The Corrigan legacy (7 page)

When the message finished, they stared at one another.

'That's why he was so smug tonight,' Mitch said bitterly. 'What a rotten trick to play. Poor Mum. And whatever Dad says, I'm definitely going up to see her in the summer holidays.'

'Don't tell your father that. We'll work something out together, fool him.'

He looked at her and sighed. 'I suppose we'd better. I'll feel a coward, though.'

'At your age you've no power and no money, so it's the sensible thing to do, the only thing really.' And she would have to tread just as carefully - up to certain limits. She wondered if Des would push against those limits or whether he really was as fond of her as he pretended.

'Drive me to Pearton Gardens,' Des told his chauffeur.

'Yes, sir.'

'Then you can go off duty. I'll take a taxi home later.' He leaned back, looking forward to seeing Tiff.

She was sitting watching television in the luxufy "flat he paid for, dressed in one of the expensive negligees he'd bought. Blond and slim, exactly twenty years younger than him, and fun without being clingy. He'd never met a woman whose company he enjoyed more. He kept careful checks on her, of course, but she'd never strayed since he began supporting her, not once.

'Des, darling! I didn't know you were coming tonight.' She held out her hand.

He joined her on the couch, indulging her in her favourite programme, enjoying her rich chuckles. When it was over he began to kiss her.

'Here or in bed?' she asked.

He was getting too old for contortions on the sofa. That's what had gone wrong last time, he was sure. He'd twisted his spine. 'Bed, my pet. I like my comforts.'

But he could feel his nerves growing taut as he followed Tiff along the corridor. She and his doctor were the only ones who knew about the difficulties he'd been having. Last time he'd used Viagra, and it had worked all too well, but he hated the damned stuff and anyway, it didn't wear off when you wanted it to. Tonight things would go fine, he was sure. He was relaxed and had a gorgeous woman to arouse him.

She led the way into the bedroom and they helped one another out of their clothes.

Ten minutes later he rolled off her and covered his face with one arm, ashamed that once again he'd been unable to finish what he started.

She said nothing for a few moments, then reached for his hand and raised it to her lips. 'It's all right, Des.'

He didn't turn to look at her. 'It damned well isn't! This is turning into a habit.'

She squeezed his hand. 'Perhaps you'd better see a specialist, not just for those tablets, but for a good check-up? That's what your doctor wanted you to do last time, wasn't it?'

He couldn't hold back a growl of anger at the thought of going back and telling a man he knew socially that he still couldn't maintain an erection.

She pulled him round to face her. 'I'm not with you just for the money, Des, or for the sex. We'll sort this out together.'

He lay scowling at her, then closed his eyes and sighed. 'You're a nice girl, Tiff.'

'I'm thirty-eight. Hardly a girl.'

'You won't tell anyone?'

'Did you really need to ask that?'

He pulled her into his arms and buried his face in the soft skin of her shoulder. 'No.'

But he didn't dare try to make love to her again, and shortly afterwards he left.

A chill wind whines across the moors, clouds tease the moon, hoar frost whitens the grass. Winter has suddenly sneaked back for one last thrust of the icy dagger.

Walking on the grass so as not to make a noise, Judith crept through the darkness towards the light, which was coming from the furthest part of the long brick shed. The intruder was making no attempt to hide his presence but what would anyone be doing there at this hour of the night? Surely there was nothing worth stealing?

She was so angry about this second intrusion into her refuge that she kept going, muttering, 'Just you wait, Des Corrigan.' The light was coming from a small window in the stone-built shed, two dirty panes of cracked glass festooned by cobwebs. To her annoyance, they were too high for her to see through, so she crept up to the door and listened.

Silence.

Was it a trap? She didn't know, only that she wasn't going to cave in and leave her house. Nor would she crawl back to Des, whatever he did or said to her. Taking a firmer grip on the poker, she hefted it in her hand. If someone leaped out at her, they'd get more than they'd bargained for. She reached for the handle, sucked in a deep breath and flung the door open. It bounced back on its hinges, creaking loudly, and thumped against the wall, rebounding so that she had to push it back again.

By the light of a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling she saw a man slumped forward across a rickety table with his head on one arm. His other arm was flung out next to an empty whisky bottle. He moved his head, grunted and settled down again.

She took a quick look round, puzzled. The place looked lived in, with odd pieces of furniture, even a computer and a bed. She hesitated. If she had any sense she'd back out, lock herself in the house and call for the police.

She had no sense. She stayed.

From the direction of the table came a gentle bubbling snore. There was no sound apart from that, no traffic noises, no sound of people's voices. They could have been alone in the universe. A minute or so later another snore followed the first and the man twitched, muttering something in his sleep. He was unshaven, his clothes crumpled, but he didn't look like a tramp. His shoes were new, even if they were muddy, and the leather jacket he was wearing was of good quality, showing few signs of wear and tear.

Was she dreaming? What had this man been doing drinking himself senseless in her shed?

She took another step forward, then a final movement brought her right next to him. On a sudden decision she shook his shoulder hard. 'Wake up!'

'Go 'way.'

His voice was husky and when he raised his head slightly his eyes were unfocused. Even as she watched he laid his head down and closed his eyes again. He was blind drunk! Had he consumed the whole bottle of whisky?

Anger made her shake him harder and shout, 'Don't go to sleep!'

'What?' He blinked at her, looking like all the mock drunks she'd ever seen in plays and films.

'Who - are - you?'

'Cal.'

She didn't let him put his head down again. 'Get up and get out of here, Cal. This is my shed.'

This time he seemed to consider what she was asking of him, she could see understanding dawn slowly, but then he shook his head. 'Can't.'

'What do you mean, you can't?'

It took a long time for the next words to emerge. 'Broke down.'

Then she saw the motor cycle helmet on a chair beyond the table, the heavy leather gauntlets beneath it.

'Even the Hog let me down,' he repeated, closing his eyes, an expression of pain on his face. 'Everything's gone wrong.'

That didn't seem like a reason to empty a bottle of whisky, but as he muttered something indistinguishable and closed his eyes, she gave up and backed out, not allowing him a chance to jump her. But he didn't. He didn't even stir.

When she'd closed the door she swung round quickly and set her back to it. But the garden was quiet, even the row of daffodils looking colourless in the darkness. And the wind was getting up, a damp, icy wind that promised rain. Fine spring weather this was! Shivering, she returned to the house, unlocked the back door and hesitated. He'd be cold in that shed.

That wasn't her business.

But what if he died of hypothermia?

No, you didn't die of hypothermia in April. Did you? Anyway, it wasn't her business. She didn't know him from a bar of soap. He might be a dangerous lunatic or someone working for Des. But still . . . she watched her braatti cloud the air . . . it had got cold quickly, and the weather forecast said there was a possibility of snow on high ground.

She couldn't leave him there.

With a sigh she retraced her steps, shook the man until he was more or less awake, then hauled him to his feet. He seemed bewildered but docile, and when she tugged him forward, he stumbled along obediently beside her.

"S'not fair, you know,' he said suddenly.

'What's not fair?'

'Taking my daughter away from me. It's just not fair.'

He said nothing more, but she couldn't get what he'd said out of her mind. Was that why he'd been drinking? She knew how it hurt to lose a child because in one sense Mitch had been taken away from her, though he'd have gone anyway in a few months. But she'd have fought like a wildcat if anyone had tried to take him away from her when he was little.

Horrible things happened between divorced couples and children suffered from it. This man certainly didn't look like a habitual drunkard, because he was scrupulously clean, apart from not having shaved. But stubble on the chin was fashionable these days, wasn't it?

She propped him against the house wall while she unlocked the back door, then guided him inside.

'I'm cold,' he announced suddenly.

In the light she could see that his face was white and when she tugged him forward again, she touched one of his hands and found it clammy. She wasn't cold because the exertion of getting a tall, drunken man into the house had warmed her up. One look at her companion and she decided not even to try the stairs, leading him into the sitting room instead, where she eased him down into an armchair and switched on the heater. He was clearly far too tall to sleep on the couch, so she dragged the cushions off it and laid them on the floor.

He leaned his head back, closed his eyes and sighed. His expression was sad, even now, but there wasn't a hint of aggression about him. It was utterly stupid to have brought a complete stranger inside, but she didn't feel at all threatened by him. He simply didn't look aggressive.

She went to find sheets and blankets for the makeshift bed. The blankets smelled a bit musty, but were of good wool, so would keep him warm. She made it up and tried to persuade him to lie down. The trouble was, he put his arms round her and pulled her down beside him. For a moment her body responded to his touch, just for one crazy moment. He made sounds of pleasure, nuzzled her neck then rested his head against her breast and fell instantly asleep.

Smiling, she eased herself away from him. There was something very appealing about his face, which was narrow and elegant beneath dark hair lightly touched at the sides by silver. What had upset him so greatly that he'd had to drown his sorrows? Why had they taken his daughter away from him?

And what on earth had brought him to her shed?

It was one of Maeve's bad days. She felt weak and insubstantial, hardly stirring from the sitting room. They were getting more frequent, days like this. She hated the way her strength was declining because she'd always been a strong, energetic woman. It was feeling like this that had driven her to the doctor in the first place. She went to stare out of the window at the immaculate grounds of her house, her eyes blind with tears, then sniffed them away and shouted, 'Damn them all!' She would not give in to self-pity!

Picking up an ornament she had always hated, she hurled it into the fireplace. It made a very satisfying smashing sound, so she prowled round the room, finding another that was just as ugly.

The door opened and her housekeeper rushed in, only to stop dead at what she saw.

Maeve grinned at Lena and hurled the second ornament into the fireplace with all her force before reaching for another.

'Maeve, what are you doing?'

She looked at the ornament she'd just picked up, a numbered edition that had cost rather a lot of money and drew a long, shuddering breath before setting it down on the mantelpiece with a hand that shook. 'I was feeling bad. Took it out on those stupid things. Sorry. You can clean up the mess later.' Though she wasn't really sorry. She'd enjoyed smashing them. But two were enough. She'd lost the desire to weep, at least.

Lena gave an indignant snort. 'Well, if you have any other ornaments you don't like, let me know. I'll be happy to buy you some cheap ones to smash and I'll take the good ones off your hands.' She picked up a shepherdess's head, stroking it with her fingertip. 'I'd always liked this piece, too.'

'I'll remember that next time.' Maeve watched Lena hesi-tate and guessed what was coming. They had grown up together and she didn't feel the need to treat her as an employee, though Lena was very correct in her behaviour when other people were around.

'Was it bad news from the doctor, then? You've not seemed yourself for a while now.'

'Yes. Bad enough. I'll be telling you about that later. She couldn't keep it secret from Lena much longer, but her old friend knew how to keep her mouth shut. 'How about a snack? I'm not too ill to enjoy a cup of tea and one of your scones.'

After she had drunk three delicate china cups of finest Earl Grey tea and forced a scone down to please Lena, Maeve leaned back and closed her eyes. This was the way she'd planned all the major events in her life - drunk a few cups of good tea, then sat comfortably with her eyes closed and worked through whatever the current problem was in her mind. She'd planned what she wanted in a husband by this method, then chosen one who fitted the criteria. Ha! Fat lot of good that had done. She hadn't even considered the possibility that she would be the one who couldn't have children.

She'd divorced Ralph when she found out, of course, because for all his protestations of loving her, he desperately wanted children and he'd have left her sooner or later to gain them from another woman. Blood was what counted, he'd always said whenever he saw a programme on adoption -your own, not other people's. So she had told him to get out, not wanting to see his affection for her fade.

He'd been so damned understanding that she'd been furious with him for weeks. But he hadn't tried to persuade her to change her mind. He'd been a realist, like herself. She couldn't have married a man who wasn't.

Father Michael had been furious, had scolded her for years about it, told her she was still married in God's sight, whatever that bit of paper said about a divorce. Then Ralph's sudden death had shut the parish priest up.

Her ex hadn't made old bones, despite his magnificent physique and regular exercise. She'd far rather have had a sudden heart attack as he had done than face cancer and a slow decline - as she was doing.

Ralph had left two sons behind from his second marriage, though, damn him. Why had she been denied a child and he given two?

Ah, think of something else, you fool! Don't go down those same old tracks.

The business. Yes, that was better. It was something to be proud of. She'd started by building up the ailing family firm to a thriving and efficient concern. Not too big for comfort, but big enough to give her a nice income. Then she'd invested this, and done rather well. She smiled. Extremely well, actually. She had a magic touch when choosing shares.

Her smile faded. She'd kept Corrigan's for sentimental reasons but now the machinery was becoming obsolete. She'd always had the knack of seeing into the future and diversifying, making changes before the blow fell. This time she hadn't bothered to do that. Instead she'd let her brother Des buy her out sneakily. She smiled at the thought. As if she hadn't known all along who was behind the takeover.

She must have dozed off because the telephone startled her and for a moment she couldn't think where she was. She stared at it across the room. Did she want to answer it? No. Let the damned thing ring itself out.

But of course Lena picked it up and then came to see if she was 'in'.

She shook her head vigorously and made shooing movements with one hand. She was most definitely not in. Not to anyone. She still had a lot of thinking to do, then some detailed planning. She wasn't going to just fade away; she was going to leave some sort of legacy behind her. She'd already made her mark on the business world - now she was going to make it on the next generation of Corrigans.

She might not have any children of her own, but she'd got other blood relatives, hadn't she? Both her brothers had children from their various marriages, five in all. Surely one or two of them would be worth bothering with, worth leaving her money to? She smiled. Her detective had already sent her a summary of what her brother in Australia was doing with himself. Not much, it seemed. Leo owned a hardware store which sold farm supplies in a small town in New South Wales. He had owned the same store for twenty years, built it into a thriving business, but was more interested in coaching the town's junior soccer team, it seemed, than taking it further and making a fortune. Typical of Leo!

He had two children. A son and a daughter.

She'd always liked Leo better than Des, even though she'd considered him too soft to keep on as a business partner. She wondered what his children were like. Soft - or with the same Corrigan shrewdness and drive as herself?

As for Des and his family, she'd had an eye kept on him for years for her own protection. He'd made a lot of money from his business, but she'd been better at saving and investing her money, while he'd always spent lavishly. He'd been a lazy devil as a young man, always chasing skirt, but he'd wanted the family business quite desperately. Well, so had she, and she'd won it. Leo had been more interested in the family home, but he'd never have had the money to maintain it, let alone restore it as she had.