Glittering Fortunes (22 page)

‘Mole!’

Cato was stumbling after her. He caught her at the entrance to the house, the jacket and hat still in place, his dick flapping like a windsock, and tugged her round to face him. Incredibly he was unabashed. He was, dare she say it...
amused
.

‘
I
fucking hate it when you call me that!’

Ravaged by tears she thumped his chest, battered him blue, struck his face but it would never be enough. Even if she killed him it would never be enough.

He grabbed her wrists.

‘Pull yourself together. I can explain.’

Laughter broke out of her like a brick through a window.

‘How can you
possibly
explain?’ she raged. ‘I hate you!
I
fucking hate you!
’

‘Come now, Mole, old habits die hard—’

She slapped him—once, twice, a third time. She shoved him with all her might but he didn’t move. She kicked his shin and in the process stubbed her toe.

‘How could you?’ she bewailed. ‘With that...that
slut
?’

‘Caggie and I have a long-term arrangement.’

‘More long-term than you and me?’

Cato sighed, as if the situation had nothing whatsoever to do with him and yet inexplicably it kept happening.

‘I never promised to be faithful,’ he said.

‘You never promised to be an asshole but you’re managing that just fine.’

She stalked indoors, wild with anger. There was no sign of Caggie. She hoped the woman had choked on her horse’s bit.
The bitch!

Cato sauntered in. ‘You knew when you got with me that I had needs.’

‘I thought I fulfilled them.’

‘You do, as much as any one woman can.’

Red fury exploded. ‘That’s the best I’m going to get? That’s the most you’re going to give? What about marriage? Children? What about our future?’

Cato spread his hands, very reasonably for a man who was naked from the waist down. ‘I’m content for you to be in my life, Mole, but I can’t be content with just one companion. Let’s talk about this, because I’m a modern man. I’m unconstrained by convention. There has to be more than one way of doing things—’

‘And what exactly would that be?’

‘Well,’ he simpered, ‘there’s enough Lomax magic to go round—’

She slapped him again.

‘Would you stop
doing
that?’

‘You want me to
share
you?’

‘If the cap fits.’

Stricken, Susanna rushed upstairs, stumbling in her haste, the landing fractured in her shivering vision. Thick, salty tears coursed down her cheeks; upset and fury and disappointment strangling her, burning like gasoline in her chest.

In the bedroom she began throwing things in a bag.

Cato was at the door. ‘What are you doing?’

Already her PA was on speed dial. The instant the woman picked up, Susanna issued instructions. She was clear and concise about what she wanted: a car, a flight out of London, an upgrade to the finest digs the airline had available and a bottle of her preferred vodka on arrival—everything would be charged to Lord Lomax. Amazingly her voice held. She was frozen and exact in her anger.

The call finished, Cato stormed, ‘Slow down a minute, Mole, would you? Let’s get Caggie up here, see if we can’t sort this out between ourselves—’

‘Don’t you dare even say that tramp’s
name
! I swear to God if she so much as puts a toe over this threshold I will rip her fucking head off.’

He folded his arms. ‘You’re very sexy like this.’

She couldn’t believe it. Didn’t he care? Maybe he never had. She bet that ever since they had arrived at Usherwood he had been taking every opportunity to screw the ancient cook, choosing her gristly skirt beef over Susanna’s fillet steak. The proposal she had longed for would never materialise. She had been a fool to invest that hope in him.

She zipped the bag, not caring what she’d packed or what she hadn’t, just that she had to get as far away from this place as was humanly possible.

‘Are you sure I can’t persuade you to stay?’

That was what it came to—a question as flippant as if he’d been enticing a dinner guest towards a nightcap. He had never loved her in the way she loved him.

‘Goodbye, Cato.’

Susanna waltzed past, her cases behind her. She would wait at the gate for an hour if she had to—anything but look at him.

‘Suit yourself.’ His voice reached her from behind, a taunting, mocking scorn. ‘I’m not sure you would have fitted in at Usherwood, after all, Mole. You’re not from my stock. You could pretend all you liked but you’d still have been a fraud.’

She stopped. His words hit her like a wrecking ball.

‘And I had to right that portrait of Mummy.’ He waggled his finger. ‘
Tsk
,
tsk
,
tsk,’
he chided. ‘This is her house, too, you know.’

Through the tangle of Susanna’s despair, one rope pulled free: Cato Lomax would live to regret this if it were the last thing he did.

Without another word, she fled.

Chapter Thirty-Six

T
HE
FOLLOWING
MORNING
Olivia drove her mother’s sputtering car through the Usherwood gates, desperately trying to see through the rain. If anything the storm was worsening, daylight tinged with sombre grey as though the cove were in a state of post-apocalypse. The ocean darkened to green and purple and black, thrashing and heaving as it jumped and threw spray across the cliffs.

Shallow floods were pooled across the drive and she sloshed through them, tyres churning as spurting jets gushed up the flanks of the car. Round the giant oak a more serious overflow obstructed her route. The river’s culvert had burst, soaking part of the lawn in feet-deep water, while the road itself was impassable.

She climbed out and slammed the door, holding her coat above her head as it flapped uselessly in the force of the gale. She hurried towards the house.

Usherwood’s hall was a mess. Darkness enveloped her, the electricity gone. Mud was slashed across the flagstones, from which the rugs had been torn and kicked into a corner. The fire smouldered unhappily. Clusters of soggy towels were stuffed under doors and at window ledges, futile attempts to stem the weather’s invasion. A heap of sandbags huddled uselessly at the foot of the stairs, one of whose casing had split and spewed grain across the ravaged floor. Empty plates and stained mugs littered what was left of the furniture. Everything was freezing and gloomy.

Cato burst out of the library. He was barking orders into the phone.

‘Yes, yes, I understand that, but how soon can you get here?’ He raised one finger when he saw her, an instruction to stay, as if she were a dog. ‘For heaven’s sake, man, this is a fucking Noah’s Ark situation out here; we’re about to get swept away—what part of the word “emergency” don’t you understand? No, I will not hold. No, I will not bear with you. This is Cato Lomax and I
demand
a priority service, are you listening? I demand it. This is a fucking mockery. Are you being deliberately bone-headed? I find it impossible to believe you’re managing it without at least a little bit of effort. What kind of a circus are you running over there? Hello?’ He scraped a hand down his face, snatched a clump of his hair. ‘Hello, are you still there? Hello?’

The phone was hurled across the hall. It struck a pillar and shattered to pieces.

‘You’re flooded,’ said Olivia.

He launched his foot against one of the sandbags. ‘Damn this heap of rubble to hell! What the fuck do you want? This had better be good.’

‘I’m looking for Charlie. Where is he?’

‘Search me,’ said Cato acidly. ‘Somewhere in town, I expect, feeling sorry for himself. Why? Hung up on him, are you? He hasn’t got the best track record with girlfriends, I’ll warn you.’ He laughed meanly. ‘The last one got killed. Took her out in his car drunk, he did, slammed her straight into a tree. Sexy, she was, too.’

He advanced, eyes flashing with lust. ‘Like you.’

‘Stay away from me.’

‘Charles is dangerous.’

‘I don’t believe a word you say.’

Cato grabbed her, flattening his body against hers. ‘Why not take an upgrade?’ he snarled. ‘From day one you’ve wanted that bastard brother of mine, it’s been written all over your face. Why not set your sights a little higher, hmm? Why settle for the mongrel when you can have the pedigree?’

She shoved him hard but he was too quick, too strong, and he slammed her to the wall, clutching her face with his hand. All at once he was intolerably ugly, his skin too smooth, his hair too perfect, his teeth too straight. He was like a mint, white and blank and covered in a hard shell.

‘Pretty little freckles,’ he crooned, tightening his grip on her cheeks. ‘Forget about Charles, it’s me you want.’

‘Never. You disgust me.’

‘Quite a mouth, haven’t you?’ he leered, swooping in like a raven from the rafters. ‘Perhaps I ought to stuff it with something to keep you quiet.’

His touch skittered over her breasts. Filled with fury, she spat at him.

For a moment Cato was stunned, his lips parted, his expression glazed. Before he could act, she ducked and ran from the house, out into the pouring rain, toppling towards the shining green beacon of her mother’s car.

Climbing in, she shook herself dry and flicked the choking engine. It failed to start and she twisted the key in desperation, again and again, her hands shaking.

Come on
,
come on
,
come on
...

Not once did she take her eyes off the mouth of the house, fearing that Cato was about to fly from it, charge towards her, drag her from the vehicle and then...

Then what?

She realised she was afraid of him. Charlie wasn’t dangerous; Cato was. All she had seen, all she had heard, all she knew of him led back to the same: a twisted nest of black and sinewy cords.

Come on!

The engine guzzled to life. She wrestled it into reverse and swung the car round, headlamps carving through the fog as she tore down the way she had come.

Emerging to the safety of the road she encountered a huddled figure, hurrying along the verge and picking a path through the wet. It was hunched in a coat, a small square bag held tight to its stomach. Barbara.

Olivia pulled up alongside, winding down the window.

‘You’re drenched—get in!’

Gratefully the woman accepted, slamming out the cold, her jacket prickled with raindrops. ‘Arthur’s collecting me at the cemetery,’ she explained. ‘The entrance was submerged when we arrived this morning—we couldn’t pass the gates.’

‘What are you doing?’ Olivia indicated, putting on her hazards.

Barbara’s face clenched. ‘Gathering the last of my things.’

‘You’re leaving?’ Cato really was getting rid of all the family assets.

‘He fired me. I’m not the only one to go. Susanna left in the small hours; it seems she’d finally had enough.’

‘What happened?’

Rain drummed on the roof. Barbara’s voice leaked a shade of apology.

‘I expect you knew about the Caggie affair.’

Just when Olivia had thought nothing else could shock her. ‘
Caggie?’

‘It’s been going on for years. It started when Cato was still at school—I know, I know, but you had to be there; he wasn’t your average sixteen-year-old, he wasn’t your average
anything
—and as time went on, whenever he returned, it continued.’ Wearily Barbara lifted her shoulders. ‘We turned a blind eye, Charlie and I. Maybe this time, I thought, with Susanna here, Cato might refrain, but abstinence isn’t a theme he gives much credit to. Last night they were discovered...in the stables.’

‘The stables?’

‘You can imagine it. Susanna saw everything.’

‘God. I bet she did.’

Barbara put her hands on the dash, bowed her head between her arms.

‘How did we get ourselves into such a dreadful situation? Usherwood used to be a safe place, a brilliant place, clean of this sordid mischief—and now look! Corrupt to the core. If Richmond and Beatrice could see what’s become of us they’d be spinning in their watery graves.’ Swiftly she crossed her chest.

‘Do you know where Charlie is? I have to see him.’

‘No. And I’m worried. He left the dogs with us, “for a few days”, he said—the old Charlie would never have done that.’

Olivia was desperate. ‘He can’t be left hanging like this, Barbara. We have to do something. We have to find answers. He needs to know who his father is; he needs someone to tell him what happened, someone he can trust; someone who knows. There has to be
something
you remember—no matter how small, or how incidental it might seem. Did you ever suspect what was going on? Did Beatrice ever talk to you?’

The housekeeper shook her head. ‘I wish she had, dear, and then perhaps we wouldn’t be in this predicament. But no, she didn’t—fond as I was of the couple there was always a line; they were on one side of it and I was on the other.’

‘She must have confided in someone other than her brother, she
must
have...’

‘There was one person.’

‘Who?’

Barbara clutched her bag. ‘Fiona Montgomery—they were the best of friends. I couldn’t second guess any aspect of her ladyship’s behaviour after this—but what I will tell you is that if anyone can shed light on your story, it’s Fiona.’

Olivia put her foot down. The car lurched forward, grumbling towards the cemetery car park.

‘What are you doing to do?’ breathed Barbara.

‘I’m going to discover the truth.’

* * *

T
HE
Q
UILLETS
V
INEYARD
had taken a mighty pounding, its clifftop position in perilous line of the elements. As Olivia climbed from the car she steeled herself against a raging wall of wind, attacking it on the diagonal. Leaves churned a tornado at her feet and spiralled up in a reeling, spinning flurry. Far below waves crested. White froth leapt and rolled. Churning eddies swirled around clusters of lethal rock.

Rain sliced against her as she forged her way to the stone cottage.

Fiona answered, wrapped in a cardigan, and immediately hauled her inside.

‘What on earth are you doing? Get in here before you freeze to death!’

Inside the kitchen a fire was going. The table was scattered with newspapers, Fiona’s reading glasses and a mug of tea. Knotted beams were black-cracked with age; the ceiling was low. Through the window Olivia watched the gale-thrashed vineyard dance in the deluge, grasses bent double, flattened in the onslaught. A black-and-white puppy yawned at her feet. The kettle clicked on, quickly arriving at a boil.

Fiona brought the tea over. She sank down opposite and watched Olivia for several moments. ‘This is about Charlie Lomax,’ she said, ‘isn’t it?’

At Olivia’s nod, she exhaled sharply.

‘Oh, dear,’ she shuddered, ‘I feared it would come to this. I vowed to them I would keep the secret. God knows I’ve wrestled my conscience so many times over the years. I’m fond of Charlie. I love him. But I had to keep my promise.’

‘Beatrice is dead,’ Olivia said bluntly. ‘If you knew about the affair, you should have said.’

‘Beatrice is gone,’ Fiona agreed, ‘but he isn’t.
He’s
been at Lustell Cove all along. I couldn’t betray his trust—it wasn’t my place to do so. Lives would be affected, people changed for ever. That wasn’t my decision to make. You’ve seen the damage it’s done.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘
Why
did Barnaby do it? When I heard you’d gone to Norfolk, I knew he planned to confess. What’s the point in telling them now? All it’s caused is hurt and heartache. Those poor, poor boys...’

‘You knew Barnaby, all those years ago?’

‘I did. I was with them through it all—not that Richmond knew the extent of what Bea and I had shared: if he had he’d have forbidden me from seeing her, too. Over the years she told me everything, all about her unhappiness, what kind of a husband Richmond was, and then...’

‘The man she fell in love with.’

‘Yes. Him.’

A howl of wind crashed against the building. The overhead light spluttered and flickered, immersing them in obscurity before righting itself.

‘Deliberately I’ve kept my eyes off the papers, but Wilson told me yesterday that Charlie was moving on, leaving Usherwood for good.’ Fiona’s fingers trembled. ‘I
vowed
to Beatrice I would never betray her trust and yet here we are. What choice do I have? Charlie is so dear to me. I still see the boy in him.’

‘Then you must do the right thing. Keeping this to yourself might have been right once upon a time but it isn’t any more. Put yourself in his shoes. Imagine finding out the man you thought was your father hated you. Imagine finding out that he didn’t love you and he never had, and never could because of where you came from.’

Another smash of wind plunged them into darkness. Shadows seeped in from outside, remnants of a day that was thick with gloom.

‘You don’t understand,’ came Fiona’s voice from the darkness: strange, disembodied. ‘You’ve got it wrong. Richmond didn’t hate him.’

‘Yes, he did. We found a letter.’ She remembered Charlie handing it to her on the beach. He had shared it with her. He hadn’t had to, but he did. ‘In it Beatrice said that Charlie was the lesser loved. Those were the words she used.’

‘Lesser loved by her,’ Fiona said gently. ‘Not by Rich-mond.’

She went to the cabinet for a torch. Finding one she switched it several times, to no avail, before flicking the battery compartment and seeing it was empty. From a cupboard she extracted a slender candle and lit it, cradling it in its holder.

‘Bea tried to love him as much as she loved Cato, but how could she? Charlie was born of an altogether different situation.’

Olivia fumbled to unravel it. ‘What situation?’

‘By the time Charlie arrived, things with Richmond had deteriorated. Bea was wretched. I don’t know if she had ever been happy in that marriage, but by now each day was a grind. She couldn’t leave. He was forcing her to stay. He demanded another son: she didn’t want one. Charlie was the bandage baby, but the relationship was a wound that could never be healed.’ The room sparked with a flare of lightning, a growl of thunder close behind. ‘Richmond couldn’t see why it took so long to conceive again—almost five years, it was. He wasn’t to know that he’d had nothing to do with the first.’

The candle shimmered between them.

Olivia dared not move.

‘The night Charlie was made...’ Fiona’s confession flew free, spreading its wings after years in captivity. ‘There was a struggle. Bea didn’t confirm it either way, but for my money it wasn’t consensual. All that dread and fear and unhappiness...’

Charles can never know where he came from
...

Fiona gazed up at her beseechingly.

‘How
could
she love him as much? Cato was born of fire and passion, recklessness and desire, devotion and addiction, and my God she loved that boy’s father. Of course she adored Cato all the more.’

‘You mean...?’