‘Is it fiction?’
Emma nodded. ‘I think so; the author claims all the names are fictitious, so it must be.’
‘So how come you made the connection between the fiction and Clanford Estate?’
Emma put the book down beside her. ‘Oh, I didn’t. It was because my sister knew I was writing an Edwardian novel that she thought this might help with my research.’ She tapped the book. ‘I have to be careful, though, because of the copyright laws.’
‘Do you think you can see similarities between that book and Clanford Estate?’
Emma tried to look apologetic. ‘In a way. Oh, only because of the house and the grounds,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I don’t want to suggest there’s anything. . . .’ She left it trailing for a moment. ‘Anything disrespectful.’
‘But if you have read up on Clanford’s history,’ Kate put to her, ‘you will know that one of my sons went to prison for murder and his twin brother now runs the estate.’
Emma knew at once that she had blown it. Her pathetic attempts at inveigling her way into Kate’s confidence were doomed to failure because of her total inadequacy. Then something clicked in her brain and a small door opened.
‘You’ve read the book, haven’t you?’
Kate breathed in deeply, stood up and smoothed her dress down. ‘Yes, Emma, I’ve read the book. Now tell me: how is Paul?’
Emma couldn’t say a word. Her jaw refused to budge, and when it finally gave in all she could do was gape with her mouth open.
‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered. ‘Paul? I don’t know what you mean. Who’s Paul?’
Kate walked across to her and held her hand out. ‘Come with me, I’ve got something to show you.’
Emma allowed herself to be pulled up from the settee and taken out of the drawing room. She followed Kate down the hall until they reached another door. Kate opened it and signalled Emma to go in. She closed the door and took Emma across to a large bureau against the far wall.
‘This is my private room,’ she began. ‘It’s where I spend time on my own, writing and reading. Look.’ She reached towards the bureau and opened a door. Inside were books neatly stacked, spines facing out. She tapped four of them in turn. All of them were Max Reilly novels, including his latest.
Emma stared at Kate. ‘You’ve known about Paul all along?’
Kate took some letters from a drawer in the bureau and pointed to a chair. ‘Sit down, Emma.’ The two women sat facing each other. ‘I have never lost sight of the fact that Paul is my son,’ Kate started. ‘Even though he is not my real son: I adopted him and his brother Michael and brought them up as my own. I died inside when Paul was committed, and even though he wanted nothing to do with the family, I made it my business to know how he was getting on.’ She held up the letters. ‘There was a young prison officer by the name of David; lovely man. He was interested in prisoner welfare, particularly after their release. He tried to keep tabs on those men who ended up on the streets as a lot of them do. He would phone me from time to time, just to say what Paul was up to. Sometimes it would be a letter. Over the years he was moved about, promoted. He reached governor rank but always managed to let me know how Paul was. And when Paul was released he lost him for a while.’
‘When Paul was homeless?’
Kate nodded and smiled. ‘Thank God he met up with Jonathan and Tanya.’
‘Who?’
Kate put her hand up. ‘Of course, their names were changed in the book. His agent and wife.’ Emma remembered fondly her meeting with Jonathan Gains. She said nothing but waited for Kate to go on. ‘Then some time later David put me on to Jack Rivers.’
Emma sat bolt upright. ‘Jack Rivers? But he—’
Kate laughed. ‘Jack was a policeman turned crook.’
‘So you knew exactly what was going on?’
Kate looked shocked for a brief moment. ‘Goodness me, no; Jack Rivers never broke a confidence. He only ever told me what Max was doing with his life. Nothing else.’
‘So you don’t know what Max, sorry, Paul,’ she corrected herself, ‘has been up to other than his writing?’
‘I knew he got married.’ Her faced saddened. ‘And the accident. I so much wanted to go to him when his wife died. I went to the funeral.’
Emma could see a life of regret etched into Kate’s face and a longing to see her son again. She could feel Kate’s emotion like a metamorphosis wrapping itself around her body.
‘Paul didn’t know?’ she asked.
‘Of course not. I kept well out of it. I just wanted to be there, to see him.’
‘And now? Do you still want to see him?’
Kate looked directly at her and her eyes softened. ‘More than anything in the world.’
Emma knew then what she had to do, and she knew Max would have to respond. But she also knew that Max was on a collision course with Billy Isaacs, and nothing was going to steer him away from that path or change his plans.
‘Kate, Paul asked me to come here and try to find out details of the sale to Billy Isaacs. I think he wants to stop it but he believes he might put himself in harm’s way if anything goes wrong.’ Kate asked what Emma meant. Emma explained about Max’s visit to the Hampshire Constabulary. ‘He needs to know how much time he has before the sale takes place.’
Kate then explained to Emma what deal had been put in place. As it unfolded, Emma could see that Max would have a race against time to prevent Isaacs buying the estate. The two women couldn’t see how they could help, other than to let Max know the details of the sale. And Kate insisted that Max, or Paul, was not to be told anything of this meeting, other than that Emma had managed to deceive her into believing she was genuine and had talked a great deal about the house and its history, even up to the sale.
After about an hour, the two of them wound up their tête à tête and Kate took Emma to the front door after phoning for a taxi. They parted as good friends and Emma made a silent promise to herself that somehow, Max and Kate would be reunited again, whether the sale of Clanford Estate took place or not. She climbed into the taxi feeling a whole lot happier than when she had arrived. Her next stop was Petersfield and Max. After that, God only knew.
TWENTY-FOUR
Michael watched from the window as the taxi pulled away from the house. The passenger turned and looked directly at him.
‘Who was that?’ he asked as Kate came into the room.
‘Oh, it was that young writer I told you about: she was doing some research for a novel.’ Kate tried to sound as vague as she could. ‘She thought the house and its history would provide a good backdrop for her book.’
‘She must be writing a tragedy, then,’ Michael said dismissively.
Kate ignored the barb. ‘Have you been to the bank?’ she asked.
Michael’s expression was sour. ‘Same bloody answer: no deal. I’ve tried to persuade them we can raise the money, but they won’t listen.’
‘How much do we need?’
‘£280,000.’ He puffed out a breath. ‘Doesn’t sound so bad if you say it quickly.’
‘If it was only a one-off payment,’ Kate said, ‘it wouldn’t be a great deal. But where would you get the next payment?’
Michael nodded. ‘That’s the rub: where’s the money coming from? No banker in his right mind would give me the time to find the money, let alone a follow-up payment.’
‘How long have we got?’
Michael pulled his desk calendar towards him. ‘Today is Monday so, one week.’
They had both accepted the sale of the house was virtually a fait accompli. They had put together a severance plan for the regular employees of the estate, working in conjunction with the local social services department at Petersfield, and had agreed a bonus payment for each of them once the sale had gone through.
‘Better start packing, Kate,’ Michael said in jest. ‘You came with a suitcase and you’ll be leaving with one.’
‘And lots of memories, Michael. Let’s not forget that.’<
br />
Max caught up with Emma at the same café in Petersfield they had used that first day. She had been able to grab a bite to eat before he turned up. Max settled for a pie and chips.
‘So how did you get on?’ Emma asked.
‘The police sergeant I spoke to seemed very interested. He knew a great deal about the case and, naturally, the police want closure on it. We’ve got to wait while they figure out a way to handle it.’
‘Handle it?’
Max shoved a wedge of pie into his mouth. ‘They can’t walk up to Isaacs and accuse him of Max Reilly’s murder without firm evidence.’
‘Which you have given them,’ Emma put in firmly.
Max smiled. ‘I wish it was that easy. Everything I’ve done falls into line with what they would need to reopen the case. I’ve agreed to appear as a witness and we have given them a sworn affidavit that the DNA we have supplied is that of Billy Isaacs.’ He shrugged. ‘We can’t do any more than that.’ He took a mouthful of tea. ‘What did you find out today?’
Emma told him about her conversation with Kate but was economical with the truth. While Emma was talking, a young woman walked past the window of the café. She glanced in and stopped. Then she waved through the window and moved round to the door which she pushed open.
‘Hi, Michael,’ she called out. ‘Thanks for last week; great fun.’ Max realized the woman was talking to him. He was about to come up with some response but didn’t get the chance. ‘Sorry I can’t stop: things to do.’ She let the door go and was gone.
‘Who was that?’ Emma asked.
‘Buggered if I know,’ Max replied. ‘She must have thought I was Michael.’
Emma’s expression changed as the reality dawned on her and she thought back to that moment the taxi pulled away from Clanford Hall and the face at the window. ‘Oh my goodness,’ she exclaimed and put her hand to her mouth. ‘I saw your brother at the house.’
Max raised his eyebrows. ‘You saw him? To speak to?’
Emma shook her head. ‘No, he was looking out of the window as I left in the taxi.’ She dropped her hand to her lap. ‘I’m so stupid,’ she said suddenly. ‘I thought he was somebody who just happened to look like you.’ Her shoulders sagged and she shook her head slowly in despair. ‘No wonder that woman thought you were Michael: this is his fiefdom. People know your brother round here.’
‘So why aren’t a lot more people saying hello to me?’
Emma shrugged. ‘Perhaps Michael keeps himself to himself. Perhaps that woman was up at the estate with a wedding group or shooting club. Who knows?’ She was about to say something but Max put his hand up.
‘Did you find out how much debt there is up at the Hall?’
Emma shook her head. ‘Not exactly, but Kate told me that for the sake of less than £300,000 they were going to lose everything. The bank has agreed not to foreclose, though.’
‘Why would they do that?’ The question was rhetorical, but Emma answered anyway.
‘What about this man, Isaacs?’ she put to Max. ‘Could he have persuaded the bank to hold off?’
Max shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t make sense: he could buy the estate at a knock-down price once the bank had called in the debt.’
‘But the bank would have to put the estate out to auction, surely?’
‘In which case Isaacs would find himself in a bidding war.’
‘But if you were able to stop Isaacs from buying, your brother would still be in trouble,’ Emma pointed out. ‘The bank would foreclose and the estate would be auctioned off.’
Max sat thoughtfully. ‘Not unless I clear his debt.’ Emma waited for him to add something else. She could see his mind working furiously. He sat forward. ‘I need to know the name of Michael’s bank.’ He tapped his finger on the table a few times. ‘Do you think you could get that for me?’
Emma stiffened. ‘How can I do that?’
‘Why not phone the house? Thank Kate for her openness and. . . .’ He screwed his face up, obviously having no idea how Emma could do it. ‘You’ll think of something,’ he said thinly.
Emma scoffed. ‘Such faith, Max. If I knew what you were up to, it might help.’
Max turned his head towards the window briefly. ‘That woman just now: she thought I was Michael.’ Emma agreed. Max went on. ‘If I went into Michael’s bank, who would know the difference?’
‘If you’re thinking of paying money into Michael’s account,’ Emma said slowly, ‘you’ll need to know the account number.’
Max shook his head. ‘Not if I pay in cash.’
Emma was astounded. ‘It’s over a quarter of a million, Max.’
Max nodded. ‘I know. That’s why I need to make some phone calls.’
Detective Sergeant Harris of the Hampshire Constabulary looked at the forensic report in front of him and nodded thoughtfully. Sitting opposite him was his superior: Detective Chief Inspector Mole.
‘We’ve got him, sir,’ the sergeant said triumphantly. ‘The DNA matches.’
Mole leaned across the desk and took the report from his sergeant. ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ he said after reading the report from the lab.
‘So will Isaacs,’ Harris laughed as he took the report back. ‘All we need now is for Kennett to come in and swear out a witness statement, and then we’ll lift Isaacs.’
‘Do we know where he is?’
The sergeant shook his head. ‘No, but we do know he’ll be at Clanford Hall near Petersfield in two days’ time.’
‘What’s he doing there?’ the inspector asked. Harris explained. ‘So there will be a bit of a show on?’
Harris folded the report into the Max Reilly file. ‘I’ll set the team up and we’ll have Kennett in.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Might be a bit late today, but I’ll ring him and ask him to come in first thing in the morning.’ He closed the file. ‘What a result,’ he laughed. ‘What a fucking result.’
Emma had remained in Petersfield after Max had made his phone calls. She had booked into a local hotel and it was from there she had phoned Kate at Clanford. Kate sounded tense, which under the circumstances was only natural. She told Emma that they had given up now. The only piece of good news they had was that her daughter, Victoria, was travelling back from Australia to provide moral support, and Michael’s daughter, Pauline, would also be at the house for the sale. Emma asked if she could come as well. Under the circumstances, Kate could not refuse: she considered Emma as almost family, having known about her and Paul for some time. The only question left for Emma to ask was which bank Michael used. She tried to make it sound as though it was no more than a matter of interest to her: said she would make sure she never banked with them. Whether Kate understood the meaning in those words, she didn’t say, but she told Emma the name of the bank in Petersfield.
Max phoned shortly after Emma had finished talking with Kate. ‘How did you get on?’ was the first question he asked. Emma told him the name of the bank.
‘What about you?’ she asked.
‘I have a bit of a problem,’ he answered tightly. ‘I have to travel down to Winchester to make a witness statement, and then I have to travel back up to London.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘I’m in the city. But because of the time I can’t finish my business in London until tomorrow morning.’
‘But the sale is tomorrow.’
She heard him breathe hard down the phone. ‘I know, but I’ve got no choice. What time is the sale?’
‘Twelve o’clock.’
‘Shit.’ His voice was tense. ‘Look, Emma, I may not make it to the house in time. If you want company, give Laura a ring. I’m sure she would like to be in at the end.’
‘I’ve already called her. She’s coming.’
‘Good. I’m going to go now, sweetheart. I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
The phone went dead before Emma could say goodbye.
Billy Isaacs woke to a blustery, cold day, but for him the sun was shining. It was the
day of the sale and he was finally making it into the world of the big hitters. As much as he enjoyed being the head of Coney Enterprises, despite his wife’s ownership, this was a ticket to the high rollers. From small-time to big-time, from poacher to gamekeeper, this was Billy Isaacs’s day.
He rolled out of bed with a song going through his mind. He’d celebrated the night before in big style and had taken two rent boys to bed with him. They’d left in the early hours of the morning and soon he would be putting on the façade of a happily married businessman. No, he decided, he was an entrepreneur. He liked that word because it fitted the big illusion he had of himself. His wife was a trophy; she looked good and fitted perfectly in the image he had carved out for himself. But he was his own man: his wife was just an appendage.
Yes, this was his day: a day that would change his life irrevocably.
Max walked into his bank in Covent Garden and was met by one of the staff. The bank had just opened. Max was expected. Within a few minutes, he had been taken into a side room where he was asked to wait. Five minutes later, a uniformed security guard walked into the room with an undermanager. The young man shook Max’s hand as the guard placed a small, rectangular case on the table. He unlocked one of two padlocks with a key and left the room. The undermanager pulled a key from his pocket and removed the remaining padlock. Then he flipped the lid back. Max leaned forward and looked at the money that was lying inside the case.
‘Three hundred thousand pounds, sir,’ the young man said. ‘Do you want it counted?’
‘Max shook his head. ‘No. Believe it or not, I’m in a hurry.’ He pulled a pen from his pocket and signed the receipt offered to him. The undermanager shut the case, replaced the padlock and handed over the key. Max stood up, shook the man’s hand and hurried away from the bank.
By ten o’clock, Max had got back to the multi-storey car park where he had left the Jag. He tossed the case into the boot and motored out into the busy London traffic. Although Max was in a mighty hurry, he knew there was nothing to be gained by being impatient. Once he had negotiated the inner roads towards the M3, he knew he should make Petersfield by eleven o’clock. The sale was due to take place at midday, and it was going to be a close run thing for him. He knew he would be fine if the roads were empty and there were no speed limits, but he had to force himself to drive within the law.
Past Imperfect Page 26
