The Legacy (7 page)

‘This was his favourite room and I'm not going to change it,' she answered. ‘Not immediately anyway.'

‘I always thought he liked the library,' James remarked. ‘He certainly spent a lot of time there. It used to irritate Mummy. I heard Alan say to her one day—he was about fifteen—“What's he do in there all day?” And she said, “He's studying comparative religions. That's what he said, whatever that means.” And Alan said, “How boring! What a boring thing to do.” And she giggled. After he married you he didn't bother; he didn't need to escape so much, I suppose. But you did say he liked to spend time in there.'

‘Yes I did,' Christina agreed. ‘Why, James?'

‘Oh, nothing important. He's still a mystery to me, you know. I wonder about him; I wonder why he was so different with you that I don't recognize him when you talk.'

‘He was happy,' she said gently. ‘Happiness changes people. I know it changed me. Everything in my life changed when I came to England and started living here. He made me feel a part of it all, and I took on a new identity.' She smiled at him. ‘I turned myself into an English lady. I've only been home a dozen times since I married. Once was when my mother died. My father and brother came here, but they weren't really comfortable; I could see that. I'd changed and we hadn't the same things to talk about. I've promised to visit them in the Christmas holidays and take Lindy. She thinks Sweden is great and she can't wait to go and ski with her uncle. They got on very well and my father spent more time with her than with Richard and me.'

‘She's an attractive child,' he said. ‘And, of course, Father was besotted with her. I can't tell you how jealous I was when I used to visit and saw them together. Maybe if one of us had been a girl, he'd have liked us better.'

‘James,' she said gently, ‘don't, please. Don't go on hurting because he didn't love you; he did, I know he did.'

‘You're too nice.' He said it lightly. ‘And I'm not hurting, just curious and speculating, that's all. You look tired; don't let me keep you up. I'll have another cancer tube and then I'll go to bed.'

‘Good night, then,' she said, ‘I'll see you at breakfast.'

When she had gone he put out the newly lit cigarette, waited for a few minutes and then opened the study door and listened. The house was as silent as an old house can be. Timbers creaked and the structure made its own adjustments to the change in temperature, but there was no human voice or footfall, and the main lights had been turned out. Very quietly, James closed the study door and crossed the great hall to the library. He moved as softly as he had done throughout his childhood, when he was prowling through the house, looking for other people's secrets. Knowing what he wasn't supposed to know was his power fix. Listening at doors when his parents quarrelled or discussed their children, spying on the maids if they sneaked a boyfriend into the house … always spying and often stealing. Little things—a book, a holiday snapshot, loose change lying around. He compensated himself with little thefts, enjoying the discomfiture when the objects went missing. Now, light-footed and always listening, he opened the library door and slipped inside. He pressed the switch and flooded the room with subdued light. ‘Now,' he murmured. ‘Now let's see what you were really studying, dear Father.'

‘Well,' Alan demanded, ‘what did you find out?' He hadn't invited James to Chelsea; he felt his brother needed a little more humiliation to bring him to heel. ‘I'll meet you at The Crown,' he said tersely when James telephoned him. ‘We've got a party on at home tonight. See you there at six-thirty.' A party to which the out of favour were not invited. James swallowed the snub, as he had done all his life, and said he'd be at The Crown. He wasn't a pub man, unlike Alan, who loved drinking in them. He didn't feel easy in the noisy blokish atmosphere of London pubs; his brother, usually surrounded by cronies, was in his element. He arrived promptly and Alan was late. When he came, pushing through the crowd round the bar, he didn't apologize.

‘How was the visit then?' he asked. ‘Enjoy yourself?'

He was so full of anger, James thought. It burned in him, showing in his eyes, throbbing through the most casual remark. James was three inches taller and more powerfully built, but Alan frightened him.

‘Not really,' he answered. ‘She'd heard from her solicitors; she realizes that you're serious about contesting the will.'

‘I'll bet she does. She ought to know I don't make threats I won't carry out. So what did she say, then?' He glared at James.

‘She asked me to try and fix a meeting between you,' was the answer, ‘so you could try and talk it out. She's not backing down, Alan, but she doesn't want to fight if there's another way.'

‘I'll bet,' he said savagely. ‘So she sent you along as peacemaker, did she? She doesn't know much about you, does she?'

‘I'm just telling you what she said,' James answered. ‘She spent most of the time asking questions about all of us; you, me, Father and Mummy.'

‘For Christ's sake,' Alan hissed at him. ‘Why did you go along with it? What did you tell her? You bloody fool! She was looking for dirt to dig up.'

‘No,' James insisted, ‘I don't think so. She said she was trying to understand why you and Father hated each other … where I fitted in … what happened with Mummy. I know you hate her guts, Alan, but Father never told her anything. You know what he was like—he wasn't exactly communicative.'

‘No,' Alan agreed, ‘he never talked to me; he talked
at
me. If he'd sat down with Mum once, and tried to really talk to her, instead of pushing her into some fucking clinic and letting other people deal with the problem.' He stopped, lost in some bitter memory. James didn't contradict him. He had been his mother's confidant and favourite; he would never see anyone else's point of view. James had enough experience of the drug scene in New York to know that talking to addicts in rational terms is a waste of time. There was nothing Richard Farrington could have said or done to help his wife because she didn't want to help herself.

Alan dragged himself back to the present. ‘So what did you tell her about our happy family? About me, for instance?'

‘Nothing,' James lied, ‘I talked about Father mostly. You remember how much time he spent locked up in the library? He didn't go there much any more after they got married. I know you'll hate to hear this, I know I hated it, but I think he was very happy with her, quite different to the way he was with Mummy. A doting father, too. I saw that for myself; he was all over that child.' He slipped the knife in, all innocence as he did so, knowing that every word made Alan writhe with jealous rage. The chances of hitting back were rare enough, but sometimes he risked it. Then he went on, covering up the wound, ‘I've always wondered what the fascination was, why he spent so much time in there. Looking at papers, reading all that old stuff he collected. Religious, wasn't it? Studying world religions?'

‘How the hell would I know,' his brother snapped. ‘Probably a whole lot of pornography! Why?' His eyes glared suspiciously. ‘Why the interest all of a sudden?'

James said, ‘Well, it's all part of the estate, isn't it? His collection or whatever. And it goes to dear little half-sister Belinda, along with RussMore and everything else that should be yours. I'd be interested if I were you.'

Alan didn't answer. He understood James better than James realized. He was playing games; with Christina and with him. He had always played games; it was his way of asserting himself. Alan had never bothered to look for the reason; he simply recognized a certain devious cunning in his brother and it made him wary. He would use James if he could, but he would never trust him. He swallowed his drink and said, ‘So she wants a meeting, does she?'

James hid his surprise. ‘That's what she asked me to ask you. If you could meet and talk it through.' He picked up Alan's empty glass. ‘Can I get you another one?'

‘No,' Alan snapped, ‘and if you want to smoke, wait till I've gone. It's a filthy bloody habit!' James put the cigarettes away.

‘What do you think—would it do any good if you did sit round a table? Might save a lot of trouble and a lot of money. Only the lawyers are going to get fat out of this, you know.'

‘She
has
got to you, hasn't she?' Alan sneered. ‘Since when have you minded about trouble? You'll revel in it, James, don't try and con me. And none of the shit will stick to you because you'll have the money from Langley Farm and you can sit in New York and watch the fun. I tell you what,' he leaned forward, ‘I'll meet her; tell her that. But when I choose and where I choose. I'm off now; the party starts at eight. Call me before you go back.'

He got up and shouldered his way through the evening crowd of drinkers. James took out his cigarettes and lit one, then he bought himself a glass of wine. He didn't resent his brother's rudeness; being snubbed didn't diminish him because he was in control for once. He had something that could have helped Alan, but he had decided not to give it to him; even before they met. He would wait, and choose his moment to pull the strings and make the puppets dance.

‘I'm sorry, Mrs Farrington, but Mr Stone is out of the office all day. I'll put you through to Mr Wallberg.'

He came on the line before Christina could protest. ‘Mrs Farrington? How can I help?'

Christina hesitated. She had the letter in front of her. Humfrey Stone was out all day, and there wasn't time to delay until he came back. ‘I've had a letter from my stepson, Alan, asking me to meet him,' she said. ‘Tomorrow, at his office in London. I wanted to let you know before I went.'

Rolf was thinking quickly. This move was unexpected. ‘He's asked you for a meeting? I'm surprised. What is the tone of the letter?'

‘I'll read it to you,' she answered. ‘Dear Christina, James says you're willing to talk. Be at my office at five o'clock tomorrow. Alan.'

Rolf said, ‘It's an ultimatum, not an invitation. Why did you initiate this, Mrs Farrington, without consulting us?'

‘I don't have to explain myself to you, Mr Wallberg. This is just a courtesy to let you know I'm going.'

He interrupted quickly; her tone warned him she was about to ring off. ‘Wait, wait, please, Mrs Farrington. I'm sorry if I sounded offhand but this is very serious. Please listen to me. Look, are you coming up to London tomorrow?'

‘Yes,' Christina said firmly, ‘I am. I've told you, I'm seeing my stepson.'

‘All right,' Rolf agreed. ‘Of course, it's your decision, but at least let us meet and discuss what you should say. Let me talk to you first, before you see him. I can drive down this afternoon if that's more convenient than meeting me in London. Please?'

‘I don't see what all the panic is about,' Christina protested. Rolf began to relax; at least he'd persuaded her to talk to him.

‘After all, the worst that can happen is he behaves like a pig and I walk out. But I have to try and avoid a lawsuit if I can.' Rolf saw the opportunity open and he did not hesitate.

‘That is my own view exactly, and in this I differ from Humfrey. At all costs you should try and settle this business without going through a long legal fight.'

Christina hesitated. ‘I'm surprised to hear you say that,' she said. ‘I expected you to be much more aggressive than Humfrey. What worries you about this meeting?'

‘Everything,' he said. ‘Let me come down and explain. Five-thirty, would that be all right?'

But at five o'clock his secretary called to say he'd been delayed leaving and would be with her about eight. He was still in his office when the call was made; he had never meant to get there on time. He would be late, so late that she would have to ask him to stay for dinner. Trust had to be established and built into dependence, and this Swedish woman had all the independence and honesty of her race, and the courage that went with it. He knew the type, even though he didn't belong to it; it wouldn't be easy to fool her. But he had no scruples; scruples did not go with the job.

‘Mummy, what time is Mr Wallberg coming?'

‘Some time around eight,' Christina told her. Belinda was twisting up her hair into a long dark pony-tail, winding a coloured band to hold it in place. She would be striking rather than pretty as she developed; she had her father's academic gifts combined with a strong artistic talent. She drew and painted with real originality and, apart from her passion for ponies, which was a healthy pre-adolescent phase, she was a serious child with every promise of becoming a clever achieving young woman.

So far, and in spite of local boys she met at parties, she'd shown no particular interest in boyfriends. Compared with many eleven-year-olds, Belinda was still immature, and both her parents had been relieved that the problems of adolescence seemed in abeyance. Her interest in the lawyer surprised Christina. ‘He'll have to stay to dinner, I'm afraid, coming this late,' she said. Belinda noticed the lack of enthusiasm.

‘Don't you like him, Mum?'

‘No, not much.' She had always been honest when asked a direct question and brought Belinda up to be the same.

‘Why not? I think he's nice.'

‘Lindy, you only met him once and he said all the right things, that's why you liked him.'

‘He meant them,' was the reply. ‘I know when people talk down to me and I hate it; he didn't. Can I have dinner with you, then?'

Christina smoothed out the long pony-tail of hair. ‘Darling,' she said, ‘he's coming on business; you can have supper in the study and watch telly. He may not even stay and, if he doesn't, we'll have it together.'

‘I thought you'd like him,' she persisted. ‘He's Swedish, too.' Christina didn't argue. There was a very stubborn streak in her child and she knew exactly where it came from; she would have put up the same objections herself to her own parents. Downstairs Richard's old terrier began to bark.