‘Mr Kennett, I’ve had Clanford Hall checked out and I do know what position you’re in with regard to servicing your loans and the mortgage you have on the estate.’
Michael acknowledged his statement with a short nod of his head. ‘Well, I expected you to be prepared of course, but there are elements of the purchase that require some guarantees.’
‘Such as?’
Michael took a deep breath. ‘You will see when I show you around the estate that we have a working farm and areas that have been sectioned off for various club activities: shooting, archery, fishing. We also run a bed-and-breakfast business as well as organizing corpor-ate events and weddings.’ He watched Isaacs’ face and waited for a reaction. None came, so he pressed on. ‘Their future needs to be discussed.’
Isaacs glanced at his wife. ‘Anita will deal with that. But I’m sure details can be worked out, depending on their relevance to our corporate plan.’
‘Which is?’
Isaacs gave a light shrug. ‘That will all be dealt with by the lawyers, but essentially we plan to open a gambling club. For members only,’ he added.
‘I did hear about that,’ Michael admitted. ‘But I’m not sure the local planning authority would welcome it.’ He realized then that a man like Isaacs would have all the bases covered. ‘But no doubt you’ve been into that?’
Isaacs nodded. ‘The Gambling Commission have approved the licence provisionally. The local planning authority has been dealt with.’
Michael wasn’t sure he liked that phrase. Isaacs continued. ‘But they have been asked to say nothing of this yet; at least not until the sale has been completed.’
‘And how long are you expecting that to take?’ Michael asked.
Isaacs walked away from the window, unbuttoned his jacket and sat down next to his wife. She glanced at him. Michael couldn’t see much of her face because of the veil. He wondered if she was really relevant to this deal other than being the title holder of Coney Enterprises.
Isaacs pulled a small diary from inside his jacket and flipped it open. ‘Once we have agreed a price, I will run a complete check on the estate’s finances, the credit holders and any other interested parties. Should take about three months.’
‘You know the price,’ Michael told him.
‘Nineteen million?’ Isaacs put to Michael.
Michael nodded his head. ‘Exactly.’
Isaacs smiled and shifted in his seat. ‘But we can negotiate that down, I’m sure.’
‘It isn’t part of the plan. The price was recommended by my agents. It wasn’t something they plucked out of thin air either: it took a lot of time.’
‘And money, I’m sure,’ Isaacs put in. ‘Money you are trying to recover, no doubt.’
Michael shrugged. ‘All sellers want the best price.’
‘And buyers want the lowest,’ Isaacs put in, ‘but you don’t have time on your side, do you?’
‘What makes you think that?’ Michael asked, not sure which way this conversation was going.
‘Your bank has threatened to foreclose in eight weeks, which means they would hold the deeds one month before my team have finished.’ The smile had widened now. ‘If we can’t agree on a price, there will be no deal.’ He waited for Michael to say something.
‘You’ve certainly done your homework, Mr Isaacs,’ Michael said at length.
‘Billy, please. And yes: I’ve done my homework.’
Michael began to feel uncomfortable. Isaacs didn’t appear to be a man to be trifled with and somehow he had managed to step through some of the formal hurdles effortlessly. He mentioned the Gambling Commission as though it was the name of a family member, which meant he had access to people of influence. Michael couldn’t understand how someone could deal with the local planning authority as though they were an irrelevance. But the point about the bank foreclosing had been like a knife to the heart. He knew that if the bank did pull the rug from under his feet, Isaacs would buy the property from the bank at a knock-down price, which meant he would be left with nothing. As uncomfortable as he felt about the whole business, though, Michael decided to brazen it out. He crossed the room to the sideboard and picked up a file folder.
‘The bank won’t foreclose,’ he told Isaacs as he handed him the folder. ‘So we’ve no need to concern ourselves on that point.’ He tapped the folder. ‘I’ve prepared this for you: certain elements of our operation here that I’m sure your legal people will not yet know about.’
Isaacs handed the folder to his wife. He was obviously not interested. He stood up and buttoned his jacket. Then unexpectedly he said, ‘You have a twin brother, don’t you?’
The statement caught Michael unawares and he needed a moment to adjust his thoughts before answering.
‘Yes I do, as a matter of fact,’ he replied, shaking his head. ‘But I haven’t seen him for over twenty years. Why do you ask?’
Isaacs had been struck by the likeness between Michael and Paul. The moment he saw him standing in front of Clanford Hall, his mind shot back to his time in Parkhurst prison and Paul Kennett.
‘I’ve seen no mention of him in the details we have on the estate. Is he still alive?’
Michael shrugged and turned to Kate, who looked away. ‘As far as we know.’ He didn’t like the idea of Paul’s name being brought up. ‘Look, I don’t see how this can be relevant.’
‘We don’t want any lost member of the family turning up at the last minute claiming part ownership of the estate,’ Isaacs told him. ‘It could be unfortunate. For you, that is,’ he added with a hint of warning in his voice.
Michael had to suppress a smile. He remembered how he and Paul had sworn a deposition on their identities using fingerprints. Paul was still the rightful, legal owner of the estate, and it was only because of that deposition that Michael could act as the owner without fear of being accused of breaking the law.
‘Paul went to prison over twenty years ago. As far as we are concerned he no longer exists.’
As he said that, Kate felt her heart leap and had to suppress a tear. She coughed gently to hide her discomfort. ‘Well, now that we’ve established that,’ she said, ‘perhaps we should show you around the estate?’
Isaacs’s wife stood up, clearly bored with the proceedings, and headed towards the door. Kate fell in behind her and Isaacs appeared on her arm. Michael followed them out of the house with a sense of foreboding that chilled him, descending on him like a poisonous cloud.
TWENTY-THREE
Max opened his eyes and for a moment his mind played tricks on him: something was different. Then he smiled and pushed himself up onto one elbow, leaned over and looked at Emma. Her eyes were closed and her hair cascaded across the pillow. Max felt an enormous contentment fill him as he recalled how she had come back into his life. He thought of his own, childlike joy at seeing Emma standing on the doorstep. He had swept her into his arms and held her as though it was a dream that might fade away.
But this was no dream, this was real: Emma had given herself to him completely. She knew him now and wasn’t afraid of him. She loved him and had shown that love in a fierce display of compassion which had slain all her demons. He could feel the effects of that compassion even now and leaned forward to steal one kiss: one that might waken her and give him another chance to immerse himself in bliss.
She opened her eyes and smiled. ‘Well?’
He moved over her and pressed his lips to hers. Emma responded fiercely and pulled him to her. Max went willingly, wanting more. No thought was given by either of them other than the demands they were making on each other until they were both spent. Max rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, a smile of utter joy and contentment fixed on his face.
Emma sat up. ‘How’s your back?’ She put her hand on his shoulder and pushed gently. Max allowed himself to be rolled over onto his side. He heard Emma mutter something. Then she pulled him back and looked at her nails. ‘I’m afraid I did some damage last night,’ she admitted, studyi
ng her nails closely. ‘I took some skin off your back.’
Max grinned. ‘Vixen.’
Emma threw the covers back and swung her legs out of bed, then padded over to the bathroom as Max watched in admiration.
‘You’d better come in here so I can clean you up,’ she called through the open door.
Max clambered out of bed and could feel the sting of the claw marks that Emma had inflicted on him. He joined her in the shower and let her soap him all over. He returned the compliment until they had both given up the idea of showering and got carried away in what came naturally.
Eventually the two of them managed to make it through to the kitchen where Max prepared breakfast. For Max that was a ‘full English’. When Emma showed her horror at Max’s plate, he said it was her fault because of all the energy he had used up during the night. Emma responded with a playful slap and got on with her cereal.
As Max was washing up the breakfast dishes, Emma switched the TV on to watch the news. Max listened as he worked his way through the debris in the sink. Then he heard something that made him stop and turn round. The newsreader was reporting on a DNA breakthrough that had solved a murder committed over twenty years earlier. The report explained that DNA technology was in its infancy in the eighties when the crime was committed, and could not have been used as evidence in court at that time. But the breakthrough had resulted in the murderer being convicted and sentenced to life imprisonment. And for Max it meant that the one piece of the puzzle that had confounded him for so long now fell into place.
He leaned back against the sink, his mind racing. He knew he might, just might have time to save Clanford Hall; but there was something he needed, and needed desperately. He pushed himself upright.
‘Emma, there’s something I have to do.’ He walked away from the sink. ‘I’ve got some phone calls to make.’
Michael stormed into the kitchen at Clanford Hall and hurled his topcoat onto a convenient chair. Kate had heard the car draw up and was now waiting for him, but she didn’t expect such an entrance. His face was set into a deep anger as he literally fell into the chair beside her.
‘Damn, fucking bank!’ he snarled.
‘Michael!’ Kate hated to hear him swear. ‘Language, please.’
He shook his head in despair. ‘They won’t extend beyond one sodding day.’ He slammed his hand down onto the tabletop. ‘They’ve been fucking got at!’
‘Michael!’
‘I don’t care, Kate,’ he snapped at her. ‘What’s one fucking swear word when we’re going to lose everything? That twat Isaacs has got at them.’ He tilted his head up in exasperation. ‘It’s the only plausible explanation.’
Kate put a hand on his arm. ‘Rubbish; you’re imagining things.’
He whipped his head round at her. ‘Am I, Kate? Am I? I had the man checked out. He served time in Parkhurst while Paul was there. Paul probably pissed him off over something so now he’s going to buy up Clanford Hall to spite him.’
Kate glared at him. ‘That’s pure nonsense. The man is a successful businessman. I’m sure he wouldn’t even dream of carrying out such an expensive act of revenge just to spite someone.’
Michael stared down at the tabletop. ‘I can’t even refuse to sell it to him.’ He turned towards her, his eyes hard and piercing. ‘Don’t you see, Kate? He’s got everything tied up into neat parcels. He has the Gambling Commission in his pocket. The local planning authority has fallen into step with him and now the bank won’t extend because he has obviously managed to cross someone’s palm with silver.’ Misery poured over his face. ‘The bank will foreclose, Isaacs will buy the property from the bank at a knock-down price and some creep of a bank manager will have a million squared away by Isaacs.’
‘Then why don’t you agree to Isaacs’s price?’ Kate asked him.
He frowned. ‘What will that achieve? We’ll end up with nothing either way.’
She shook her head. ‘Not if you butter him up: massage his ego.’
‘Oh and how do I do that?’
Kate pursed her lips. ‘If you were a woman it might be easy.’
Michael rocked back in his chair. ‘Go to bed with him? Are you crazy?’
She laughed. ‘No, of course not, I meant flatter him. Appeal to his inner charm. Agree to sell at a little over the bank’s price. Promise him a larger media audience.’
‘How?’
Kate leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You’re Paul’s twin brother. You’ve used the connection before, so use it again.’ And with that she left Michael sitting alone in the kitchen wondering how much more mercenary Kate could be.
George Reilly stood on the pavement outside Newport Police Station on the Isle of Wight suffering from a moment’s hesitation before opening the door and walking into the plain, red-brick building. He hadn’t committed any crime but had simply asked for an interview with a member of the CID. He didn’t believe anything would come of it because he had the same mistrust in the police that the public had. He considered himself of little consequence to the police when it came to matters of importance: his importance, and therefore was convinced his journey would be a complete waste of time. The desk sergeant looked up as George walked into the front lobby. He affected a warming smile.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ he asked pleasantly.
George cleared his throat. ‘I have an appointment with Inspector James. My name’s Reilly.’
The desk sergeant looked down at a diary and then picked up a phone. He punched in a single number and waited.
‘I’ve got a Mr Reilly here to see you, Inspector,’ he said eventually. He put the phone down and pointed towards a corridor. ‘If you go down there you’ll see Inspector James’s office on the left.’ He went back to his writing.
George ambled along the corridor until he came to a door with the inspector’s name etched on it in black. He knocked lightly and waited until he heard someone calling him to come in. He opened the door and peered in.
The inspector looked up and frowned. Then he waved George in. ‘Come in, Mr Reilly. I won’t bite you.’
George smiled and closed the door behind him. He sat down opposite the inspector.
‘How can I help you?’ James asked.
‘Well, sir, it’s about my brother Max.’
‘Max?’
‘Yes sir, Max Reilly. He was murdered in Parkhurst in 1985. No one was caught for his murder.’ James moved his head once with a drawn-out ‘hmmm. . . .’ George pressed on. ‘Well, I want to know if all the evidence was kept after his murder, or was it destroyed?’
James shook his head. ‘We never destroy evidence, particularly in unsolved murder cases. Why?’
George made an apologetic gesture with his hands. ‘Well, I think I’ve got some more evidence.’
This made the inspector sit up. ‘What kind of evidence?’
Again the apologetic shrug. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you yet because the evidence is somewhere else. I need to know if it will be enough to reopen my brother’s case.’
James leaned back in his chair. He knew of the case; it was often talked about on the island. Because the murder had been committed in Parkhurst, there were no witnesses.
‘I can’t promise you anything,’ James told him. ‘It’s one thing to say you have further evidence and another to produce it. Unless you can do that, there’s little I can do for you.’
George nodded solemnly. ‘But the evidence you have hasn’t been destroyed yet, has it?’
James scratched at an itch. ‘We don’t destroy evidence. Clear? If you bring your fresh evidence in and it’s conclusive, then I’ll pass it on to the cold case investigation team in Winchester. They’ll consider it and if appropriate they will reopen the case. Will that do?’
George was more than pleased. He stood up and reached over the table to shake the inspector’s hands.
‘Thank you, Inspector; that’s all I needed to know.’
James watched him walk out of the door
and decided the evidence the old boy had was probably some old rumour from one of the ex-cons.
George walked out of the police station and wandered over the road to a café. Once he was inside he pulled a mobile phone from his pocket and dialled the number he had been given. After a while a voice came on the line. George coughed gently. ‘It’s exactly as you thought it was: they’ve still got the evidence and will reopen the case if what you have is fireproof.’
Max put the phone down and raised a clenched fist in defiance. Then he punched more numbers into the phone and waited until Jack Rivers came on the line.
‘Jack, Max here. I need a favour: a big one.’
‘Spit it out, Max.’
So Max told him. Rivers whistled down the phone. ‘You’re asking a lot, Max. It means getting close to Isaacs.’
Max acknowledged that. ‘I know, Jack. If I thought I could get close to him, I would; but he would recognize me. It’s got to be someone he doesn’t know. I’ll double your fee, Jack.’
‘You’ll treble it for this one,’ Rivers growled down the phone.
Max grinned. ‘OK, if it means buying you three lunches, it’s cheap at the price.’
‘Max, one of these days . . .’
‘I know, Jack, I know. Give me a call when you have something.’ Rivers was muttering abuse at him like approaching thunder when Max cut the connection and dropped the phone onto his desk. If all the pieces came together, he thought to himself, he could still save Clanford Hall.
Michael had been busy since his meeting with Isaacs. He held a meeting with Kate and Topper in an effort to plan the best way of slowing down the inevitable sale to Coney Enterprises and had worked on Kate’s suggestion that they use the notoriety of Paul’s crime and develop a media-friendly background. At the same time, he had been trawling round his wealthier friends in an effort to attract long-term loans that would go some way to bailing him out personally and also to invest in Clanford’s future. He had taken Topper along to all of his meetings with those people in the hope that they would be swayed by her looks, her cleavage and a hint that there might be more than just a financial union with the Kennett family. Topper had played her part to the full, knowing there would be no such union, but she was as desperate as Michael to save the estate, hence the deception.
Past Imperfect Page 24
