Next of Kin

  ‘Is that an entirely accurate statement?’

  Montignac smiled. ‘I believe it is,’ he said.

  ‘I only ask because your surname is quite familiar to me. You are a member of the Montignac landowning family, are you not? Quite a wealthy family, if memory serves.’

  ‘My grandfather was William Montignac,’ he replied. ‘Who inherited the estate from his ancestors, that’s correct. After his death it passed to my late uncle, Peter Montignac. And when he died earlier this year it passed in turn to his daughter, Stella.’

  ‘But not to you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you were supported by Peter Montignac during his lifetime, is that right?’

  Montignac bristled at the word. ‘He paid for my education,’ he said. ‘As most parents do for their children. But I went to work as soon as I left Cambridge. And I was not remembered in his will.’

  ‘Most parents, yes,’ said Sir Quentin. ‘But he wasn’t your parent, was he?’

  ‘No, he was my uncle.’

  Harkman stood up slowly to protest. ‘My Lord, does this have any relevance? The witness’s family history is hardly pertinent to this case.’

  ‘Yes, I’m not sure where you’re going with this, Sir Quentin,’ said Judge Sharpwell.

  Sir Quentin frowned and changed tack.

  ‘Mr Montignac, you say that you hired Mr Bentley for a position in your gallery after meeting him on a night out with friends.’

  ‘That’s correct, yes.’

  ‘Do you always hire employees when knowing so little about them?’

  Montignac hesitated. ‘He was introduced to me by a friend of many years’ standing. I assumed that if he vouched for him, then I could trust him.’

  ‘And how many applicants for the job had you already turned down at the time?’

  ‘Applicants?’ asked Montignac in confusion.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sir Quentin. ‘For the position you offered my client. How many applicants had you already interviewed and rejected?’

  ‘Well, none,’ he replied cautiously. ‘It wasn’t an advertised position as such.’

  ‘I see. So a young man you don’t know approaches you outside a nightclub where you’ve just met, informs you that he is looking for work and you simply take him on without a second thought. Does your employer approve of such hiring practices?’

  ‘My employer is perfectly happy for me to make the decisions regarding staffing. That’s why she made me manager.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Montignac,’ said Sir Quentin. ‘I’m still confused. I can’t quite see why you would take someone on for an important position when you don’t even know him.’

  ‘Well because he was a very personable young man,’ said Montignac, trying to cover his frustration. ‘He struck me as intelligent, friendly and with an eagerness to learn. The kind who might do very well in our business.’

  ‘Yes indeed,’ said Sir Quentin. ‘Intelligent, friendly and eager. I see. Now if I may, let me move on to the night of the incident.’

  ‘The murder,’ said Harkman, rising to his feet. ‘Your Honour, let us at least call things by what they are.’

  ‘Sustained,’ grunted Judge Sharpwell.

  ‘The night of the murder then,’ said Sir Quentin, correcting himself. ‘How many drinks did you say Mr Bentley had that night?’

  ‘I couldn’t say for sure,’ said Montignac. ‘But I would guess somewhere around eight or nine pints of beer and perhaps half a dozen spirits.’

  ‘And you weren’t drinking at all?’

  ‘I had a few, but nowhere near that amount.’

  ‘How many exactly?’

  ‘Perhaps three.’

  ‘And when you arrived in the pub, do you recall who bought the first round of drinks?’

  ‘I imagine I did,’ said Montignac. ‘That would certainly be my custom if I was taking an employee out.’

  ‘And did my client reciprocate by buying the second round?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘And from then on?’

  ‘It’s hard to recall…’ said Montignac.

  ‘Is it? I believe the barman from the Bullirag pub can recall. Perhaps I should bring him to the stand and ask him?’

  Montignac narrowed his eyes. ‘I think I bought the majority of the drinks,’ he admitted.

  ‘Did you indeed? Any reason why that was the case? Or are you just uncommonly generous?’

  ‘Because I was Mr Bentley’s employer. I thought it unseemly for him to be spending his wages on me.’

  ‘And even after he started to get more and more inebriated, and even after he became loud and attracted the attentions of the landlord, you continued to buy him drinks, did you not?’

  ‘I may have bought one or two but that was because he was protesting so much that I thought it simpler to humour him. I never imagined that—’

  ‘You got him drunk, Mr Montignac, didn’t you?’

  Harkman rose to his feet again. ‘Your Honour,’ he cried, appalled by the line of questioning. ‘Perhaps defence counsel could specify what charges exactly are being made against the witness. He has already testified to the events in the pub that night.’

  ‘Yes, Sir Quentin, what are you implying exactly?’

  ‘I’m simply trying to establish whether my client was the type of man to enter a pub and purchase drink after drink after drink until he is in a paralytic state. And I find that he is not.’

  ‘Your Honour, I believe it is for the jury to find whether he is or isn’t,’ protested Harkman. ‘It’s hardly the job of my learned friend to do so.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said the judge, glancing at his watch as his stomach began to wonder about lunch. ‘Do you have many more questions for this witness, Sir Quentin?’

  ‘Just one or two more, Your Honour,’ he said. ‘If I may?’

  ‘Carry on,’ he sighed, as if the whole thing was a monstrous inconvenience.

  ‘Mr Montignac,’ he began again with a flourish. ‘Can you describe for us the condition that Mr Bentley was in when you left the pub?’

  ‘Well he could barely stand up,’ said Montignac. ‘He was extremely inebriated. His legs were going from under him, he was spouting a lot of gibberish. In truth, I had difficulty finding a taxicab that would take him.’

  ‘I see. And had Mr Bentley been to your flat before that night?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you gave him the address?’

  ‘I gave it to the taxi driver and asked him to ensure that he got in safely.’

  ‘Your Honour,’ said Harkman, rising to his feet in frustration. ‘Mr Reeves has already testified to that.’

  ‘I’m almost finished, Your Honour, if I may?’

  The judge nodded.

  ‘Mr Montignac, to move away from my client for a moment, can you tell me about the relationship you had with the deceased, Raymond Davis.’

  ‘I had no particular relationship, as you put it, with the victim,’ said Montignac, stressing the last word.

  ‘None at all? You didn’t know him?’

  ‘He was a friend of my cousin’s,’ he replied. ‘I only knew him through her. We weren’t close ourselves.’

  ‘Your cousin?’ he asked. ‘That would be Stella Montignac, is that right?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Who inherited the Montignac estate…?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you grew up in the same house as Miss Montignac?’

  ‘From the time I was five, yes. After my parents’ death.’

  ‘I see. And Mr Davis was just a friend of Miss Montignac’s, was he?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, unwilling to acknowledge any deeper relationship between the two.

  ‘Weren’t they engaged to be married, Mr Montignac?’

  ‘I believe they had discussed it, yes. I’m not sure that any firm date or plans had been set in place.’

  Sir Quentin inclined his head a little, intrigued by the witness’s disinclination to admit anything
further between the two. He pursued this for a moment.

  ‘Did you like Mr Davis?’

  ‘Did I like him?’ he asked, surprised.

  ‘Yes. Were you happy that he was going to marry your cousin?’

  Montignac hesitated. He was quite pleased with the fact that so far he had managed to avoid perjuring himself entirely. He racked his brains to recall any conversations with others that he may have had about Raymond that could implicate him.

  ‘My feeling about the matter was somewhat…’ He searched for the right word. ‘Fluid.’

  Sir Quentin laughed. ‘I beg your pardon, Mr Montignac,’ he said. ‘Did you say fluid?’

  ‘Well at first I didn’t take to him,’ he replied in explanation. ‘He was a perfectly pleasant fellow, of course. He was always polite and tried to ingratiate himself with the family. But I didn’t think he was entirely Stella’s type. I wasn’t sure he could make her happy. But then after a while I became a little more ambivalent towards him and by the time of his murder’—he raised his voice a little with the word, lest anyone should forget the circumstances of Raymond’s death—‘I suppose I thought he was a decent enough sort. I’m quite protective of my cousin, Sir Quentin,’ he said with a smile, hoping to win back the jury a little, feeling that he might have lost them slightly during the cross-examination.

  ‘The three of you dined together not so long before his untimely passing, didn’t you?’ asked Sir Quentin.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ he asked, starting to panic a little.

  ‘The three of you—your cousin, Miss Montignac, her fiancé, Mr Davis, and you. You dined together a few weeks earlier.’

  Montignac shrugged. ‘We may have,’ he said. ‘I can’t remember a specific meal—’

  ‘Can’t you? I have it here that you dined at Claridge’s on July the sixth, the same night in fact that you met Mr Bentley, but you left the restaurant early that evening, before the puddings were served.’

  ‘I may have done.’

  ‘Any particular reason why?’

  ‘None that I can recall.’

  ‘I see. And when he died, Mr Davis was coming to visit you in your flat. Do you know what he wanted to see you about?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ said Montignac. ‘You would have to ask him. Of course he was murdered, so—’

  ‘Yes, one last question, Mr Montignac,’ said Sir Quentin, interrupting him gruffly. ‘Just so I’m clear about what you’re telling us. You have stated that the defendant was intelligent, friendly and eager. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And that you bought most of the drinks on the night of the murder?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And that he was so paralytic that he couldn’t even get into a taxi without assistance or climb the steps to your flat without the help of a driver?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Montignac reluctantly.

  ‘And that you sent him to that flat alone where your cousin’s fiancé mysteriously arrived later and, despite his condition, the defendant is alleged to have murdered him?’

  ‘Your Honour, the witness has testified to no such thing,’ shouted Harkman, rising to his feet.

  ‘Indeed not, Your Honour,’ said Sir Quentin triumphantly. ‘I do apologize, I was simply trying to get the matter straight in my head. I have no further questions.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir Quentin,’ said the judge, eager for the beef, potatoes and two veg that would be waiting for him in his chambers. ‘Nothing further, Mr Harkman?’ he asked hopefully.

  ‘Just one quick question, Your Honour,’ he replied, rising to his feet. ‘Mr Montignac, you gave this young man here an opportunity for a career, did you not?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you would have continued to support him as he learned the business?’

  ‘Indeed, yes.’

  ‘And after you offered him the comfort of your flat, a murder took place there.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And your cousin lost a fiancé.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you a friend.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Mr Montignac, do you regret the night that you met the defendant?’

  Montignac narrowed his eyes and looked towards the dock where Gareth sat looking miserable and lost. Enough damage had been done, he decided; the last thing he needed was for Gareth to think that he was his enemy.

  ‘No I don’t, Mr Harkman,’ he said. ‘I believed then and believe now that Mr Bentley had many fine traits. I regret the fact that I didn’t take him home myself that night. I regret that I didn’t return to my flat earlier. I regret that I wasn’t there to stop him when he attacked Raymond. But I don’t regret meeting him. I believe the events of that night constituted a moment of madness for Gareth and are not part of his true character. The whole thing, if you want my honest opinion, is a terrible tragedy for all concerned.’

  He looked towards Gareth again who nodded his head and gave a small smile of appreciation towards his former employer.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mr Montignac,’ said Harkman in frustration who had anticipated a more damning reply and regretted asking it now.

  ‘Thank you all,’ said the judge, rising before any further questions could be asked. ‘Let’s say two o’clock.’

  3

  MONTIGNAC DID A DOUBLE take when he saw Margaret Richmond waiting on the street outside the Old Bailey. He was coming down the steps, looking for a phone box to call the gallery before going for some lunch when he saw her familiar figure standing there, speaking to someone through the open window of a car before it drove off. She seemed smaller to him as she stood on the busy London street, away from her natural habitat of Leyville, and more vulnerable.

  ‘Margaret?’ he said, approaching her and she spun around in surprise.

  ‘Owen,’ she said.

  ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ he asked, surprised that she was there at all.

  She was dressed formally and carrying her most expensive bag, even wearing a hat; he guessed that she must have been inside the courtroom during his testimony but he had spent most of his time in the stand deliberately avoiding catching the eyes of any of the spectators so as not to distract himself from his main mission.

  ‘We just came out,’ she explained. ‘Stella’s just left this minute.’

  ‘Stella?’ he asked. ‘Stella was in court?’

  Margaret shook her head and looked quite sad as she explained. ‘I tried to persuade her not to go,’ she said. ‘I knew it would only bring up bad memories for her. Of course I’d tried to keep a lot of the more lurid details away from her, hiding newspapers and so on, but you know what she’s like. When she’s determined about something there’s no changing her mind. She came expecting to hear Gareth Bentley testify and then, instead of him going into the witness box, there was you.’

  ‘Gareth is testifying after lunch,’ he explained. ‘Will she be coming back for that?’

  ‘I don’t think so. She’s gone back to Leyville. I said I’d follow on the later train. She found it all terribly upsetting. Listening to you up there acting as if Raymond was just a friend of hers and nothing more.’

  Montignac frowned. ‘I didn’t want to desecrate his memory,’ he said.

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Come on,’ he said, taking her by the arm. ‘Let’s get some tea. We can talk in private there.’

  They settled into a small tea shop at the corner of the street and Margaret explained the events of the night before.

  ‘Sir Denis Tandy came to Leyville yesterday afternoon,’ she said. ‘Stella wanted to talk to him.’

  ‘Not about this idea of hers, surely?’

  ‘She told you about it?’

  Montignac nodded. ‘She said she wants to give the house over to the National Trust,’ he said. ‘The National Trust!’ he repeated with a laugh. ‘She’s made some poor decisions in her life, but this one…’

  ‘She claims she’s going to
travel,’ said Margaret, equally appalled. ‘She wants nothing to do with the place any more. Not since Raymond’s death. They had such plans, you see, the two of them. You know he was going to take some time off from the RHS and devote it to re-landscaping the grounds?’

  Montignac tried to contain his natural inclination to point out that as far as he was concerned Raymond Davis had no business even entering the grounds of Leyville, let alone redesigning them, but he let it slide.

  ‘It’s as if she sees nothing worth staying for any more,’ continued Margaret. ‘I don’t know what will become of me. Of her,’ she said, correcting herself quickly.

  Montignac nodded; it was clear to him where her real concerns lay. ‘You’re worried that you’re going to be left homeless?’ he asked.

  ‘She might never come back,’ said Margaret, sidestepping the question. ‘She’s a beautiful, rich young woman. You don’t think she’ll meet a handsome, eligible young man in America? I imagine there are many there, just waiting for someone like her.’

  ‘I would think it’s extremely likely,’ said Montignac bitterly.

  ‘After all, if an English king can find an American woman, then an American man can surely capture an English princess.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘You have to find a way to stop her.’

  ‘Me?’ he asked, surprised. ‘But what can I do about it? We’re not even talking at the moment,’ he added, wondering whether his former nanny knew about the incident at the weekend when he had slapped Stella’s face.

  ‘There was a time,’ said Margaret cautiously, ‘when you would have wanted to stop her.’

  He stared at her, unsure what she was getting at. ‘How do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘Stella doesn’t think there’s anything to stay here for,’ she said. ‘She’s brokenhearted, can’t you see that?’

  ‘She liked him,’ he conceded. ‘But she didn’t love him. I don’t believe that for a moment.’

  ‘No, she didn’t love him,’ said Margaret, leaning forwards. ‘I’ve seen her in love. I’ve seen how she behaves when she’s in love. And what she felt for Raymond wasn’t that.’

  ‘I thought you were in favour of him?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh I was. He was a very pleasant fellow. And they would have settled down at Leyville, had a family there. That was what I wanted. But she didn’t love him. That’s why she feels so guilty now. I don’t think she’s ever loved anyone the way she loved you.’