by Karen Swan
‘Oh, don’t worry. I knew how stubborn she could be. Believe me, I spent years trying to get her to walk away from the farm, to just come away with me so we could start a new life with Giulia somewhere else. But that deathbed promise . . .’ He shook his head sadly. ‘She could never forgive herself for defying her father in marrying you and she felt she owed it to him to stay, no matter what beatings or threats you punished her with. She wouldn’t leave for me, the man she loved, and she would never sell for you, the man she hated – not even as Giulia grew more like me by the day, spelling out our secret.’ Timo’s voice trembled at the mention of his daughter, but the look in his eyes never wavered. ‘Valentina had made a promise and she was prepared to die to keep it. And die she did.’
Allegra felt like she could hardly breathe as the words filled the room like bellows. She knew what Timo was doing here: pushing, humiliating, carousing Lars into confessing. It was the only card he had to play, because the accusations he was throwing out there . . . Without proof, it was just theory.
‘I never raised a hand to her,’ Lars snarled, quieter again.
‘It was how our affair started up again, Lars,’ Timo said with almost a chuckle and a shrug, riling him up again. ‘She was hiding up in the huts, pretending to shepherd the herd but waiting for her bruises to go down . . . And of course everyone bought that. They all knew you were no farmer. “Lars wouldn’t know a goat from a cow,” they used to say, and they were right. Six months after her father’s death, you had almost run the farm into the ground, overstocking the pastures and starting that roundworm epidemic. We would have laughed if it hadn’t been so tragic.’
He was quiet for a long moment. ‘And it was tragic. It almost killed me watching her trying to keep that farm going as you made one bad decision after another. Were they deliberate? I’ve always wondered. Were you deliberately trying to fail so that she would have no option but to sell?’ He nodded. ‘Maybe. Maybe you did. I think you probably tried everything – but with the zoning maps coming and a new baby on the way, you could not wait any longer. She would not sell and you could not make her. You sensed your opportunity for fortune was going to slip by like a salmon in the river.’
‘I don’t have to listen to this. If you’re so sure I’m such a monster, why don’t you go to the police with your big ideas? I’m sure they’d be interested to hear the ramblings of a bitter, poor old man who lost the woman he loved to one of the richest and most powerful men in the area.’
Timo’s eyes shone. ‘If only I had those deeds, I would, old man.’
Lars’s face changed.
‘They were what you needed, weren’t they? That’s what Anya told me.’
‘Anya? What does she have to do with this?’
‘Everything, of course. It’s why you married her. Everybody knew she was sweet on you, and you made a convincing show of falling apart after Valentina’s death. The marriage stood up to scrutiny even if it was indecently fast, but there was no time to lose, was there? Because she had inherited the farm, not you.’
Allegra frowned, interrupting. ‘Wait, surely inheritance law means the farm passes to the husband as next of kin?’
‘Ordinarily, yes. But with no sons in your family for several generations, a clause on the deeds of the farm states that it must pass down through the bloodline – to prevent the farm from passing out of the family through marriage.’
‘“You come from a long line of mothers,”’ Isobel murmured under her breath, her hand on Allegra’s arm.
Timo was back to watching Lars closely. ‘You married Anya thinking you could easily persuade her to sell. She was gentler than Valentina; she would do anything you asked.’ His voice changed like a capricious wind. ‘But she was more like her sister than you had supposed. You underestimated her!’ Timo jabbed his finger delightedly towards Lars. ‘And when you got rough with her too, she started to think that maybe her sister’s death had been more than an unlucky accident.’
Allegra cut in again. ‘Were there any circumstances in which Lars could have inherited?’
Timo turned to her with a grim expression. ‘Only if the bloodline stopped.’
‘Stopped. You mean’ – her eyes scoped his – ‘if Anya and Julia died?’
He nodded. ‘Only once the clause was null would the farm would pass to him as Anya’s legal next of kin.’
Allegra and Isobel both looked at Lars with horror. It was obvious now why Anya had run; and without proof that Julia was his, legally Timo couldn’t do anything to protect her either.
‘Sorry, there’s something I don’t get,’ Isobel said, half raising her hand like a student in class. ‘Granny didn’t die until 2001, and Mum is still very much alive.’
‘Yes.’ Timo nodded.
‘So then if legally the farm has passed down to Mum, how did he sell the farm?’
‘With Anya gone, she was as good as dead. There was no one to argue the farm wasn’t legally his, and those who may have known about the clause . . . Well, Lars was clever enough to be generous where it counted. He could afford to be. When he sold the land, he made six, seven, eight fortunes.’
Allegra stared at him, her brain racing. ‘So where are the deeds now?’ she asked urgently.
Timo’s eyes slid back to Lars, narrowing into slits. ‘I wish I knew. I’ve never seen them.’
‘Didn’t Anya tell you?’
‘She didn’t know either. Valentina had hidden them. She couldn’t let him find them – if they’d fallen into his possession, that would have made her . . . What is the word? Disposable?’
Everyone fell silent. Allegra couldn’t bear to look at Lars any more. What was the point in all this? Histories and feuds and wars that had lasted three generations were blowing around like leaves in her mind, and just when she thought everything was beginning to settle, another wind disturbed them all again. But there wouldn’t be any victories here tonight. Nothing had changed. There was still no proof. She had heard enough, and they had a plane to catch. Feeling nauseated by the lies that had defined every generation of her family, she got up, helping Isobel to her feet. Nikolai moved forwards too – a silent bodyguard – as Timo got out of his chair.
‘Shouldn’t we . . . ?’ Isobel protested feebly, but Allegra shook her head.
‘Let’s just go,’ she murmured, keeping her eyes down. The only justice they would have here was knowing, at last, the unproved truth. It would have to be enough.
‘The truth will out, old man,’ Timo said, his voice weaker from the strain of the battle, Lars watching in silence as their small group shuffled and hopped their way to the door. This was his only punishment – to watch the family that wasn’t his walk out on him for the last time. Did he even care?
It was like Timo had said at the beginning: proof was their problem. Without the deeds they couldn’t prove motive, or that he had sold the farm illegally.
The mountains were still keeping secrets.
To all intents and purposes, Lars had got away with it.
Chapter Thirty-Four
It was after ten in the evening before they approached the arrivals hall at Heathrow, Isobel enjoying the envious stares of the other passengers as they were whisked past on the special-assistance buggy, Allegra holding her crutches.
She was dead on her feet – she hadn’t slept in nearly thirty-six hours, and the day’s events had made it impossible for her even to nap on the plane – but she couldn’t stop yet. Pierre was waiting for her in the office. He had said he’d wait for her, as long as it took, an ambiguity in his words that she’d never heard before.
Her stomach clenched with nerves again and she wished she had time to go home for a shower and change of clothes. She had woefully under-packed and all her clothes had been worn several times over. Then again, if she’d known half of what was coming her way, she never would have gone at all – racing down the mountains, dancing on barrels and getting drunk with dangerous strangers had been the easy part. She had found angels and demons on
this trip, sifted the truth from the lies, and she was back on home soil with a new past and a brighter future. She would be there in the hour.
‘You OK?’ Isobel asked, putting a hand on her knee.
‘Of course,’ she smiled, banishing Sam Kemp from her thoughts.
‘You were amazing today.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. Mum would have been so proud.’
Allegra hesitated. ‘I’m just sorry we can’t do more.’
‘We can only do what we can do, Legs. Besides, look what you’ve got for her.’ She patted the memory book sticking out of her bag. ‘Stories to share for the good days, like you said. That’s worth more than revenge.’
They rounded the corner into the arrivals hall, with the buggy’s orange lights flashing and a warning beep alerting stragglers to move out of their path. There were still hundreds of people milling about – some lovers being reunited, many of them bored drivers with names written on whiteboards.
‘Oh my God!’ Isobel squealed suddenly, clapping her hands across her mouth as she caught sight of Lloyd in his curious trapper hat waving Ferds in his baby-blue snowsuit and a ‘Welcome home, Mummy!’ banner, which had been made of five A4 sheets sellotaped together and decorated with felt-tip rainbows and hearts. He saw them coming through like VIPs and in the next instant disappeared, running round the back of the crowd and emerging in front of them moments later, forcing the buggy driver to perform an emergency stop.
‘Oh, Iz,’ he said with a tender croak in his voice as he saw her knee brace, reaching down to kiss her just as Ferdy grabbed her hair. Impressively, Isobel managed not to shout, simply winding her index finger into his little fist and feeling the strength of his squeeze as she bent down and kissed his snub nose.
‘Does it hurt?’
‘No. Champagne helps.’
He laughed, looking up and noticing Allegra. ‘Hey, Legs, how’ve you been?’ And he reached over to give her a kiss on the cheek as Isobel held Ferdy in her arms.
‘Nice artwork,’ Allegra said drily, her eyes on the banner. ‘Must’ve taken you some time.’
He chuckled. ‘Yeah, well . . . Ferdy helped.’
‘I can’t believe you’ve kept him up this late,’ Isobel mock scolded, clearly delighted.
‘Sleep was not an option. He was desperate to see you. We both were.’
Isobel looked up at the tone in his voice and Allegra looked away discreetly as he kissed her again. Maybe it was true – absence really does make the heart grow fonder.
‘Seeing as you’ve got someone picking you up, I’ll give you the wheelchair to use in the car park,’ the driver said gruffly to Allegra. ‘Just bring it back to the passenger enquiries desk over there.’
‘Will do. Thanks,’ she smiled, gathering Isobel’s crutches and hopping down.
‘I swear he’s grown another foot,’ Isobel said a moment later as she settled in the wheelchair, gazing down at her baby son.
‘Really? There were definitely only two earlier.’
‘No, I mean—’ Isobel managed before catching sight of Lloyd’s expression and dissolving into giggles.
Allegra pulled the bags as Lloyd pushed Isobel and Ferds in the wheelchair and they found the car in the multistorey car park. It was snowing hard, for London, and a bitter wind pitted the soft-blanketed ground, garlands of tinsel wrapped round the trolleys a visitor’s first sign that Christmas was almost here. Fifteen minutes later, they were on the M4 and heading back into London in Lloyd’s trusty black Golf, Ferdy fast asleep in the car seat beside Allegra in the back as Lloyd set the blowers to ‘max’ to warm them all up. Isobel looked like she was in a wind tunnel, her hair blowing back dramatically from her face as she filled Lloyd in with the new family history and he squeezed her good knee, looking at her like she was a goddess.
Just wait till he sees the gold dress, Allegra thought to herself, picking up a battered copy of today’s Times and thumbing through it. If she got a cab over to the office from Isobel’s house, she could squeeze a shower in, too, while she waited. Isobel must have something smart she could borrow. A suit she wore for funerals perhaps?
The thought of funerals made her eyes fall to the tin ring on her hand. She still hadn’t taken it off and she felt in no hurry to do so.
‘. . . wasn’t an Advent calendar at all, see, but like a memory box,’ Isobel was saying. ‘There’s a bracelet made with holly berries that he picked the day Mum was born.’
‘Holly berries? Aren’t they poisonous?’ Lloyd frowned.
‘I know, right?’ Isobel said animatedly. ‘You could never put them near a child.’
‘Social services would be straight in,’ Lloyd agreed.
In the back seat, Allegra sighed and carried on reading.
‘And then there’s like this little wire heart threaded with edelweiss. He and Valentina picked it together in the summer before Mum was born; Valentina dried it out above Mum’s cot . . . And, and . . .’ Isobel twisted in her seat. ‘What else is there, Legs?’
‘The lucky leaf,’ Allegra murmured, not looking up.
‘Oh yes! He caught lucky leaves too! He put one in a little leather booklet because he said sometimes you need luck on your side.’ Isobel joshed him with her arm. ‘See? You always thought I was just making it up, but that’s where it comes from!’
Lloyd rubbed her thigh. ‘I shall never doubt you again.’
‘Wait till you see him, Lloyd. He looks just like . . .’ She wrinkled her nose, clicking her fingers. ‘Oh! What’s Pinocchio’s dad called?’
‘Geppetto.’
‘Right. He looks just like him. Little white moustache and twinkly eyes. And he was the one who made the cuckoo clock too. That was why Granny took it: another thing for Mum to have from her dad. Isn’t that sweet? Plus he still lives in the same house he was born in. All his life in one place – can you imagine?’ After leaving Lars, they had just had time for tea together in the apartment Timo shared with Nikolai, Noemie and Leysa before leaving for the airport.
‘Not really.’
‘I mean, it’s tiny. Just a room above the shop really, but so homely, you know? And he made all the furniture. Ha! Linley eat your heart out!’
Allegra wondered whether her sister was going to take a breath before they reached the river.
‘So did he never marry, then?’ Lloyd asked, swinging them off the Hammersmith flyover and down towards Fulham.
‘No, he did, but not till twelve years later. He said he used to go up the mountains all the time trying to find Valentina, but eventually, you know . . . He had to move on with his life.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s really sad. His wife died four years ago and now he lives in the apartment with his son Nikolai, Nik’s wife, Leysa, and their daughter, Noemie. She’s seventeen . . . She is seventeen, isn’t she?’ Isobel twisted in her seat again. ‘Legs? Legs, what is it?’
Allegra blinked back at her, the newspaper flat against her lap where she’d dropped it. ‘Glencore’s gone up thirty-nine per cent today.’
‘Glencore?’ Isobel paused, concentrating hard. ‘Oh, that’s the company I told you about, isn’t it?’
‘And I told Pierre.’
Lloyd glanced back at her in the rear-view mirror, getting the gist immediately, as Isobel’s mouth dropped open – even she understood what that meant.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Day Twenty: Empty. Light Trace of a Circle on the Drawer Base
‘Legs, bacon sarnie?’ Isobel called across the kitchen.
‘Huh? Uh, no. No, thanks.’ Allegra shook her head, her nose almost to the TV screen as she watched the footage again, the twentieth time in an hour, of Pierre being led to a patrol car in handcuffs, flashbulbs popping.
A sandwich was thrust in front of her nose. ‘Eat. You are no use to anyone dead on my kitchen floor.’
‘Uh . . .’ She accepted it obediently. Took a bite obediently. Chewed obediently.
As soon as Isobel walked back to the worktop, she put it down.
‘Legs!’ Isobel said in a warning voice, her back still turned as she shook the ketchup bottle.
‘Sorry.’ She picked up the sandwich and took another bite, but it was like chewing sawdust.
The producers cut back to the presenters in the studio, all sitting in bright colours with bright smiles as they discussed again the very serious charges and failures in risk control that had allowed the trades to happen. But it didn’t matter how many times they said them, or rearranged the words – ‘arrested . . . billions . . . liquidity squeeze . . . whistle-blower’ – they always led to just one meaning: insider trading.
Allegra had been flicking through the various twenty-four-hour news channels since the story had broken, devouring the details with macabre intensity.
‘I can’t believe he thought he’d get away with it,’ Isobel said, glancing over at her as she cut her sandwich in half.
‘Desperation,’ Allegra murmured, her own sandwich forgotten again in her hands.
‘Greedy bastard, more like. He was arrogant enough to think he’d covered all the angles, but anyone with half a brain could see the timings were too tight.’ She picked up her sandwich and took a bite, leaning against the worktop as she scrolled through her texts.
‘Mmmm . . .’ Allegra replied, her eyes on a still image of her own office building. ‘Wait . . . What?’
‘Huh?’
‘You said the timings were too tight.’
‘Yeah, a second between the trades? I mean, come on! Even I know you can’t input something that quickly.’ Isobel rolled her eyes, her hand over her mouth as she talked and ate at the same time.
Allegra stared at her. ‘What timings are you talking about?’
Isobel swallowed, her eyes glancing at the screen. ‘They said about the timings on there, didn’t they?’
‘No. They haven’t released any operational information whatsoever. The press don’t have access to that kind of information yet.’ Allegra’s eyes narrowed as she stood up. ‘Where did you hear about the timings?’
