‘Chris, what is it? Is it Pa?’ Unable to think of anything else I stood, my hands clutching Chris’s shirt-front, trying to read his face.
‘Hey, relax honey. Why should it be to do with your Pa?’ He guided me to the sofa and pulled me down beside him. ‘I was sorry to hear from Minna that he’d been ill, but I understood from your nice Mrs Dawson that he was at some swanky clinic in Switzerland.’
‘He is.’ I was beginning to breathe evenly again. ‘But what did you want to tell me so urgently then?’
‘I’ll tell you.’ He reached for his coffee. ‘Do you want some of this stuff? Okay, now, listen. Just before I was due to come over here, I had dinner with your boss, and he told me he’d been doing some research into your precious Kingley Woods.’
I felt my heart sink. What would Martin think of me when he heard I’d sold out?
‘He’s discovered the reason your millionaire cousin is so all-fired eager to get his paws on that land.’
‘Don’t tell me, Chris. It’s too late,’ I said desperately.
He stared at me. ‘Too late?’
I nodded. ‘I sold.’
For a moment I thought he was going to have a fit. His face went puce, then white. ‘Why, for Chrissake?’ he managed to say at last.
I got to my feet and feeling in my pocket I found the cheque and threw it down on the coffee table in front of him. ‘There’s the reason,’ I said bitterly.
He reached for the piece of paper and opened it, and his mouth dropped open. ‘One million. One lousy million! Kate, Martin has discovered that several years ago test borings were done on that land. There is oil under there.’
I gasped. ‘And Richard knew that?’
‘Sure he knew.’
For a moment I was too stunned to speak, then suddenly I began to laugh. Chris stared at me as if I had gone off my head as, too weak to explain, I threw myself back on the sofa, the cheque in my hand, and waved it at him.
‘Only half this was for the land,’ I spluttered hysterically. ‘Half a million for the land. The other half was for me!’
It took him a minute to follow what I was saying, but eventually he understood. I have never seen Chris angry before, but this time I thought he’d hit the ceiling.
‘The bastard!’ he yelled, beside himself. ‘The lousy, no-account bastard! Who the hell does he think he is anyway? My God! When I think …’ He was beyond speech for a moment. Then he went on. ‘When was this, anyway?’
‘Just now,’ I said with a harsh little laugh. ‘You called up just as he was about to haul me off to bed.’ I didn’t add that, seduced by wine and candles and kisses, I would probably have gone without too much of a struggle. His next words however left me completely cold with horror, every ounce of bitter laughter drained from my body.
‘I knew he was a shit,’ he said slowly. ‘But this takes some beating. Did he tell you his fiancée killed herself a couple of days back?’
Outside an owl had started hooting in the old walnut tree on the side lawn. It was the only sound in that room for a long time.
‘Jacqueline?’ I whispered at last.
‘Jacqui Overton. That’s right.’
‘How?’ Stiffly my lips framed the question.
He hesitated for a moment. ‘She shot herself. Hey, Katie, I’m sorry honey. You look shattered. I didn’t realise you knew her.’
I shook my head. ‘I only met her once, but …’ My eyes had filled with tears. ‘She was kind to me, in her own way.’
Her last words to me had come flooding back. ‘There is nothing more Richard can do to me,’ she had said and I remembered suddenly the despair I had seen in her eyes.
I looked at Chris bleakly. ‘You know, I would like that coffee after all,’ I said huskily.
I did not sleep that night. I had shown Chris to the spare room and with one look at my face he had kissed me goodnight and meekly closed the door behind him. I went to my own bed alone. My head was whirling with images: Jacqui, her face white, her eyes great aching pools of misery; Richard, his handsome profile stone-carved against the candlelit velvet curtains; my father, his eyes bright and happy above lips which still showed that tell-tale tinge of blue; and Sara, her mouth scarlet, laughing at me, laughing as she was dragged away by some of Richard’s minions; and above all I kept seeing my woods and marshes, bright and sun-filled no longer, disfigured by a choking blanket of oil.
When I awoke it was raining. I lay for a long time listening to the regular splatter on the window then I dragged myself, my head splitting, out of bed.
Chris was sitting at the kitchen table demolishing a plate of bacon and eggs. I slid into the chair opposite him and tried to smile. ‘How long can you stay?’ I asked.
Mrs Dawson put a cup of coffee before me. ‘Do you want bacon, Miss Kate?’ she asked. I could see her eyeing my face doubtfully.
I shook my head. ‘Just coffee thanks.’ My hand was shaking as I picked up the cup.
‘I’ll stay as long as you like,’ Chris said gently. ‘And the first thing I’m doing is driving you to the bank to pay this in.’ He reached into his pocket and produced the cheque. He laughed quietly. ‘You know I found it on the floor this morning! You must get it cleared before our friend changes his mind and cancels it.’
I grimaced and reached for the wooden sugar bowl. ‘I’m going to return it to him.’
‘No, you’re not.’
‘Chris! I told you what the money was for!’
‘Okay, so you pay the cheque in and write him another for half the sum.’
I had never thought of that.
My triumph was short-lived. Two days later I received my cheque to Richard through the post. It had been neatly torn in half and in spite of myself I was once more a millionairess and in his debt.
I told Chris, tears of frustration in my eyes, and he gave a dry laugh. ‘Don’t worry, honey,’ he said. ‘We’ll win.’
Leaving Chris sitting in the garden I walked over to the stables and borrowed a horse, determined to gallop the misery out of my system, feeling the wind and rain and sun in my hair and on my face, but I was to wish bitterly that I hadn’t. Automatically I took the bridle path which led round the acres Minna had sold to Richard, already shimmering green beneath their crop of winter wheat, and headed towards my woods. One more ride, surely, could do no harm, and Richard wasn’t there to see me; I had heard that he had gone back to Boston.
But at the edge of Kingley Wood I had to pull the horse to a rearing halt. Instead of the broad soft leafy path I was used to I was confronted by a solid wire fence which led off in both directions as far as I could see into the distance. I stared at it. He must have had men working to fence off the wood at dawn the day after I had signed it over.
I walked the horse home, no longer interested in where I went. All I wanted was to go away and never see Kingley again.
Chris provided a temporary solution. ‘We’ll go and see your father,’ he said. ‘Spend a week or two in Switzerland. It’s best like that, Katie, surely?’
Mutely I nodded. I had already heard the distant whine of a chainsaw echoing across the fields and I knew I could not hang around to watch those great oaks fall.
The flight to Switzerland was very different this time. I could not bring myself to touch the money in the bank, so we went economy, a pedal plane, as Chris laughingly called it, full of tourists and children and harassed stewardesses, and then hired a Hertz car to take us out to the clinic.
My father had a small private room on the second floor, a bright room full of flowers, and he seemed astonishingly well. At his recommendation Chris and I found ourselves rooms at the inn in the local village which we could use as a base for exploring the countryside.
‘It looks to me as if you need this air as much as I do, Katie,’ Pa said gently as I sat beside him on the window seat in his room. The doctor to whom I had spoken on our arrival had said he was so much better he would be able to go home within a few weeks. ‘But I’m disappointed not
to see Richard.’ He looked at me searchingly. Chris had gone off to collect some newspapers.
I tried to keep my face impassive. ‘He had to go to Boston on business,’ I said, as calmly as I could.
‘I see.’ He was still watching me. ‘I like Chris, of course, but I had hoped, Katie, that you and Richard –’ he stopped as I jumped to my feet.
‘No, I’m sorry, but there can never be anything between Richard and me!’ As I said it I realised that I would have given my right arm to have been able to please him. But I never wanted to see Richard again.
Luckily Chris appeared at that moment, a pile of newspapers under his arm. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I took the chance to ask them to bring up some coffee and pastries. I hope that’s all right?’ He looked from one to the other of us, obviously puzzled by our silence. ‘Would you like me to go away again?’ he asked humbly.
I grabbed his arm. ‘Of course not. I was just telling Pa that Richard had gone to Boston.’
‘Such a pleasant young man,’ my father muttered defiantly.
Unfortunately Chris heard him. ‘You’re kidding,’ he said. ‘After the stunt he pulled over those woods!’
I aimed a kick at his ankle, but it was too late. My father rounded on him sharply.
‘What are you talking about?’
Chris ignored my frenzied signals. ‘He forced Kate to sell him her inheritance, that’s all,’ he said. ‘The man is an unprincipled bastard.’
My father had gone white. ‘You’ve sold the marsh, Katie? It’s not true? I can’t believe it. Your grandfather wanted you to have it forever.’
‘Pa,’ I took his hands in mine. ‘Don’t be upset.’
‘Upset!’ He rounded on me. ‘What made you do it? What in the world made you do it?’
I could not reply, but Chris stepped in. ‘Why do you think Richard had you brought here?’ he said quietly. ‘The man has proved himself an unscrupulous blackmailer!’
For a moment there was complete silence in the room, then my father clutched at his chest. Through a haze of horror I saw his face go white and then blue as he began to stagger towards the bed, gasping for breath.
‘Chris!’ I screamed.
He had the presence of mind to press the bell and within seconds the room was full of doctors and nurses and Chris and I were hustled away.
‘Oh Kate, I’m sorry.’ Chris was holding his head. ‘I never thought! I never realised …’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I heard myself say tonelessly. ‘You weren’t to know.’
Later the doctor came and spoke to us. He was very reassuring. ‘He’ll be fine after a good rest,’ he said kindly. ‘Come and see him tomorrow, for five minutes only.’
We walked slowly towards the inn with heavy hearts. I had not realised just how precarious my father’s health was, but I could not be angry with Chris. He was on my side, after all.
We walked into the bar at the inn and ordered ourselves a drink. There seemed nothing else to do.
Seated in silence at the table for a while we watched the coming and going of the other guests, then Chris idly pulled one of the American newspapers out of the bag he was carrying, and opened it.
I heard his gasp and looked up. ‘What is it?’
‘Kate, you’re not going to believe it!’ he said, his voice shaking. He folded the paper and pushed it towards me, his finger pointing at a double column article at the bottom of the page. The light was dim, but I could just make it out. The headline read: Boston Murder Enquiry. Below it there was an account of Jacqui’s death and the police decision that it had not been suicide after all, but murder. There was a photo of Jacqui and another of Richard. I reread the last paragraph: Police said last night that they were anxious to interview the deceased’s fiancé, millionaire businessman Richard Bradshaw, at present believed to be visiting his family estates in England. They admitted that he could not be ruled out as a suspect …
The room had started to spin and I closed my eyes, not realising that Chris had left the table until he returned with a brandy and pressed the glass into my hand.
‘Drink it,’ he ordered softly. Then he took the paper back and scrutinised it again, shaking his head.
I went to my room shortly afterwards, and spent the next hour sitting in a daze on the bed, staring at the wall. It was not possible. I did not believe it. Whatever I thought of Richard, whatever I had said, I did not, could not, believe he was capable of murder. Whatever Sara and David had said, and Jacqui herself, the man I knew, the man who had held me in his arms, could not be a killer.
I was only brought back to myself by a knock at the door. It was Chris.
‘Kate, there’s a David Conway in the bar asking for you. He went up to the clinic and they told him we were here.’
I heard myself gasp.
‘If you don’t want to see him, I’ll tell him to get lost.’ Chris was bristling with suspicion at once. But I shook my head. ‘I’ll come,’ I said. ‘Give me one minute and I’ll come down.’
I washed my face and ran a comb through my hair. Then I went to join them.
Dave was looking tired, but reasonably cheerful, I thought. ‘Seen the papers?’ he said.
I nodded, sliding in close to Chris on the bench.
‘Mrs Dawson said you’d flown out to see your father,’ he went on. ‘I thought I’d better come right out and reassure you. Needless to say Richard had nothing to do with this dreadful business. You do believe that, don’t you?’ He glanced first at me, then at Chris, his hazel eyes warm and sincere.
Obviously we both looked doubtful so he went on. ‘You didn’t know about Jacqui, Kate. There’s no reason why you should as Richard protected her the whole time, even keeping up the pretence that they were engaged. She had a big drug problem, and she had tried to kill herself a couple of times before.’
I stared at him. ‘But the paper said –’
‘The papers say Richard is suspected of murdering her,’ David said softly, ‘because the police received information – anonymously of course – that he did.’ He paused, his eyes steadily on mine. ‘Hell has no fury, someone once said, and the woman Richard scorned was Sara Dashwood!’
‘She told them he was a murderer?’ I repeated, scandalised.
‘She did. He had given her her marching orders, stupid bitch, and she got her own back very neatly.’
‘Then he can prove he’s innocent, surely?’ I asked in a whisper.
He gave me a reassuring smile. ‘He’ll manage somehow.’
My head was reeling with the implications of what he had said.
‘What made him decide to get rid of Sara at last?’ I asked after a moment.
He looked at me, his head a little to one side.
‘Can’t you guess?’
Something in his expression made me blush. ‘For Jacqui?’ I murmured.
‘No, for you.’ For a moment we sat in silence looking at each other. Then abruptly he stood up. ‘Let me get us all another drink,’ he said.
‘What was that last bit about?’ Chris said as Dave headed for the bar.
‘You know as well as I do,’ I said sharply. ‘But I never thought he’d actually go as far as telling her to go!’
‘You asked him to?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘I asked him what the hell he meant by trying to seduce me with a fiancée –’ I stopped abruptly, then I went on, ‘and at the same time another woman upstairs in the same house.’
‘I see.’ He didn’t sound convinced.
David returned with three drinks. ‘I’ve got to get going,’ he said. ‘I’m booked on a flight from Geneva this afternoon.’
‘It was good of you to come here.’ I could feel the strain showing on my face as I forced myself to smile.
He grinned. ‘I just wanted to put your mind at rest. And the two most important things I haven’t even mentioned yet. First, whatever happens Richard wants you to know that your father’s bills at the clinic will be met. And second, the Kingley Wood trust is al
l but set up.’
‘The Kingley Wood trust?’ I echoed blankly.
He nodded. ‘The land he bought from you.’ He stopped and stared at me, his puzzlement showing clearly for a moment. ‘He’s put it in trust in perpetuity as a conservation area!’
I felt my mouth drop open. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘You mean he didn’t know about the oil?’
‘He knew.’ He laughed at the look on my face. ‘I don’t know what you’ve done to him, Kate Parrish, but it’s the first unbusinesslike move I have ever known him make! He could have made millions from that deal.’
I thought about that statement a great deal that night as I lay alone in bed, staring out of the open window at the moonlight reflecting on the soaring mountain peaks outside my window.
The next morning Richard’s face was on all the front pages. Millionaire Sought for Murder of Fiancée, screamed the headlines. Chris looked at me across the breakfast table. ‘You believe Conway? That he’s innocent?’
I nodded. ‘He’s ruthless, Chris. But not a murderer!’
Chris looked sceptical. ‘I’m sorry, Kate, but I’m not convinced. I’m just glad you’re right out of it here. You may have lost your land, but at least your life is safe!’
‘Chris. We’ve been unfair to him.’ I could feel myself growing hot with indignation. ‘He’s saving the land. He’s not going to let it go for oil.’
‘So Conway says.’ Chris raised an eyebrow. ‘Sweet, innocent Kate. I don’t know what the rules in Britain are, but sure as hell, if your government wants that oil, they’ll get it, no matter what kind of rare bird has built its nest on top of it. They’ll shift that bird’s ass so fast – and who’ll get the money, while he’s bitterly regretting the betrayal of his attempt at conservation? Mr Richard Bradshaw!’ He did not lighten the remark with a smile. Pushing his chair back he stalked out of the dining room, and left me with my thoughts.
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