by Kait Jagger
‘Right, Luna,’ she said, rising from her chair. ‘Things are going to happen very fast now and I need you to do as I ask and save questions for later. Mr Cartwright is just coming up the drive. I’d like you to go and meet him.’
When Luna came out to the portico she saw not only Cartwright but the head of Arborage’s security team and several of his staff sat waiting in estate vehicles, their headlights gleaming in the darkness. Cartwright said nothing to her as she led him to the Marchioness’s office.
‘There are—’ Luna began, gesturing in the direction of the portico.
‘Yes, I’ve asked them to come. Don’t worry, my dear,’ Lady Wellstone said as Cartwright laid his briefcase on the meeting table and took a seat. ‘Leave us alone, please.’
So Luna exited, shutting the door behind her. She looked at her watch. Just gone 7am. She sat down at her desk and automatically switched on her laptop, even though she had absolutely no idea what she was expected to do. Twenty minutes later Cartwright opened the door and walked past Luna’s desk back the way he came. He was dressed in the same suit he’d worn the two previous times he’d met with Lady Wellstone, Luna noted absently. After some moments she hesitantly put her head into the Marchioness’s office to find her sitting at the meeting table, looking through some papers. She had her reading glasses on and she was smiling slightly, oblivious to Luna’s presence. Luna took a step backwards and bumped straight into their head of security, who nodded to her briefly as he and Mr Cartwright went back into her Ladyship’s office and shut the door.
Luna scarcely had time to wonder what the hell was going on before the head of security came back out, holding his walkie talkie to his ear as he hurried straight past her desk.
‘Do you think you could fetch us a pot of tea, Luna?’ came the Marchioness’s voice, sounding strong and firm and in command. And Luna found herself practically trembling with gratitude as she walked down to the kitchen. At last, she thought, at last her long ordeal was over.
She returned shortly thereafter carrying a tea tray to find the head of security sat at her desk. He hopped up and quickly opened the Marchioness’s door for her, saying softly in her ear, ‘I’ll be just out here if you need me.’
Inside the office, Florian stood dressed in nothing but a satin robe and slippers, his red hair thoroughly unkempt and sleep marks still in his left cheek. He was apoplectic with rage.
‘I demand an explanation for this,’ he was shouting at Lady Wellstone, who had returned to sit at her desk. ‘You have me dragged from my bed at this ungodly hour, frogmarched down here by that goon outside…’
Luna carried the tray to the meeting table, where Cartwright was sitting in silence.
‘Yes, Fox, I’m sorry to have disturbed your rest,’ Lady Wellstone said, her tone businesslike. ‘But we don’t have much time. Staff will be starting to arrive soon.’
Luna poured a cup of tea for Cartwright, lifting the pitcher of milk enquiringly. Cartwright nodded and she poured a splash of milk in his cup, handing it to him.
‘What do you mean we don’t have much time?’ Florian demanded. ‘Time for what?’
‘Time for you to get every last one of your “guests” out of my house. I think they’ve caused quite enough disruption for one week, and I want them gone before the gates open at nine.’
‘You— You,’ Florian floundered.
From her vantage point behind him, Luna saw his scalp flushing bright red. Carrying the Marchioness’s cup of tea, she walked past him behind the desk.
‘Your houssse,’ Florian finally managed. ‘Your presumption is breathtaking, Augusta. I think you’ll find that it is actually my houssse. Or will be soon enough. I’d have a care about how you talk to me, if I were you.’
‘And I’d shut my mouth, if I were you,’ the Marchioness replied, voice dripping with venom. Accepting her cup of tea she took a sip and continued, ‘I hear you’ve been a busy boy, these past few weeks – no, stay, Luna,’ she added as Luna made towards the door. ‘I want you to hear this.’
So Luna stood against the door, watching as Lady Wellstone took another sip of tea, toying with the stem of her cup. ‘Sit down, Fox,’ she instructed.
‘I will not. You—’
‘Sit down,’ she repeated, and this time he heard it – Luna did too – the vein of steel in her voice, like there would be consequences if he didn’t comply. Issuing an inarticulate, furious noise, Florian sat, adjusting his robe ineffectually over his spindly legs.
‘So, as I say, you are going to get rid of your guests. And then you are going to get dressed and come back to the conference room. By that time the lawyers will have arrived with paperwork for you to sign formally renouncing your claim to Arborage on John’s death.’
There was a deathly silence in the room.
‘And why on earth would I do that?’ Florian asked eventually.
Lady Wellstone gestured to Cartwright, who stood and stepped forward with a sheaf of papers, which he handed to Florian.
‘Because I have signed statements from no less than three women saying that you molested them over a span of ten years from 1978 to 1988. Two of them were fourteen at the time and one was thirteen.’ Gesturing to Mr Cartwright, she said, ‘Given more time, my investigator could doubtless uncover further victims of your utter and complete depravity…’
‘These are lies!’ Florian exclaimed, staring blindly at the papers. ‘Women looking to extort money from the estate.’
‘Funny that we had to find them, then,’ the Marchioness observed, studying the rim of her tea cup. ‘No, they were most unwilling to talk at first, and who can blame them, given your…predilections. Really, Florian, some of the details shocked me, and I am not easily shocked. At least by you.’
‘And all you have are these statements?’ Florian asked with a high-pitched laugh. ‘Good luck in court.’
‘Ah, would that they were all I had.’ Lady Wellstone motioned again to Cartwright, who produced a stack of photographic reproductions. Luna watched the colour drain from Florian’s face as he flipped through them. ‘What possessed you to take pictures?’ her Ladyship said, before holding up a hand as if to say no, don’t tell me.
‘How did you get these?’ Florian asked, and from the combined disbelief and fury in his tone Luna presumed that he’d kept them under lock and key, and that Cartwright must have gone to great, possibly illegal, trouble to obtain them. ‘I will fight this,’ he went on. ‘I will not give up my birthright.’
The Marchioness laughed mockingly. ‘This isn’t the 1980s and you are not Bill Wyman. You will go to jail, Florian. For a very long time.’
Florian tried one last gambit, practically spitting at her, ‘And I’ll be sure to drag the entire family down with me. If this goes to trial I’ll say you and John turned a blind eye.’
‘Really. Well, good luck in court,’ Lady Wellstone said, echoing his words of a few moments earlier. ‘And while we’re at it, good luck servicing your debts. I don’t think even prison walls will protect you from your friend Viktor. How much money do you owe him, anyway? Seven hundred thousand? Eight? Do you think he’ll take pity on a fellow degenerate and forgive your debt?’
‘I mean it. I— I’ll go to the press,’ Florian threatened.
‘Do it,’ the Marchioness replied bluntly. ‘Go ahead. You have much more to lose than me. I read once about a man who was tortured by the Russian mafia. He screamed so much his vocal chords actually snapped. Imagine that…’
His final bluff called, Florian’s shoulders sagged and he raised his hand to his face, covering his eyes. ‘Please, please, don’t do this, Augusta. We can make a deal, you and I…’
The Marchioness looked at him and raised her eyebrows. ‘But that’s exactly what we’re doing now, Fox. Making a deal.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Time is ticking away. Go get rid of your friends, there’s a start.’
‘But what will I say?’ he cried plaintively.
‘I really don’t care,’ her Ladyship s
aid coldly, waving her hand. ‘Tell them you’re indisposed. Or better yet, tell them the real master of Arborage has come home, and she doesn’t like to share.’
Luna stood aside as Florian slunk from the room and Cartwright sat, impassive as ever, reordering his papers. She looked at Lady Wellstone.
‘You’re going to let him get away with this?’ she asked.
‘Luna, there are things you don’t understand…’
What was to understand? ‘He preyed on teenage girls, possibly under this very roof,’ Luna said incredulously.
‘And he will pay for that, I promise.’ But the Marchioness’s attention was on Cartwright, who was looking at his own watch.
‘The lawyers will be here in just under an hour,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t leave us much time.’
Luna felt saliva building up in her mouth, a gag rising in her throat. She turned and walked swiftly out of the office, running down the hall to the ladies room and making it just in time to vomit into the sink. She heaved until there was nothing left in her stomach, a slick spindle of bile hanging from her mouth.
She was sitting outside shortly thereafter, head between her knees, when Florian’s guests began to exit the house. From her vantage point concealed behind the topiary, she saw the men, including Viktor, pile into their Range Rovers and peel off down the drive, tires kicking up gravel in their wake. Ten minutes later two black cabs appeared and the women tumbled out of the house, screaming French curses at the security guards, who followed to ensure they got safely off the estate.
Luna acted as a witness to the statement Florian Wellstone signed two hours later surrendering his claim to ever become Marquess of Lionsbridge. ‘For deeply personal reasons, I feel I must stand aside. I do so now out of love and respect for my brother and our family, in order to allow sufficient time for a smooth transition in the stewardship of Arborage…’
Caitlin had joined the Marchioness, Florian, Luna and their team of five lawyers in the conference room, her eyes wide as saucers at the morning’s turn of events. Had she known what she’d missed in the run-up, the begging and haggling Florian had done to save his skin, she would have been even more shocked. But Luna had borne witness to that on her own, Caitlin only being called upon when the time came to formulate a plan for releasing news of Florian’s abdication to the press.
The deal the Marchioness had cut with Florian was generous, to Luna’s eyes. He would keep his flat in Mayfair, and receive a reduced but not insignificant annual income from the estate. Crucially, Lady Wellstone agreed to pay off the first instalment of his debt to Viktor, dispatching Cartwright to agree terms on her behalf. In return, Florian would resign his position on Arborage’s board, desist from using his connection with the estate in future financial and property dealings, and severely limit his presence in the house.
‘Until after John dies, when you will no longer be welcome here,’ Lady Wellstone added, tapping her Montblanc pen on the conference table. And Florian having, after all, no choice in the matter, had acquiesced, silent hatred of his sister-in-law burning in his eyes across the table.
When all the papers had been signed and the lawyers had departed, leaving the Marchioness, Cartwright and Florian alone in the conference room for what Luna could only assume was a final, awful debrief, she walked back to her office, looking at her watch. Not even 10.30 yet.
As she entered the office, an arm reached out and grabbed her. Caitlin, eyes still wide, a massive smile on her face, pulled her into a bear hug, then spun her around the room.
‘We’re saved, we’re saved!’ she exulted. ‘How do you think she did it? Black magic? Blackmail?’
Luna held her tongue – Caitlin had unwittingly hit the nail on the head, but Luna was in no position to confirm it. And she found herself unable to share the press officer’s glee at Florian’s downfall, knowing the price that had been paid for it. Caitlin sensed her unhappiness, but misunderstood the reason for it.
‘I know it still means changes, but just think, Sören Lundgren is the next Marquess of Lionsbridge. Could we have hoped for a better result? Someone who loves this place, who’ll do his best to protect it? And who, by the way, thinks the world of you?’
Luna smiled faintly. She hadn’t even had a chance to consider the ramifications of Florian’s abrupt removal. Yes, Sören becoming the new heir presumptive was good news no matter how you looked at it. But how would he feel about the methods the Marchioness had used to achieve that end? Sören Lundgren was a highly principled man and Luna couldn’t imagine him approving of the whole grubby transaction that had taken place between Lady Wellstone and his cousin.
She didn’t know how she herself felt about it. She’d seen a new side of the Marchioness that morning and her initial overwhelming relief at her boss’s return had transformed into…something else. She kept thinking of Cartwright, with his silences and his eyes like flat pebbles, giving nothing away. She’d marked him as an interloper from the minute she saw him, but was he really so different from her Ladyship, who had been silent on so many things?
If she was hoping for answers, Luna got none that day. Lady Wellstone returned to the office only briefly to pick up her things and head back to the hospital.
‘Walk with me,’ she said to Luna. As Luna fell into step beside her down the corridor leading to the main hall, the Marchioness wasted no time getting on with her instructions. ‘I need you to set up a conference call first thing tomorrow morning with the board of trustees.’
‘Tomorrow is a Saturday,’ Luna noted.
‘Tell them that this is an extraordinary meeting of the board to discuss an emergency matter and that I am personally requesting their attendance. They’ll make time for it.’
‘Okay,’ Luna nodded.
‘I’ll be here by 8am at the latest, so any time after that is fine.’
‘And…Mr Wellstone.’
‘Will not be participating in the call, for obvious reasons. I have told Florian that I expect him to be gone from the house by the time I return. If he asks you for anything, approaches you for assistance, makes any demands whatsoever on you, you are to refuse him. Do you understand me, Luna?’
‘Yes.’
They entered the hall, where a twelve-strong restoration team was hard at work. The project manager, who was squatting on the marble floor with a few members of his team, examining a series of test spots they were trying using different solvents, immediately stood and went to greet Lady Wellstone. So Luna made her way back out onto the front portico.
The Marchioness emerged from the house a few minutes later looking, to Luna’s eyes, every inch the master of Arborage she’d claimed in her confrontation with Florian. Glancing briefly at the topiary to her right, she said to Luna, ‘Ask Nigel to have a look at this. I fancy it’s looking a little off colour.’
Luna nodded, silently marvelling at how her Ladyship made the mental leap from disinheriting her brother-in-law to historic preservation and garden maintenance in the space of a few minutes. And if Luna had hoped for a word or two about what had happened that morning, putting it into context and explaining the ‘things she didn’t understand’, the driver’s presence put paid to that. Lady Wellstone was in the back seat of the Jag with Regina on her lap before she knew it, firing off a few final instructions.
‘Once you’ve got the call with the board scheduled, see if you can arrange meetings with Roland and the other managers. And a call with Gus.’
‘Tomorrow,’ Luna said for clarity, conscious again that it was the weekend.
‘Yes, tomorrow,’ Lady Wellstone replied, a note of impatience in her voice. ‘I’ll want a meeting with David Martin as well, but that can wait.’
Luna was walking back into the office when her mobile rang. Stefan, thank God. Quickly entering the Marchioness’s office, she shut the door behind her and wilted against it.
‘Hi,’ she said, and even to her own ears her voice sounded shaky.
‘Flicka? What’s wrong?’
‘I
t’s been…quite a morning here,’ she replied.
‘Yes, so I understand.’
‘You’ve heard?’
‘About Florian? Yes. My father just forwarded me Caitlin’s draft press release.’
Legs feeling suddenly like jelly, Luna went to sit on the settee. ‘Oh, Stefan, there’s so much more to it than what’s in that press release. The Marchioness…’ she trailed off. How, even, to begin? The Marchioness has just successfully blackmailed her own brother-in-law, an act she has clearly been planning for months. The woman I thought I understood backwards and forwards has kept this a secret from me, and now I’m afraid I don’t know her at all. Her, and what she is capable of.
Stefan interrupted her thoughts. ‘Look, Luna, I’m flying back tonight. I’ll be at the Dower House by eight. Come over and you and I can talk this through.’
‘I feel like I can’t see the woods for the trees right now,’ Luna said, closing her eyes. ‘Your father—’
‘Is flying in first thing in the morning.’
‘Right.’
‘I promise you, flicka, everything is going to be fine. I love you.’
‘I love you too.’
Maybe that could be her new mantra, she thought with a strangled laugh. Stefan loves me. And Sören will be the new Marquess.
Unusually, Stefan texted her from the airport in the mid-afternoon: Boarding plane now. Will phone from Heathrow. Love you.
Luna was heartened, by it and by him. Perhaps Caitlin was right; what she needed to do was focus on the outcome of today’s events. Luna briefly allowed herself the luxury of contemplating a future where the Marquess’s death didn’t necessarily mean an abrupt end to her life at Arborage. Where the Marchioness retained a role in the running of the estate, but saw her power diminish, which, after today, didn’t seem like such a bad thing. And where Luna herself might be in the rather unusual situation of dating the boss’s son.
