Free Fault Line - Retail by Robert Goddard Page A

minutes, traffic permitting. I had no time for subtle preambles. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said on Monday, sir, concerning … unusual events.’
    ‘Have you now? I take it there’s been something unusual, then. And that Oliver’s involved.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Well, no surprise there. That boy’s a specialist in the unusual. So, what is it?’
    ‘It was, well … something he said … on Sunday.’
    ‘Out with it, then.’
    ‘He said, well … he said he’d already got some valuable information from the records before you gave orders for the basement to be kept locked and, although he’d have liked to go back for more if he’d been able to, it didn’t matter, because he already had enough.’
    Lashley’s initial reaction was to drop his speed and nod thoughtfully. I began to wonder if he was going to say anything at all and ended up filling the gap myself.
    ‘I suppose the real reason I’m telling you this isn’t that I think it has any bearing on … Wren’s negotiations with CCC but …’
    ‘Because you’re worried about Oliver’s state of mind.’
    There was no denying it. He’d taken the words out of my mouth. ‘Er … yes.’
    ‘So am I, Jonathan, so am I. I don’t suppose he said what he was looking for in the basement, did he?’
    ‘No, sir.’
    ‘Or what he already had enough
of
?’
    ‘I asked, but …’
    ‘You got nowhere.’
    ‘Exactly.’
    ‘Well, I’d be grateful if you kept trying.’
    ‘I will.’
    ‘It’s to do with his father’s death, of course. You realize that much, I’m sure.’
    ‘I guessed it had to be.’
    ‘Muriel thinks he believes his father would never have countenanced a merger with CCC. And Ken would be in charge now, of course, if he hadn’t … taken his own life. That may be so, for all I know. Ken always had a sentimental streak. But the fact is he isn’t in charge. I am. And there’s no place for sentiment in this business.’
    I’d ceased to be aware of our surroundings as our conversation had proceeded and was suddenly surprised to see the sprawling concrete and glass headquarters of Cornish China Clays looming ahead. A uniformed attendant in a booth touched his cap to Lashley and raised the barrier to admit us to the car park and we cruised to a halt near the main entrance.
    ‘Thanks for being so candid with me, Jonathan,’ Lashley said, as we climbed from the car. ‘It’s much appreciated.’ This last remark he addressed to me across the roof of the Jag, with his accompanying smile mirrored in the gleaming paintwork. ‘How did dinner with Francis and Luisa go, by the way?’
    ‘Oh, fine, thanks. They were … very friendly.’
    ‘Ah. On their best behaviour, then. Let’s hope that continues.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Well, you’d better step on it, lad. Or Maurice Rowe will have your guts for garters.’
    I did step on it, though I made myself later than ever by stopping at a call-box and phoning Dad at the bank to ask him if I could use the car that evening. My explanation that I was doing a member of the Wren family a favour impressed him. Buttering up one’s employer was something he very much approved of. Use of the car was agreed.
    Maurice Rowe actually made little of my tardy arrival, largely because the following day’s board meeting was now preoccupying people to the exclusion of most other topics. Certainly Pete could speak of nothing else when we adjourned to the General Wolfe at lunchtime. Until I distracted him with a question about a former Wren’s employee.
    ‘Strake? Gordon Strake? Oh yeah. I remember him. How d’you come to hear of him?’
    ‘I just heard his name mentioned a few times … down at Charlestown.’
    ‘That so?’ He looked faintly surprised, as well he might. ‘Well, Lashley laid him off last year. He was one of our reps. Not bringing in enough business, I suppose.’
    ‘What’s he doing now?’
    ‘Haven’t a clue. He’s still in St Austell, though. I’ve seen him in the