The Eden Inheritance

by Janet Tanner

  What the hell was he going to do?

  His plan, when he had come to Madrepora, had been straight-forward and clear-cut. Find out for certain if Otto Brandt was in reality Otto von Rheinhardt, recover the family heirlooms and bring the war criminal to justice. But somewhere along the line his priorities had changed. And the reason for that was Lilli.

  He had known instinctively from the moment he had met her that she was going to cause him problems, but he’d thought he could handle it. She might be beautiful, she might appear sweet-natured and pleasant company, but she was Otto’s daughter, and as such she couldn’t escape the legacy of what he had done any more than she could avoid carrying his genes in her body. It was unfortunate for her, but there it was. He couldn’t let sympathy for an apparent innocent stand in the way of the justice he intended to secure for his family.

  But last night he had held her in his arms and everything had changed. The cold desire for revenge had been replaced by feelings so powerful that no amount of determination could conquer them. He had wanted her physically, more than he could ever remember wanting any woman, but it was more than that. When he’d seen Jorge Sanchez standing beside her with his hand on her shoulder he had wanted to hit him, hard, right in the middle of his handsome debauched face. When he had realised how upset Lilli was he had wanted to kill him. And it had come to him in a flash that what he intended to do would hurt Lilli far more than anything that arrogant South American bastard had done.

  I can’t put her through all that, he had thought, sitting late into the night with a glass of his favourite whisky at his elbow and one eye on the clock – ‘ Eight hours between bottle and throttle’ was the rule pilots lived by. I can’t destroy all her illusions that way. What good would it do? Otto would be unlikely to live to face trial and the heirlooms were just inanimate objects. Whatever their intrinsic value, whatever their sentimental worth, they counted for nothing compared with the feelings of another human being, especially one who meant as much to him as Lilli. But it wasn’t easy, all the same, to give up on something which had become an obsession. And if he did give up, what then? Should he stay in Madrepora, continue to do the job he had taken for such ulterior motives and see how things developed with Lilli? It was what his heart was urging him to do but he couldn’t see that that could have a satisfactory outcome either. How could they ever have a close and loving relationship when so many secrets lay between them, secrets that would destroy her if she learned about them? He couldn’t bring himself to tell her, but he couldn’t see how he could ever be truly close to her if he did not. The dilemma was real and insoluble. Guy could not see any way out and it was tearing him apart.

  And of course in all probability Lilli would return to New York when her father died. If she did the affair would end before it had properly begun and Guy would be able to put it all behind him and get on with his life.

  That, he thought ruefully, would be the best solution for all concerned. And he realised that, best solution or not, it offered him no comfort whatsoever.

  As soon as he was back on Madrepora Guy telephoned Lilli. None of his heart-searching had resolved anything. He simply wanted to hear her voice; see her again.

  The telephone was answered by a voice he recognised as belonging to a local servant – the elderly woman who acted as housekeeer, he imagined. But her tone, when he asked for Lilli, was forbidding.

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Guy de Savigny.’

  ‘Oh.’ She seemed to relent a little. ‘I’ll tell her.’

  He waited, drumming his fingers on the desk. A few minutes later she was back.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Lilli does not want to speak to you.’

  He was startled, so totally taken aback that for a moment words deserted him, and before he could recover himself the telephone had been replaced, cutting off contact.

  Guy stood holding the receiver, still too surprised, to feel anything but disbelief.

  Why didn’t Lilli want to speak to him? Why had the servant been so rude – no excuses, no pretence that Lilli was unavailable even, nothing but this blunt rejection. After the warmth they had shared the previous evening it didn’t make sense.

  ‘Well,’ Guy said aloud, ‘I suppose that takes care of that!’

  Tomorrow he would hand in his notice and when he had worked it out he would leave Madrepora, go back to England and look for a job there. Perhaps it was for the best.

  But he knew, all the same, that he would not find it as easy to put Lilli out of his mind as she apparently had to cut him out of her life.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  ‘DADDY, I’M GOING out for a little while,’ Lilli said.

  A guarded look shadowed Otto’s eyes. He Worried about Lilli almost all the time; couldn’t bear to have her out of his sight, especially since the terrible scene the other night when he had told her the truth about her mother’s death and thought that as a result he had lost her. She had come to see him later, putting her arms around him and promising that no matter what, she would always love him, but somehow her assurances had not totally comforted him. There was still a distance between them, a lack of understanding if not blame, and that alienation, however she might try to hide it, had frightened him badly. He loved Lilli so much; to lose her love and respect was the one nightmare left to him. Besides worrying that some harm might befall her, of course. That anxiety was still as real as ever, knowing as he did just how ruthless and dangerous Jorge could be.

  ‘Where are you going, liebchen?’ he asked now.

  ‘Oh … just out.’

  His mouth tightened.

  ‘You are going to see that pilot, aren’t you? His plane flew over a few minutes ago, didn’t it? I saw you looking at it.’

  Colour flooded Lilli’s cheeks. She had not realised how transparent she was.

  ‘It might not have been him. It’s too dark to see properly.’

  ‘But it sounded like the Twin Otter, and who else would it be flying into Madrepora at this time of night? Apart from Jorge, that is, and he is already here.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Lilli admitted, cornered. ‘I did think it was Guy’s planer and I thought that if I went down to the airstrip I could speak to him there.’

  ‘And why do you want to speak to him?’

  ‘Oh – I just want to, that’s all.’

  She could not explain to him the way she felt. For two days she had mooned about the villa, trying to hide her misery and trying to tell herself that if Guy was a DEA agent who had used her to further his investigations he really was not worth wasting a moment’s sleep over. But it hadn’t worked. She still felt as wretched as ever. Then, slowly, insidiously, she had found herself beginning to doubt what she had been told. The denial was born of her natural resilience, a refusal to believe, deep down, that the very special magic and the feelings of comfort and safety which she had experienced with Guy had existed only in her imagination.

  ‘Jorge is evil,’ she said now, voicing at least one of the arguments she had put to herself during those days of heart-searching. ‘He’d say anything if he thought it suited his purpose. I just don’t want to condemn Guy without a hearing, that’s all.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t go. Jorge wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘Why should Jorge know? There won’t be anyone at the airstrip but Guy.’ She dropped a kiss on his forehead. ‘I promise I won’t be long. And don’t worry!’

  He sighed, shaking his head. She was wilful and stubborn – Magdalene all over again.

  ‘Be careful, liebchen.’

  ‘I will.’

  Then she was gone, and it seemed that some of the brightness and warmth from the room had gone with her.

  He felt tired and old suddenly, sitting there alone in the shadows. Ingrid had gone to bed early, pleading a headache, and he had no company to come between him and his thoughts.

  Not that company had done much to stop him thinking these last few days. When the pain was not so bad that it wiped everything e
lse from his mind, he had become very introspective. He thought of Lilli and what would become of her when he was gone; he thought of Vicente and Fernando and Jorge and the business they had run between them which had enabled him to amass a wealth such as he had never dreamed of; he thought of the women he had loved – Magdalene, who had never really been his, though she had married him and borne his beloved child, and Ingrid, whose devotion to him had survived even his rejection of her. But most of all he thought of days long past when he had been a general in an occupied country, fighting a war for his Führer, and those times seemed almost more real to him than any of his other memories.

  Why this should be he could not imagine, he only knew it was so. The château where he had spent so much of his time was clear in his memory; he had only to close his eyes to see it again – the sunlight on the old stones, the tall cypress trees swaying gently, the hillsides where the vines grew in neat rows for all the world as if they too were an army of soldiers. The people were real to him, too – the old Baron, the tutor who was not what he seemed, the daughter-in-law of the house and her child … what was his name … Guy? Guy! What a coincidence that that name should occur in his life again now, the name of the man Lilli was so transparently in love with. What had become of them? he wondered Oh, he knew what had become of the subversives who had tried to work against him. They were long since dead – he’d seen to that – and he had not a single moment’s regret for what he had done. War was war – he had never either given or received mercy. They couldn’t expect that – and for the most part they had not deserved it. God alone knew, there had been those amongst their number ready to betray their own, the son of the old Baron among them, though afterwards he had had a change of heart and paid the price.

  Otto’s mind wandered on, remembering what had happened after the showdown that night, almost thirty years ago, when information he had received from the Baron’s son – Charles, wasn’t it? – had enabled him to catch the band of Resistance workers red-handed. That night had been one of the greatest successes of his career. But then had come the unfortunate incident with the attempt on the life of his old friend, Heydrich, who had taken over a cottage in the area for his recreation. Otto had been furious to think that such a thing could be attempted right under his nose. He had taken hostages and had them shot by way of example to the rest of the community of what they could expect if they did not toe the line, and for some reason that fool Charles had insisted that his life should be taken in place of one of the hostages. Otto had argued with him but to no avail. The man was determined to die – driven crazy by guilt over his betrayal of his own wife, no doubt. In the end Otto had lost patience and snapped at him: ‘Very well, if you want, that’s what you shall have.’

  He had watched the executions in the village square and felt nothing but anger. Any regret was confined to his disappointment that these people did not have the sense to know when they were beaten and accept Nazi rule with good grace.

  But things had changed from that day on. He was no longer welcomed at the château, and his exclusion had hurt and infuriated him. He had thought the Baron and his elder son, at least, understood his position and sympathised with it. Now he was treated like a leper, and he hated them for it.

  He hated them even more, of course, when the war began to swing the way of the Allies. But he had had his revenge. When he had discovered that the younger son, Christian, was secretly working against him he had no hesitation in signing his death warrant, and he had evicted the family from the château and taken it for his headquarters. It had been a good feeling, presiding over the table where once he had been a guest, sleeping in the bed which had belonged to the head of the house for generations. But even that had not lasted and when he had finally been forced to accept that defeat of the Fatherland was inevitable he had begun to make his plans. All the treasures of the château which were manageable enough to transport he had had packed and shipped, sending them ahead to the safekeeping of the man he knew would offer him refuge, his old friend Vicente Cordoba in South America. When he had finally fled into exile he bad found them waiting for him.

  He glanced at them now, gracing the room in which he lay dying – the candlesticks, the little bronze of Ceres, the triptych. Over the years he had enjoyed them, both for their aesthetic beauty and for the satisfaction which came from knowing that he had, in his own way, won that particular battle. The Baron and his family might have had their home and their country returned to them but the treasures were, and would remain, his. Soon now he would have no further use for them. But Lilli loved them. They would pass to her and to her children, indisputable proof that in this, at least, he, Otto von Rheinhardt, had triumphed.

  Otto smiled, his lips curving with some satisfaction in his wasted face.

  The telephone had begun to ring, the bell shrilling harshly in the guest house, but he scarcely heard it. Patsy or Basil would answer it. He was too lost in his memories to even wonder who might be calling at this time of night.

  ‘Otto – telephone for you!’

  Otto came out of his reverie to see Ingrid standing in the doorway. She was wearing a dressing gown of heavy ivory satin and an expression of extreme displeasure.

  ‘Ingrid – I thought you were in bed!’ he said, rousing himself.

  ‘I was. I don’t know where Basil and Patsy are that they didn’t hear it ringing. What do they think we pay them for?’

  ‘They are outside, I expect, in the garden. Who is it on the telephone?’

  ‘Jorge. I told him I wouldn’t have him upsetting you but he was quite insistent he should speak to you. Told me in no uncertain terms that business is business where the two of you are concerned.’

  ‘He’s right, I suppose. Is he still hanging on?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Then I’d better speak to him.’ With an effort Otto levered himself up from his chair and Ingrid rushed to help him, lending her arm for support and placing his cane in his free hand so that he could help to balance his frail frame.

  ‘Where is Basil? He should be here when you need him!’

  ‘Oh stop fussing, woman!’

  They made it to the study and Otto levered himself heavily into his chair, picking up the telephone receiver from the desk where it lay awaiting his attention.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Otto – it’s me – Jorge.’

  ‘Yes, I know it is. What do you want?’

  ‘I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to let you know that I am having our DEA friend taken care of.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Precisely what I say. I didn’t want to take any chances with him – he’s been asking too many questions. I have arranged to have him disposed of.’

  ‘You mean – shot?’

  ‘Not exactly. I felt like being inventive.’ Jorge laughed. ‘Our friend is going to be blown up by a letter bomb – or, to be more precise, a box-file bomb. I sent him on a job which should mean him returning to the airstrip when it is deserted, apart from him, of course. Whilst he has been gone my man has booby-trapped the box file he will be certain to open to complete the necessary documentation on his flight. It will possibly mean that our little office will be destroyed, of course, but it’s time we had a better headquarters for Air Perpetua. It isn’t good for our image, that shack, so we shall be killing two birds with one stone, as you might say. Our DEA man will do the demolition work for us the moment he opens that box file.’

  For a moment Otto could not speak.

  ‘I thought I should let you know in case you heard the explosion and wondered what was going on. And in any case I wanted to set your mind at rest about the agent. He won’t be bothering us – or Lilli – any more.’ Jorge was quite unable to keep the triumph out of his voice.

  ‘And this is due to happen tonight?’ Otto asked. His eyes were wild in his sunken face, his bony fingers held the receiver in a vice like grip.

  ‘That’s right,’ Jorge confirmed. ‘Any time now. I thin
k I heard the Twin Otter overhead a little while ago. Well, I’ll let you get to your bed now, Otto. Sleep well.’ And he was gone.

  Otto sat for a moment transfixed with horror. When the pilot opened the box file the bomb would go off. But it wasn’t only the pilot who would be there when the explosion ripped apart the shed housing Air Perpetua. Lilli was on her way to the airstrip to talk to him. She could be there, taking the full force of the explosion with him. She might escape it, of course. The pilot might have opened the box file and detonated the bomb before she arrived. But it hadn’t happened yet, and it would have taken Lilli only ten minutes or so to reach the airstrip. How long was it since she had left? He didn’t know … he couldn’t be sure …’

  Beads of sweat stood out on Otto’s face as he thought of what was almost certainly going to happen. Lilli was going to die just as her mother had died before her, because of the drug-smuggling, because of Jorge.

  With the thought Otto suddenly found some of the strength he thought had gone forever. He slammed down the receiver and yanked open the drawer of his desk. At the back lay his service revolver. He pulled it out and struggled to his feet.

  ‘Where is my car?’ he demanded.

  ‘Otto?’ Ingrid was at his side, confused, concerned.

  He pushed past her, ignoring her.

  ‘Where are the keys?’

  ‘Where they always are … Otto, what are you doing?’

  Still he ignored her. He stumbled past her, the man who had scarcely walked unaided for weeks past, and out of the villa, grabbing his car keys from their hook as he went.

  The car was on the drive outside. Though it was some time now since Otto had used it he had instructed Basil to drive it regularly to keep it in tune. He levered himself into the driver’s seat and switched on the engine and headlights.