Anna Jacobs (7 page)

Could she really get her own way against
him?
Was it worth the risk of even trying? He could be ruthless, she had seen that time and time again, a maid dismissed on the spot, her mother reduced to tears over a trifle and abjectly begging his forgiveness, once a competitor deliberately driven to bankruptcy, though she had only found that out by accident. And she’d heard rumours of other things too, rumours she hadn’t believed true but now wondered about. He had looked so different this evening, so vicious.

Perhaps she should have got married years ago, escaping in the only way
he
would have tolerated? But her mother had always told her only to marry for love, and with the example of an unhappy marriage before her every single day, Serena had agreed wholeheartedly with this dictum. Her only escape from this restricted life had been in her mind and imagination. She had devoured novels where the intrepid heroines defied fate to find true love, and sometimes escaped into daydreams about the sort of man she’d like to marry if she could, the sort of life she’d like to lead . . .

Only she wasn’t an intrepid heroine, was still hesitating about acting independently.

Had she stayed here for her mother’s sake or because she was too cowardly to go out into the world on her own? She was about to find out.

Suddenly she remembered her excitement at voting, the happiness in other women’s faces at the polling centre, the way they had smiled and nodded to one another, and she felt her spine stiffen. For all his icy rage there was nothing
he
could do about her voting now. And somehow, because she’d succeeded in voting, she felt she could find the courage to do the rest. Besides, if things went as she’d planned, she would be out of his house tomorrow. And later, out of the town, living somewhere far away.

What would he do when he found out?

She shivered suddenly. What could he do but disown her, never speak to her again? She was counting on that, especially since she wasn’t really his daughter. He could hardly drag her back here by force, after all.

* * * *

“I shall expect you at my rooms at ten sharp,” Ernest reminded her before he left the breakfast table the following morning.

He stared at her, not moving until she said, “Yes, Father.” She stayed where she was as he nodded, walked into the hall to don his coat and settled his hat squarely on his. As the front door closed behind him, she slipped into the front parlour and peeped out of the window.

It might be foolish, but today she needed to be certain he really had left for work. His office was so close he could walk home at any time, but he rarely did. He liked showing off his wealth by using the car. She watched the chauffeur hold open the rear door of the black Aylesford Cabriolet and sighed with relief as Fleming vanished from sight beneath its hood. Even in summer he rarely drove with the hood down because once someone had thrown mud at him.

When the car had turned the corner of Cavendish Terrace, she pressed her hand against her breast because her heart was pounding furiously. Then she whirled round and ran up the stairs to finish packing the last few items into her shopping basket. As she donned her outdoor clothes, she looked round her bedroom for the last time and felt unexpectedly sad. She’d slept here since she was a small child—been quietly happy here on her own, wept here too sometimes. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever sleeping anywhere else since she’d turned ten because her mother’s health had prevented them from taking holidays and anyway, her father disliked having his routines changed.

She walked slowly along to her mother’s bedroom for a final farewell, but the furniture was covered in dust sheets and the familiar loving presence seemed to have vanished completely.

Taking a deep breath she walked down the stairs, left her basket near the front door and went to let Cook know she was leaving.

“What time will you be back, miss?”

“I don’t know. Probably not till the afternoon. Don’t worry too much about dinner. Something light will do for me and Father will no doubt be eating at his club again.”

She left the house, forcing herself to walk at a decorous pace along the street and up to Yorkshire Road, resisting the urge to run as fast as she could. As she’d planned, she went first to the grocer’s they patronised.

The owner came across to serve her himself.

“Could you let me have my ration book, please?”

 “Is there some problem with our service, Miss Fleming?”

“No. I’m going away for a few weeks, so will need to take my ration book. I don’t think the rationing will stop for a while yet, do you, even though the war is over?”

“Sadly, no.”

He handed over the book but looked at her strangely as she walked out of the shop, and she knew that was because she’d never gone away before.

Arriving at her father’s rooms just before ten, she waited round the corner in a spot where she couldn’t be seen from his window, glancing anxiously up and down the street. Where was Mr Redway? What if he didn’t come? Feeling faint she pressed her hand to her mouth. She couldn’t face this on her own, just—couldn’t!

Then Justin turned the corner, striding out briskly, the ends of his scarf flying in the wind behind him, his long narrow face rosy with good health and cheerfulness.

“Are you feeling all right, Miss Fleming?”

“Very nervous, I’m afraid.”

“I won’t let him eat you. Come on. Let’s get it over with.”

He led the way inside. After a moment’s hesitation she followed, her knees feeling stiff with fear, her stomach queasy.

The elderly clerk stared in puzzlement at her companion, whom he clearly recognised. “If you’d come this way, Miss Fleming? Your father and Mr Pearson are waiting for you. I’ll be with you in a moment, sir.”

Serena set down the basket and took a deep breath. “Mr Redway is with me.”

The clerk gave her a startled look but said nothing, simply opening the door into the large, comfortable office and announcing, “Your daughter is here, sir.” He stood back to let them go in.

Ernest was standing at one side of a blazing fire and Mr Pearson, their family lawyer was at the other, chatting and smiling. They broke off to stare in shock at the man who followed her in.

Her father ignored her. “What are
you
doing here, Redway?”

Serena summoned up the last few shreds of her courage. “Mr Redway is here as my lawyer, Father?”

“What do you mean by that?” Ernest demanded at once. “Have you run mad, Serena?
Pearson
is our family lawyer and you need no other.”

“I felt it better to—to have my own representation today.” She was annoyed that her voice had wobbled and betrayed her nervousness, and that annoyance at herself stiffened her spine a little.

“You don’t need representation.
I
am here to take care of your interests.” He scowled at the man behind her. “I’m afraid your services are not needed, sir. I’ll bid you good-day. I regret that my daughter has wasted your time.”

“As I’m acting for Miss Fleming, only she can dismiss me,” Justin turned sideways to see if the poor woman would pass the first test, if her determination would hold firm.

“I wish you to stay, Mr Redway,” she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “Please.”

He nodded and turned to face the two older men. “It seems my client prefers me to remain with her.”

Ernest’s voice cut harshly across the room. “Serena, think what you’re doing! You’ve been behaving very foolishly lately. Don’t make matters worse.”

“I prefer my lawyer to stay.”

His face turned first red then white, his lips opening then snapping shut, pressed into a thin line as if he was forcing back angry words. The familiar sick feeling settled in her stomach and her hand went up involuntarily to her cheek. She knew that there was still a slight redness there and guessed by Mr Redway’s expression that he understood why.

Mr Pearson said hastily, “Let us all be seated, then, and attend to the business at hand.” Since Ernest didn’t move, he went to pull forward a chair for Serena and after a moment’s hesitation gestured to another, some distance away, for the other visitor.

Justin smiled and picked up that chair. “I think it best if my client and I sit together in case we need to confer about something.” He placed it close to hers and sat down, seeing how tightly clasped her hands were, the fine leather of her gloves creasing and straining under the pressure. He felt a sudden urge to lay his hand across hers in a gesture of comfort. You couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.

Mr Pearson took charge. “As you already know, Miss Fleming, the trust that controls your godmother’s legacy ended on your thirtieth birthday and in accordance with your father’s instructions, I’ve drawn up some papers which will allow him to continue managing the money and properties for you and—”

Justin was pleased when she interrupted of her own accord, though her voice still sounded scratchy and hesitant.

“I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed, Mr Pearson. I don’t—don’t wish my—um, father to continue managing my money. I prefer to handle things myself from now on.”

Justin smiled at Mr Pearson and pulled some documents from his inside pocket. “Handing things over is quite a simple matter, so I’ve already drawn up the necessary papers for your client to sign.”

Fleming’s voice cracked out as sharply as a whip. “Serena, have you run mad? I forbid this!”

For the first time since she’d sat down, Serena looked at him directly. “You can’t forbid it. I’m thirty years old, not thirteen.”

His tone was scathing. “You no more know how to handle money than the kitchen cat does.”

Colour flared in her cheeks. “I’ve been managing the housekeeping for years, ever since Mother fell ill, and have never overspent or made mistakes in my accounts.”

“Housekeeping! What has that got to do with business affairs?” His eyes narrowed and he looked from her to Justin. “Who’s been filling your head with these strange ideas? First you vote
against my wishes
then you come here and say you intend to manage your own finances.” He glared at her lawyer. “Have you been taking advantage of her ignorance, sir?”

Again Serena answered for herself. “No one’s been putting ideas into my head. I only met Mr Redway for the first time yesterday but I decided quite a while ago that I wished to handle my own money, only I knew I could do nothing about that until I turned thirty.”

When she forgot to be nervous, Justin decided, her voice was quite pleasant, low for a woman but with a musical tone to it. Fleming leaned forward, ignoring the two men and speaking to his daughter as if she were a half-wit, which annoyed Justin.

“You should think very carefully about what you’re doing, Serena. If you persist in disobeying me, I shall carry out my threat to disown you and cast you out of my life and home. And how will you manage then?”

She took a deep breath. “I’ve already moved out of home.”

Justin expected Fleming to explode with rage, but he didn’t. His hands quivered once on his chair arms then stilled. His face went dull red before losing every last vestige of colour so that he looked like a marble statue, and a very forbidding statue, too. It must have been hard for a child to grow up in the charge of this man. No wonder she seemed so cowed.

“I’ll give you one last chance to come to your senses.” Ernest stood up and pulled out his gold pocket watch, flicking the lid open. “In fact, I shall give you precisely two minutes to change your mind, Serena.”

He had made such threats when she was a child and somehow she had never dared challenge him. Now, the scornful tone, the way he was treating her, only reinforced her determination to escape and she sat very straight-backed as she told him in a voice which didn’t quaver, “I shan’t change my mind. I’m definitely not coming back to live with you and I wish to control my own money from now on.”

“Then you are no longer my daughter and I wash my hands of you.” With a sense of drama which would have done credit to any actor, Fleming strode out of the room, not slamming the door behind him, but closing it gently, with a sharp little snicking sound. His footsteps thudded heavily down the corridor and the front door of the building closed with a bang.

Then there was silence.

Mr Pearson stared at the door, mouth half open, then glanced at Serena. “Is it wise to burn your bridges like this, Miss Fleming?”

“I don’t know whether it’s wise or not, Mr Pearson, but it’s what I want. He isn’t an easy man to live with and if it weren’t for my mother, I’d have home left years ago. He made
her
life a misery.” After a short pause, she added, “Mine too.”

“He can be a very—difficult man to cross.”

“I shan’t be staying in Tinsley for long, not once I’ve got my money.”

She looked as if one puff of wind would blow her away, she only came up to his shoulder and her face had betrayed how afraid she was, but it seemed to Justin that this act of defiance was one of the bravest things he’d ever seen in his life. “My client and I had better discuss the inheritance in more detail with
you,
then, Pearson,” he said. “And if you can’t supply the answers we need, presumably you can find out from your client. If not, we’ll apply to a magistrate for an order to hand over all documentation. We gather that there is an annual income of five hundred pounds. Is that all?”

“There is also some property involved.” Pearson went across to Ernest’s desk and shuffled through the folder of papers. “The details don’t seem to be here, but I can check them for you when I next speak to Mr Fleming.” He frowned at the door, clearly at a loss as to how to deal with the situation. “If I remember rightly, it was just a few workers’ cottages.”

“I own some houses?”

Mr Pearson looked at her in surprise. “You didn’t know that?”

She shook her head. “My father would never discuss business matters with a woman. I signed some papers when I turned twenty-one, and have seen nothing since.”

“We shall need a complete list of the property involved as soon as possible,” Justin made a note in a little black book he carried everywhere.

Pearson shot him a dirty glance then turned back to the desk, picking up a piece of paper and reading it quickly. “When she inherited, there were seven cottages in the village of Horton. I can only presume that your father has been managing them for you, collecting rents and so on, though there are no records of those transactions here.” He frowned. “You’ll have to apply to him for current details and of course, I presume there will be money in the bank from the years of rent payments. It should be quite a substantial sum, since it’ll have been accruing interest for the past fifteen years ever since your godmother died.”