Sophia still couldn’t believe her long time bodyguard had been such a coward to be a mole, but she was trying to be understanding. “Devon’s part in this was the result of a…bad decision and he tried to fix it. But not even I would resist a tiger kidnapping.”
“He is the lesser of evils,” Lachlann said, much more astonished by the sexual debasing of his oldest son.
Leonard nodded in agreement. “So, he will say that Alberto hated you, that the hacker had asked him to bug your house; that Emma had tried to blackmail you with the photos she had of you and Ethan. He didn’t know about Alistair’s photos, which makes it easier. I don’t want to hear you stammering in court about fingers, helping the criminals’ families or about Emma’s sexual relationship with Alistair. Or Heather’s. That goes for you too, Alistair. You know nothing about this. Period. Everyone needs to testify according to our plan. No improvisation. You have to trust me on this.”
“When did everyone start ordering me around?” she huffed. “I’ve always been the commander-in-chief.”
“Welcome to the real world. I’ve downgraded you to mere Lieutenant-Colonel.” He looked at Tavish with his angelic air, and said, “Oops. No offense meant.”
“None taken,” answered Tavish with an amused look on his face.
Leonard was the kind of man who was the best friend one could have and had an easy way of going, but in business he was all authority and went straight to the point, running his cases with a precise and ruthless hand. In less than a week, he had gotten all the witnesses needed for the Crown Prosecution to pin Uó, Alberto, Emma, and all other participants as organized criminals.
All of them were on their way to life in prison.
Chapter 34
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Greater London, Highgate Cemetery, West Cemetery
1:01 p.m.
Ethan had left precise instructions of how he had wanted his funeral. No public service, no flowers, no refreshments afterwards. No music and no poetry. He wanted a quiet humanist ceremony celebrated at his grave, and if possible, a tribute read. Only a ceremony officiate, Sophia, Alistair, Tavish, Leonard, Scott, and a few employees specifically named in the will had gathered at the graveside. He had chosen to be buried in the Ashford family’s grave with his grandparents. His instructions also included that it be closed forever. He would be the last to be buried there.
Goodbye, Ethan. May you rest in peace. I’ll always remember you. Sophia threw a clod of earth over Ethan’s coffin, thinking how the life of a young, vibrant man was over too soon.
Alistair did the same, followed by the other participants.
They were waiting for Tavish and Leonard to join them, when a tall woman who had been talking to Scott approached them.
Although the woman was maintaining dignified restraint, it was plain for all to see that she was so steeped in misery and that the peacefulness and placidity of the service grated on her nerves. This woman wanted to bail and cry.
“Sophia?” she asked in a hoarse voice, fraught with tears.
Alistair resisted the temptation of stepping in front of Sophia. His hand flexed on her shoulder.
“Yes,” Sophia answered, not knowing where the woman had appeared from or what could she want with her. They had requested that the cemetery be closed for Ethan’s funeral and Scott had introduced Sophia to everyone before it started. Or so she had thought.
“I’m Barbara Jameson.” She pushed up her glasses onto her head and for the first time, Barbara stared down at the woman she had hated so much from afar. Since she had learned of Sophia’s kidnapping, all the loathing felt completely out of place. When news of Ethan’s death reached her, emptiness overtook every other feeling.
Now, meeting Sophia face to face, the feeling seemed so crazy that it made Barbara doubt her sanity. “I—Thank you for such beautiful tribute. Ethan was really a very special man.”
Ah. You were his girlfriend, the one from the restaurant, who looked at me with so much hate. Don’t worry, my dear, he left you his penthouse and buckets of money. Sophia stiffened, a bit unsure of what Barbara really wanted. “I’m sure Scott has gotten in touch with you about the hearing of Ethan’s will tomorrow.”
“Yes, he has.” Barbara felt the animosity behind Sophia’s soft tone, but then she was expecting it after the way she had behaved that night. “But—But…what I really wanted to ask—to say, is that I would like to do something…to contribute—” She let out a long sigh and her eyes teared. She looked away from Sophia, blinking, and whispered, “I’d like to work as a volunteer at your foundation in India, if you will have me. It would make me feel closer to him. He praised your charity work so much.”
Barbara would never be able to explain to Sophia, as she had to Scott, all the remorse that was eating her insides, and how she decided to dedicate herself to Ethan’s charity work as a way of redeeming herself. She wanted to honor his memory.
Oh, God. Sophia’s voice softened when she answered, “Well, Barbara, I’m on health leave right now, but I’m sure Scott can put you in touch with one of our recruitment teams. He is the new vice-president of the charitable department at Ashford Steel. We always welcome volunteers. I’ll let him know.”
Barbara’s blue eyes returned to Ethan’s grave for a brief moment, before she looked back to Sophia. “Thank you, Sophia. You won’t regret your decision.”
“Beautiful service, touching burial,” Alistair said quietly, as they walked back to the entrance. “Now, the last piece of Ashford’s puzzle. His parents.”
Well done? No. She didn’t hear his last comment. She was feeling lacking. She paused, shook her head, and stared up at him. Life will return to normality with callous speed and he’ll be forever down here. She brushed a tear away and exhaled a shuddered breath. “How can I ever thank Ethan? How does one say thank you to the other who has died in their place?”
I don’t know. For a moment, he returned the gaze pensively. “Sophia, Ashford didn’t die in your place. No one does. However, he saved you, aye. So, you can return the favor in the same way he did and I’m pretty sure he would be forever grateful wherever he is. Make a difference.”
“You’re right,” she said, still sad, and clutched his warm hand, resuming her pace through the alley of silent tall marble angels, death sentinels eternally frozen, guarding an oasis of peace for those who had departed the urban chaos.
Leibowitz Oil Building, The Main Meeting Room
3:43 p.m.
Calista and George arrived with only a lawyer and no longer an entourage that had engendered to showcase Ethan as an insane man since his childhood and teenage years, to stop the execution of his will.
Paul Evergreen and his assistant, who had been firm and cornered them in court, arguing against every point Calista and George’s lawyers brought up, were there to assist Sophia in this final meeting.
“If you wish, sweetheart, we can leave and let Evergreen conclude this for you. They are cornered; this is going nowhere,” Alistair whispered.
I wish we could, but I can’t betray Ethan’s trust. It’s a way to repay what he did. “No,” she breathed, shaking her head. “I need to know what they have that is so damaging to Ethan’s reputation.”
Calista heard Sophia’s low words and chose that moment to take out an envelope from her Birkin bag. “Dear Lady Ells, as I told you on the phone, I brought something I think you’d like to see before we proceed with this unreasonable discussion. Ethan was our beloved son and we don’t want his reputation marred. Please, Mr. Evergreen, could you hand this to milady? It’s for her eyes only.”
Sophia looked at the envelope as if it were a serpent but accepted it from Paul. She rose from the chair and walked to the corner of the room. Turning her back to them, she opened it. Inside, there were photos of Ethan and Barbara at Chateau D’Esclimont and a few at The Dorchester.
Sophia blanched, shocked to see how much the other woman had looked like her at that time and realized that Barbara had been mimic
king her before changing back into her former self. She didn’t know if she should be angered, disgusted, flattered, or sad, and at whom to direct her feelings. But in the end, she decided to use the energy to solve the problem at hand.
Ethan was dead. It didn’t matter anymore.
This is what they do. Calista and George profane whatever good they touch. They are more than perverts, they are evil and I’ll not permit them to dehumanize and defile Ethan anymore.
“I’d like to have a word in private with you,” she said to Calista and George.
Their lawyer immediately started arguing, but Calista smiled. Certain that she had won the battle, she turned to George, and said, “Why not, my dear? Lady Ells has always been a nice chat.”
Alistair raised an eyebrow, asking if he was needed to accompany them into the adjoining room and Sophia shook her head at him slightly.
‘Five minutes,’ he mouthed to her and leaned back in his chair, tapping on his watch. There was only so much he was willing to let her do.
She nodded and mouthed back, ‘Five minutes.’ There was so only much she was willing to push him away.
In the end, it is Sophia who rules me. Alistair rolled his eyes at himself and then shrugged inward not really caring who ruled who, as long as they stayed together.
Sophia entered the smaller room, mulling over the best way to deal with Ethan’s parents. It astonished her how he had foreseen everything.
She knew Ethan was an intelligent man, but she had never known how much, and she doubted anyone had. It saddened her that such a brilliant man had been concealed and lost inside such a tormented soul.
“It’s good to see that you can be level-headed, my dear Sophia,” said George, leering at her. “By the way, I must say that you look interesting with this scarf on. But I’d rather see you without it. I never fucked a bald woman before, have I, Calista?”
Oh, spare me your little games. Sophia bristled while she unlocked a drawer on a console table and took out an envelope.
She put the envelope on the desk and unfolded the letter for the umpteenth time written in Ethan’s beautiful and neat handwriting.
London, March 10th, 2011
My darling Sophia,
If you are reading this, it’s because I’m dead. However, I forbid you to be sad.
First of all, I want to thank you for all the good moments you shared with me, but especially for having been my friend and helping me see that I could make a difference.
Since our talk, when you said I needed to be myself and help others because I understood, many weird things happened and I realized you were right.
I’d been hanging on to the past for too long and I had to let it go. I could have done nothing to prevent what happened to me, and choosing to donate to your foundation is a way I can prevent it from happening to others.
Unexpectedly, I found great joy in our project for the children in India. They made me forgive and see myself in a new light.
I forgave, but my forgiveness does not mean I erased the past, or forgot what happened. I forgave myself for hating and fearing my parents so much and that has improved my relationship with myself and helped me to be happier.
I chose to move on and find other girlfriends. Normal girlfriends that would like me as I was. I tried to right my wrongs.
But as you said in your speech at the ball, there is so much we can do. And this is where you come in again, my darling friend, because there is so much I can do.
When I was a teenager, I met a girl and felt in love with her. I was told her name was Eve. After six months, I discovered she was a prostitute hired by my grandfather. Her only son was born nine months after our last time together. She moved to Paris, married, and never talked to me again. She betrayed me in many ways but now that I’ve put myself in her shoes, I can understand why she did it. I’m not taking all the blame from her, but she isn’t a bad person, she just did something wrong. Please, call her and let her know that I’m in peace now. Her real name is Eva Argeous Maurois – I’ve enclosed her contact details with this letter.
I’m telling you all this because Calista and George somehow discovered her and tried to expose and blackmail me because she was underage at that time. I went to Paris to meet her, and when I was introduced to her son, for once in my life, I wish I had been a father. Alas… When I confronted her, she told me the baby was born pre-term. The boy was George’s son, her last client. Coincidence?
To make a life-long horror story short: the afternoon when you found me drunk, I had informed Calista and George that I would never give them another pound and that they would only be allowed to stay in my Grandma’s house as long as they behaved.
I kept an eye on them. They were not dealing with children or teenagers anymore, but still, they had transformed the house into a brothel. But I hadn’t the courage to confront them again and turn them out. I’m certain it would’ve be a scandal.
They are my parents and what they did would reflect on me.
Appearances are important, was what my grandfather always said.
This stopped me from dealing with them as I wish I could. So, I beg you to be the one to execute this last will of mine: deprive them of their last resource, my grandma’s house. They will try to stop you, but you have all the proof you need with you. I don’t want them in jail just for one or two years, dirtying forever the good you’ll do with our charity program. I want them serving a life sentence of poverty. Ashamed and shunned, far away from my grandma’s house. It also shall be reverted to our charity program.
As always, I know that I’m putting my trust in good hands.
Thank you, Sophia. You were the best friend I could have ever wished for.
Yours,
Ethan
When Calista and George moved to sit, Sophia said, “I have not invited you here to sit and chat. I’ll be quick and straightforward with you. You have until the end of the week to leave Ashford Mansion. I don’t want to hear from you again, ever. Bother me, threaten to expose or damage Ethan’s image, or even Barbara’s, you’ll never know what hit you. And I promise you, I won’t treat you with the same courtesy Ethan has. I hate pedophiles with all my force. Especially if they are the parents.”
Calista and George looked at each other stunned. That was not the reaction they had expected.
Calista’s upper lip trembled in rage and her English became even more flawed. “You have saw the photos. He was fucking that woman as if she was—”
“That’s enough,” Sophia said sharply. She picked up the phone handset and dialed a number, setting the call on mute. “I don’t know what he was doing and I don’t want to know. Ethan’s dead and his memory will be preserved.”
“We’re not leaving the house,” George sneered. “We want half of what he left to you to preserve his dear memory.”
Sophia’s lips opened into an evil smile. “You’ll be leaving the house and I won’t be straying a pound from his last wish. Ethan’s instructions are clear and I’ll follow them to the letter.”
“So, we sell the photos to press.” Calista said.
At the same time, George asked, “By the way, how do you intend to make us leave the house?”
“You’ll leave it on your own volition. If you’re clever, you’ll never say a bad word about Ethan, Barbara, or myself. To the press, to your friends, or to anyone.”
She released the mute button, when from the other side of the line, a male voice answered, “Bonjour.”
“Bonjour, monsieur. Je suis la Marquise d’Ells, Lady Sophia MacCraig. S’il vous plaît, est que je poudrais parler avec madame Maurois? J’ai des urgent nouvelles.”
She heard the man calling Eve and turned to Calista. “I suppose you don’t speak French, but surely you’ll know who I’m talking to.”
“Eva Argeous Maurois? Good afternoon, I’m Sophia MacCraig,” said Sophia softly still in French. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of unhappy news, but Ethan Ashford, our mutual friend, has died.”
&nbs
p; George’s mouth slackened open and Calista turned white as a sheet as they recognized the surname.
Sophia’s evil smile grew as she saw the terrified look on their faces. No home, no money. No one will want your company anymore. You’re going to pay for what you did, you bastards, for the rest of your lives just as Ethan wished.
After a few minutes of polite conversation in French, Sophia ended the call.
“You are taking a big gamble, Sophia,” Calista said, trying to mask the trembling in her voice.
“You’re bluffing,” George scoffed, irritated. “Eva wouldn’t do any—”
“Maybe.” Sophia sighed dramatically, enjoying their nervousness. “Maybe not. But I wouldn’t be so sure. Anyway, you wouldn’t want me to disclose to the police the other information I have. Tell me, George, how have you been earning money recently? Your job, what would you call it?”
Calista answered for him, “Prostitution is no crime. I can sell my body as much as I want. Besides, I like to fuck, don’t I, George?”
So crude! “Hmm. You’re right. Prostitution is not a crime here,” Sophia nodded, slowly. “You value yourselves and your constant companions quite highly, don’t you? Oh, I must commend your PR skills. She is quite the promoter.”
“Well, we’re very experienced.” George ogled her. “You should visit our house. The first fuck is free—”
“Your former brothel, you mean,” Sophia cut him shortly, taking out sheets of paper from the envelope, photos and two menus with head shots, sex practice specifications and their prices, and spread them on the table. “If more than one person is available at a premise for paid sex, then the so-called house is a brothel. For your information, to run a brothel is against the law.”
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