‘We have a long way to travel,’ he said, ‘perhaps literally.’
‘Yes,’ she said abandoning reluctantly her vision of finding and coercing Miles Wilburn on to her side within the space of seven days, ‘yes, I suppose so. But then again, given some luck, we might do better.’
‘We might indeed. And of course, in working with us you have considerable skills working for you as well as luck. Skills and contacts. Are you prepared to put your trust in those?’
‘Yes,’ said Roz, ‘yes, I think so. Yes, I am.’
‘Good. Now then, in order to utilize them, I need all the information you can possibly give me.’
‘You’re welcome to it. But there really isn’t any. None at all.’
‘Could I talk to the widow?’
‘No,’ said Roz. It was a flat, final sound; it brooked no further discussion.
‘Right. Well, could I ask you a few questions?’
‘Of course.’
‘You are quite quite sure you have never heard your father mention this name?’
‘Well of course, he may have done. I can’t remember every name that ever passed his lips. But in the context of someone to whom he was going to leave what amounts to the controlling share in his company, someone he knew well and presumably trusted, no.’
‘Right. And you have no idea when the will was made?’
‘None. Other than clearly it was since his marriage to Miss Blenheim.’
Blackworth’s lips twitched at the interesting demotion of Lady Morell to her unmarried state.
‘Which was June of 1983?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I have a copy of the will?’
‘Yes. I’ll ask the solicitor today.’
‘And he did not draw it up?’
‘No. He says he knew nothing about it until it was delivered into his hands by – by the widow.’
‘Interesting, that. Not to leave it in the keeping of his solicitor.’
‘Yes, well, my father was an interesting man.’ She sounded sad; he looked at her sharply. He was a kind and discerning person; he felt sure that beneath the hardness, the carefully cultivated tough talk, was someone very different.
‘Is there anyone else in the family who might be able to help me?’
‘Well, I daresay there might be, but they won’t want to talk. His mother might know something of this person, but she was quite sure yesterday that she didn’t. Same goes for his first wife. Then there are the mistresses. More of them. You might get something there, if you sifted through them. It might take a year or two.’
He looked at her in amusement.
‘I understood we did not have a year or two. Is there any particular friend, associate, who might be able to help? Someone who has known him, let us say, for a considerable time?’
‘Well, you could try. They might not want to talk. There’s Mrs Susan Brookes, she is just about his oldest friend. Most assuredly not his mistress though,’ she added with a warning look in her eyes. ‘I can give you her address, she lives in London.’
‘I shall certainly talk to her if you think she will agree.’
‘Oh, she certainly will. And then there’s Camilla North. She certainly won’t want to talk if she knows you’re acting for me.’
‘I see. Where is Miss – Ms North?’
‘Miss,’ said Roz ferociously. ‘Back in New York as from today, but again, I can give you her address.’
‘Excellent. Now where did your father spend most of his time?’
‘Well, here latterly. In New York a great deal in the sixties and seventies. He had a home there. He also had business interests in many European cities and of course in places like Tokyo, Sydney, other American cities and states.’
‘I think we should look initially more intensely at places where he had homes. Which are?’
‘Well, apart from London and New York and a house in Sussex, of course, there’s a place near Nice and a flat in Sydney, and a house on one of the Bahamian islands, Eleuthera.’
‘I see. What a fortunate man he was.’
‘Yes and no,’ said Roz with a sigh. ‘I don’t think he was really very successful with human relationships.’
‘Few rich and powerful men are,’ said Andrew Blackworth gravely. ‘Now if you can get me a copy of the will, Mrs Emerson, I will begin instigating inquiries immediately. And I think we should find ourselves getting somewhere fairly fast.’
‘Thank you Mr Blackworth. I certainly hope so.’ She stood up, looking at him, a touch of humour in her face. ‘What about rich and powerful women? Any better?’
‘Oh, I’m afraid not,’ he said, ‘in my experience, infinitely worse.’
Phaedria was sitting at the huge desk that had been Julian’s, a neat pile of papers and files at her left elbow, a large foolscap pad in front of her, which she was covering rapidly with notes. Richard Brookes and Freddy Branksome, who had both been expecting to spend most of the afternoon humouring her and dispensing sympathy, were slightly disconcerted by the turn events were taking.
‘What I’d like,’ she said, looking at them composedly, ‘is a complete breakdown of the structure of the company, the relative value of its different components, its assets, its liabilities, and perhaps, from both of you, an assessment of its strengths and weaknesses. Nothing too technical –’ she smiled briefly – ‘but a kind of gut reaction, with obviously facts and figures to support it, where necessary. For instance, I have a hunch, just a hunch, that the hotels are not really making us a great deal of money. And are costing us dear in terms of personnel, hassle, and investment generally. On the other hand, they obviously provide a high-profile visible asset. I’m also not really very sure about this new communications company. I imagine that’s an investment in the future, satellite TV and so on. Could you clarify that a little for me please?’ She looked at them both and smiled. ‘I must seem very ignorant, foolish even. But I am desperately anxious to familiarize myself with this company, and assess what my future role might be. I want to keep it running successfully. For Julian’s sake.’
‘Of course,’ said Richard, ‘and we will do everything in our power to assist you. Won’t we, Freddy?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Freddy, ‘everything. But, Lady Morell, there is one thing – oh, it’s a little delicate, but it has to be broached –’
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I know what you mean. Roz Emerson. She has at the moment an equal share in the company, equal say in its future, equal power. I understand and appreciate that. Clearly she and I will have to establish a modus operandi. But she has the advantage of me at the moment in knowing rather more about it than I do. Of its structure and so on. She’s worked in it for years. I’ve only been involved for a very short time.’
‘Right,’ said Freddy uncertainly. ‘Er – right. But will you – that is –’ His round red face was perspiring, his bright blue eyes were anxious.
Richard looked at him and smiled, then turned to Phaedria, stretching his long legs out in front of him, looking at her with frank appreciation and a certain degree of wariness at the same time. She was going to take some dealing with, this lady. Lucky old sod, Julian had been; how had he done it? And how could he have perpetrated an act of such wanton cruelty on her as he had done with that will? And on his daughter, for that matter. She might be a tough nut (although Susan was extremely fond of her and always claiming that she was not in the least as she seemed), but he suspected in any case that Phaedria Morell could and would match her, blow for blow. God in Heaven, what a bloody mess.
‘What my learned friend is trying to say, Lady Morell,’ he said, with his careful, lazy smile, ‘is that we will need to know quite how you intend to work here. How involved you plan to be. How often you will be in the office. Where. That kind of thing. We have to work with both of you, you see, and we have to be – well, tactful, to put it mildly. Indeed we are statutorily obliged, I would say, to deal with both of you on all matters of policy, finance, the whole damn thing, as the curr
ent saying goes.’
‘Of course,’ said Phaedria, ‘I understand. I am not trying to coerce either of you into anything. I give you my word that after today there will be no meetings at board level that will not involve Mrs Emerson as well as myself. I will copy her in on everything, as I would expect her to do me. As to your question about how often I intend to be here, the answer is all the time, every day. Possibly including the weekends. After all,’ she said, flicking a brief glance down her own body, meeting their eyes with frank amusement, ‘I cannot ride or hunt for the next few months, I may as well work. And I shall base myself here, in this office. Someone has to use it.’
‘Really?’ It was Roz’s voice; she was standing in the open doorway. ‘I don’t quite see that, Phaedria. Nobody has to use it. It can be locked up. It was my father’s office and you have no more claim on it than I do. We are absolutely equal partners in this company at present, and I fail to see why you should make assumptions, and indeed implications by taking your place at his desk.’
Phaedria looked at Roz; she was quite white, her green eyes blazing. She was dressed in black, and looked fierce, dramatic, almost frightening. Richard and Freddy shifted awkwardly in their chairs. There was a long silence; then Phaedria spoke.
‘Freddy, Richard, perhaps you would leave us for now. We have matters of policy to sort out, as you were saying earlier. We can continue this meeting tomorrow morning if you’re free. Any time – to suit you.’
‘Fine,’ said Freddy, gathering up his files. ‘We’ll sort out something between us.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Richard, rising to his full, gangling height, ‘and as you were saying, Lady Morell, it is essential that both you and Mrs Emerson should be present at all major meetings in future.’
It was a graceful, diplomatic remark; Phaedria gave him a grateful look.
‘Indeed. So shall we fix a time now?’
‘I’m afraid,’ said Roz, tapping lightly on the desk, where she had sat down, in a clear piece of territorial reclamation, ‘I shall be out of the office tomorrow. All day. This meeting, whatever it’s about, will have to wait.’
‘As you wish,’ said Richard, bowing to her ever so slightly. ‘We are at your service, Mr Branksome and I. Are we not, Freddy?’
‘Oh, we are, we are indeed,’ said Freddy, hastily leading the way to the door. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Morell, Mrs Emerson.’
The door closed behind them; Phaedria faced Roz, her eyes contemptuous. ‘Roz, whatever you may feel about me – and I can hazard a very clear guess – we do have to work together and I see no future whatever in holding public brawls. Please can’t we confine any emotional discussions to occasions when we are on our own?’
‘My God,’ said Roz, ‘my God, Phaedria, you have a lot of gall. You’ve known my father just over two years, and yet you’ve inveigled your way into his company, and now within days of his death you’re trying to step into his shoes. You have no right to sit at this desk, in this office, no right at all, nor to hold meetings with the executives of his company in it; the only rights you have here are mine as well, and I intend to see I don’t lose any of them.’
Phaedria looked at her in silence for a while. Then she stood and picked up her files, her notes, her briefcase. ‘You’re absolutely right, Roz,’ she said finally, ‘and I’m sorry. I was making assumptions which were quite wrong. Either we should share this office, which frankly I don’t see working, or I should have one of my own. This one, as you say, can be locked up. For the time being. One of us can move into it in the fullness of time.’
Roz stared at her. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow you.’
‘Don’t you?’ Phaedria met her glance with a clear disbelief. ‘I’m surprised. One of us is going to have to win this war, Roz, sooner or later, and at that time, the victor can move in and claim the throne. Meanwhile I will speak to Sarah about an office for myself. I’m going home now, I’ll see this room is locked before I go.’ She buzzed on the intercom. ‘Sarah,’ she said, ‘could you please speak to whoever is in charge of such things, and organize me an office. As near to Mrs Emerson’s as possible. Oh, and Sarah –’ she looked very straight at Roz for a moment – ‘make sure it’s at least no smaller than Mrs Emerson’s office, will you? I don’t want to be working under unfavourable conditions.’
Richard and Freddy had escaped thankfully to the sanctuary of the Palm Court at the Ritz and were drowning their anxieties and discomfort in extremely large whiskies.
‘I really hate to say this,’ said Freddy, ‘but I think we’ve seen the best of it.’
‘Oh, nonsense,’ said Richard, ‘where is your spirit of adventure, of prospecting, Freddy? Enormous, immense fun lies ahead. I can’t wait, personally.’
Freddy looked into his glass mournfully. ‘I think you should remind yourself, Richard, old man, that we are not in this for fun. The company needs good housekeeping. If we are to have to sit by and listen while two harpies fight over every inch of it, then I see the property becoming extremely squalid and devalued very quickly.’
‘Oh, I don’t agree,’ said Richard. ‘I think they will both be devoting themselves very painstakingly to the housekeeping. I see every corner gleaming quite beautifully, myself. Just so that neither of them can come along and wipe an elegant finger over any of the surfaces, looking for dust left by the other.’
Freddy looked at him. ‘And who do you think is going to win the war?’ he said. ‘Roz, I suppose. She has the advantage that she has years of experience and she is an arch bitch.’
Richard raised his shaggy eyebrows. ‘How naïve you are, my dear old chap. I couldn’t agree less. I would back the charmingly gentle Phaedria Morell against her stepdaughter any day. Tough as all her elegant new boots, that lady, much as I like her. And she has charm on her side, and certain – what shall we say – personnel skills.’
‘Good heavens,’ said Freddy, ‘well, you may be right.’
‘Well, we shall see,’ said Richard. ‘She is very beautiful, is she not? Under other circumstances perhaps – but no. I am after all scarcely out of my own wedding bed. Don’t look like that, I am merely jesting. Of course all heiresses are beautiful,’ he added. ‘Another drink, Freddy?’
‘What are you talking about? She’s not exactly an heiress. And I’m surprised at you. I thought you had a higher mind than that.’
‘How ignorant you are,’ said Richard. ‘Quotation, my dear old thing. Dryden. King Arthur. Just a passing comment. A great many most virulent little germs of truth in it, though. I’ll tell you one thing, Freddy. I see more and greater signs of grief in the daughter than the widow. Do you?’
‘God, I don’t know. You could be right. Yes, please, another drink. Oh, God, what a mess. Come back, Julian, all is forgiven.’
‘I don’t think it would be now,’ said Richard cheerfully. ‘Not by those two at any rate. Come on, Freddy, drink up. Then we’d better go and get on with those reports our new commandant has requested.’
Roz felt as if there was a great raw hole at the heart of her, that was bleeding endlessly; she thought she had not known what misery was until now. Had she not been propelled into this bitter battle with Phaedria, she thought that for the first time in her life she would have given in, lain down and let the world take care of itself. She felt weary, sickened, by her father’s treachery, and totally wretched at her loss. He had enraged her, fought her, and manipulated her ever since she could remember, and most of the misery she had ever felt could be lain at his door; nevertheless she had loved him deeply, helplessly. She had little of the comfort afforded to Phaedria, the tide of sympathy, love, concern that was flowing her way from every direction; she had not been with him at the end, there had been no reconciliation, he had died thinking she hated him, he had never known, would never know how much she had loved him, admired him, longed for his approval, how he had always, since she had been a tiny child, occupied the prime, the most important, the most tender place in her tough, hurt little heart.
During the long sleepless nights now, she lay and relived the happy times with him, the weeks they had spent together, at Marriotts, riding beside him on Miss Madam, looking up at him, trying to do as well as he, braving wide ditches, long, long, fast gallops, anxious to earn his look of approval, his praise; walking the downs, talking endlessly, her small hand in his, dining with him alone in the huge dining room, while he solemnly had her glass refilled with wine and water and consulted her on whether he should buy this horse, that car; sitting beside him, driving some of those wonderful machines, long before she was legally old enough, up and down the drive and tracks of Marriotts, seeing his surprise and pleasure at her skill with them; the visits to New York, dizzier and more exciting all the time as she grew older; the intense pleasure and joy she had felt at his acceptance of her into the company, at his recognition of her skills, his delight at her success; even her wedding day she relived, most of it a panicky blurr, the happiest, the best moment being his face looking up at her as she came down the stairs at Marriotts in her dress, naked of everything but love, and his voice saying, ‘Rosamund, you are the joy of my life.’ And all through the years, the fear, the terror, the nightmare, that someone would come along, young enough to give him another child, who he would love as much, more, than he had loved her.
And now he was gone, and he had never known any of it; he had thought she hated him, despised him, that she wanted to see him hurt and wounded, when all she had really longed for was his unequivocal love.
In her anguish, all pride gone, lonely, fearful, she had phoned Michael in New York; he was polite, kind even, sympathetic over Julian’s death, but distant, declining her invitation to come to England. He had said very little but she knew what the refusal meant; I was not good enough while your father was alive, it meant, and I am not prepared to come running to you now that he is dead.
She even turned to C. J., but he was remote, withdrawn; he too had loved Julian, who had been a second father to him, and he was saddened by his death, he could not pretend feelings that did not even exist for a woman who had shown him nothing but coldness and distaste for so long.
Old Sins Page 79
