Page 29 of Ghost in the Garden
Entirely in Gregg’s confidencemight prove useful, Solomon reflected, following the young man the length of the large room to the door at the back. A nameplate read,W. Aitken, General Manager.
The clerk knocked and waited to be answered before opening the door and pushing it wide.
“Mr. Solomon Grey, sir,” he said in awed tones. “In the absence of Mr. Gregg, I was sure you would be able to help.”
Mr. Aitken, a balding, middle-aged man with round spectacles, almost bounced to his feet, walking eagerly forward with one hand already stretched out. “Tea, Jones,” he threw at the clerk. “Mr. Grey! I’m Wilfred Aitken. Allow me to take your coat and hat.”
Solomon allowed it while the clerk bustled off. Aitken invited him to sit and beamed at him. No wonder. In Gregg’s terrible publicity over the building collapse, the manager could never have expected to receive an inquiry from a man of such distinction.
Solomon’s gaze strayed around the opulent office, lingering on the portrait of a serious and surprisingly young gentleman above the fireplace. “Is that Mr. Gregg?”
“Indeed it is, sir. I believe it was painted some five years ago. It is a very good likeness, I think, combining as it does Mr. Gregg’s gentlemanly origins with his knowledge of business matters.”
“It does not seem such a great tactic to allow his investment to collapse,” Solomon observed.
Aitken’s smile vanished into sadness as he shook his head. “A terrible tragedy, caused by a unique combination of circumstances that have little to do with Mr. Gregg. As you will be aware, our largest concentration of property is in the more affluent areas of the city. For instance, this delightful property, part of our holdings in Belgravia, has just become available. It would be perfect for a man of your standing.”
Solomon stretched his lips very slightly. “Would it? I would really need to speak to Mr. Gregg himself before I could consider such an acquisition.”
“Sadly, Mr. Gregg has had to make himself unavailable, in order to deal with personal matters.”
“Has he? What a shame,” Solomon said, rising.
Aitken jumped up with clear alarm.
“Unless…” Solomon paused. “Perhaps you could direct me instead to his partner, Mr. Lambert?”
“Mr. Lambert has offices just around the corner,” Aitken said, clearly disappointed, although he opened a drawer in his desk and removed a card, which he passed to Solomon. “But I believe you will find we have more to offer.”
“Then this firm is not partnered with Mr. Lambert?”
Aitken licked his lips. “In some ventures. Not in all.”
“The house you mention in Belgravia?”
“Certainly,” Aitken said eagerly.
“The tenement in St. Giles that collapsed? And the one still standing next to it?”
Aitken’s lips tightened. “I believe not.”
“Then you alone take charge of the rents from the extant property?”
“It is banked in the usual way,” Aitken said stiffly. “If you have an interest in such properties, sir, I believe both Mr. Gregg and Mr. Lambert would be willing to sell.”
Solomon tapped his fingers on the desk as though considering. “Is there much money to be made from such lowly investments?”
“There’s always money to be made if one knows how.”
“That’s what I thought,” Solomon murmured. “Though a lot to lose if one’s investment collapses.”
“A once-in-a-lifetime tragedy for us all,” Aitken said nervously.
“Of its type, one trusts so, though of course there is always the other ever-present danger of fire, cholera, and other diseases spreading like the wind amidst such overcrowding.”
“One is never short of tenants.”
“No,” Solomon said, eyeing him with dislike. “I don’t suppose you are. And you do vouch for Mr. Lambert’s reputation?”
