The Legacy (32 page)

‘In London.'

‘Someone will get in touch with you there,' she said. ‘Now you'd better go, Rolf, I'm going out and I don't like being late, so we'll say goodbye. I don't think we'll ever meet again.'

They didn't touch, not even to shake hands. She opened the door and stood aside. ‘One thing,' she said. ‘She's a lucky woman. I hope she's worth it.'

James had left after breakfast that morning. His mood of self-assertion had changed; he noticed how tired and drawn Christina looked, as if she hadn't slept, and felt genuinely sorry. He had tried to explain why he couldn't do what she had asked. ‘I
did
think about it,' he insisted. ‘I woke up very early because it was on my mind, and I really hoped I could see my way to saying yes … but I can't, Christa. I'm sorry.'

‘You don't have to apologize,' she said. ‘I knew last night you were going to say no. Let's not talk about it.' But he couldn't let it rest; he needed to excuse himself.

‘I know you're disappointed, but I don't want you to hate me,' he said. ‘I can't do anything that might hurt Alan. Don't you see, I can't. He's my brother.'

She looked at him. ‘He needn't have known, I wouldn't have told him. James, you don't need to excuse yourself or go into long explanations. I'm only your stepmother and you said yourself you were always jealous of Belinda. It was stupid of me to ask. Let's forget about it.'

But he persisted. ‘He'd find out,' he said. ‘I'd probably end up telling him, I'd feel so guilty. I'm the only member of family he's got, and he's my only link with who I'm supposed to be. I can't relate to anything in my past, Christa, except him. He's been good to me in many ways; if I went to him for help, he'd give it. Fay hates the sight of me because she's jealous of this bond we have between us, but she can't break it, nothing can. Try to understand?'

Christina, hearing the self-pity, felt too tired to point out what a man with any principles or sense of adult responsibility would have done in his place. He wasn't an adult, or a full man, and he never would be. She thought, suddenly, that Richard Farrington had damaged his younger son beyond repair. She got up, closing the subject. ‘You wanted a pair of your father's cuff-links,' she said. ‘Go upstairs and choose something. I'd rather not go through his things this morning. Take whatever you like.'

She was in the hall, arranging a vase of dried flowers; they looked dusty and the colours had faded. On an impulse she gathered them up to throw out. He came up behind her.

‘I chose these,' he said. ‘I hope it's all right.' She glanced at the little red box and the oval gold cuff-links, engraved with the Farrington crest. ‘They're the same as the ones he gave me for my birthday,' he said; ‘the ones that were stolen.'

She recognized them. Richard wore them most days. ‘Please take them,' she said. ‘I'm going to throw out these flowers, they're dreary looking. I'll say goodbye then.'

‘Goodbye, Christa.' He bent and brushed her cheek. ‘I feel awful,' he added, wanting to be reassured.

‘You needn't. Are you staying for the case?'

‘Yes, Alan asked me to be there.'

‘I'll see you in court then,' she said. ‘Goodbye, James.' She went towards the door into the back quarters, with the flowers crunched up in her arms, leaving a trail of petals and leaves on the floor behind her.

In court, in three weeks. In the passageway she met Mrs Manning. ‘Oh, let me take those,' she offered. ‘Mr James gone then? He said he was leaving this morning.'

‘Yes, he's gone. It was only a short visit. Throw these out please, Mrs Manning, I won't replace them. I'll wait till we put up the Christmas decorations. And I'd better look at the catering for the party; Belinda's so looking forward to it, I couldn't disappoint her.'

‘Mr Farrington always enjoyed it too,' the housekeeper said. ‘And don't you worry; we'll do everything just the same as we always did. You've got all this court business to cope with, so leave the catering to me.'

‘Thanks,' Christina said, ‘but it'll take my mind off it if I'm busy. It's so soon; three weeks …'

‘Oh, it'll be all right,' Mrs Manning assured her. ‘Your lawyer got some good affidavits from everyone down here; he was really pleased. And by the way, that jacket he lent Belinda last time he was here, it's still in her room. Shall I parcel it up to send on?'

‘No,' Christina said. ‘I'll be going to London to see the lawyers soon. I'll take it up with me. Leave it in my room, will you?'

‘I did go through the pockets,' the housekeeper said, ‘and I found some personal things; Belinda must have put them there. I recognized the crest. Lucky I found them—they were tucked away in the inside pocket. I'll leave them with the jacket then.'

The morning didn't drag as she had feared it might. She went through the food and present list, checked the invitations to be sent out and telephoned Jane Spannier to ask her if she and Peter and Harry would come over on Christmas Eve and spend Christmas Day with them. Jane said they were going to ask themselves anyway. Harry, she added, would be delighted. ‘He wants to come and see you, Christa. He says you've put him off twice. It's not because of what I said, is it? I mean, don't take it too seriously, you can always be friends …'

‘No, I've just been too busy,' Christina explained. Busy falling in love with Rolf? Turning to him in her despair, instead of Harry, and wanting his reassurance now, more than ever. She was going to London to see Humfrey Stone to ask his help in finding someone prepared to lend her money, and to see Rolf. She made the appointment for the next day. Rolf Wallberg was out of the office when she called; he'd gone to Geneva for the day, but should be back for the meeting. Christina took Sammy the terrier for a walk that afternoon. The rain held off, but it was very cold with a biting wind. She went upstairs to have a bath and change before dinner. That was when she found the jacket, neatly laid out on her bed, and beside it, on a square of white tissue-paper, three pairs of cuff-links.

Mrs Manning had said something about the family crest. Christina picked up one pair: lovers' knots, with tiny rubies in the centre. Red and yellow gold. Another in the same design, but with sapphires instead of rubies. Cuff-links, lovers' knots. What had James said … her fingers trembled and she dropped them.
Presents from a friend.
Yes, that was right. She repeated the exact words.
One had sapphires, the other had rubies. Lovers' knots.
She put both hands to her mouth, stifling something like a cry.

It was impossible; it couldn't be. They were hidden in Rolf's pocket … but the last pair gleamed on the white paper, four golden ovals, deeply engraved with the griffon crest of the Farrington family. They'd taken James out to dinner in London with some of his friends, for his twenty-first birthday; she remembered it quite clearly; his godparents had been there too. Richard had given him a pair of cuff-links; they were oval and gold, with the family crest engraved on both sides. She had gone to Collingwoods the jewellers to order them with him; Richard was wearing an identical pair, made by the same firm. James had chosen them that morning. She bent and picked them up, then turned them over; both sides bore the crest. The motto was one simple word, ‘
Fidel
'—Faithful.

It was on all the silver, and the family portraits. They were James's cuff-links and so were the lovers' knots. Rolf had gone to New York to get the manuscript back from James—she forced herself to think in sequence, to keep calm—but he was too late, James had been robbed and the manuscript taken out of the safe,
with cash and personal jewellery.
She could hear Rolf saying it, looking at her in sympathy.
It's probably been destroyed by now. I am so sorry.

She felt such a sudden wave of nausea that she rushed to the bathroom, afraid she was going to vomit. She didn't, but her face stared back at her from the glass over the basin, haggard and stricken with shock. There never was a mugger; Rolf had waylaid her stepson. Hadn't James complained last night about how violent he was when they were face to face … Rolf had staged the robbery and stolen the manuscript himself, and taken the cuff-links to make it look authentic, then he'd forgotten about them. He had lied to her and cheated her because the ancient manuscript had been his objective all along. He had known it was in Richard's collection … How, how had he known that? Unless it was because the dealer Poulson had blurted it out under torture, and then been murdered to keep him quiet …

‘Oh God,' she breathed in horror. ‘Oh my God, what have I done …' She'd made love to him in that room, in the bed where she was sunk down in trembling shock. She had gloried in what they did, losing herself in a man who had used her for some dreadful private purpose, and committed the ultimate violation by seducing her with yet more lies. Only the night before she'd spoken to him in tears, and he'd been so comforting, so strong.

‘You don't need anyone to help you. Forget about him. Trust me, my darling, I'm going to take care of you.' And she'd arranged a meeting in London with the solicitors, as much to see him as to talk about the case; to find strength in his arms, maybe to admit that she hadn't felt guilty because she was in love and hadn't realized it. But guilt overwhelmed her now, and such a rush of self-disgust and anger that she sprang up. He wasn't going to get away with it; there'd be no more charades between them, no more deceit. She threw the cuff-links into her bag, grabbed the jacket and started off downstairs. She met the housekeeper at the foot of the staircase.

‘I was just coming up to ask if you were ready for dinner … Are you all right, Mrs Farrington? Are you ill? You look terrible …'

‘I'm all right. I don't want anything to eat. I've had a change of plan, I'm sorry, I have to go to London. I'll be back around midnight. Don't wait up for me.' She saw Mrs Manning glance at the jacket slung over her arm. She said, ‘I have to give this back to Mr Wallberg.'

She pushed past her and hurried out to her car. Then she remembered, the secretary had said he'd gone to Geneva for the day, but he'd be back for the meeting; she might go all the way for nothing if he hadn't returned. She got the number on her mobile as she drove towards the main road, and when he answered she could hardly trust herself to speak to him.

‘I'm on my way to see you; I'll be there in about three hours.' Then she cut off before he could answer. What was his motive? Money? He'd said the manuscript was priceless. What else could explain it, except some monstrous obsessive greed. Blood money, after the dreadful story of treachery and murder he had told her. He said he'd recovered other properties for Jewish relatives of the dead, but he had selected this manuscript for himself.

He was waiting, watching for her; she saw him outlined by the lighted window as she drove up. He came down the stairs and opened the front door of the apartments for her. He said quickly, ‘Christa … Christa, what's happened, what's wrong …' She brushed past him.

‘Not here. In your flat, Rolf. No, please don't touch me.'

He led the way up two flights. His door was open and she went inside. He closed the door and started to move towards her. ‘My darling,' he said. She threw the jacket at him.

‘You left this behind, and you left these in the pocket!' The cuff-links gleamed in her outstretched palm. He stood rigid, staring at what she held.

She said, ‘These are James's.
You
robbed him; there never was a mugging. You stole the manuscript yourself, and you came into my life for that one reason. I don't know whether you helped to kill that poor dealer, Poulson, but that's how you knew where it was. What was the reason? Money? A million pounds?'

He had seemed frozen, but now he came to life. ‘No!' he said. ‘No, you're wrong. Money has nothing to do with it! I didn't mug James, someone else did that. I had no part in what happened to Poulson, I swear to you, but don't ask me to explain, I can't.' He stooped and picked up the jacket. ‘But about us—would you listen to me? Please, Christa, just listen before you pass judgement.'

‘I don't think there's anything you can say,' she answered. ‘You lied to me, you stole from me, and you can't even tell my why.' He sat down still holding the jacket. He shook his head slightly.

‘I forgot about the cuff-links.' He seemed to say it to himself rather than her. ‘I completely forgot.' He looked up at her. ‘Yes, I stole the manuscript. I've stolen many things, or got them by blackmail and threats. I'm not a nice man, Christa, but you always knew that; you sensed it, that's why you didn't like me. Your instincts were right, but you're wrong now. I'd never hurt you, never. I love you.'

‘For God's sake,' she said bitterly, ‘don't dignify what happened by talking about love. I'll never forgive myself for what I did!'

She saw a faint colour come into his face. ‘It was love for me,' he said. ‘Please believe that. I didn't want to love you, but it happened; I didn't want to grow fond of your daughter, but I couldn't help it. There's never been room in my life for loving anyone until I met you, then I started hoping there was, thinking I might have a life like other people, but now I've destroyed that. Even if I put you at risk by trying to explain, you'd never trust me, I can see it in your face. And anyway, I've been a fool.' He looked up at her. The pale-blue eyes were full of pain. It shocked her. ‘I could never live your life. I could never involve you because, for people like me, there is no escape.'

Christina said, in spite of herself, ‘Escape from what?'

‘From the past,' he answered. ‘What do you want me to do?'

She said simply, ‘Get out of my life, and leave Belinda and me alone. Whatever you are and whatever you're mixed up in, we don't want any part of it.'