The Legacy (10 page)

‘Now,' he said, ‘tell me.'

She looked stressed and pale; it was her own fault, he decided. She had been determined to try sweet reason with someone who would only interpret it as weakness. But Alan Farrington must have hit her hard. Christina drank some of the wine and grimaced; it was raw sour stuff, gulped down by the undiscerning.

‘He was so vile to me,' she said. ‘Apart from what he threatened, it was the way he did it, the way he spoke to me. I've never felt so degraded.'

‘You've never been hated before, that's why; it's a very unpleasant experience. Don't be surprised that it's upset you. But at least you've learned not to try and deal with him hands on,' he said.

She looked up at him and said quietly, ‘You were right. I'm sorry I didn't take your advice; I won't make that mistake again. I'm sorry I got hysterical and interrupted your evening, I just need to talk to someone before I go home.'

‘You didn't interrupt anything,' he said, ‘just a business appointment with a client; a demanding and difficult client. They're not all as thoughtful as you are. We really need to talk this through. Can I ask you one question? A difficult question?'

Christina hesitated. ‘I don't think so. I'm sure I know what you're going to ask me and I'm not able to answer it. Not here and now.'

Rolf nodded. ‘I understand. Well then, this is much easier. Are you going to fight your stepson, or give way to blackmail because you want to protect Belinda?'

She answered him, just as he had hoped. ‘I will never give way. I think my husband would rise from his grave if that man got his hands on RussMore. He can throw all the mud in the world at me, but I'm not backing off. He wants a fight, Rolf, and I'll give him one.'

He smiled at her. ‘Good, that's what I expected. He may be a clever businessman, but what he did today proves he's a fool. You're not a woman who responds to bullying. Now, if he'd been reasonable, even pleasant, I would have been really worried. I think we should go and have dinner somewhere quiet where we can have a proper discussion. Why don't you stay in London? Or, if you prefer, I can drive back to Russ More with you; whichever you like.'

She felt drained of energy. ‘Can't we have a meeting later this week? Is it so urgent?' He wasn't going to let the relationship cool over the next few days. He had progressed further and faster than he had dared to hope.

‘I think it's very urgent,' he persisted. ‘Farrington will be meeting his lawyers tomorrow morning, be sure of that, so we can't delay. We have to plan our moves ahead and book a first class QC. There's a lot to be discussed. I want to be able to put everything in place and then go direct to Ruben Stone for his approval. I think we should talk tonight, while it's all still fresh in your mind.'

Part of her wanted to refuse, to resist what on instinct she felt was his manipulation, but there was a temptation to let him take control. For twelve years there had been a man to protect and defend her; she needed something more than her own resolve, and the trusting love of an eleven-year-old child.

‘I hate to pressure you,' he said, ‘after what you've been through today, but I think you're a strong lady. Why don't you stay in London tonight?' He knew that the Farringtons had a small service flat in Chelsea. He knew every asset that Christine possessed, and its value down to the last pound. He had all the arguments ready and the figures to back them. ‘We could have dinner and you wouldn't have to drive all that way at night. Your staff can look after Belinda.'

Suddenly it seemed very persuasive, and she was tired; dinner and a positive plan of action, followed by a night in the flat. ‘That's no problem,' she said. ‘I can just call and tell them I'll be back tomorrow.'

‘Good.' He smiled again. ‘Then let's get out of here.' Briefly, as they pushed their way to the door, he touched her arm. When they reached the car, he said, ‘I'll drive. You tell me where to go.' She gave him the keys and got in beside him.

‘There's a bistro in the King's Road,' she said. ‘Richard and I often went there. It's quiet and we can talk. He hated noisy restaurants.'

‘So do I,' he agreed, ‘I like to talk as well as eat.'

They were early by London restaurant standards and they settled into a small cubicle, facing one another. He ordered a vodka for himself and wine for her. It was a very good bottle, she noticed, glad to get the vinegar sharpness out of her mouth after the wine bar.

‘I'm not very hungry,' Christina admitted.

‘You should eat; food calms the nerves. It's better than drinking.'

‘You know,' she said suddenly, ‘coming here brings Richard back. It makes me think of the happy times we had, all the fun. This whole thing's like a nightmare: fighting his son for the house … I wish to God he'd never changed anything. Belinda and I would have been happy living somewhere else.'

‘I thought you said you were going to stand up to your stepson,' he reminded her. He leaned forward, facing her closely. ‘This isn't the time for nostalgia. You were happily married, but that's in the past. What matters now is the future and to do what your husband wanted, so let's not be sentimental, Mrs Farrington. Let's talk about money.' It was brutal and it startled her.

‘Money?'

‘Yes, money. A lot of money to buy the kind of legal representation that you're going to need. Harvey & Stone are top of the league; our fees alone will run into tens of thousands. As for the best QC in the field …' he shrugged, ‘and the time factor—maybe two years before we even get to court. You could be looking at a cost of, oh, three hundred thousand pounds.' Christina actually gasped.

‘But that's impossible, I couldn't afford anything like that. I'd have to sell the shares Richard left me, I don't have valuable possessions; the family things are entailed for Belinda.' She was really frightened and she wasn't thinking clearly. He pressed on.

‘I am looking at the worst scenario,' he said. ‘It might reach the courts earlier. But then if Alan Farrington knows what he's doing, and he'll get the best advice, be sure of that, he could drag it on and on, until you've literally sold everything and run out of money. If he was my client, that's what I'd tell him to do.' He waited, before adding, ‘Then again, he may realize he's unlikely to win and withdraw, but I don't think that's his style.'

‘He's very rich,' she said slowly. ‘He could go on bleeding us till we had to start selling off the land. In the end there would be nothing left but what the trust owns: RussMore and the contents and a couple of tenanted farms.'

He poured a glass of wine for her. He refused to feel sorry for what he was doing. He ignored the visible signs of stress, the anxiety in her eyes as she looked at him. Instead he said gently, ‘In the end RussMore would have to be sold, and he'd buy it.'

Christina put down the glass untouched and said, ‘Is this why you were advising me to settle in the beginning?' He nodded.

‘I foresaw what could happen,' he said.

‘And now you're encouraging me to fight?'

‘Yes,' he agreed. ‘Yes, I am.'

‘Why? How could you?'

He smiled; it was an odd smile, without warmth. ‘Because I know something now that I didn't know then. I've given you one scenario—the worst one—now I'll give you the alternative.'

Suddenly he saw her flush with anger. ‘Will you stop playing bloody games with me!' she said fiercely. ‘You frighten the hell out of me and then you say there's an alternative …'

‘You needn't worry about money.' He spoke calmly, unmoved by her anger. ‘All you have to do is find the document your husband bought from that dealer in Stockholm, and you'll be rich enough to break Alan Farrington.'

She hardly slept that night. The more she went over the story he had told her, the more gaps appeared in it. Richard had stumbled on a priceless manuscript by making a casual visit to a dealer in rare books and early documents in Stockholm. Rolf Wallberg had glossed over the details, and she had been too surprised by the revelation to press him. It was part of the Song of Solomon, and centuries old. That meant nothing to Christina; she had a vague idea that it was connected with the Jews and the Old Testament, but that was all. He kept emphasizing the value, using the word priceless several times. Christina could name her price in the antiquarian world for such a treasure. Her problems would be over; she could outwait and outspend Alan Farrington until he, and not she, was forced to back off. Wallberg had seemed so excited; he was full of energy and enthusiasm. ‘We're going to win,' he insisted, and then she had stopped him with a single question.

‘How do you know about it? Why didn't you say anything before?'

The answer had been evasive, glib. ‘I had to be sure; I didn't want to raise your hopes. I contacted the dealer and he remembered what he'd sold your husband; then I knew I was right. All we have to do is go through your husband's collection and find it!'

His confidence infected her. ‘I can't believe it,' she said. ‘Richard was comfortable but not really rich, and he stumbled on a fortune by accident …' Wallberg had smiled at her, the icy blue eyes almost warm.

‘I'd say he found two treasures: the document and a wonderful wife! Now, when can we start to look? Tomorrow?'

‘No,' she had said, remembering. ‘No, not tomorrow. Richard's cousins are coming to stay. Their son's over from South Africa. You met them, I think, Peter and Jane Spannier.'

He said quickly, ‘Put them off, this is more important.' The ruthlessness jarred on her.

‘I can't,' she said, ‘I'm fond of them and it's been arranged for weeks. I'll call you. You'll have to help me, I wouldn't know what to look for.'

He hadn't argued, but he became a little distant as if she had annoyed him. ‘Of course, I forgot you have social obligations.'

‘They're family,' she corrected, ‘not social, and they were very good to me when I came to England.'

‘I'm sorry,' he apologized. ‘I never had a family, just the people who adopted me. I didn't mean to pressure you, I just got excited, because now I know we can win. I like to win.'

‘So do I,' she answered, ‘and I'm so very grateful to you, don't misunderstand. If you've discovered this, this manuscript, then I owe you everything.'

He saw her to the front entrance of the flat. He held out his hand and she took it. ‘The trouble is, Mrs Farrington, you are a very nice woman, and I'm not a nice man. Maybe I can learn from you. Call me very soon, please.'

‘I will,' Christina said. ‘Good night, Rolf.'

When she was alone, the questions started coming, and there were hardly any answers. How had he known Richard had found something so rare and so valuable when no-one else did? How had he known which dealer and what to ask him? All he had been told, quite casually, as part of her conversation with her stepson, James, was that Richard Farrington collected ancient religious documents. Christina woke with the questions clamouring but unanswered. She made coffee and watched the sun rise above the Chelsea rooftops.

He had shown her a solution to the problem that had seemed insurmountable only a few hours before. Her stepson's face floated before her inner eye, twisted with hatred.
I'll prove your bastard isn't a Farrington.
He could ruin her; force either the sale of RussMore or the breaking of the trust in his favour. As the trustee and Belinda's guardian under its terms, she had the power to do that, so why should she probe into the mouth of this gift horse Rolf Wallberg had given her? Why did she feel uneasy instead of exhilarated and relieved? Because she didn't trust him and the man himself was at the core of her disquiet. He had avoided answering questions, but there were questions she had to ask herself. Did her instincts matter? If they were right, and there was something doubtful about this treasure Richard had found, should she enquire too closely? Her first obligation was to Belinda, to safeguard her future and pass on RussMore as Richard Farrington wanted.

She sat on the edge of the bed, watching the rosy dawn light change to early sunshine. Find it first, she decided, then see if Wallberg's assessment of its value was right. And that raised another question: he was a lawyer, not an antiquarian; how did he know the document was worth so much? There was no answer to that either.

She finished her coffee, locked up the flat and drove home. Before she reached RussMore, she had decided to confide in the Spanniers.

‘You'll like Christina,' Jane Spannier insisted. ‘It wasn't easy marrying Richard so soon after all that ghastly business with the first wife. Personally I couldn't stand her.' Harry Spannier watched the Lincolnshire countryside speed by as his mother drove and talked in her vigorous way; his father dozed in the passenger seat. The more she assured him that he would love RussMore and like Christina Farrington, the less convinced he became. He had been living and working in Johannesburg for the last fifteen years, been married and divorced over a year ago, but she still talked to him as if he were a boy and she knew his reactions better than he did himself. He knew she had disliked Josephine Farrington because she never hesitated to say so; she had no time for weakness, or illness, unless it was terminal, and even then his mother felt it should be endured without fuss. He had memories of a beautiful woman, with two sons younger than himself; one was a lout, the other a diffident boy with a reputation for stealing at his prep school. He had never been friends with them, although they were his cousins. RussMore was a very big, rather dark house, where he went to children's parties and a teenage dance at Christmas. He couldn't see why he should suddenly like it when he never had before.

‘Of course,' his mother was saying, ‘the poor girl's having a dreadful time with Alan. I heard from Sheila, who was told by friends in London, that he's going to contest the will!'