had been taken down from the hallway?"
"You noticed that too? I think it was probably a matter of good taste. I spotted one of them on top of a stack in the conservatory. Let's just say it was a bit bizarre."
"Yes?" Toni said.
"Actually very bizarre. It's not possible. No one's got, you know, a thing that big." He looked out the side window.
"Jesus Christ, Rob. Tell me what was in the frigging painting?"
"Ok. I can't remember their names but it's a Greek legend," Rob said. "A famous huntsman comes upon a goddess bathing."
"And?"
"Well, everything ends in tears, of course, it's a Greek legend after all. But the really strange thing is, in this painting, it was old Owen who was the hunter, and Artemis Washburn was the goddess."
Toni checked his expression to make sure he was not taking the piss, but Rob looked as baffled as she felt.