The Legacy (6 page)

‘But you don't mean it, I hope?'

He grinned. ‘Of course not. After all, I'm gay myself.' He studied her for a moment. There was a gleam of malice in the look. ‘Surely you knew that?'

‘Richard would never have admitted it,' she answered. ‘I never thought about it. It's your life, and it's no-one else's business.'

‘Father ignored it because he's just like Alan; if it's something they don't like, it isn't true. So simple, the Farrington philosophy. Didn't you realize how much alike they were?'

Christina said flatly, ‘No, I didn't and I don't. Richard was gentle, loving and, above all, fair; your brother is a bully and a thug. Please don't try to make comparisons.' She felt herself blush with anger. He had shrewd eyes, they watched her and calculated. He had gone too far and he retreated quickly.

‘I'm sorry, I'm sure Father was all those things to you, and to Belinda, of course.' He put out his cigarette. ‘You're right about my brother; he's a bully and a thug, but there are explanations.'

‘Then you can tell me about them after lunch,' she said. She walked past him through the French windows into the drawing-room. He closed the doors on to the terrace and followed her across the great hall into the dining-room.

She could be strong, he decided, and a lot tougher than she looked. Alan might not ride as rough shod as he hoped when he took on his hated stepmother. He might be very glad of any help that James could give him.

While Christina and James were lunching in the tranquillity of RussMore, Rolf Wallberg was called into Humfrey Stone's office. Humfrey pushed a file across to him.

‘Farrington's solicitors,' he explained. ‘Asking for copies of all the relevant documentation. Trust deeds, new executions altering the original settlement, minutes of meetings between Richard Farrington and ourselves … And, of course, the will. Cheeky letter from them too.' He frowned. The tone had been hostile and combative. Alan Farrington had chosen a firm that matched his style.

‘But you expected this,' Rolf said. ‘What's the problem?'

Humfrey looked up at him. ‘The problem is', he said, ‘I'm up to my eyeballs with the Ringwater Estate. I just haven't got the time to cope with all this. I was hoping Mr Ruben would handle some of it, but he's dumped the lot on me. Rolf, I'm going to ask you to take on this Farrington correspondence; deal with Mrs Farrington and keep it ticking over for the next few weeks. Can you handle that?'

Rolf didn't hesitate. ‘Of course, but you'll need to explain the situation to your client, first. Clear it with her and I'll start right away.' Humfrey was still worried. He liked Christina and had fully intended to defend her interests himself, but Ruben Stone had decreed otherwise. ‘You got on, didn't you?'

Rolf hid a smile. The fact that he asked meant he'd sensed they didn't like each other. Or rather that she didn't like him. ‘We're both Swedes,' he assured him. ‘We'll understand each other. My only interest is to win the case for her. Emphasize that when you talk. After all, it would do my reputation a lot of good internationally, if I won. This will be a high-profile action; it could go to the Court of Appeal.'

‘It could go to the Lords!' Humfrey sighed. ‘You'll be here for the next five years—no, seriously, the best course is to settle. We all know that there are no winners, only losers when it gets into court.'

Rolf raised his eyebrows in mockery. ‘Aren't you forgetting the fees?'

Humfrey didn't rise. He worked hard and he earned a fortune, but he had always put his clients' interests above money. He doubted whether Rolf Wallberg could say the same. ‘I'll put a call through to her.' He ended the meeting by reaching for his telephone. ‘Get me Mrs Farrington, please, Joan … Thanks.' He hung up, waiting for the call to be put through. Maybe the Swede was a good choice; he was cold-hearted and ruthless in his outlook, and made no attempt to hide it. He might be just the man to fight Alan Farrington on his own terms.

Christina put the telephone down. Humfrey had been apologetic but reassuring. He would take up the case as soon as he had settled the more pressing legal problem that had surfaced unexpectedly, but Rolf Wallberg was a first-class professional, as competent as anyone in the firm, and he was very anxious to handle the case. ‘He's ambitious and he'll fight for you, Mrs Farrington. He wants to win for himself and, though it isn't nice, it's a real plus when you're dealing with someone like your stepson. I have every confidence in him, and I'm always here in an emergency.'

James was out walking; lunch had been pleasant but strained. Both had put up barriers, and she wished, suddenly, that he would change his mind about staying and go back to London. Rolf Wallberg. She sat on the terrace in the sunshine and tried to feel confident. Humfrey said he was good, ambitious, out to win; she had judged that for herself. But he wasn't congenial; he was cold and remote, almost judgemental, as if he were watching the antics of another species. But he had been different with Belinda. Children had an instinct that Christina trusted. She'd spoken about him just before she went to sleep that night, when they had shared the same bed for comfort.

‘Don't worry, Mum. I think that man will look after us.'

‘What man, darling?' Christina had murmured.

Belinda had mumbled, ‘The one with white hair. I showed him the garden …'

‘Out of the mouths of babes …' The Biblical quotation came into her mind. Richard often talked of the great truths concealed within religious texts. ‘Just because something's become a cliché, doesn't mean it isn't true,' he would say. She had never been able to share either the principle or the detail of his ancient Christian faith, and he had accepted that and never tried to convince her. ‘One day, darling, maybe it'll come to you.' And he had kissed her fondly. He had been as fond as he was passionate; a lover and a friend. If it took a bastard like Wallberg to carry out his dying wishes, then who was she to cavil? She didn't have to like him or admire his attitude. If he wanted to win, then so did she.

‘Hello,' James came up the steps from the garden. ‘You look worried. Anything the matter?'

‘Alan's solicitors have contacted Humfrey Stone,' she answered. ‘He's going to contest the will.' James sat down opposite to her.

‘Do they say on what grounds?'

‘No, just asked for documentation and gave notice that they are preparing to challenge. James, why is he doing it like this? Couldn't he at least have behaved decently and talked to me first?'

‘And would you have given up RussMore if he had?' She hadn't expected the question.

‘No, I wouldn't, but we might have worked out some compromise instead of having this fight and all the publicity and bad blood. You talked about explanations when I called him a bully and a thug … Well, I'd like to hear them!'

He lit a cigarette, taking time about lighting it and drawing the first deep breaths. ‘That's why you asked me to stay after the funeral, isn't it? You wanted to know about all of us, not just Alan. My mother, father and us two sons. Am I right?'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘You are.'

‘There's not much point if you get angry when I criticize him.'

‘I'll try not to; so long as it's fair.' Fair—she was always using that word, but life wasn't fair, he hadn't found it so.

‘Father never really talked about the family, did he? I mean, he didn't go into details? Just painted you a broad-brush sketch: Mummy was a drug addict, Alan was a thug, and as for me … what did he tell you about me, Christa? Can't be trusted, always takes the easy option. Something like that, I can see by your face. Oh, don't look embarrassed; he said it to me often enough.'

Christina said slowly, ‘I can't imagine him ever being cruel.' He tapped cigarette ash onto the ground.

‘I don't think he realized,' he said after a pause, ‘because he was right. He just never looked for reasons, that's all. He didn't understand weakness, but then,' he grinned at her, ‘he didn't like strength of character, either. Not when it challenged him. That's why I said he and Alan were alike, except that he was intellectual and Alan isn't. Father had an educated, cultured brain and Alan couldn't match it, so he went to the opposite extreme. He set out to be a lout, even when we were quite small. He picked his nose at the table, that kind of gesture; always two fingers up to Father. The more Father rejected him, the worse he got, and the more he turned to Mummy. Do you really want to hear all this? Neglected children, striving for acceptance, all that crap?'

‘Only if it's going to help me understand what's happening. My family was so different. We were ordinary people; in England we'd be middle class. Doctors, accountants; my grandparents were farmers. There were rows between us, yes, but never like this; never all this bitterness and hate. If things went wrong, we came together to help.'

‘It sounds ideal,' he said, and she looked up sharply. ‘Don't you dare sneer, James.'

‘I wasn't,' he protested, ‘I'm just envious. It sounds so cosy and uncomplicated. I never knew where I was with either of my parents. Mummy was lovely at first; when I was very little, I remember her as happy and laughing and so pretty—then she changed. She liked London and parties and Father didn't, so she started going off without him. I suppose that's where she got hooked on heroin. I didn't realize anything was wrong for years; she was just unpredictable: sometimes sweet to me, other times an absolute bitch. I never knew what to expect. Alan could cope with her; she seemed to rely on him. When he went away to Harrow she wrote to him every day, and he wrote back. It was like a sort of conspiracy between them. My New York shrink says it was sexual collusion and that's what set him and Father at each other's throats.'

Christina interrupted. ‘They would say that, wouldn't they? I don't believe it; that's the easy answer. When in doubt, blame it on sex.'

‘That's what I said,' he agreed. ‘It wasn't about sex, it was about power. Every conflict is about power; the use of it and the abuse of it. That's Alan's trouble; he's got to be number one; he's got to be the lead role. He couldn't do it with brain power, so he relied on brawn. And cunning; he's got plenty of that. He saw himself as the head of the family, but he couldn't be with Father still around, so he played protector to Mummy and she thrived on it. Funny how women will entrap their sons by pretending they're being ill-treated by their husbands.'

He paused and Christina said, ‘But she didn't do that with you, and it wasn't true anyway; Richard did everything possible to help her.' He looked at her, and for a moment the bleak uncertain boy lurked behind the grown man.

‘No, she used me like a football; it was more kicks than cuddles. I got on her nerves. I don't know whether it was true about father or not; she thought it was. Paying for a lot of expensive clinics doesn't stop you being cruel. I'm sure he hated her at the end.'

‘Yes,' Christina said quietly, ‘I think he did. He told me he'd lived with lies and without hope for fifteen years. Tell me, James, why do you like your brother?'

He smiled for the first time. ‘I don't like him,' he said, ‘but I love him and, in his way, I think he loves me. We're brothers and that makes a bond. God knows why. We've nothing in common but our childhood and this house and parents who hated each other. I felt so sorry for Mummy, but I despised her too. You see, Christa, I like strong people; she was so helpless, disgusting sometimes; that's why I turned off women. There'll always be a bond between me and Alan; I suppose we need each other.'

Christina hesitated. ‘Is there any chance you could talk to him? I don't mean get him to drop the case, but try and defuse the anger. Maybe meet me, and at least discuss what's happened. You and I have talked for the first time today and it hasn't been difficult. Could you try?'

He shook his head. ‘I could try but it wouldn't be any good, he's never listened to me in his life; he expects me to listen to him. That's the way it goes. I am hoping to see him before I fly back, but there's no guarantee. He's pissed off with me about Langley Farm; he feels I've been sleeping with the enemy.' He laughed; it was humourless and shrill.

‘All right, all right, I'll try. You know something, I've just realized?' Without waiting for her answer he went on, ‘This is the first time I've ever felt at home in this house. It's been so easy talking to you. Why don't I sack the shrink and just take Concorde twice a month and come to see you?' To her surprise he reached over and patted her hand. ‘I could get to like you, Christa. It's just as well I'm going back to the States.'

After dinner they had coffee in the study. It was a small room, intimate by comparison with the Tudor public rooms. Christina had stripped off the dark patterned wallpaper and painted it a warm red. Richard had been so pleased with the effect he'd hung three of his best pictures there. A charming Reynolds portrait of an early Farrington bride, serene in her innocence, and soon to die in childbirth, the companion picture of her young husband; he had married three more times and produced eleven children. Over the fireplace there was a Tudor picture of a child; it was set off by a brilliant cerulean background. The round solemn face under an embroidered cap seemed to stare directly at them; it had a clear jewel-like translucence. One plump little hand rested on a skull. Richard had explained that it was a posthumous portrait, probably copied from one of the living child. The artist was unknown, but the quality was superb. She saw James looking at it.

‘I know it's wonderful, but I hate that skull. Your father used to tease me about it. I said he'd come in one day and find that I'd painted it out!'

‘Why don't you move it?' he suggested. ‘If it makes you uncomfortable, hang it somewhere else; he won't know. I think it's gruesome.'