by Janet Tanner
There was complete silence in the room. Then Guy leapt to his feet.
‘You intend to humiliate me, Mother, is that it?’
‘No, Guy, I don’t want to do that. For that reason and that alone I called you here this evening so that I can tell you privately what I intend to do.’
‘Privacy?’ Guy gesticulated angrily at the others. ‘This is hardly privacy.’
‘A great deal more private than a board meeting surely?’ Alicia said. She had circled the chair and now held tightly to its upright back with her be-ringed hands. ‘Sarah I asked because in spite of all our differences I believe she has a right to know what I intend to do. We are the original Morse Bailey, all that is left of it, Sarah and I.’ She smiled faintly in Sarah’s direction. ‘Kirsty is here because Sarah wished her to be and I saw no reason to deny her request. David … David is here for a different reason, which I will come to in a moment. You, Guy … you are here because I wish to tell you that I believe you have betrayed my trust.’
‘Mother!’ Guy was white.
‘You know, Guy, of the enmity there is between myself and Leo de Vere. You must have known I would never agree to him gaining control of Morse Bailey. When Sarah first told me of it I must tell you quite frankly I could not believe such a thing would enter your head. I told her so. But I was wrong, wasn’t I?’
‘You have got it all wrong, Mother. I thought I explained to you – this merger would eventually give David control of de Vere Motors.’
‘You coloured things, Guy, for your own ends. You attempted to pull the wool over my eyes. It’s not that at all, is it? I have been doing a little investigation myself and find that in fact you are indebted personally to Leo de Vere to the tune of a great deal of money. How you got yourself into this mess I don’t know, but the result is that you were quite prepared to sell out to de Vere in order to save your own skin. Deny it if you can!’
‘Mother …’
‘I have discovered a great many things in this past week, Guy, which I would have preferred never to know. But now I do know I must warn you I do not intend to stand by and see you sacrifice Morse Bailey to the one man who has spent his lifetime – a very wicked lifetime, I might add – with the sole purpose of getting us where he wanted us. That is why I shall vote myself tomorrow – and why I shall vote with Sarah.’
Guy was almost purple now.
‘Don’t you realise what you are doing, Mother?’ he raged. ‘Don’t you realise that to pull back now could ruin us?’
Alicia shook her head. She was trembling now, her face deathly pale, her hands clamped to the back of the chair as if her life depended on it.
‘No, Guy, I don’t think so. If it costs me every penny I have I won’t see that happen and neither I believe will Sarah. If we personally lose everything we own we won’t let it happen.’ She turned to Sarah, extending one hand in a gesture that was curiously theatrical. ‘Sarah? Will you stand with me?’
In the hush that followed Sarah got to her feet. Her eyes were very bright. Kirsty stretched out a hand either to help or restrain her, Sarah was unsure which, but she ignored it. This was something she had to do – and she had to do it alone. Slowly, a little stiffly, she crossed to Alicia and took her outstretched hand. For a moment they looked at one another, two women who had spent their lives in rivalry, united at this moment by the one thing they both cared about more deeply than any past quarrels or wrongs.
‘I am with you, Alicia,’ Sarah said.
‘Good.’ Alicia smiled faintly and her voice was lower. ‘I knew you would be. As you can see, Guy, you may as well withdraw from this plan of yours as gracefully as you are able. In the knowledge that you have disappointed me. I hoped you would be strong, like me. You are not. Ah well, c’est la vie.’ She laughed bitterly but there was an odd strangled note in the sound. Lost in their own thoughts they failed to notice it. Alicia drew a deep shuddering breath. Her free hand went to her throat, loosening the shawl, and Sarah saw a look of pure glazed fear and pain come into her violet eyes.
‘Alicia!’ she cried. ‘Are you all right?’
Alicia did not reply. She groaned, a small throaty gargle, and swayed on her feet.
‘Grandmother!’ David leaped up, rushing to her side, and caught her as she fell, still holding tightly to Sarah’s hand and dragging her down with her. ‘ Grandmother! For goodness’ sake – she’s ill!’
He scooped her up, carrying her to the sofa. Kirsty relinquished her place, drawing to one side, frightened by the sudden turn of events, and he laid Alicia down on the sofa, loosening the collar of her dress.
‘Get some water!’
Kirsty ran to obey, Guy, still shaken, stood helplessly by like a bull elephant who does not know which way to turn.
‘Why didn’t they bring the damned brandy?’ he muttered. ‘She could do with the damned brandy!’
David was in control now.
‘Telephone for an ambulance, Dad – quickly!’
Alicia’s eyelids flickered. They looked heavy and bluish but when she saw Sarah bending anxiously over, her lips curved in a faint smile.
‘Friends, Sarah?’ she murmured, her voice choking away. ‘Friends at last?’
‘Don’t try to talk, Grandmother,’ David urged but Sarah clasped again the hand of the woman she had spent most of her life hating.
‘Friends, Alicia – and sisters.’
Alicia nodded, an infinitesimal movement, then her eyes squeezed shut and her features convulsed, the faint blue tinge to her skin which Sarah had noticed earlier intensifying.
‘Grandmother!’ David shouted, as if by calling her name he could somehow revive her. ‘Dad – get a bloody move on!’
‘It’s too late,’ Sarah said. Her voice was calm and quiet but very sad. ‘ I think she’s gone.’
She turned. Kirsty was in a huddle, her hands pressed to her mouth, eyes huge with horror. But Guy stood holding the telephone and the expression on his face might almost have been one of triumph.
‘Oh Kirsty, Kirsty, I never thought the day would come when I would shed tears for Alicia,’ Sarah said.
It was all over and Kirsty – a Kirsty much subdued by her first brush with death – had driven her home. They sat now in the sitting-room at Chewton Leigh, taking a little comfort from each other’s presence, for Kirsty had insisted on staying with Sarah though Sarah suspected it was as much for her own sake as for her grandmother’s.
‘It was so awful, Granny,’ she said now, wrapping her arms around herself to try to stop the trembling which seemed to start deep inside her, reaching her skin as only a faint but uncomfortable prickling sensation. ‘One minute she was standing there so much in control, the next …’ She broke off, squeezing her eyes tight shut as if to erase the indelible vision of Alicia’s collapse.
‘She overdid things, obviously,’ Sarah said. Upset as she was she was less overwrought than Kirsty. She had lived too long, seen too much, to be shocked any more. ‘Poor Alicia. It was her heart, I should think. She must have had a weakness perhaps even she didn’t know about and the stress of the last week proved too much for her.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘ It must have been terrible for her, discovering the truth about Guy and his entanglement with Leo de Vere, and it took a great deal of courage to do what she did. Not that I ever doubted her courage, of course. That is one thing I never accused Alicia of lacking. But to actually denounce her son – in front of me, of all people – and then to offer me an olive branch …’
‘You’re right, Granny, it was a very brave thing to do.’
‘And to think it was all in vain!’
Kirsty looked up sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, darling, the game is lost, isn’t it? Didn’t you see the look on Guy’s face when he knew his mother was dead? Not grief. Not shock. Just utter relief – and a rather nasty twinge of triumph because I suppose he knew in that moment that it was going to be all right for him after all. He had won.’
‘Won?’
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br /> ‘The right to do whatever he pleases with Morse Bailey. Alicia had just told him she intended to use her votes to negate the proposed merger instead of allowing him to use his proxy. That no longer applies, does it?’
Slow horror dawned on Kirsty. ‘You mean …’
‘I mean Alicia’s votes will now be Guy’s by right, Kirsty. I suppose she has left everything to him. He is, after all, her only son.’
‘Oh no!’ Kirsty said, appalled. ‘That is really awful, Granny. It was bad enough before but now … when we know he will do something with them that is totally opposed to what she wanted … oh, we’ve got to do something about it. We can’t just sit back and let it happen!’
Sarah shook her head.
‘Oh Kirsty, Kirsty, there is nothing we can do.’ She reached for her granddaughter’s hand. ‘I’m afraid this is one time, my dear, when we are going to have to admit defeat. But one thing I am decided upon. I won’t have anything more to do with the company when it comes under the control of Leo de Vere. I shall go in to the office tomorrow and begin packing up my things. Then I shall hand everything over to your uncles. They can fight what battles they think necessary. I have had enough. I am too old to fight any longer.’
‘Don’t say that, Granny!’ Kirsty protested passionately.
Sarah squeezed her hand.
‘Don’t look so sad, my dear. I wish it had ended differently but there it is. As Alicia said – C’est la vie. At least we were friends and allies in the end. And I have had a good run with Morse Bailey. My part in it has kept me going. But now it is time for me to bow out unless I want to finish up as Alicia has. No, I don’t relish the thought of what will happen, but since there is nothing I can do to stop it I shall retire gracefully and live out my days …’
‘Doing what, Granny?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sarah said. ‘But I expect I shall think of something.’
Chapter Forty-Seven
Perhaps the shock of Alicia’s death affected Sarah more than she realised. Next morning she felt unwell and Kirsty insisted she remain in bed.
For once Sarah did not argue. It was as if with Alicia’s passing all the spark had gone out of her. She remained obediently in her room and when Kirsty had to leave to go to college she instructed Grace that her grandmother was to be coddled and fussed and treated as an invalid, and not bothered by any phone calls unless they were from herself.
By the end of the day however Sarah had begun to feel that the enforced inactivity was worse for her than any possible stress she might encounter at the office and she wondered anxiously how she would cope with retirement. All very well to tell Kirsty she would think of something to do with her life but in all honesty it would not be that easy. Morse Bailey had been her entire world for so long now and many of the things she had used to enjoy were hardly suitable for a woman of her age. Ballooning, flying, tennis – they were all activities for the young. But traditional pastimes for the elderly appealed to her not at all. The thought of days filled with nothing more exacting than flower arranging, embroidery and a little pottering in the garden filled her with dismay. She could not paint or draw and though she enjoyed reading and listening to music, she was shrewd enough to realise that the main reason they were a pleasure to her was because she had always looked on them as luxuries to be relished in her rare moments of relaxation. If there was nothing else they would quickly lose their charm.
Many an old horse only drops when it is finally taken out of the shafts, Sarah thought ruefully. Perhaps that will happen to me.
But there it was – she could not, would not, continue to be associated with Morse Bailey when it came under the control of Leo de Vere. She would simply have to adjust to a new lifestyle – there was no choice. And the sooner she cleared out her office and handed over all her ongoing work to Roderick and Miles the better. They could keep the wheels turning until Leo de Vere took over and reorganized the company to suit himself.
Next morning Sarah rose at her usual early hour, sweeping aside Grace’s protests, and breakfasted not in her room but downstairs as she always did.
Sitting at the table in the breakfast room, picking without much appetite at her toast and marmalade, it crossed Sarah’s mind to wonder whether perhaps she should dispose of Chewton Leigh. It was, after all, much too large for her now. Roderick had his own home, a comfortable converted farmhouse on the other side of the valley, and Miles, though he nominally still lived at Chewton Leigh, spent most of his time in his bachelor flat in town. If she was no longer going to need Chewton Leigh for business entertaining then to keep it on seemed folly. Why not bring the whole era to an end by selling the house and moving out to something small, manageable and a little more central?
But even as the thought passed through her mind she knew she could not do it. Too much of her life was bound up here – she loved the place too much. Her lips curved slightly as she remembered her joy when Blanche, feeling perhaps much as she did at the moment, had put it on the market, and Adam had bought it for their home. Even then Chewton Leigh had been the place she loved best in all the world and the years had only deepened that love. There were memories now in every room, every corner, wonderful memories to eclipse totally the bad things that had happened. Here she had raised her family and it seemed to her that even now the corridors echoed with the laughter of her children and later her grandchildren. She remembered the shared teas in the nursery when she had taken them on her knee, reading to them until they fell asleep in her arms, she remembered how the boys romped through the endless rooms and slid – though they knew it was forbidden – down the sweeping banisters to collapse in a giggling heap in the great hall below, and how they decorated the drawing-room for Christmas with a huge tree and holly and mistletoe gathered from the estate. The stables had become for her not the place where Hugh had raped her in some far-off distant past but the haunt and refuge of Sheila, who had spent every spare moment there with her beloved horses. And best of all the house had become the home which she and Adam had built together, filling the rooms with love and companionship, enjoying a life which had once seemed beyond her grasp.
The decor was theirs – gone were the sumptuous but somewhat overbearing Victorian overtones. The gardens rioted in the way she and Adam had liked them and the deer in the park were there because it had been her idea. No, the thought of leaving Chewton Leigh, however sensible, was a terrible one. I couldn’t bear it! Sarah thought. And besides, I would be depriving my descendants of their heritage. For, one day …
She did not continue the line of thought but it was there all the same, a small comforting warmth within her and an almost unacknowledged hope for the future. One day in the not too distant future Kirsty would marry and when she did Sarah hoped that Chewton Leigh would become her home. Sarah would have to move out, of course, perhaps take over one small wing or a cottage on the estate, but at least she knew that Chewton Leigh was safe in the hands of someone who loved it as much as she did.
Glancing through the window she saw the Rolls was ready and waiting for her. She finished her coffee and gathered her things together. Grace, still wearing an expression of disapproval, was ready with her coat and Sarah snuggled into the soft cashmere gratefully. Stupid how cold she still felt – she did not think she had been completely warm since this whole dreadful business began.
It was a fine clear morning, the sky clean-washed blue above the new growth of trees. Sarah watched the hedge rows slip past, busy with birds. Beyond them, on the grassy hillsides, new lambs skipped and Sarah experienced a sudden sharp sadness to think that Alicia would never see them again. Dear God, how depressing it was to see the passing of one’s peers! Not tragic in the way that so many deaths she had known were tragic, but laden now with inevitability. Sarah gave her head a small shake. Come on, Sarah, this is not like you …
There was an air of industry about the works in spite of the fact there were few people to be seen, a feeling that behind the closed windows and doors work of the ut
most importance was going on. Sarah dismissed the Rolls and went into the main block and along the corridor to her office – on the ground floor now to facilitate her stiff knee.
Like Chewton Leigh House Sarah’s office was very much her domain, decorated to her instructions, functional yet also displaying touches of femininity with photographs of the family placed where she could see them and a vase of daffodils on the corner of the desk. I shall miss it, thought Sarah. She took off her coat and buzzed for her secretary.
‘Jenny, could you organize some coffee, do you think?’
‘Oh, you’ve come in, Mrs Bailey. I thought you were ill …’ The girl sounded concerned.
‘I’m fine, Jenny,’ Sarah said briskly. ‘But please don’t pass on the news to anyone yet that I’m here. I shan’t feel ready to deal with Mr Bailey or anyone until I have had that coffee.’
She settled herself at her desk, glancing quickly through the pile of messages that awaited her. A few minutes later Jenny appeared in the doorway bearing a tray – freshly percolated coffee and a plate of biscuits.
‘Bless you, Jenny,’ Sarah said.
The girl regarded her anxiously. ‘Are you sure you should be here, Mrs Bailey?’
‘Quite sure. Don’t fuss, Jenny.’ She wondered if she should tell her about her decision to retire and decided against it. It was Guy’s right to be the first to know. ‘Now, is there anything urgent I should know about?’ she asked, sipping her coffee.
‘I’m just going through the mail, Mrs Bailey. Yesterday was a bit odd, of course – all comings and goings and nothing as it should be.’
‘The meeting, of course, was postponed.’
‘Of course. Mr Bailey was out for most of the day.’ He would have been, Sarah thought. And not only making funeral arrangements. No doubt he had some reporting to Leo de Vere to take care of.
‘There is one thing,’ the girl continued. ‘I know you said you didn’t want to see anyone yet but David has been most anxious to speak to you. He tried to telephone you yesterday afternoon but your maid refused to put him through.’
