Read Online Off the Record by Dolores Gordon-Smith - Free Book Online
Authors: Dolores Gordon-Smith
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about it in court. Besides that,’ he added, in a different voice, ‘I want people to know it was my father’s machine.’ His voice was very quiet and Molly’s heart gave an unexpected little tug. ‘It was his machine, you know. I’ve tidied it up and made it useable, but he was the brains behind it. He lived for his work and I’d like him to be remembered for that.’ He sipped his whisky. ‘Incidentally, talking about my father, I had a letter from Colonel Willoughby about him a couple of weeks ago and I still haven’t got round to replying. I’ve been busy, I know, but I can’t really think what to say.’
‘Colonel Willoughby?’ repeated Steve. ‘Uncle Maurice, you mean?’
‘Yes. I don’t know what to make of it. It was a very stiff and proper letter. He said he offered his sympathies. As he loathed my father, I’m not so sure he was offering anything of the sort.’
Steve grinned. ‘He’s a ferocious old devil but his bark’s worse than his bite. He expects life to be conducted on military lines. I’m quite fond of him in an odd sort of way. You’ve never met him, have you, Gerry?’
‘No. The family quarrel goes back years.’
‘What was it about?’ asked Steve. ‘I never knew the details.’ He paused, delicately. ‘Faults on both sides, perhaps?’
Gerry laughed ruefully. ‘Not really. I know the guv’nor could quarrel with virtually anyone but this wasn’t down to him. My grandfather was a Lithuanian. He was terribly clever but as poor as church mouse. After my grandmother died he found it a real struggle to look after my father. He worked for Sir Josiah Carrington, who owned a string of coal mines. He saved him a fortune by improving his pumping engines and Sir Josiah, as a reward, more or less adopted my father.’ He grinned. ‘Unfortunately, from my point of view, Sir Josiah had very strict views about inherited wealth. He left all his money to found Carrington Hall, Cambridge, but he did provide for my father’s education and bestowed his surname on him.’
‘So your name isn’t really Carrington at all?’ asked Molly. For some reason, that disturbed her. It seemed dishonest, somehow, to have one name and call yourself another.
A spark of resentment showed in Gerry’s eyes. ‘It’s the name I’ve always used. The family name has about nineteen syllables in it, so I don’t intend to change. Part of the trouble was that my father looked so foreign and the Willoughbys don’t marry foreigners. When my mother did marry my father, all hell broke loose. My mother’s name was scored out of the family Bible and so on and so forth. I can’t think why the colonel wrote to me.’
‘A sense of duty?’ suggested Steve.
‘Maybe.’ Gerry rolled his whisky round his tongue. ‘In a way, I suppose it was good of him to write. I really must reply. Did you say he was ill?’
‘He’s been ill,’ said Molly. ‘He came back from India a few months ago. The change of climate got to him and he nearly went under with bronchitis. He wrote to me, too.’ She hadn’t cared for that resentful look and wanted to restore the fellow-feeling between them. ‘I didn’t like his letter at all. Stiff and proper were about the kindest things that could be said for it. I’ve never met him, either, Gerry, and, quite frankly, after that letter, I don’t really want to.’
Steve looked at Molly’s disapproving face and laughed. ‘Don’t take it to heart so. He must have been stumped for something to say. A man like Uncle Maurice loathes publicity and he would have hated seeing the news splashed all over the papers.’
Gerry finished his whisky. ‘None of us exactly enjoyed it. I don’t suppose it’ll be forgotten for a long time yet.’ He looked at the clock and smothered another yawn. ‘I’d really better be going. I’ll see you tomorrow, Steve.’
‘Steve,’ said Molly thoughtfully, after Gerry had gone. ‘Did you know Gerry’s name wasn’t really
‘Colonel Willoughby?’ repeated Steve. ‘Uncle Maurice, you mean?’
‘Yes. I don’t know what to make of it. It was a very stiff and proper letter. He said he offered his sympathies. As he loathed my father, I’m not so sure he was offering anything of the sort.’
Steve grinned. ‘He’s a ferocious old devil but his bark’s worse than his bite. He expects life to be conducted on military lines. I’m quite fond of him in an odd sort of way. You’ve never met him, have you, Gerry?’
‘No. The family quarrel goes back years.’
‘What was it about?’ asked Steve. ‘I never knew the details.’ He paused, delicately. ‘Faults on both sides, perhaps?’
Gerry laughed ruefully. ‘Not really. I know the guv’nor could quarrel with virtually anyone but this wasn’t down to him. My grandfather was a Lithuanian. He was terribly clever but as poor as church mouse. After my grandmother died he found it a real struggle to look after my father. He worked for Sir Josiah Carrington, who owned a string of coal mines. He saved him a fortune by improving his pumping engines and Sir Josiah, as a reward, more or less adopted my father.’ He grinned. ‘Unfortunately, from my point of view, Sir Josiah had very strict views about inherited wealth. He left all his money to found Carrington Hall, Cambridge, but he did provide for my father’s education and bestowed his surname on him.’
‘So your name isn’t really Carrington at all?’ asked Molly. For some reason, that disturbed her. It seemed dishonest, somehow, to have one name and call yourself another.
A spark of resentment showed in Gerry’s eyes. ‘It’s the name I’ve always used. The family name has about nineteen syllables in it, so I don’t intend to change. Part of the trouble was that my father looked so foreign and the Willoughbys don’t marry foreigners. When my mother did marry my father, all hell broke loose. My mother’s name was scored out of the family Bible and so on and so forth. I can’t think why the colonel wrote to me.’
‘A sense of duty?’ suggested Steve.
‘Maybe.’ Gerry rolled his whisky round his tongue. ‘In a way, I suppose it was good of him to write. I really must reply. Did you say he was ill?’
‘He’s been ill,’ said Molly. ‘He came back from India a few months ago. The change of climate got to him and he nearly went under with bronchitis. He wrote to me, too.’ She hadn’t cared for that resentful look and wanted to restore the fellow-feeling between them. ‘I didn’t like his letter at all. Stiff and proper were about the kindest things that could be said for it. I’ve never met him, either, Gerry, and, quite frankly, after that letter, I don’t really want to.’
Steve looked at Molly’s disapproving face and laughed. ‘Don’t take it to heart so. He must have been stumped for something to say. A man like Uncle Maurice loathes publicity and he would have hated seeing the news splashed all over the papers.’
Gerry finished his whisky. ‘None of us exactly enjoyed it. I don’t suppose it’ll be forgotten for a long time yet.’ He looked at the clock and smothered another yawn. ‘I’d really better be going. I’ll see you tomorrow, Steve.’
‘Steve,’ said Molly thoughtfully, after Gerry had gone. ‘Did you know Gerry’s name wasn’t really
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