Lord and Master (32 page)

‘Fuck this,' she said to her reflection.

Florian's guests began to arrive early. First a limousine drew up in front of the house bearing the French wraith and seven compatriots so scantily clad and glassy-eyed Luna could only assume they were coked up to the nines. Luna knew a moment's trepidation that only grew as the women's shrieks of laughter filled the air, and she quickly instructed two members of the household staff to show them to their rooms. Viktor and his associates showed up shortly thereafter in a trio of blacked-out Range Rovers. By this time, Florian had emerged onto the portico, briefly studying Luna's outfit with displeasure before going to greet his star guest with all the unctuousness of a snake oil salesman.

As the men stomped into the house, Florian apologising for the scaffolding and drop cloths covering the front hallway, Viktor paused, surprising Luna by greeting her by name.

‘This is beautiful house, Luna,' he said in heavily accented English.

‘It is,' she agreed dispassionately.

He nodded and looked her up and down, much as his host had done but with obvious approval. Florian was wrong, it appeared, about Viktor's taste in women's clothing.

The rest of the day became a running battle to keep the party from disrupting tours and ongoing restoration work in the front hall. Whereas the men were content to commandeer the library, which had been cordoned off from the tour on Florian's instructions so that pre-hunt libations could be served, their female companions seemed to assume that the entire house was at their disposal.

It wasn't long before she received a frantic call from one of Roland's assistants, after the wraith and two of her friends wandered into the house chapel carrying bottles of Krug at the same time as a party of visiting priests from Ghana. It took Luna and two members of security to lead them, protesting all the way, back to the library. Florian initially cast a furious look at Luna for this disturbance, but the presence of the two burly security guards and Viktor himself, who seemed pallidly unperturbed by the turn of events, threw him off balance.

The wraith began screeching at Viktor, ‘
Dites ce pute de me laisser tranquille!
'

At being called a whore by this woman, something finally broke inside Luna. Resting her frostiest gaze on Viktor, she said, ‘
Dites à votre putain de s'asseoir, comme une bonne chienne.
' At this the wraith lunged for her, nails drawn, and Viktor had to grab her with one beefy hand, giving her a quick, brutal shake.

He nodded appreciatively towards Luna and observed to Florian, ‘
Elle gagne à être connue
,' scarcely bothering to hide his contempt when Florian laughed uncertainly and nodded his incomprehension.

Luna felt better than she had in weeks as she walked back down to her office. Florian could sack her, for all she cared. Somehow she didn't think he would; he needed her now, with logistics to sort out and guests to impress. In that regard, at least, he was no different than his sister-in-law.

It was thoughts of the Marchioness that tempered her response when the head of security phoned her to say that Paul Walker had turned up at the gatehouse, insisting he was an invited guest. What Luna would have
liked
to do was turn him away, but no, she'd taken enough liberties this morning. Florian was clearly expecting him, and what Florian wanted, Florian got.

‘It's okay, let him in,' she said eventually, adding, ‘But when Mr Wellstone and the gentlemen go out hunting, send a couple of your men back up to the house. Just to keep an eye on their lady friends.'

And so it continued, all day and into the night, Luna firefighting here and there, the rest of the staff sprinting to meet the demands of Florian's guests. After the men returned from hunting and clay pigeon shooting they changed for dinner, which was held in the same dining room the Marchioness had used for the board meeting. Thankfully, the Arborage catering machine swung into flawless action and Luna was scarcely required once the evening's festivities began. She spent much of the evening down in the staff cafeteria, nursing cups of tea and reading a book.

At just after 1am, having received no further demands from Florian, she decided to go to bed. She swung past the dining room to find a skeleton crew of catering and cleaning staff just leaving, having restored the room to its pristine glory. She spoke briefly with one of the catering crew, Marta's nephew as it happened, and he nodded down the hall towards the library, where music was pumping out.

‘They're all still in there, so we'll have to leave that till the morning,' he said, adding as he pulled on his coat, ‘I'd stay well clear if I was you, miss.'

But after the last of the staff had left, Luna found herself drawn to the library like a moth to a flame. She'd heard his warning, knew what it likely meant, but she had to see for herself. The door to the library was ajar and from a distance the room appeared to be dark within. But as she approached, the sound of trashy Europop pulsing in her ears, she felt heat pouring through the doorway and saw flickering shadows running along the hallway wall. The first thing she saw on looking in the doorway was a roaring fire in the fireplace, licking up into the flue and appearing to almost throb in time to the music. And then she surveyed the room itself; she couldn't have looked for more than a few seconds but the scene before her seared itself into her retinas.

It was like something out of Sodom and Gomorrah. On the Chesterfield sofa in front of the fire, two of the French prostitutes sat fondling each other, completely naked, as an audience of four men looked on, some of them…Luna's heart began to hammer in her chest as she averted her eyes…some of them fondling themselves. Three other women were dancing drunkenly next to the French windows and a fourth was crawling across the floor on all fours, bearing a tray of drinks on her back. In a darkened corner of the room, Florian sat sprawled next to another woman on a loveseat, talking a mile a minute. He was holding something in his hand, a small glass pipe she thought, and there was a table full of drug paraphernalia laid out before him.

The last thing she saw was Viktor, his translucent face practically glowing in the dark, sat in a wing chair near the fire, holding a goblet of brandy and staring directly at her…as the wraith knelt between his legs, her head bobbing above his lap.

Luna reeled away from the room, heart leaping against her rib cage. She practically ran up to her attic, locking her door and going straight to the window. She opened it and stuck her head out into the cold air, gasping. The window remained open all night.

Luna woke early the next morning and quickly dressed in leggings and a jumper, having decided sometime in the middle of the night that she couldn't spend another day there, the way things were. She'd phone Stefan and ask if she could stay at his apartment, and finally unburden herself to him. She was in over her head, she now realised; Florian was not only a sick, twisted, bully of a man who had embezzled money from his own family and indebted himself to a Russian mobster, he also appeared to have a crystal meth problem. The drug use certainly explained a few things about his erratic behaviour, and Luna wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.

She went down to the staff cafeteria and ate some porridge, then got a strong cup of black coffee to take away, heading to the office to retrieve her laptop. When she got there, her office was dark but there was a light coming from the Marchioness's office. She stepped inside, intending to turn it off.

And discovered her Ladyship, sat at her desk. She looked up at Luna and smiled, and Luna's chin started to tremble in response.

‘I know, my dear,' the Marchioness said gently. ‘But I'm back now. And we have work to do.'

First she made Luna sit and tell her every detail of the previous day's events, nodding at each new revelation and tilting her head occasionally in sympathy. Words failed Luna when describing the orgy she'd briefly witnessed in the library, but she managed to detail the drugs paraphernalia she'd seen on the table in front of Florian. The Marchioness looked vaguely disgusted at this, but nowhere near as shocked as Luna expected – and then Lady Wellstone's mobile rang and she answered it, engaging in a brief conversation with the caller before ringing off.

‘Right, Luna,' she said, rising from her chair. ‘Things are going to happen very fast now and I need you to do as I ask and save questions for later. Mr Cartwright is just coming up the drive. I'd like you to go and meet him.'

When Luna came out to the portico she saw not only Cartwright but the head of Arborage's security team and several of his staff sat waiting in estate vehicles, their headlights gleaming in the darkness. Cartwright said nothing to her as she led him to the Marchioness's office.

‘There are—' Luna began, gesturing in the direction of the portico.

‘Yes, I've asked them to come. Don't worry, my dear,' Lady Wellstone said as Cartwright laid his briefcase on the meeting table and took a seat. ‘Leave us alone, please.'

So Luna exited, shutting the door behind her. She looked at her watch. Just gone 7am. She sat down at her desk and automatically switched on her laptop, even though she had absolutely no idea what she was expected to do. Twenty minutes later Cartwright opened the door and walked past Luna's desk back the way he came. He was dressed in the same suit he'd worn the two previous times he'd met with Lady Wellstone, Luna noted absently. After some moments she hesitantly put her head into the Marchioness's office to find her sitting at the meeting table, looking through some papers. She had her reading glasses on and she was smiling slightly, oblivious to Luna's presence. Luna took a step backwards and bumped straight into their head of security, who nodded to her briefly as he and Mr Cartwright went back into her Ladyship's office and shut the door.

Luna scarcely had time to wonder what the hell was going on before the head of security came back out, holding his walkie talkie to his ear as he hurried straight past her desk.

‘Do you think you could fetch us a pot of tea, Luna?' came the Marchioness's voice, sounding strong and firm and in command. And Luna found herself practically trembling with gratitude as she walked down to the kitchen. At last, she thought, at last her long ordeal was over.

She returned shortly thereafter carrying a tea tray to find the head of security sat at her desk. He hopped up and quickly opened the Marchioness's door for her, saying softly in her ear, ‘I'll be just out here if you need me.'

Inside the office, Florian stood dressed in nothing but a satin robe and slippers, his red hair thoroughly unkempt and sleep marks still in his left cheek. He was apoplectic with rage.

‘I demand an explanation for this,' he was shouting at Lady Wellstone, who had returned to sit at her desk. ‘You have me dragged from my bed at this ungodly hour, frogmarched down here by that goon outside…'

Luna carried the tray to the meeting table, where Cartwright was sitting in silence.

‘Yes, Fox, I'm sorry to have disturbed your rest,' Lady Wellstone said, her tone businesslike. ‘But we don't have much time. Staff will be starting to arrive soon.'

Luna poured a cup of tea for Cartwright, lifting the pitcher of milk enquiringly. Cartwright nodded and she poured a splash of milk in his cup, handing it to him.

‘What do you mean we don't have much time?' Florian demanded. ‘Time for what?'

‘Time for you to get every last one of your “guests” out of my house. I think they've caused quite enough disruption for one week, and I want them gone before the gates open at nine.'

‘You— You,' Florian floundered.

From her vantage point behind him, Luna saw his scalp flushing bright red. Carrying the Marchioness's cup of tea, she walked past him behind the desk.

‘
Your
houssse,' Florian finally managed. ‘Your presumption is breathtaking, Augusta. I think you'll find that it is actually
my
houssse. Or will be soon enough. I'd have a care about how you talk to me, if I were you.'

‘And I'd shut my mouth, if I were you,' the Marchioness replied, voice dripping with venom. Accepting her cup of tea she took a sip and continued, ‘I hear you've been a busy boy, these past few weeks – no, stay, Luna,' she added as Luna made towards the door. ‘I want you to hear this.'

So Luna stood against the door, watching as Lady Wellstone took another sip of tea, toying with the stem of her cup. ‘Sit down, Fox,' she instructed.

‘I will not. You—'

‘Sit down,' she repeated, and this time he heard it – Luna did too – the vein of steel in her voice, like there would be consequences if he didn't comply. Issuing an inarticulate, furious noise, Florian sat, adjusting his robe ineffectually over his spindly legs.

‘So, as I say, you are going to get rid of your guests. And then you are going to get dressed and come back to the conference room. By that time the lawyers will have arrived with paperwork for you to sign formally renouncing your claim to Arborage on John's death.'

There was a deathly silence in the room.

‘And why on earth would I do that?' Florian asked eventually.

Lady Wellstone gestured to Cartwright, who stood and stepped forward with a sheaf of papers, which he handed to Florian.

‘Because I have signed statements from no less than three women saying that you molested them over a span of ten years from 1978 to 1988. Two of them were fourteen at the time and one was thirteen.' Gesturing to Mr Cartwright, she said, ‘Given more time, my investigator could doubtless uncover further victims of your utter and complete depravity…'

‘These are lies!' Florian exclaimed, staring blindly at the papers. ‘Women looking to extort money from the estate.'

‘Funny that we had to find them, then,' the Marchioness observed, studying the rim of her tea cup. ‘No, they were most unwilling to talk at first, and who can blame them, given your…predilections. Really, Florian, some of the details shocked me, and I am not easily shocked. At least by you.'

‘And all you have are these statements?' Florian asked with a high-pitched laugh. ‘Good luck in court.'

‘Ah, would that they
were
all I had.' Lady Wellstone motioned again to Cartwright, who produced a stack of photographic reproductions. Luna watched the colour drain from Florian's face as he flipped through them. ‘What possessed you to take pictures?' her Ladyship said, before holding up a hand as if to say no, don't tell me.

‘How did you get these?' Florian asked, and from the combined disbelief and fury in his tone Luna presumed that he'd kept them under lock and key, and that Cartwright must have gone to great, possibly illegal, trouble to obtain them. ‘I will fight this,' he went on. ‘I will not give up my birthright.'

The Marchioness laughed mockingly. ‘This isn't the 1980s and you are not Bill Wyman. You will go to
jail,
Florian. For a very long time.'

Florian tried one last gambit, practically spitting at her, ‘And I'll be sure to drag the entire family down with me. If this goes to trial I'll say you and John turned a blind eye.'

‘Really. Well, good luck in court,' Lady Wellstone said, echoing his words of a few moments earlier. ‘And while we're at it, good luck servicing your debts. I don't think even prison walls will protect you from your friend Viktor. How much money do you owe him, anyway? Seven hundred thousand? Eight? Do you think he'll take pity on a fellow degenerate and forgive your debt?'

‘I mean it. I— I'll go to the press,' Florian threatened.

‘Do it,' the Marchioness replied bluntly. ‘Go ahead. You have much more to lose than me. I read once about a man who was tortured by the Russian mafia. He screamed so much his vocal chords actually snapped. Imagine that…'

His final bluff called, Florian's shoulders sagged and he raised his hand to his face, covering his eyes. ‘Please, please, don't do this, Augusta. We can make a deal, you and I…'

The Marchioness looked at him and raised her eyebrows. ‘But that's exactly what we're doing now, Fox. Making a deal.' She looked at her watch. ‘Time is ticking away. Go get rid of your friends, there's a start.'

‘But what will I say?' he cried plaintively.

‘I really don't care,' her Ladyship said coldly, waving her hand. ‘Tell them you're indisposed. Or better yet, tell them the real master of Arborage has come home, and she doesn't like to share.'

Luna stood aside as Florian slunk from the room and Cartwright sat, impassive as ever, reordering his papers. She looked at Lady Wellstone.

‘You're going to let him get away with this?' she asked.

‘Luna, there are things you don't understand…'

What was to understand? ‘He preyed on teenage girls, possibly under this very roof,' Luna said incredulously.

‘And he will pay for that, I promise.' But the Marchioness's attention was on Cartwright, who was looking at his own watch.

‘The lawyers will be here in just under an hour,' he said. ‘It doesn't leave us much time.'

Luna felt saliva building up in her mouth, a gag rising in her throat. She turned and walked swiftly out of the office, running down the hall to the ladies room and making it just in time to vomit into the sink. She heaved until there was nothing left in her stomach, a slick spindle of bile hanging from her mouth.

She was sitting outside shortly thereafter, head between her knees, when Florian's guests began to exit the house. From her vantage point concealed behind the topiary, she saw the men, including Viktor, pile into their Range Rovers and peel off down the drive, tires kicking up gravel in their wake. Ten minutes later two black cabs appeared and the women tumbled out of the house, screaming French curses at the security guards, who followed to ensure they got safely off the estate.

Luna acted as a witness to the statement Florian Wellstone signed two hours later surrendering his claim to ever become Marquess of Lionsbridge. ‘For deeply personal reasons, I feel I must stand aside. I do so now out of love and respect for my brother and our family, in order to allow sufficient time for a smooth transition in the stewardship of Arborage…'

Caitlin had joined the Marchioness, Florian, Luna and their team of five lawyers in the conference room, her eyes wide as saucers at the morning's turn of events. Had she known what she'd missed in the run-up, the begging and haggling Florian had done to save his skin, she would have been even more shocked. But Luna had borne witness to that on her own, Caitlin only being called upon when the time came to formulate a plan for releasing news of Florian's abdication to the press.

The deal the Marchioness had cut with Florian was generous, to Luna's eyes. He would keep his flat in Mayfair, and receive a reduced but not insignificant annual income from the estate. Crucially, Lady Wellstone agreed to pay off the first instalment of his debt to Viktor, dispatching Cartwright to agree terms on her behalf. In return, Florian would resign his position on Arborage's board, desist from using his connection with the estate in future financial and property dealings, and severely limit his presence in the house.

‘Until after John dies, when you will no longer be welcome here,' Lady Wellstone added, tapping her Montblanc pen on the conference table. And Florian having, after all, no choice in the matter, had acquiesced, silent hatred of his sister-in-law burning in his eyes across the table.

When all the papers had been signed and the lawyers had departed, leaving the Marchioness, Cartwright and Florian alone in the conference room for what Luna could only assume was a final, awful debrief, she walked back to her office, looking at her watch. Not even 10.30 yet.

As she entered the office, an arm reached out and grabbed her. Caitlin, eyes still wide, a massive smile on her face, pulled her into a bear hug, then spun her around the room.

‘We're saved, we're saved!' she exulted. ‘How do you think she did it? Black magic? Black
mail
?'

Luna held her tongue – Caitlin had unwittingly hit the nail on the head, but Luna was in no position to confirm it. And she found herself unable to share the press officer's glee at Florian's downfall, knowing the price that had been paid for it. Caitlin sensed her unhappiness, but misunderstood the reason for it.

‘I know it still means changes, but just think, Sören Lundgren is the next Marquess of Lionsbridge. Could we have hoped for a better result? Someone who loves this place, who'll do his best to protect it? And who, by the way, thinks the world of you?'