De Jersey spent almost an hour in the study. Helen hovered for a while, then left him to answer the door to the removal men. They carried out the items of furniture and ornaments she had earmarked to sell. Flustered, she directed them around the house and frequently appeared to apologize to de Jersey. Eventually he walked into the hall. “I’m taking all my personal papers and details of transactions relating to my business, Helen.”
“Oh, yes, yes, of course.”
De Jersey ordered a local minicab and returned to the study to await its arrival. As he was going through the desk drawers one last time, he found an extra set of house keys, which he slipped into his pocket. He would have to warn both Driscoll and Wilcox about the new developments.
As soon as he arrived home, de Jersey started to thumb through a stack of documents with his name underlined at the top and a thick wedge of accounting ledgers. His head began to throb as he realized David had systematically plundered all of his accounts in a desperate attempt to salvage leadingleisurewear. To meet Moreno’s requests for more funds, he had thrown good money after bad. Had de Jersey just lost his original investment, he could have kept running the stables, but this was far worse: he was heading for bankruptcy.
Although he welcomed her home warmly, Christina knew something was wrong. Her husband was deeply distracted and quickly retreated to his study. After unpacking she went to join him, but when he dismissed her concerns, she became angry.
“Please, darling, don’t fend me off as if I was a child. I know something has happened. Stop hiding things from me. What is it?”
He sighed. Now that Helen and her interfering sister had details of his private affairs, he could no longer keep the situation from Christina.
“David Lyons lost millions of my money. He invested badly, then tried to salvage the investment by throwing more money at it. He lost his own savings too and a few other people’s.”
“Oh, my God, that’s dreadful. Can you do anything about it?”
“No, it’s all gone.”
“Is that why Helen wanted to see you?”
“Her sister’s thinking of hiring a private investigator to try to retrieve some of her losses.”
“What can an investigator do?”
He shrugged. “I doubt he can do anything. The money has gone. The Internet company went bankrupt.”
“What is this investigator looking for?” Christina asked.
“Some Internet whiz kid.”
“If they find him, will they arrest him?”
“Even if they did they couldn’t prove embezzlement. He kept the money he made from selling the company’s software, but as he designed it, he owned it. The investment stank, and David was a fool. I have only myself to blame … and him, of course.”
“But what about that banker you met up with? Can he help?”
“I hoped he might but he can’t.”
Christina looked shocked. “How bad is it, Edward? Tell me.”
“Nothing I can’t fix.” He forced a reassuring smile.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, holding him tightly. “I know how much you love this place.”
“We’re not going to lose this.” He kissed her.
He walked across the yard and let himself into the office, shutting the door behind him. He took out the cell phone he’d bought in Simmons’s name and called Driscoll and Wilcox, informing them about Helen’s intervention. Then he locked away the phone and returned to the house. Christina was curled up in bed watching TV and laughing.
“What are you watching?”
“An advert,” she said, pointing to the TV. “It’s for royal jelly, and she’s so like her it’s unbelievable. For a moment I looked, and I thought, It can’t be, surely she wouldn’t, but it’s … Look, she’s identical!”
De Jersey stared at the TV. A look-alike playing the Queen was sitting on a throne wearing a fake diamond crown and holding up a pot of royal jelly. On the screen she mimicked Her Majesty’s voice to perfection.
De Jersey pulled his tie loose, laughing. Another piece of the jigsaw had just fallen into place. It was the first piece of good news he’d had all day.
The following morning de Jersey was up early and went riding alone. He returned to the house for breakfast. He suggested to Christina that she invite Helen Lyons for lunch to show her there were no hard feelings. He said he felt guilty for having been so brisk with Helen yesterday and for not attending David’s funeral. Christina slipped her arms around her husband’s neck. “I’ll call her if it’s what you want, but I hardly know what to say to her, considering how David has treated us.”
“Thank you, my love. Can you ring her now?” he asked.
“But it’s too early.”
“No, it isn’t.” He continued with his breakfast as he heard Christina arrange lunch for the following day.
Christina left in a chauffeur-driven car to collect Helen from the station. After watching her go, de Jersey took the helicopter to a small airport close to the Lyonses’ home. He hoped the house would be empty. He had called ahead twice to make sure no one picked up the phone. He let himself in with the keys from David’s desk, waited for the sound of an alarm; when nothing happened, he went straight to the study. He turned on the fake-coal fire and kicked some files closer to the grate, then he gathered all the documents he could find relating to Wilcox and Driscoll.
After de Jersey landed the helicopter, he went directly to the stables. One of the stable girls was waiting for him in his golf cart, and they drove toward the east wing.
“I didn’t know for sure they’d reached you.”
“How in God’s name did it happen?”
“We don’t know. He just stumbled on the way to the gallops, but when he returned, he was lame,” she said. “It’s quite badly swollen, but we don’t think there’s any bone damage.”
In the center of the yard, his trainer and a couple of lads hovered around Royal Flush. The vet had instructed he be walked about; Royal Flush dropped his shoulder, showing a pronounced limp. De Jersey was on his knees beside the vet when Christina and Helen walked across the yard.
“We’d given up on you,” Christina said, then fell silent as her husband looked up at her.
“We don’t think anything’s broken, but it’s badly swollen,” he said. “Helen, I’m sorry, but as you can see this is a bit of an emergency.”
“Will you be joining us for lunch?” Christina asked.
“Start without me, darling. I won’t be too long, I hope.”
To Christina’s annoyance, de Jersey never made it to lunch. After a rather tedious and tearful meal, she saw Helen on her way, making promises to stay in touch.
When Helen arrived home, the house was blazing and the fire brigade struggled for control. The study, hall, and part of the staircase had been gutted. David Lyons’s papers had fed the fire, and charred documents fluttered in the chilly afternoon air. Helen, now faced with the destruction of her home, became so hysterical that her doctor had to sedate her.
Christina put down the phone, stunned.
“Who was that?” de Jersey asked.
“It was Helen. Said that the house was on fire when she got home. Started in the study. All of David’s papers were destroyed. Does that matter to you?”
“I don’t suppose so. Whatever documents he had I’ll have copies of.”
“She asked me if I knew these other investors, Driscoll and Wilcox.”
“She asked me the same thing. I’ve never heard of them. I wish she’d just leave it alone.”
Sylvia helped Helen into her car. “You’ll stay with me until it’s all sorted out.”
“I’m never going back to that house.”
“You won’t have to. I’ll get all your clothes and anything you want to put into storage. The estate agents aren’t worried—you could repair the house to sell, or sell it as it is.”
A couple of hours later they were in London. Sylvia Hewitt had a large flat in St. John’s Wood, overlooking Regent’s Park. Eight y
ears Helen’s junior, she had never married. The apartment was spacious, with three bedrooms, and tastefully furnished. Sylvia hurried around, making up a bed, then setting a tray with tea, scrambled egg, and smoked salmon for Helen.
Helen leaned back on her pillows. She was simply too devastated to talk.
“Eat up. You’re going to fall down a crack in the pavement you’re so thin,” Sylvia said, puffing on a cigarette as she wandered restlessly around the room. “Bit odd that the fire started in David’s office,” she remarked. She started hanging her sister’s discarded clothes in the wardrobe.
“I think the window was open, and I must have left the fire on and some papers blew onto it.”
Sylvia stubbed out her cigarette. “Suppose there was information in David’s files that someone wanted to keep secret?”
“What do you mean?”
Sylvia folded her arms. “This Alex Moreno guy seems very dodgy. My detective, Matheson, can’t find him anywhere. All that money poured into leadingleisurewear and he just disappears? Matheson thinks something smells.”
Helen sighed. “I don’t know, Sylvia. I’m so tired.”
Sylvia removed the tray. Her sister had hardly touched the food.
“You’ll feel differently when you can think straight. I won’t let it go. You’ve lost a lot of money.”
“It wasn’t just me, you know. Edward de Jersey lost millions too, but he isn’t interested in doing anything about it. Didn’t want to hear about the private detective.”
“Maybe he can afford to lose the odd million.”
Helen sat up. “He lost a lot more than a few million, and it was mostly David’s fault. He could have advised them to get out when he knew it was heading for a fall. Instead he encouraged them to put up more money and …” She hesitated. “Edward had been his friend for twenty-odd years, and he trusted him implicitly. I think David made some illegal transactions. I found correspondence between David and this man Moreno and some documents from a private account. I think David took some of that money and was encouraging Edward to keep investing more and—”
“Helen, what if Alex Moreno didn’t want those papers floating around? What if he started the fire? I think we should contact all the people who lost their fortunes. I mean, maybe de Jersey has so much money he doesn’t need what he lost, but the others might.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Get some sleep. Don’t think about any of it—leave it to me. Daniel from David’s office is coming by to talk about a few things.”
Once Sylvia left the room, she called Victor Matheson, the private investigator, and informed him about the fire and her suspicions.
“You could be right, ma’am. Here’s what I’ve got so far: Alex Moreno left the hotel in the Hamptons early on the morning after his arrival. He was driving the Lexus, which I’m also trying to track down. The building contractors say Moreno’s business adviser was a Philip Simmons. Ring any bells?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Canadian? Tall, over six feet, red hair and a mustache?”
“Still no. My sister met with one of the investors, Edward de Jersey. He lost millions. His details are in the file I sent you. He didn’t seem interested in discovering Moreno’s whereabouts.”
“He must be stinking rich if he doesn’t give a shit about finding where all the money’s disappeared to.”
“Continue your inquiries for now,” Sylvia said. “I’ll be in touch again shortly. I plan to contact the other investors. If Mr. de Jersey isn’t interested in taking this matter further, maybe one of them will be. I’m determined to salvage my brother-in-law’s savings.”
The doorbell rang almost immediately after she hung up. She let in Daniel Gatley, David’s assistant, who held a briefcase.
“I have the information you asked for.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Helen doesn’t know I’ve lost money as well. It may not seem like a lot in comparison, but it was my life savings—two hundred and fifty thousand.”
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t believe that fire was an accident. It’s odd that it started in David’s study and that his papers fueled it. Helen says she might have left the fire on and a window open, but that doesn’t make sense.”
Daniel opened his briefcase. He looked uncomfortable. “This is all I could find on the main investors, but I shouldn’t let these documents out of the office. They’re confidential.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Daniel, there is no office now. But if anyone asks I’ll say David left them here.”
He took out the files and placed them on the table. “Does Helen know?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Nobody knows, apart from you,” she said. She covered her face with her hands for what seemed a long period. “I miss him so much. I’ve had to look after Helen when all I wanted to do was curl up and cry.”
“I know David cared deeply for you,” Daniel said awkwardly.
“Yes, I know he did too. But he lost my life savings and I’ve got to do something about it. Do you think Moreno could have had anything to do with the fire at the house? It’s all very convenient, isn’t it?”
“Well,” Daniel said, “I’ve got the files here for the other investors, apart from Edward de Jersey. After David’s death, he came and took everything out of the office. David had put everything on disk for him.”
Sylvia opened a drawer. “I have some disks too, which David left here, so I know just how much de Jersey lost.”
Daniel nodded to the files he had brought. “Details of the small investors plus the other two main ones.”
She snatched the top sheet of notes from him. “Driscoll and Wilcox,” she read. “I’ll concentrate on them.”
Daniel stood up to leave. He pulled a Jiffy bag out of his briefcase and handed it to her. “Just a few personal items from David’s desk that I thought Helen or you might like to keep.”
“Thank you for coming over. And for keeping my secret. Helen hasn’t the slightest idea about David and me. I don’t know what it would do to her if she did find out.”
Daniel nodded. At the door, he paused and turned. “Sylvia, I wouldn’t bring this arson thing to anyone’s attention. The police will be looking into the fire because of David’s suicide, and if there is any hint that it wasn’t an accident, the insurance won’t pay out. As you said, Helen has been through enough already.”
CHAPTER
9
Sylvia contacted James Wilcox first—his unlisted telephone number had been in David’s file. “I’m David Lyons’s sister-in-law,” she told him. “My sister Helen has asked me to help her sort out David’s financial problems in connection with the Internet company leadingleisurewear. I believe you were one of the main investors and suffered considerable losses.”
“That is correct,” Wilcox said. “My business adviser is looking into the matter.”
“I have hired a private investigator to try to track down Alex Moreno.”
“My advisers are handling my interests, and I am loath to confuse the issue by becoming involved with any other backers. I would appreciate it if you did not press this matter further on my behalf or call again.”
“But you lost a fortune!”
“That’s my business.” Wilcox sounded annoyed.
“Do you know Edward de Jersey?”
“No.”
“Mr. de Jersey was the largest investor and will lose everything he has—” Wilcox had hung up. Sylvia was astonished that he didn’t want to know any more.
Undeterred, she called Anthony Driscoll. He was not as brusque as Wilcox, but he made it clear that his own advisers were investigating the company’s downfall. “Please feel free to call again if you acquire any information you think I would be interested in,” Driscoll said.
“I am contacting all the investors,” Sylvia persisted. “Are you aware that a Mr. Edward de Jersey lost nearly a hundred million pounds?”
Driscoll was taken aback mom
entarily. “No, I am not. Listen, are you asking for me to assist this investigator?”
“Only if you wish to do so. I am quite happy to continue paying him until I get results.”
“Well, I admire your tenacity, Miss Hewitt, but I am quite perturbed that you have called an unlisted number and that you seem to have access to very personal details.”
“I explained who I was,” Sylvia replied rather petulantly.
“That in itself does not give you, or anyone close to Mr. Lyons, the right to access my private and highly confidential transactions. I want my losses to remain my own business.”
“Well, I apologize,” she said, embarrassed. “I am really doing this for my sister.”
“Frankly, Miss Hewitt, I am not interested in who you are doing this for. While his suicide was tragic, David Lyons made some extremely ill-advised business moves. I blame myself for making the investments; nevertheless I was under Mr. Lyons’s guidance. That I had a disastrous loss is my business, and I would appreciate it if you did not call again or use my name in reference to any private investigation you may instigate.”
Sylvia interrupted before he could hang up on her, like Wilcox. “May I just ask if you know any of the other investors? A Mr. James Wilcox.”
“No, I’ve never met any of the others.”
“Did you ever meet Alex Moreno, the man who ran leadingleisurewear?”
“No. Furthermore, I have no interest in meeting him. I wish you success, but I have no time to discuss this further. Good-bye.” He hung up abruptly.
Sylvia was aware that big investors did not like their losses known. However, she was infuriated that these three men could accept losing millions. She had lost a pittance in comparison, but it had been her life savings. She had no intention of letting the matter be swept under the carpet.
Liz Driscoll had answered Sylvia’s call, and after he hung up, she waited for her husband to explain it.
“So who is this Sylvia woman then?” she asked eventually.
“The sister-in-law of an old business adviser.”
“So what’s she calling you for?”
“He topped himself,” he said irritably.
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