The Legacy (30 page)

He had walked on, leading her with him. ‘I may be, I like it here. I haven't decided yet, but I would love to give Belinda a present, if that's all right.'

‘She'd love you for life if you did,' Christina admitted. ‘If you're serious, it would be wonderful.'

She hadn't refused him; he had been hoping she wouldn't oppose the suggestion. He wanted to give the child a present. He had never given a child anything before, and he could imagine the excitement, the glow on her expressive face. It wasn't something he had experienced for himself when he was her age.

‘Christa, can we turn back? I want to talk to you and to Belinda too.'

‘Why her? What about?' Suddenly she looked wary. ‘I won't have her worried about anything. I've told her everything's going to be all right.'

‘That's what I'm going to tell her too, but I may say something different to you. She's running back now.'

Belinda caught her mother's hand. ‘Sammy's behind those trees, Mum. Sam! Sam! Come here!' Christina said anxiously, ‘Darling, you're freezing; your hand's like ice. I told you to put on a thick jersey.'

In spite of herself, Belinda shivered. ‘Sorry, I forgot. It's very cold in the wind.' Rolf stripped off his jacket.

‘Here,' he said. ‘Wrap up in this.' He held it and she wriggled into it, pulling it round her. She smiled at him.

‘It's lovely and warm,' she said. ‘I love big jackets; all the girls in the sixth form wear them. Baggy and long like this … But Rolf, won't you be cold?'

He laughed. ‘No, I
did
put on a thick jersey, so I don't need the coat. You look very smart in it.'

She blushed with pleasure. Christina murmured, ‘I think she loves you enough
without
the pony …'

When they reached the house, she had started to unbutton his jacket. ‘You keep it,' Rolf insisted. ‘It suits you. Keep it till I come down again.' Delighted, she had rushed upstairs to inspect herself and hang it up.

In his mind he pictured them both again, gathered by the fire in the red study; Belinda sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing with the androgynously named Sammy. And he had begun by asking, ‘Lindy, are you looking forward to Christmas?' She had smiled up at him. He thought how quickly she was growing up, not a pale beauty like her mother, but with a sweet gravity that made her pretty.

‘Oh, yes. I'm longing for it. It's always such fun here at Christmas. There's a big party for everyone; all the children come and get presents and we play games … Will we do that this year, Mum, even without Daddy?' The bright eyes dimmed for a moment.

‘Just the same,' her mother said. ‘Just as if Daddy was with us, which he will be, darling, watching everything and wanting us to be happy.' Rolf saw a film of tears in her eyes too.

‘Are you going to be in England at Christmas, Rolf? Or are you going home to your family in Sweden?' He had insisted that she stop calling him Mr Wallberg.

‘I don't have a family,' he answered. ‘I don't know what I'll do.'

‘Then come here to us! Mum, wouldn't that be great, if Rolf came for Christmas?'

‘Yes, of course it would.' Again there was no reserve.

He said gently, ‘Thank you both for asking me. Can I think about it?' And then to the child again, ‘Tell me, what is your favourite thing about this house. What do you love best? The gardens, the long walks … what?' She pulled a little face, half pleased and half embarrassed. He could see that she was thinking, What a funny question.

After a pause, while she considered, she said simply, ‘All of it. It's my home and I love it, and Mum says Alan's not going to take it away from us. She's promised.' Rolf leaned a little towards her.

‘And I promised too. A long time ago when you showed me the rose garden, I promised I wouldn't let it happen. I always keep my promises.'

Later, when she had gone to have supper and watch television, he turned to Christina.

‘What are you going to tell her if Alan wins? How are you going to fight him if you won't let her give a blood sample? It's only six weeks before the case comes to court …'

‘If we lose, I'll appeal. Ken Hubert says I can. If I lose that I'll go to the House of Lords.'

‘Even if you get permission,' he said, ‘you'll be ruined; you'll run out of money. I explained all that to you before.'

She said simply, ‘I know you did. It doesn't matter, Rolf; I won't have Belinda involved and I won't give up RussMore. I'm going to the wire on this; I owe it to Richard.'

He'd taken hold of her and again she hadn't resisted. ‘You owe something to yourself,' he insisted. ‘You have a life to live. I love you, and I want to make a life with you; I could make you very happy and Belinda too. Don't destroy yourself for the sake of a house or a man who's dead. He loved you too; he wouldn't want that.'

‘I want it,' she said. ‘It's as much for me now as anyone. I can't say I love you, Rolf, because I don't know what I feel. Sex isn't love, I do know that.'

He held her close. ‘How do you know what sex can mean? Come to bed and let me show you.'

‘Mum,' Belinda asked, ‘why did Rolf go so quickly? Didn't you ask him to stay?'

‘He had business,' Christina answered. ‘Lawyers work very hard, darling, even at weekends. He sent you his love.' She had been asleep when he left. She remembered that there was a thin line of grey between the drawn curtains in her bedroom before she drifted into a deep exhausted sleep, his arm lying heavy across her.

‘You like him, don't you? You didn't use to. Do you like him better than Harry?'

Christina looked into the innocent eyes of her child and said, ‘I don't know, they're quite different.' Different. How to describe the man who had made love to her that night, except in that inadequate word. How to come to terms with what he had made her feel: self-discovery, a new dimension of physical pleasure, an abandonment that was almost a loss of self. But did she love him? That was the question she dared not ask herself because she would have to live with her sense of betrayal if the answer was no; betrayal of Richard before he was even a year dead, and betrayal of her own child, who believed that Christina's love belonged to her father.

‘Belinda,' she said, ‘I may like Rolf and Harry, but I only loved Daddy and I love you. So what shall we do today? Go into Lincoln and do some shopping?'

‘Great,' she enthused. ‘I'm rapt with the new Take That album. I've been saving up; I could buy it and take it back to school with me. My class are all rapt with them too.'

Rapt. Rapture. Was that a word to describe what Rolf had brought her to? … What he had experienced with her? It was inadequate too. He wasn't a man who fitted female fantasy, more a force of nature. She closed her mind on the memories and the questions. Surely guilt would come soon, but not yet. When it did, as surely it must, she might understand her own feelings more clearly. ‘Hurry up then,' she said. ‘We'll go to the record shop first.'

They spent a long happy afternoon in the cathedral city, and Belinda came home with the treasured album, two more records by another group and some clothes Christina couldn't resist buying her. She rushed upstairs to listen to her music. There were two messages on the answerphone.

His voice made her heart jump. ‘Mrs Farrington, this is Rolf Wallberg. I'll be busy for the next few days, but I'll be in contact.' That was for Mrs Manning, who liked to play the messages back and then rewind the tape; it was irritating but harmless. Then he spoke in Swedish, ‘I didn't wake you, you were sleeping deeply. I think you know the answer now. I love you. You showed that you love me.' That was all.

She switched the machine off. What had she shown him? Passion? Yes. A depth and intensity of passion she had never suspected she possessed, but tenderness, and the gentle joy of lying close when it was over, the loving words, even the laughter that can follow making love, there had been none of that, only an abyss of sleep that opened up and drew her down. Perhaps the explosion between them had drained all her energy, left no capacity for other feelings to emerge. Perhaps that would come later, like the guilt she didn't feel. The eye of the machine winked at her, its second message undelivered. She pressed the switch.

‘Christa,' the voice said, ‘just giving you a call. I'm in London, staying over for a while. I'm at the Capital. Give me a
coup de telephone,
I'd really like to talk to you. Bye.' The tape stopped.

James. The French affectation filled her with irritation. How dare he call her after what he had done … She said contemptuously, ‘Ring you? Don't hold your breath!' And then the idea came to her. She wouldn't have thought of it without that message, and once she did, it was so obvious she caught her breath in excitement. James. James was Richard's son; he would share the same DNA characteristics. If she could appeal to his conscience, perhaps touch his heart, he could answer the question that hung over her like the legendary sword of Damocles. But wait, she counselled herself, don't be impetuous; think the idea through very carefully. He's a complex unpredictable personality, deeply distorted; he might agree on an impulse and then reconsider; he might see what she asked for as a sign of desperation; or he just might believe the lie she was going to tell him. She thought, ironically, that her reputation for speaking the truth would be an advantage when she lied this time. Richard's condemnation of his son whispered in her mind:
Neutral at best, weak at worst. I could never look to him for support …
She had trusted him once, and he'd sneaked into the library and stolen his father's treasured document, but if she forgave him for that, even made him feel guilty by the lack of anger or blame … He had always been misjudged, condemned as a matter of course because of the duplicity of his nature; justly or unjustly, he knew he'd never been trusted. If she could show him she was different … It was a terrifying gamble to take, but she had no alternative but to go into court against Alan and fight him blindfolded, if she was going to shield her daughter. If she could get James to agree to her proposal, she would at least know whether she could win outright or embark on a bitter campaign of legal wrangling. She wouldn't ask Rolf's advice, or turn to Harry; she had to make the decision, and accept the consequences if it was the wrong one. She put the call through to the Capital Hotel and asked for James. When she rang off, she drew a deep breath. It was arranged; he was coming down to spend the night the day after tomorrow. Belinda would have gone back to school.

It was Fay's hostile attitude that made James get in touch with Christina. When he phoned the Chelsea house she'd told him Alan was away in Birmingham.

‘Oh.' He had been put out. ‘Oh, what a pity. When will he be back?'

‘I've no idea. He's setting up a franchise for a new restaurant chain—curry houses. It's a big project and I don't know when he'll be home. I'll tell him you called.'

No welcome, no invitation to come round, after he'd sacrificed his vacation to come over and give moral support. He said spitefully, ‘Curry houses? That's going down market, isn't it? I thought he was planning to float the shares on the open market. Go public and make a killing … what's he bothering with a lot of Pakistanis up in Birmingham for?' He had annoyed her and she snapped back; she had a very sharp tongue.

‘I know you got hit on the head, but you can't be that stupid! If you want to know, ask
him.
Now I've got to go. Ring again, maybe he'll be here.' And she hung up. James was furious. She'd never have dared to talk to him like that in Alan's hearing. Jealous little cow. Common little cow, he fulminated. His father had been right about that anyway. ‘Alan would pick that type of girl. It makes him feel superior.' It had been a cruel crushing judgement, but he relished it at that moment.

‘You've lost weight, Christa. It suits you.'

‘I haven't been trying,' she said. There was a strained silence then. He was watching her warily; he'd stolen the manuscript and was expecting her to say something. It couldn't be ignored if she was going to enlist his help. She put her cup down and straightened up in the chair.

‘I always liked you James. I hoped that perhaps you liked me a bit too. Why did you steal from me?'

He sighed. ‘Oh dear, I wondered what was behind the invitation. I've spent too many years in this house, in this room in particular, being accused of things. I don't think I'm going to be put on trial by you. If you're going to be unpleasant, I'll go back to London now.'

‘I'm not,' she answered. ‘I wouldn't have asked you here if that was my reason. I'll tell you something that may surprise you, I was hurt by what you did, really hurt; I'd begun to think you were a friend. I'm not angry, James, I promise.'

‘You should be, it was worth a lot of money, so that nasty lawyer told me; millions, he said. I didn't believe that, of course, but I'm sure it was valuable or Father wouldn't have been so thrilled with it; he was positively gloating. Why aren't you furious, Christa? You're not a saint suddenly, are you?'

‘No,' she said, ‘I'm nothing like that. I don't know what Wallberg told you. It was a Jewish treasure, stolen by Germans, who murdered the family that owned it. I wouldn't touch blood money; I would have given it to charity if I couldn't trace any relatives. So you didn't rob me of anything, you just hurt me, that's all. It might help if at least you could give me a reason?'

He had been on his guard against antagonism, but there was no hostility, only a pained reproach that caught him unprepared. He said awkwardly, ‘I'm sorry, I never thought of it like that. I was curious to start with, curious about this father of mine who'd always shut me out, never let me see him as he really was, as you saw him. I was bloody angry that night about being excluded, and I went to the library to look at something he'd never let me see, to find out what made him tick. And then, when I found it and read his notes, saw how excited he was, how much he valued the wretched thing, I got angry all over again. So I took it to spite him, to pay him back for keeping me at arm's length all my life, right up until he died; that's why I did it. Not to hurt you, I've never wanted to do that. I'm not Alan.'