Tip Off by John Francome Page B

guest of that lovely daughter of his.’
    I remembered the party well, and Dysart vaguely now. ‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘How do you know Lord Tintern?’
    â€˜He’s an old friend. His venture capital fund took a stake in our company last year – not a large one, about seven percent.’
    â€˜I didn’t realise that, though I know quite a lot more about your company now.’
    â€˜And our personnel.’
    â€˜Yes,’ I agreed guardedly.
    â€˜Brian Griffiths was rather upset by your visit. I think possibly I made a mistake asking you to go to his home, but anyway he’s accepted it now. The reason I’m phoning was to tell Matt to continue with his investigations. I’d put him on hold for a while, thinking I was making more trouble than was necessary.’
    That was the first I’d heard of it; I was glad I’d fielded this call. I reassured Dysart that we would take great care not to antagonise any more of his staff unnecessarily and he rang off sounding as if he’d believed me.
    I thought about Dysart for a while after that. I found I could recall his face quite clearly now: a youngish-looking forty, ungreyed dark blond hair, with the eager, unsophisticated manner of an entrepreneurial scientist. Clever, bold and imaginative, I wondered why he was a friend of Gerald Tintern’s.
    My phone rang again.
    â€˜Simon?’
    I recognised Toby’s voice at once and my pulse raced with relief.
    â€˜Toby! How are you? We’ve all been worried shitless.’
    â€˜Have you?’ He sounded surprised but grateful. ‘I’m sorry. I thought it would be best if I took off for a few days after the line closed.’
    â€˜I’m not surprised, but what happened?’
    There were a few moments of silence before he answered, ‘Simon, there was a lot of money at stake, you know.’
    â€˜That’s obvious. So, are you going to tell me about it?’
    â€˜I’d rather not talk now.’
    â€˜I understand, of course,’ I replied, trying to disguise my impatience. ‘Where are you?’
    â€˜Mother says there are still reporters hanging around the cottage, so I’m staying with some friends – out of London. I just thought I’d let you know. My mother seemed to think you were keen to get hold of me.’
    â€˜Yes, thanks. And, listen, if you get any problems that Matt and I can help you with, just ask.’ Again, he didn’t answer at once. I guessed he was weighing up my motives. ‘After all, you and I go back a long way,’ I added, cringing at my own insincerity.
    â€˜Yes,’ he said, accepting my offer at face value. ‘Thanks, I will.’

Chapter Ten
    The following afternoon, as the last light was fading, I parked outside the grand but graceful red-brick front of Ivydene House.
    The front door was opened by Filumena, the dark woman who had brought us coffee the Sunday before. I was struck by how exceptionally good-looking she was and couldn’t help thinking that her duties in the household must be broader than merely domestic.
    She smiled warmly. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Jeffries. I’m afraid Lord Tintern is at the keeper’s cottage,’ she said in fluent English with a hint of an Italian accent. ‘But he knows you’re coming so I take you to his study.’
    She showed me across the chequer-board hall and ushered me into a small library. ‘Coffee?’ she asked.
    â€˜Yes, please.’
    She left me in the handsome room, not quite closing the door. I walked round behind Tintern’s large walnut desk to look at a vista which led the eye up a fine avenue of chestnuts to the sweep of the chalk downs beyond, glimmering pink in the dying light. I admired the scene for a moment then turned to face the desk which dated, like the house, from the time of Queen Anne. Two telephones and a pen rack stood on the far side of the polished surface.
    Guiltily, I