The Island Legacy

by Ruth Saberton

  What did she mean, probably? Of course he was. He was the ultimate chess master.

  “Well, you’ll be able to make your dream come true,” Ness said quietly. As quickly as it had consumed her, the fight had slipped away and now she just felt utterly exhausted. “You own the debt; you know I can’t pay it back and I know you won’t extend it, so I guess that’s it. You’ve won, Max. You don’t have to play these games anymore.”

  His dark brows met. “You think I’m playing games?”

  “Isn’t that how you operate? Come on, Max, give me some credit here. We both know how much you wanted the island. You played me from the minute we first met. And well done: you’ve got me where you want me. I owe you money that you know I haven’t a hope of repaying. You’ve achieved what you set out to do.”

  Max threw his hands in the air. “Jesus, Nessa! What the hell does a man have to do to make you trust him?”

  “Stop playing games with people? Tell the truth?”

  “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “If the cap fits,” Ness said bitterly.

  Once again, his eyes narrowed. “Nobody questions my integrity, Nessa. Not even you.”

  He looked furious and Ness realised she’d gone too far. Then again, what did it matter that he was upset? Sometimes the truth hurt, didn’t it? Max Reynard was a player and a ruthless businessman. She’d been a fool to believe even for a heartbeat that he was anything else.

  “Then maybe they should,” she said. “You wouldn’t even know the meaning of the word.”

  “Is that what you really think of me?” Max stared at her. The expression in those grey eyes was suddenly impossible to read.

  Was it what she really thought of him? Ness wasn’t sure. He’d played games, toyed with her and made no secret of the fact that he wanted the island – but he’d also been there when she’d needed him, and he’d kissed her in a way that had melted her bones. He was infuriating and frustrating and magnetic all at the same time and she hated him.

  But did she think he was a liar? Deep down Ness knew the answer to that, but she wasn’t prepared to admit it; at this moment she was angry and cornered and wanted to hit back. Hard.

  “Absolutely,” Ness spat. “I hope the island makes you happy, Max. My solicitor will be in touch, I’m sure, but don’t contact me again. Ever.”

  She turned and stepped into the private lift, jabbing her finger on the button. Max didn’t reply but she felt him staring after her, as brooding and as dangerous as the waves on a stormy night. As the doors closed Ness shivered. She had the strangest feeling that this wasn’t the last she’d see of Max Reynard.

  It was frightening just how much her heart leapt at this thought.

  Chapter 30

  The library was one of Lucy’s favourite rooms. It was always light during the daytime, and it was high enough up to command a breathtaking view. On days like this when the sunshine poured in there was nothing nicer than curling up in the window seat to read, or even to watch the beach fill with holidaymakers. From this vantage point up in her tower, Lucy could see the causeway stretching out over the golden sand below, and she could watch for anyone who might choose to make the crossing from St Pirran. Unlike previous inhabitants of the castle she wasn’t lying in wait to tip boiling oil over them – however tempting that might be – but she did feel a little under siege knowing that the enemy was on his way.

  The other point in the library’s favour, apart from the glorious view, was that it had a full mobile phone signal, which meant that Lucy was able to make calls and send emails from here. The first of these activities she’d already done and the second she intended to do very soon, provided everything went according to plan and she kept her resolve.

  Lucy swallowed nervously. She really hoped she’d be able to stick to her guns and not weaken. It was going to be hard to break the habits of a lifetime, but the time had come to make changes and to stand up for what she believed in. She’d spent far too long in the shadows with her head down. If she was ever going to make any kind of a life for herself, she was going to have to be brave and take control of her own life.

  Maybe this was what Uncle Armand had wanted her to do all along. Perhaps he’d known that leaving the island to Ness, cutting off their income and forcing his family to work together would bring everything to a head. In spite of her nerves, Lucy smiled. This was exactly the sort of thing her uncle would have loved plotting. Just as his musical scores were filled with technical tripwires and tricky arpeggios, in daily life he’d loved riddles and keeping everyone on their toes.

  Was leaving Ness the island his biggest puzzle yet? His way of making them all figure things out and get on with life without him?

  “Well, if it was, then you certainly succeeded, Uncle Armand,” Lucy said aloud to a faded photograph of her uncle, resplendent in white tie and tails as he shook hands with the Queen after some long-ago Royal Gala performance of his work. This picture took pride of place on the mantelpiece; it was a startling reminder of just how famous and influential he’d been in the musical world. Looking at it, Lucy was struck anew with sadness that his great symphony, his life’s work, had never materialised.

  What was her life’s work? If she were to die this afternoon, which was highly likely if she provoked the response she was hoping for, what would her legacy be? Some nice cakes? Being remembered as a good piano teacher? A sister who’d indulged and spoiled her little brother? A woman who’d chosen to walk away from the truest, kindest man she’d ever met?

  It wasn’t a list that made her feel proud. Lucy’s resolve hardened; it was time to change things and put them right.

  A black car was making its way along the causeway now, racing across the cobbles with a reckless speed that even from this distance made Lucy catch her breath. Jamie, of course, and driving way too fast as always. So he’d got her message and taken the bait. Of course he had: he thought there was money in it for him, and money was Jamie’s god. It was the only reason he was still hanging around St Pirran – he’d known more about the island’s finances than he’d let on.

  Lucy bit her lip, because if Jamie knew all about their financial affairs that was surely her fault too. She’d let him visit her on several occasions, to take items that he’d claimed were personal. While she’d been working in the tea room her brother had probably been having a good old snoop through any paperwork he could find. Oh! There she went again, making excuses for him! There was no probably about it; the word she was looking for was definitely. Jamie was a born sneak. As a child Lucy had lost count of the times she’d caught him rifling through her father’s desk or reading her diary. He’d been in trouble for it at school too, she seemed to remember, although nobody had actually been able to pin anything to him. Somehow Jamie had always avoided the blame in the end.

  Today, that was going to change.

  She glanced down at her iPhone. The battery was fully charged and there was still a strong signal. By the time her attention returned to the causeway there was no longer any sign of the black Range Rover. When Armand had been alive he’d always complained about Jamie speeding like that. Lucy’s uncle had been a cautious driver; on the rare occasions when he’d ventured out in his elderly Morris Minor, he’d proceeded so slowly that tortoises had probably overtaken him.

  “He’ll come a cropper one day, you mark my words,” had been Armand’s constant refrain, usually followed by a fervent, “and I hope I’m here to see it.”

  There’d been no love lost between Jamie and her uncle. Armand had tolerated him for Lucy’s sake, while Jamie had scarcely bothered to hide his impatience with his elderly relative’s idiosyncrasies – an attitude that made her uncle’s legacy even more baffling.

  “There you are. Why the hell do you insist on hiding away all the way up here? You’re hardly bloody Rapunzel,” Jamie grumbled as, red-faced and perspiring, he stomped into the library.

  No, she’d sent her prince away, Lucy thought sadly – and she was the only person who c
ould rescue herself now. It was like a bleak feminist version of the fairy tale.

  Her brother glanced around the room, his hard blue eyes flickering over the remaining items of art and furnishings before settling back on Lucy as he mopped his face with a handkerchief. “It’s like a sauna in here, sis. Bloody place needs air con.”

  “I like this room,” Lucy said mildly.

  “Well, make the most of it while you can, sis, because you won’t be spending much more time up here, not once Max has the paperwork sorted,” he replied. “I’m sure dear cousin Ness will bung you some cash, enough to maybe buy one of those affordable houses at the top of town. You know? The ones made of papier mâché and Sellotape. If you’re really lucky you’ll be able to crane your neck and look across at this dump.”

  What on earth was Jamie talking about now? Lucy had always suspected her brother indulged in too much drink and the odd line or two of cocaine, but now she was convinced. His speech was rambling and his expression maniacal.

  “Ness won’t sell to Max,” she said firmly, but Jamie merely laughed.

  “She won’t have any choice. Ambrose Investments somehow got wind of the drugs raid here and they were suddenly very keen to dump the place. Wasn’t it lucky that a little bird told Max so that he was able to snap up the debt?”

  “Reynard Developments has bought the island’s debts?” Lucy wouldn’t have believed it if it hadn’t been for the gloating look on her brother’s face. Her heart sank. Max Reynard really was utterly ruthless.

  “Yep.” Jamie sauntered across the room, perched one meaty buttock on the corner of the desk and folded his arms. “Nessa’s debts are his now. Lock, stock and barrel. He couldn’t have done it without me either, so Max Reynard owes me big time. I’ll be getting an apartment here, I expect, as a thank you. Maybe you can visit me? Won’t that be a turn up for the books? I would put in a good word about the tea room, but I expect he’ll bulldoze it. Just as well. I hear there are cockroaches.”

  Lucy felt sick. “Whatever did I do to make you hate me so much?”

  “Whatever did I do to make you hate me so much?” mimicked Jamie, the whine in his voice making her flinch. “Oh, grow up, Lucy. I don’t hate you. You’re far too pathetic to hate. I’m over being jealous of you too, because let’s face it, there isn’t much to be jealous of now, is there?”

  “Jealous?” Lucy couldn’t be hearing that right. How on earth could golden boy Jamie have been jealous of her? “You can’t have been jealous of me.”

  He rounded on her like a striking cobra.

  “Don’t you dare tell me how I felt! You were the favourite, Lucy, weren’t you? Who got to stay at home and who got packed off to bloody boarding school like an unwanted parcel? Who was Pa’s golden girl? And who did our miserable old bastard of an uncle like best? You, of course. It’s always been you. Lucy. Lucy. Lucy. That was all I ever heard. It’s still all I ever bloody hear. Lucy runs a wonderful tea room, Lucy is so good to her uncle, Lucy is an amazing music teacher. Jesus. I’m sick to death of hearing just how much everyone loves you. I’ve heard it my whole bloody life. I’m more than aware I’ll never be as good as Saint sodding Lucy.”

  The unexpected invective stung like a lash and Lucy was stunned. None of this fitted with reality as she knew it. Jamie had been the longed-for son, the child who’d been gifted an incredible education, the one who’d been free to live a city life while she’d had to nurse a succession of elderly relatives. Jamie felt that he didn’t compare to her? But that was crazy.

  Was this just another of Jamie’s mind games? Did he suspect that she’d worked out his last trick? Perhaps he did. Maybe he was trying yet again to make her feel bad enough that she’d cover for him. Lucy had always caved in before, so he’d be expecting more of the same. It would have been so easy for Lucy to have fallen into that trap – and for a dangerous moment she wavered. But then in her mind’s eye she saw Ness’s stricken face and Fern sobbing, and she recalled Adam’s bleak expression when she’d left Sorrentina that night. The memories of the hurt Jamie had caused them all were enough to pull her up short.

  “That’s nonsense,” she replied firmly. “I don’t believe a word. Besides, how can you say Uncle Armand didn’t care about you? He left you a Steinway and his entire share portfolio!”

  “A portfolio of shares which tanked when the bloody bottom fell out of the market,” Jamie shrieked. Spittle flecked his lips. “Most of them are worthless! Worthless! And probably will be for years. I bet the old bastard knew it too.”

  “Oh dear,” said Lucy weakly.

  He raked a hand through his lank hair. “Oh dear? Are you kidding? Christ! Don’t you even watch the news?”

  Actually, Lucy was a big fan of Radio 4 but she’d been far too busy trying to figure out whether they could afford milk and pay the electricity bill to keep an eye on the FTSE 100. On reflection though, she wasn’t surprised to learn that his portfolio had plummeted in value lately.

  “So that brings me neatly to why I’m here. You said you’d found something here that was meant for me? Something valuable?” He pinned her with a desperate stare. “Whatever it is you’d better hand it over. I’m not leaving it for that bitch.”

  Lucy took a deep breath. “Actually it would have been more accurate to say that the police found something valuable that was yours – a bag full of drugs, at the festival? I take it you know exactly what I’m talking about?” She picked up her phone. “I’ve got you to come here because I want to know the truth. Shall I call the police right now and let them hear what I think, or shall we keep this between us? I’m not messing, Jamie. I mean it: I want the truth.”

  He threw her a scathing look. “As if you’d grass me up. I’m your brother.”

  But Lucy was still holding the phone. “I mean it,” she repeated. “I’ll call them right now and get you fingerprinted.”

  His top lip curled. “Do what you like. They won’t find my prints on that bag.”

  “No,” said Lucy, setting the phone down carefully beside her on the window seat, “but they might be able to find Logan Barrie, and I bet he’ll be willing to tell them all they need to know.”

  She was familiar with the expression “as white as a sheet”, but Lucy had always thought it was just a clichéd simile, trotted out by lazy writers. Now she realised she was wrong. Although Jamie’s cheeks had been flushed from his sprint up the tower steps, they were now drained of colour. From his expression, Lucy knew that her hunch was correct: her brother had come into contact with Fern’s unpleasant ex.

  “How the hell do you know about him?”

  “This is a small town. Word gets around. Maybe I should ask how you’ve come across the charming Mr Barrie? He’s not from here, is he?”

  “I’ve no idea where he’s from,” said her brother, “and I couldn’t care less. He’s pretty small time, although he fancies himself as a big shot. My usual guy put me onto him.”

  “Your usual guy?” Like Alice in Wonderland, Lucy felt as though she was tumbling down a rabbit hole. Jamie had a usual dealer? “You’ve bought drugs before? Here? In St Pirran?”

  “Christ, Lucy, don’t be so bourgeois. Of course I have. How do you think I keep awake on the trading floor? Colombia’s best keeps half the City marching. It wasn’t hard to find someone like Logan who was happy to earn a little extra and hide that bag for me. I was lucky because he seemed as keen on this place as I am. He’d had a run-in with your boyfriend and didn’t take much persuading to earn a little extra.”

  “So you deliberately set out to ruin the festival by planting drugs?” Lucy felt sick. She’d suspected the worst but having it confirmed was hideous. “I take it you were the member of the public who tipped off the police?”

  He laughed and gave her a mock bow. “Of course. Did you like the way I made sure they found it too? Didn’t the mixed herbs and icing sugar look convincing? It’s a good trick I learned at school. That public school education wasn’t wasted. Once the teachers think you’re j
ust a wag they never look too closely again – it’s the same for the police. Besides, I’d have hated to waste my real stash; I can make far more selling that in London than I could to a bunch of hicks here.”

  “You’ve been dealing?”

  “Everyone does a bit,” he said. “It’s nothing to get your knickers in a knot about. If you want to be pissed off about it then blame bloody Uncle Armand. He’s the one who gave my inheritance to some tatty hippy. A chap’s got to make cash somehow.”

  “Not by selling drugs,” whispered Lucy.

  “I didn’t sell any drugs at your precious festival, so chillax. I just managed to make sure it was an utter disaster and that the investment became very unpalatable to Ambrose. That way I could make sure Max was able to pick the loan up.” Jamie flopped into the chair opposite and crossed one plump leg over the other.

  “So Max Reynard put you up to all this?”

  “Hardly.” Jamie could scarcely keep the scorn from his voice. “Max doesn’t have the balls to take action. He’s as much a goody-goody now as he was at school. If it was left to him we’d all be sitting around playing by the rules and waiting for it to happen the slow way like frightfully good chaps. He’s no idea how hard I’ve been working – and even if he did, he’d not appreciate it. Or any of the other stuff. He’s pathetic.”

  Lucy realised she was shaking. Her brother had deliberately planted drugs at the festival and watched as the police had swooped. What else had he done?

  “Other stuff?”

  “God, you’re like a parrot,” Jamie said. “Come on, Lucy. Are you thick? The tourist who slipped and wanted to claim? Who do you think paid him? Cockroaches in the food? Blocked toilets? Unplugged freezers? Honestly, the things schoolkids will do for a tenner these days.”

  “You were responsible for all that?” Even at the time it had seemed like a dreadful and improbable spate of bad luck. When Lucy thought how hard they’d worked and how every setback had cost money and shattered dreams, she felt absolutely savage. She was filled with fury. “How could you?”