CHAPTER 13

The Russell Hotel in Bloomsbury was a fairly new building, having been completed only a few years previously. All terracotta, brick and marble, it presented a formidable appearance to the outside world, so much so that although I had walked past it on many occasions, I had never even thought of going inside. It was not for people like me, any more than the Ritz was, or drawing rooms in St James's Square. Nor yet was it for the very wealthy. In fact, it was difficult to work out who, exactly, was meant to use it: it was too far from the West End to be convenient for the people who congregated there, and not really properly sited for those who worked in the City. And most visitors to the British Museum were not the sort who could afford its lavish prices.

That was a problem for the management, not for me. When I arrived there I simply spent my time staring at the multicoloured marble columns, the carved ceilings, the glittering chandeliers. It must, I thought, be the sort of surroundings aristocrats were used to all the time. I confess I felt rather grand; I was beginning to get a taste for this sort of living, and after only a week or so. It was slightly worrying.

'Dreadful place,' Lady Ravenscliff remarked as she sat down opposite me, once she had announced herself and I had stood up to greet her. She was smiling, indeed she seemed energised by the outing. Her eyes were bright and larger than I had noticed before; she looked extraordinarily beautiful, as though she had made a special effort to intimidate the opposition. The idea of complimenting her never occurred to me.

'Don't you like it?'

'I find it somewhat ostentatious. It is designed to impress the impressionable. I suppose it does that very well.'

She noticed the way I had blushed. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'You will find I am prone at times to be opinionated and insensitive. Please never take anything I say on such matters to be of any value at all. I was brought up with older, shabbier buildings which did not force you to admire them all the time.'

'I suppose you might say I was as well,' I replied. 'A little ostentation I find enjoyable.'

She smiled. 'So it is. I stand corrected. Let us bathe in this exuberant vulgarity while we wait. Could you inform Signora Vincotti of our presence?'

I did so, while she sat immobile, a dreamy smile coming over her face. I did not know her very well, but I guessed she was calming herself before what could well be an unpleasant interview.

And, ten minutes later, Esther Vincotti descended. Let me be direct and say there was no competition possible between the two women. One alert, intelligent, beautiful, elegant; the other stout, almost square in shape, with a ruddy though amiable complexion over which she clearly took no pains at all. Never had I seen any woman less likely to be connected in some way to a vastly wealthy man. She was aged around fifty and while her clothes were not poor, she manifestly had little notion of how to dress for effect. Her hair was grey and no attempt had been made to make it look at all stylish or well groomed. Her face seemed good natured, although it bore an expression which made it clear that, if Lady Ravenscliff was anxious at the coming interview, she was thoroughly frightened.

She sat down nervously once the introductions had been made – with me acting as the go-between, as neither of the two women seemed willing to start the proceedings off and Lady Ravenscliff had (she told me) prohibited Mr Henderson the solicitor from coming anywhere near the hotel until she had finished. Neither, however, had a look of hostility about them. Lady Ravenscliff had hardly moved a muscle, but I guessed was utterly perplexed by the idea that her husband might have dallied with such an utterly ordinary, maternal figure as this. As a result, she was hiding behind a mask of aristocratic grandeur which was both intimidating and (to me) exceptionally alluring.

'It is very good of you to come here, your ladyship. I am most honoured to meet you,' Signora Vincotti said after a while.' And I must thank you for arranging for me to stay in this splendid hotel. It is quite beyond what I am used to.'

'I do not think it is particularly good of me,' she replied. 'And I am afraid I must wait before I know whether I am equally honoured by meeting you. How well did you know my husband?'

Nothing like getting down to business fast, I thought. I had anticipated an interminable round of politenesses before the real subject was broached.

'I do not know him at all,' replied the other woman. She spoke with something of an Italian accent, but her English was much too good for her to have been anything other than English in origin. 'I am completely at a loss as to why I am here. All I know is that I received a telegram from a London solicitor telling me I had to come to London, that it was a matter of the utmost urgency. Then they sent me a railway ticket. First class. I am totally mystified and very worried. I am sure I have done nothing wrong.'

This was not the reply either of us had been expecting; Lady Ravenscliff registered something like incredulity, although she managed to keep her expression under control.

'You didn't know my husband?'

'I met him when I was a child, I believe, though I do not remember it.'

'Where, exactly?'

'In Venice, which is where my father lived. And where he died.'

'And this was Signor Vincotti?'

'No. That is my married name, although I am a widow now. Luigi died several years ago, leaving me with four children. But my father provided for me, and I have had a good life. His name was Macintyre. He was a travelling engineer. He died in an accident when I was eight, and I was brought up by a family there.'

'You are even more well-provided for now, it seems,' said Lady Ravenscliff. 'My husband has died, as you may know, and you are a beneficiary of his will.'

Signora Vincotti looked thoroughly surprised by this. 'That was very kind of him,' she said. 'Can you tell me why?'

I noticed she did not ask how much. I quite liked her for that.

'We were rather hoping that you might tell us.'

'I'm afraid I have no idea. None.'

'And you really never met him after your father died?'

'Never. Until that telegram arrived I had quite forgotten him. It was a great effort to recall him at all.'

'You speak very good English for someone brought up in a foreign country,' I commented.

'I was brought up by an English family. Mr Longman was the British Consul in Venice and lived there for many years, but died when I was twenty. As I had no connections to England at all apart from him and his wife, I stayed and eventually married. My husband was a civil engineer. With his salary, and my inheritance, we lived very well. Two of my daughters are married already. And of my two sons, one will be a lawyer, while the other intends to follow his father into engineering.'

'I congratulate you,' said Lady Ravenscliff. Was there something in the account of steady, modest, family life, of seeing children growing, and growing well, that she envied? Did it make her sad that she could never boast about her own children to others – oh, he's doing so well, we're so proud of him . . . ? Was she sad she could never look into the face of a child and see an echo of her husband reflected back at her?

'Do you not wish to know how much the bequest is?' I put in, as we seemed to be straying far from the point.

'I suppose I should; but I cannot see how it can be a great deal of money.'

'It depends on what you consider a great deal. It is £50,000.'

A total silence greeted this piece of information. Signora Vincotti grew deathly pale, almost as though she had just been told some devastating news. 'There must be some mistake,' she said eventually in a voice which was so quiet and so trembling it was difficult to make out.