Page 87 of All I Want for Christmas

‘Of course not.’ Darcy gave a satisfied smile. ‘He looked really pissed about it.’

‘So it bothered him, then?’

‘Such is his ego, he can’t imagine that what’s good for the gander is also good for the goose.’

The waitress came over with their lunch and they both allowed the hot steam to warm their faces for a moment.

‘Anyway, he’ll be in my rear-view mirror soon enough. I’ve had a breakthrough on the portrait.’

‘No!’ Freja gasped.

‘Yep. We’ve got a name so I can work at pace now, and the sooner I’m done, the sooner I never have to see his face again.’

‘Well hooray to that!’ Freja said, toasting her with a forkful of chilli. ‘...So who is she, our mystery lady?’

‘She’s the wife of the younger Madsen brother.’

‘Oh.’ Freja’s face fell. ‘After all that? She turns out to be just another Madsen?’

‘Yeah, I know what you mean, although if there’s one thing she seemingly isn’t, it’s boring. I’ve been going through the family archives since yesterday afternoon and that woman may have been rich, but lucky she was not.’

‘No?’

‘She doesn’t warrant her own file because she only married into the family with the “spare” son. He was the black sheep, so they’re trying to play down his existence – although he seemingly did them a favour by dying young.’

Freja frowned. ‘Harsh. What was so terrible about him?’

‘You’ve heard of the goulash barons?’

‘Sure. The Edwardian version of the brokers who shorted 9/11. Profit from tragedy.’

‘Well, he was one of those.’

‘Okay. Morally questionable, sure – but talk about pot-kettle-black. That’s nothing compared to what his old man did!’ Freja said, her mouth full. ‘He was by far the worst of the bunch.’

‘What do you mean? Bertram Madsen was a Nobel Prize nominee.’

‘Absolutely he was. A brilliant scientist. His fertilizer helped farmers produce more crops and feed millions of people; he was shortlisted for the Nobel Prize for Chemistry – in 1912, I think it was – on the back of it. That’s what made hisname. But not hismoney. Not the serious money. That only came when he “diversified”’ – Freja made sarcastic speech marks with her fingers – ‘during the war.’

‘Diversified how?’

‘His chemical engineering company produced the poison gases that were used for military deployment.’

Darcy’s mouth dropped open. ‘You mean – mustard gas?’

‘Yes. And ammonia, chlorine and bromine gas too.’

Darcy stared at her. ‘How do you know this?’

Freja rolled her eyes. ‘Darce, I’m a scientist. This is my world. Old Bertram Madsen was the godfather of chemical warfare.’

Darcy stared at her in astonishment. ‘So why doesn’t anyone else know this?’

‘They do,’ she shrugged. ‘It’s not a secret per se. I know it; science geeks know it; it’s just that the world has moved on. Joe Public doesn’t care any more about who exactly did what. They whitewashed their reputation, made themselves into a brand. When people hear the Madsen name now, they associate it with a famous art collection, a gallery in the capital, a wing in a kids’ hospital, a chemistry building at the university...not trench warfare in the Somme.’

‘Right,’ Darcy mused, taking all this in and remembering Helle Foss’s evident disdain for Casper.

‘Anyway, you were saying...’ Freja prompted her bossily. ‘Our tragic heroine. Tell me more about her. Why so sad?’

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