That was true. I knew that I loved my mother and Hugh, but I felt no love towards them. I knew I loved Rosie, Asha and Ela, but I didn’t miss them or want them around. All my feelings were reduced to hot or cold, tired or scared, full or hungry, to senses, not emotions.
‘And talking about which,’ I continued seamlessly, ‘Hugh was very close with Mungo. It would be very disloyal of me to continue seeing him. I’ll ask him to stop visiting.’ The decision was rash, made on the spot, but it made me feel better. Everything was so much simpler now.
‘No, Mother shouted, ‘no, Nat. You can’t do that. There are things that you and Hugh need to look at together. I don’t want to influence your choice of boyfriends, that’s entirely up to you, but as I’ve said, you’ve acquired huge responsibilities...’
‘That I can decline? That I’m declining to take on.’
‘Not before you know what they are and what consequences for other people, a large number of families, may be.’
‘Stop it,’ I turned to leave. ‘Stop it. I’ve spent all my life in a trap. I’ll never let myself be trapped again. Not in love, not in duty, not in...’ I opened the door and was about to step out into the hall without looking back.
‘You prefer to trap yourself in freedom. Freedom is a very lonely place, Nat.’
* * *
I was wading through the rain-drenched rose garden with a masochistic zeal of a self-appointed victim. I actually enjoyed the sharp needles of cold water in my face and down my neck, the thorns viciously digging into my hands every time I tried to move a branch out of my way, the too large, inhospitable wellington boots that allowed rain to fall inside and bathe my toes in mud and gravel.
Less than a week ago I was expected to be a respectful, trusting, and obedient child. Today, I had to turn into a fully fledged, responsible adult. What’s happened to my youth? What’s likely to happen to what’s left of it if I don’t protect it from the vultures?
Hugh had said that he’d be here by 5 pm. At ten to his helicopter landed on the pad behind the garages and stables. I waited for him at the pergola that marked the boundary between the park and the grounds behind the house.
‘Hope you’re not getting wet on my account,’ Hugh smiled.
I couldn’t tell how he felt about the new, unspoken but sacred rule of no touching. Nor did I know how I felt about him being here versus not turning up. Don’t fool yourself, I told myself with my burgeoning cynicism. He’ll be here until we make our way through that pile of papers that Mother’s holding above my head as a Damocles’ Sword.
‘Mother thinks that it’s time we, you and I, that is, had a look at the paperwork. Why together?’
‘Because it’s addressed at both of us. Do you feel up to it?’
I shrugged. ‘Yes, I want to know what’s the bastard got to say for himself.’
We entered the house through the back. In the little used utility room we stopped to take off our waterproofs and wellies and shake them off above the stone sinks that would have otherwise long lost their usefulness.
‘Nat?’
‘What?’
‘There were no police in that hotel on Saturday.’
‘So?’ I knew full well what he was getting at, but I chose the obtuse path.
‘Mungo wasn’t married. He’d never been married.’
‘For all you know,’ I tossed over my shoulders and led the way to what my mother called the ‘private sitting room’. By the time we reached it in silence I had another line of argument against him. ‘It won’t work, Hugh, so stop trying. So, my father didn’t hold truth in high regard. So what? Truth, a hugely overrated, self-serving commodity. He had a plan of his own that he didn’t want to share. So what?’
‘I’ll tell you what’ Mother was sitting in her usual armchair by the fireplace, left unlit at that time of the year. She held a single sheet of paper with Police letterhead in her hand, several others and the envelope lay strewn at her feet. ‘I’ve just been couriered the initial accident report and witness statements taken so far. On Leon’s request, Steen left the aircraft parked on the hotel’s airfield on Friday night. Leon said that he wanted to have the plane inspected for airworthiness by his own experts. Steen and a few of his people kept watch. Not long after midnight, three characters broke into the craft and spent just over three quarters of an hour there. Left plenty of DNA behind including sweat, a few drops of blood when one of them cut his finger, spit, and hairs from their arms and heads. All the three are in police custody now and talking. They’re all saying that Leon had told them that some loser was blackmailing him into letting him to marry his daughter and that he wanted the plane immobilised so that the blackmailer couldn’t take his bride on honeymoon. Steen sent in his own technicians and they handed him a copy of their damage report shortly before the wedding ceremony was due to start. It seems that Leon had taken his eye off the ball for a minute. He must have been unaware of the second inspection. Or of the fact that Steen was a qualified pilot...’
‘Maybe,’ I said doubtfully. ‘Or maybe not. Remember saying that he must have had a drop too many? He wasn’t drunk. Mungo’s lot forced him on board. They’d probably tied him to the seat, or else knocked him out.’
The silence that followed was oppressive. Bakir was preparing more tea on the sideboard, Mother just sat in her chair, staring into nothing. Hugo was reading the Police report and witness statements.
‘What is to say that Father didn’t genuinely want to stop Mungo from taking me to the Giant’s Causeway or anywhere else? That may have been his plan B in case he didn’t manage to stop the wedding.’
Hugh turned over to a new page, and looked at a sheet with two sketches on it. ‘Not likely, Nat. I don’t think that you should read any of this just yet, leave it till you’re a little stronger, but there are some facts that you’ve simply got to accept. The plane wasn’t immobilised. It was set to explode in mid flight.’
‘Why? Why? Why?’ I was creaming. ‘Why would he have wanted to kill Mungo before he recovered what he’d lost? Look into the papers, Hugh, have a good rummage. Have there been any premarital agreements? Did Mungo transfer anything over to Ganis Enterprises or to Dad personally before last Saturday?’
‘Probably not, Nat. But I think I know why. Don’t know if it would have worked out, but over the years I’ve learned how his mind worked.’
‘Go on, Mother, share your wisdom with us.’ In my heart I wished that she wouldn’t. In my heart I decided to reject any explanation that she had to offer. But my stubborn, obtuse streak egged me on. ‘Well?’ I added when she hesitated.
‘It won’t be very nice, Nat.’
I just looked at her.
‘Hugh? Do you happen to know if Mungo left a will? I know that there isn’t one with his solicitors, Ian Prentice told me that much, but could he have made a will and left it with someone else?’
‘Not with me. We talked about wills and people’s reluctance to make them only once. After Emily died... long before he... he was still well then as far as I know. He couldn’t will Mungo Steen Publishing or Steen Aviation to anyone any more than the Queen can will her throne to someone random. All the business has always been handed over to the next heir or heirs apparent. But, he had his own personal wealth and he said then that I was the only beneficiary that he could think of, but, as I say... No, I don’t think that he’d made a will in spite of his illness.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’I wailed. ‘Mungo wouldn’t have left anything to Dad, so what difference does it make whether he’d made a will or not?’
‘It makes a lot of difference. Leon probably had a reason to think that there was no will. Or, he may have convinced himself of it, he wasn’t very rational by that time...’
‘And whose fault was that?’ I cut in.
Mother walked over and out her arms around me. ‘That’s what we’re trying to find out...’
‘No, you are not.’ I wriggled out of the hug. ‘You’ve endorsed the death se
ntence. All of you.’
She gave up. ‘Lion’s thinking was always very simple and straightforward. When a married couple dies together and there’s no evidence to the contrary, the law assumes that the older of the two died first. That means that if you two died together, for a few seconds at least Mungo’s wealth would belong to you. And since you have no successors of your own, your legacy would automatically revert to him.’
He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
But, I said nothing.
Chapter 20
That was how long-term prisoners must feel when the gates open and they’re expected to step out and move in the direction of their own choice. At that point they would probably happily give up on their dreams of long hot baths, soft beds, roast chicken and potato dinners, and the nights of passion with the loved one and turn back to the shelter of their trusted old cell and trusted old tormentors.
‘There are seventeen thickly typed pages here,’ Hugh lifted the stapled sheaf of paper in his hand. ‘Shall I read it out loud or would everyone like to read it on their own?’
‘I can copy it, and we can all read it at the same time,’ I suggested helpfully.
If I could just put my hands on what I’d privately named Murdering Mungo’s Slimy Apology, I could simply shred the whole bloody thing and be done with it. I know, I know, I’d told Hugh that I couldn’t wait to see what the bastard had to say for himself, but things had changed since. In only a few hours what seemed very simple and obvious became entangled and obscure. There was a stench of rot hanging about, an air of decay that I could feel in my lungs, on my skin and in my hair. It was born from what Mother had said about my father’s filthy plan and I could never forgive her for it. He’d cared for me. I knew he did. Why did she want to take that away from me?
‘Here,’ Hugh handed me the papers, ‘you can have this one, I’ll print out another two for Carys and Bakir, and I’ll read it off the screen.’ He pulled his laptop out of his briefcase.
‘Bakir can’t read,’ I said viciously.
‘Will you eat from trays?’ Bakir asked calmly.
Mother must have nodded, for he shuffled his way out through the nearest exit.
The crunchy noise of the ancient printer served as a face-saving excuse for the ensuing silence.
Mother and Hugh were stapling together the two newly produced stacks of paper when Bakir wheeled in a serving trolley with four bowls of steaming mushroom soup, heated up garlic bread and a chocolate cake.
‘The Boys are getting the drinks ready,’ he said and walked back to his corner.
I picked up one of the bowls. ‘For what we are about to receive may the God make us truly thankful to the late Leon Ganis, who is, even after being cowardly murdered, still feeding us, housing us and looking after us. May he rest in peace.’ I would have loved to make a big gesture of protest, leave my portion on the trolley, but I was starving.
‘It’ll be a long night, Hugh. Bakir will show you to the guest suite later. You’ll find all the toiletries there, but you’ll have to pick up a clean shirt somewhere on your way to work in the morning.’
Dear Nat and Hugh,
Mungo had left that paper on his office desk on Saturday morning, before he left for the hotel. He’d also programmed it to be sent as an attachment to an email to Hugh in the evening of the same day.
He first apologised for neglecting our feelings when he selfishly set Hugh up in the penthouse because he wanted to have better access to the listening devices installed in the party wall between his and the Ganis property. He further apologised for the pain that he was going to cause us, especially me. That’s big of you, I thought and skipped to the next paragraph. I was very tempted to stop reading when I gathered that he wasn’t apologising for killing my father, only for the pain that the information that the letter contained would inevitably inflict.
Next paragraph. For a descendent of a famous publisher he went to unnecessary lengths reminding me of the fantastic time that we’d had working on the same project. My English teacher would have killed me if I wasted so many words on such a marginal topic.
Next paragraph. White rafting in Wales. Such fun and so good for the boys. A couple couldn’t hack it, had to be returned home, but the rest of the youngsters did exceptionally well. Almost a full page on that fascinating subject.
Bully for you, Mungo.
Next paragraph.
‘On the afternoon of the last day, the boys left in minibuses and, as the tradition dictated, we, the team leaders gathered in the pub for a drink before heading home ourselves. It was quite late when I walked back to the camp to collect my car. Some hundred yards before I entered the deserted compound, several people jumped on me from behind. I was pinned to the ground, hit by a bat and kicked with hobnailed boots a few times before they got down to the real business if the day – systematic rape. There were five of them in all (as it later turned out) and each of them had two goes. I fainted only after they were gone.
When I was eventually found several hours later, all my money and valuables were still on me. I had three broken ribs, the thighbone, knee cap and the lower bone in my left leg were thoroughly smashed, and the cartilage of two of the lower vertebrae was cracked. Sometime later, I was diagnosed with HIV.
The police had no problems identifying the culprits. There was plenty of DNA to go on and the thugs had plenty of form. They were all known AIDS sufferers. What was difficult was tracking them down. In time, it was established that three were dead, two from a drugs overdose and one from AIDS related pneumonia. The other two remained at large.
I considered suicide straight away. Eventually, however, I decided to use the time that I had left to some good. Got involved with charities for the homeless, HIV sufferers etc, and opened a chain of chess clubs to give those in need somewhere to keep warm, enjoy plentiful food and drink, and spend a few hours exercising their mental powers. We also had a number of advisors on duty at all times to help them on a variety of subjects. I was one of those advisors.
That was how I met Dazza.’
The papers dropped out of my hand and scattered at my feet.
I bent over to pick them up, but Hugh was already there, stacking them up with no regard for page numbers. ‘Have you had enough for today?’
I took the dishevelled pile out of his hands. ‘I’m fine, thanks. But, I think I’ll take them with me to my room. I don’t suppose that there will be any more group sessions tonight after we’ve all done reading.’
‘I don’t like the idea of you reading it on your own.’ There was a deep crease between Mother’s eyebrows.
‘Maybe I should take Bakir with me and we could make mad passionate love till morning,’ I retorted, hurrying to the door.
Mother didn’t answer immediately. I thought I could hear her exhale. I pulled the door open when she said into my back. ‘You can’t clean dirt with dirt, Nat. It doesn’t work like that.’
My face was burning red to the root of my hair. ‘I’m sorry.’
I spent an hour in my bed with the cover over my head before I switched on the bedside lamp and collated the sheets in the right order.
Dazza!
My driver at the time was called Dazza. He was taking me to the Probation Service Project and bringing me back in the evening. Dazza may have easily witnessed my amorous advances on Mungo and reported back to my father. If the event merited punishment, I was the one who should have been punished, not Mungo.
It could have been an entirely different Dazza, of course. The nickname was popular among young men of certain profile.
I went back to my reading.
‘If you’re interested in details of what followed, please read the folder marked Evidence,’ Mungo continued. ‘At first I was hoping to gather enough evidence and witnesses against Leon Ganis to bring him to justice, but having listened to Dazza and many others that he led me to, I realised how, in spite of all the horrendous crimes that he’s committed, he’s managed to keep his squeaky clean image.
He literally eliminated anyone who was in his way, got rid of them long before anyone guessed his interest in their disappearance, then eliminated those that he hired to do the dirty on his behalf. Again, if you want to know who I’m talking about, look at the list of people who died, disappeared, ended up seriously disabled or terminally discredited for no apparent reason. The only link between them is Leon Ganis, the global benefactor and a simple but genuinely nice bloke. Any survivors were much too terrified or carried too little credibility to act as useful witnesses. I therefore took a different route. I knew that his businesses were his babies, and if I took them away from him, he’d turn into a rock of salt like Niobe.
I was surprised to find how easy it was. Ganis was very good at building his public image, but in business he relied too much on his ruthless methods and left himself open to attack. Again, the chronology and list of my actions are attached.
I must admit that I was looking forward to his reaction once he realised that he had no options left. You know the saying - It takes one to know one? Well, it works the other way round, too. I wasn’t the one, and therefore I couldn’t possibly foresee the card that he still carried up his sleeve.
I’m sorry to cause you so much pain, Nat. I wish I could spare you, but this will come out sooner or later, one way or another.
When I stared at him in amazement, I mean, of all people he knew exactly why I couldn’t marry anyone, he gave me a very good reason why I should. He said that if I didn’t, he’d rape you himself for a few days and then he’d bring in a dozen of his pets, out of control sex addicts and watch the fun for a couple of days. If you survive, he’d probably treat you to the tender care of the Dirty Brigade. He explained the practices of the Dirty Brigade. I’d advise against it, but if you really want to know, listen to the disc marked LG5, where I recorded it as I recorded all the conversations that we’ve ever had. Seven in all.
He didn’t cause me any pain. By this time I was beyond such trifling emotions like pain or self-pity. Perversely, I couldn’t read fast enough. There were only two or three paragraphs left.
The Eunuch's Ward (The String Quartet) Page 18
