Free A Perfect Obsession by Caro Fraser Page B

former homes, by silver-framed pictures of her youthful self in Hartnell and Schiaparelli ball gowns, and nursed her wrath against Lloyd’s. She saw the litigation against Lloyd’s as the Armageddon, elevated far above the constant feuds she conducted with landlords and bankers, shop girls and traffic wardens. This was to the death.
    Today she was breakfasting with Gideon, who was staying with her briefly while work was carried out on his own new house in Fulham. As usual, she was rehearsing a litany of complaints against the lawyers engaged on behalf of herself and the other Names.
    ‘It is unnecessary and entirely pointless to instruct an additional leading counsel. A complete waste of money, when we have little enough as it is! And I’m told he’s a Welshman – probably another crony of Caradog-Browne’s.’ Lady Henrietta lifted her coffee cup with a hand thatwavered ever so slightly. Her once lovely dark eyes were bright, quick with menace as she brooded on this new grievance. ‘The last solicitors’ bill alone was sixty thousand pounds. Sixty thousand pounds!’
    Smoothing back the pages of his
Telegraph
, Gideon glanced speculatively at his mother. He was slender, of medium height, and the dark good looks which had faded and withered in Lady Henrietta were still vivid and clear in him, albeit touched with the slight pouching and fine lines of early middle age. His brown hair was crisply curled, untouched by grey, and his large, liquid eyes held a glint of something that approached childish mischief. Although his clothes were stylish and impeccable, his conversation and tastes erudite and sophisticated, there was in his smile and mercurial manner and movements something boyish and irresistible. In a man of thirty-six, the effect produced could, on occasion, be somewhat sinister.
    ‘Well, mother, if you want matters progressed and things brought on, you have to pay for it, you know.’
    ‘Yes, but we don’t seem to
getting
anywhere. Nobody listens to me, or pays any attention to the thing that matters
most
about this case.’
    ‘Oh, and what is that?’ murmured Gideon. He sipped his coffee, his gaze straying back to the paper.
    ‘The cover-up! The reckless way they behaved! Nobody seems to see it, even though they all admit the existence of the June 1983 letter …’
    Gideon listened no more. His thoughts drifted to work. Would this be the day that they announced to the press the establishment of the new Ministry? Rumours had been rifefor weeks. And if so, would this be his chance for elevation? Gideon felt that the time had come for him to move from the rank of junior secretary to something with greater status, and more money. Money was a constant source of anxiety to Gideon these days. He had grown accustomed to a high standard of living throughout his younger years, and the losses which the family had incurred at Lloyd’s had hit him hard. Lady Henrietta had always been generous with her adored only son, and perhaps the extent to which she had been prepared to fund his affluent lifestyle – his bespoke suits, his gambling debts and his passion for good food and wine – had served to underscore the childlike side of his personality. Now, in these dark days, he was dependent on his salary as a grade-six civil servant with the Department of Culture, Media and Sport to keep him afloat. Selling his house in South Kensington and moving to the smaller place (presently undergoing refurbishment to Gideon’s exacting standards) had released a certain amount of capital, but Gideon was always hungry for more. It was this hunger that had persuaded him to join his mother and the other Lloyd’s Names in their last-ditch attempt at litigation. If they won, the rewards could be great, and Gideon’s worries might be at an end. On the other hand …
    ‘… Gideon, are you listening to me? I need to know if you will come to the reception at the Guards’ Club on Friday.’
    ‘No,’ replied Gideon firmly. ‘That