Free The Tomb of Zeus by Barbara Cleverly

understudy for Feodor Chaliapin playing Ivan the Terrible, don't you think?”
    “You don't mention his wealth?”
    He hesitated, reaching automatically in his indecision to tug at a moustache that had disappeared months before. “That's because I have no evidence that it exists. In fact I have evidence clearly to the contrary.”
    “More eavesdropping, William? You can hardly expect the man to make you privy to his bank accounts! He does pay you, I suppose? Well, then…Wait a moment,” said Letty, collecting her thoughts together through her fatigue. “Phoebe said something about…spending pots of Theo's money in Paris. Yes, she did. Rather dragged it into the conversation, I thought. Establishing that her husband isn't without a bob or two.”
    “That would be like Phoebe. She makes it her business to provide a respectable cover for the man…whatever his enterprise. She has a good deal of money of her own. She wouldn't need to spend his. But I'm not so sure about Theo. And I have this from his son, no less. Information openly confided! George is very…unworldly. He's not mesmerised by money as the rest of the world seems to be. He's aware of its uses and he spends whatever he can lay hands on, but it's not a god for him and it's not something to discuss in an undertone in corners as the rest of us do. He'll not try to disguise the cost of that dear little motorcar—”
    “He hasn't! I was shocked at his revelation!”
    “In any event, George confided in me—discussing the Great Work his father's about to launch—that Theo is funding the publishing of the book entirely out of his own pocket. He's been covering the costs of his archaeological work for years and you and I both know archaeology's an expensive business for an amateur. In this world, you have to make a splash if you're to get anywhere…and Theo has much to make up for. At least he'd see it that way.”
    “What do you mean? The man doesn't give the impression of inferiority of any sort.”
    “Perhaps not. But Theo is acutely conscious that his background lacks polish—he could have done with a better grounding in the classics had he only known that, relatively late in life, he was going to be bitten by the bug of excavation. Evans—the man he clearly sees as his rival—was fluent in ancient Greek and Persian from a very early age
and
inherited a fortune from both sides of the family. If you're perceived to be well off in this little world, public funds are simply not available to you, however deserving and important your project. Poor old Sir Arthur discovered this. Evans had to sell his collection of coins and seal stones last year to make ends meet, having spent the family fortune on Knossos over the years. He doesn't even own the site any longer—or the Villa Ariadne, did you know?”
    Letty nodded. “It was in the
Times
last year. With typical generosity, he made them both over to the British School in Athens. A grand gesture by a grand old man.”
    “Mmm…” said Gunning thoughtfully, “and the news burst on a grateful world one day before his court case came up before the judge at the Old Bailey!”
    “All a silly mistake, I'm sure,” retorted Letty briskly. “And it's grudging of you to bring it up.”
    “Come on! Evans was caught fair and square, hand in hand with a boy hawker in Hyde Park! The lad was seventeen and it wasn't apples he was hawking! Now—each to his own entertainment—but the timing of Evans's gift was interesting! But I make the point that excavation devours money. It demands tribute with the regular appetite of a Minotaur. Expenses have to be met—digging teams paid, officials bribed, artisans engaged…Have you any idea what Theo's paying
me
!”
    “More than your qualifications would justify, even if it's tuppence ha'penny,” she said bitterly, and instantly regretted her pettiness. “So—you're saying that this life Theo supports on the island may be due to the generosity of his wife?”
    “It