Legacy of Lies (4 page)

They were further from the sea here, she thought. Thirty, maybe even forty miles. The dominant scent was of jasmine and rose and it was so quiet.
So
quiet. Too early even for the birds to be chattering.

A car passed in the lane, the engine noise breaking the silence and she found herself wondering who they might be and where they were going at this time of the night. She listened hard, straining to hear as the sound receded into the distance. She liked the house, loved the location and the peace, but wasn't so sure she could get used to this degree of isolation. And, she reminded herself, Rupert had lived alone. She was sure she could not have done that. Not here. Her little flat was her very own, personal space and she had chosen it after she had lost her sight because of the welcoming feel to it the first time she had visited and the easy layout. Yes, she lived alone there, but she was always aware of others around her. Her upstairs neighbours were quiet, but the occasional thump or heavy step or closing door reminded her that there were people close by and even at night there were street sounds and occasional cars and cats prowling and yowling, barking dogs in the next street …

This
was isolated, Naomi thought. At least, to her mind it was and yet several times she had heard those who were used to such seclusion speak of the place where Rupert had died as being in the middle of nowhere.

If Fallowfields was generally counted as being
somewhere
then just how desperately alone must Rupert have felt on the day he died.

M
orning brought a series of shocks.

‘I'll run through the finer points in a moment, but, to be brief, apart from his share of the shop, he's left everything to you.' Donald Grieves, Rupert's solicitor peered at Alec over the top of his bifocals.

‘To me?' Alec turned to Marcus Prescott. ‘You knew about this?'

‘Of course. Rupert and I made out our wills at the same time. Whoever passed on first took over the shop. Rupert wanted the rest to go to you. I believe, apart from the house, there's some seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds in a savings account.' He looked at Donald Grieves for confirmation.

‘Something of that order,' Grieves nodded.

Alec was too stunned to say a word.

‘Why Alec?' Naomi asked and Alec glanced first at her and then back at the solicitor.

‘Yes, exactly. Why me?'

It was Marcus Prescott that replied. ‘Rupert liked you. Loved you. He wanted those things he loved to go to someone he felt the same about, and, as he and your father were no longer on speaking terms, that direction was never an option. Rupert said you always kept in touch and he had adored your visits to Fallowfields when you were younger. He used to talk about one day when there was a storm rolling in from the sea. Do you remember that?'

Alec nodded. ‘Oh yes,' he said softly. ‘Yes, I do.'

‘He rated you highly, my boy. Said you were honest and kind and just that little bit driven. All qualities
I
loved in Rupert. You know,' Marcus continued thoughtfully, ‘I always thought he'd have made a good father.'

The solicitor laughed uncertainly. ‘Pity he never found the right woman.'

Marcus deliberated thoughtfully, and Alec could see that he had revived Naomi's ruminations of the day before. She no longer thought that Rupert and Marcus had been lovers, but she still questioned whether Rupert would have been interested in ‘the right woman'.

‘So, what happens now?' Naomi asked.

‘I'm stunned,' Alec added unnecessarily.

‘Well, everything has been set up to make the transfer of deed and so forth as easy as possible. Um, Rupert was concerned that, even with keeping the house, there will be tax to pay, so he made some provision for that. There's the bank account, though, with inflation etc, it may not cover everything. I do know that he was keen you should keep Fallowfields. Said so on a number of occasions, said it would stand you in good stead for the long term, but I'm sure he would have understood should you decide to sell. No rush, of course.'

‘No,' Alec said. ‘I mean. I have to think about this. I've still not taken it in.'

‘No, no, of course. I've put a little pack together for you. Copy of the will and other paperwork relating to the legacy. You can go through it at your leisure and, of course, don't hesitate to contact me with any questions.'

Alec allowed himself to be guided to the local hotel where Marcus had arranged for them to have lunch. He felt numbed, shocked. He had hoped for some small legacy from his uncle, just something to remember him by. To have been allowed to take a couple of books from the extensive library or perhaps a few of the family photographs Rupert had framed and dotted about Fallowfields would have been more than enough. To have been left so much … that shifted the balance of Alec's world.

He had never been badly off. His father, as a doctor, and his mother, as a teacher, they had valued education and experience and Alec had acquired the best of both. He had been loved and cherished and grown up perhaps a little too much aware of his own imagined importance. University and then policing had changed his perspective and brought him into contact with a wider variety of people and backgrounds, but on the whole his transition from high achiever in school to high achiever in the workplace had been smooth and seamless and the salary had followed, supplemented by the investments his father had made on his behalf when Alec was a child.

He owned a house and a car. Both above averagely nice. He did pretty much what he wanted as regards holidays and consumer luxury, but this legacy was something else. A brief look at the paperwork he had been given told him that his assets, even after taxes had been paid, would leave him with something like half a million.

Pounds.

Sterling.

Plus the house.

Not enough to retire on, maybe, but certainly enough to change his life one way or another.

But it wasn't just this that shocked him, Alec realized. Wasn't just that he now had a rather large house with a very large garden and an extremely comfortable bank account. It was that it had never occurred to him that Rupert might have had money. Not at all. Rupert had bought Fallowfields at a time when such property was cheap. He had furnished it comfortably but never to a particularly luxurious standard. He had always driven ageing and somewhat quirky cars and …

A thought struck.

‘Marcus, did Rupert still drive?'

‘Yes. He had that old Austin Healey. Why?'

‘Did he keep it at Fallowfields? It isn't in the garage.'

Marcus looked curiously at him. ‘What are you thinking?'

‘Did he drive to where they found him?'

Marcus shook his head. ‘I thought that, but there was no sign of the car.'

‘So …'

Marcus sighed. ‘Alec, that's just one of the things I want to talk to you about. Look, here's the hotel, let's get our table and order and then I'll fill you in. Naomi dear, there are three steps, quite narrow but shallow and I've checked ahead, our lovely Napoleon will be more than welcome. There's a bit of an alcove in the main dining room. Napoleon can lie down out of the way and not be trodden on.'

‘Thank you, Marcus.'

Alec made to take her arm to find that Marcus had beaten him to it and was guiding her up the steps. Completely unnecessary, Alec knew. She and Napoleon could manage just fine, but it was a natural reaction on his behalf and, he supposed, on that of Marcus as well.

It struck him, not for the first time, that he should have brought her to visit Rupert. His uncle would have loved her and adored the dog.

He found that he felt a terrible guilt. That this man had evidently thought so much of Alec and Alec done so little in return, though he had cared deeply for Rupert and genuinely grieved at his death.

He followed Marcus and Naomi into the dining room of the hotel. Noting the plush and rather overblown decor, all dark wood panels and deep red carpet, but the staff seemed friendly and the menu, when he remembered to look at it, was varied if not deeply imaginative.

Solid, country fare as Rupert might have said.

Marcus was reading the options to Naomi and discussing the merits of the various dishes he had sampled there. Alec could hear him promoting the merits of the steak and kidney pudding.

It all felt faintly surreal.

‘Alec, you'll feel better if you eat,' Naomi said gently and he nodded, knowing she was right. He had skipped breakfast, never a good move and now she had drawn his attention to it he realized that his gut churned emptily just adding to the hollow feeling at the centre of him.

‘The salmon,' he said, falling back on the familiar. ‘And the soup for starters. Thank you.' He waited until the waitress had departed. ‘Marcus?'

‘Yes, Alec.'

‘Time to talk, I think.'

Marcus nodded. He took his napkin from the table and unfolded it then spread it carefully on his lap. The wine arrived and, once Marcus had approved it, Alec accepted a glass.

‘Alec?' Naomi was surprised. Alec rarely drank at lunchtime.

‘If I have more than one we'll get a taxi back to Fallowfields,' he said.

‘OK,' she sounded dubious, anxious even.

‘Nomi, it's been a strange couple of days and an even stranger morning. Frankly, I think I could do with a drink.'

‘OK,' she said again then reached for her glass and sipped. ‘Mmm, nice.' She smiled suddenly in Alec's direction. ‘I think in that case we should order another bottle.'

Marcus laughed softly and then sobered. ‘Rupert,' he said. ‘Of course, you will want to know everything I can tell. Truth is, Alec, it's mostly suspicion and conjecture but, believe me, I know something is wrong about it all.'

‘Go on.'

‘It's knowing where to start.'

‘Well,' Naomi prompted. ‘How about you start with when you noticed something was wrong with Rupert. When his behaviour changed?'

Marcus nodded. He played with the stem of his wineglass, frowning at the deep red liquid. ‘It's hard to know,' he said, ‘but I think, the first time I really noticed something odd was about three weeks before Rupe died.'

‘I live in the flat over our shop. I'm not like Rupert; never felt the need for a garden, and the isolation of a place like Fallowfields would drive me mad, I think. Anyway, this one particular morning I heard someone banging on the shop door long before we were open, so I looked out of the window to see who it was and there stood this teenager – a boy, really – banging on my door and shouting for Rupert.'

‘You didn't recognize him?'

‘No. Not at all. And he wasn't the kind of customer I'd expect in our shop even during opening time. He wore those baggy trousers young people seem to like these days and a hoodie, I think they call them, don't they?'

Alec nodded.

‘Anyway, I called down and asked what he wanted and he said he had to talk to Rupert. So, I told him Rupert wouldn't be in until ten and to come back then, to which he said he couldn't, he must see him now. I gained the impression that he thought Rupert lived at the shop and he seemed very put out when I told him otherwise.'

‘Did you tell him where Rupert lived?'

‘No.' Marcus shook his head emphatically. ‘That I'd never do without Rupert's permission and, besides …'

‘You didn't like the look of him?' Naomi asked.

Marcus hesitated. ‘It wasn't that, dear. I'd be the last to hold the way someone looks against them. My dear, I recall some of the so-called fashions I indulged in my youth and besides, he was polite enough in his own way. No, it was more that he seemed afraid. Kept looking over his shoulder all the time I was talking to him. It was as if he didn't want to be discovered asking for Rupert. That he was afraid of the consequences should he be found out.'

‘And when you told him Rupert wasn't there?'

‘Oh, he took off down the road as if the devil himself was chasing him. He didn't come back again either.'

‘And what was Rupert's reaction? Did he recognize the boy?'

‘He said not, at first. Then, as though it had just occurred to him, he said it might be one of the people he'd been interviewing that had sent the boy. I didn't believe him, but I didn't press the matter. I really, truly wish I had.'

‘Interviewing?' Alec questioned.

The first course arrived and they all fell silent until once more they were left alone.

Marcus played with his soup. ‘He collected local tales, you knew that, I suppose?'

Alec nodded. ‘He sent me copies of the little books he wrote. He was a member of the Folklore Society or something, wasn't he?'

‘Oh yes. For years and he must have published a dozen of his pamphlets. We sold them in the shop and the local galleries and tourist places took them as well. He even had an account of the Fen Tigers published by a major publisher some years ago. I believe it was well received.'

‘Fen Tigers?' Naomi asked. ‘Surely there were never big cats around here. Or was it something like the Beast of Bodmin?'

Marcus laughed. ‘No, my dear. Not big cats as such. They were protesters. Guerrilla fighters you could say almost, back in the eighteenth century when the drainage of the fens took place. They attacked the workers, destroyed the workings, tried to stop the whole process.'

‘Why?' Naomi wondered. ‘Surely the creation of new farmland was a good thing.'

‘For the landowners, perhaps,' Marcus agreed, ‘but the drainage destroyed an entire way of life for many, to say nothing of an ecosystem we are only just beginning to value. And worse, so far as the locals were concerned, the engineers were foreigners from the Netherlands. But I think what interested Rupert the most was the way the drainage destroyed the … what you might call the supernatural ecology.'

‘The what?' Alec was confused.