‘What do you mean, we’re broke?’
Michael took his hand away from the newspaper. His head moved slowly from side to side in a manner of someone who has seen something that is beyond belief; beyond comprehension.
‘I received a phone call from our brokers last night.’ He stopped, choked up. Kate sat down. ‘They warned me in advance,’ he went on. ‘They said they were expecting very bad news from America.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘I didn’t anticipate anything like this. Not this.’ He jammed his finger down hard on the article. Then he reached across his desk and gathered up several sheets of A4 paper. Kate could see there was all manner of scribbling on them. He held them up and then dropped them back onto the desk top. ‘I thought I might be able to save us,’ he said softly. ‘Some rescue,’ he laughed ironically. He looked over at Kate and made a hopeless grimace at her.
‘Tell me what the problem is, Michael.’ Although she could see he was distraught, Kate had no idea how serious the problem was.
‘I began investing a few years ago, if you remember.’ He started tapping his finger on the desk. It was more of an unconscious reaction rather than a deliberate way of making a point. ‘For a while, things were looking pretty good. Then our brokers suggested I branch out and buy some stock in the States.’ He began absently doodling with his fingertip. ‘Sub-prime mortgage lending, they called it. The federal government had established two lending banks: Fannie Mae and Fannie Mac; seemed a winner at the time. There were other stock options promised in other companies: mostly finance.’
‘So you bought some stock?’ Kate asked.
He smiled. ‘I got greedy; or stupid.’ He breathed in deeply and looked up towards the ceiling. ‘I’ve been a bloody fool.’ He looked at her. ‘We’ve lost everything. I thought I could save us but. . . .’ He picked up the sheets of A4 and dropped them again. ‘Not a chance. Not a bloody chance.’
‘Just how bad is it?’ Kate asked, afraid of what she was about to hear.
‘It’s bad, Kate: really bad.’
She snapped at him. ‘Michael, I think I’ve got that message. Now, tell me just how bad it is. Are you talking about the future of Clanford?’
He nodded. ‘I reckon we can last about three months. After that we’re bankrupt.’
There was silence as Kate took it in. She felt a sudden fear envelop her and thought of the home she had known for over forty years. She thought of the two boys and Victoria; Michael’s wife, Topper, and their daughter, Pauline. Then she thought of the estate and what it had meant to them and how she had struggled to keep it going after her husband’s death. The years slipped through her mind as quick as a blink, and the images burned into her brain brightened her memories. Then the sudden, awful truth dawned on her as she contemplated Michael’s dreadful news, and the memories became swamped in darkness until there was nothing there.
‘Have you spoken to Topper yet?’ she asked. ‘And what about Pauline?’
Michael nodded. ‘Topper knows. I spoke to her last night.’ He picked up the scraps of paper. ‘She was down here last night until about four o’clock trying to make sense of it.’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘Thank goodness Pauline’s out of it. At least she’s independent.’
‘And Victoria,’ Kate added reflectively.
‘I haven’t spoken to Pauline yet,’ he told Kate, ‘but I will have to. Her teaching job should be safe.’ He half smiled. ‘At least the schools won’t go bust.’
Kate stood up and came over to him. ‘I suppose you’ve been here all night?’ He nodded. ‘You’d better get some sleep, then. I’ll get you a couple of sleeping pills.’
‘I’ll be all right,’ he told her.
‘Nonsense, you need to rest.’ She waved her hand across the desk. ‘All this can wait a few hours. If it’s as serious as you say it is, you’ll have to call a meeting for everyone who’s likely to be affected.’
He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘You always were right, Kate.’ He yawned. ‘They say we should sleep on our problems, but it doesn’t make them go away.’ He got up and looked at the mess covering the top of his desk. ‘Somewhere in there is Clanford’s future and just like that it’s an absolute bloody mess.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll speak to you later.’ He gave her a kiss on the cheek and took himself off.
Kate tidied up the papers on the desk, threw the scribbling into the waste bin, closed Michael’s laptop and turned off the television. She looked around and thought how neat and tidy everything seemed. It was so orderly. But as she closed the door she knew that the truth was a ticking time bomb that had exploded and wrecked the heart of Michael’s kingdom and Clanford Estate was the victim.
TWENTY-ONE
Emma, 2011
Emma went up to her room at the hotel and opened the parcel that Laura had given her. Naturally she was curious, not just about the parcel, but also about Laura’s reason for tracking her down and the manner in which it was done. She had lost the growing need to sleep with Colin now that she knew why he was interested in her and also because she honestly felt that she would be betraying Max had she done so. She had spent a little while longer with Laura, but the urge to get up to her room had proven too much, so she left her sister to get acquainted with the private detective.
She had a shower and poured herself a glass of wine even though it was a little early. Then she settled herself in a comfortable chair and opened the parcel. She almost dropped the book when she saw Max’s name blazed large across the front. She turned it over and looked at the back cover. Then she read the blurb on the flyleaf before finally beginning at the first page.
Emma read the book through in one sitting. It took almost six hours, and in that time she had managed to finish two glasses of wine and visit the toilet. It was dark outside and she could hear the sounds of the Spanish nightlife filling the air. She turned her mind back to the book and began flicking through it, reading passages that had intrigued her, and then rereading them. It was almost three o’clock in the morning before she forced herself to give up and get some sleep. And as she slept, she dreamed of Max, of Laura and of unbelievable things.
A week later, Emma was standing outside Jonathan Gains’s office in St Martin’s Street, just off Trafalgar Square in London. The engraved lettering on the brass plate beside the door listed several agencies; Gains among them. She pushed open the door and stepped into a world she thought she would never see: a world that occupied a level several notches above her own life of physical cruelty and violence. A receptionist looked up from behind a large desk. She smiled.
‘Good morning, can I help you?’
Emma hesitated before stepping forward. ‘Oh, yes. I’m Emma Johnson. I have an appointment with Jonathan Gains.’
The smile beamed again. ‘One moment, please. Would you like to take a seat?’
Emma sat herself down as the receptionist phoned through to Gains’s office. Two minutes later, the doors of a lift opened softly and Jonathan Gains stepped out. He came straight over to Emma, holding his hand out.
‘Miss Johnson, or is it Ms? I never know these days.’
‘I prefer Emma,’ she told him.
‘Emma it is. This way.’ She followed him to the lift. It stopped on the fourth floor and Gains led her into his office. He asked if she would like a drink; coffee, tea or maybe a soft drink?
‘Just water, thanks.’
Gains produced a small beaker of water from a water cooler in an adjacent room and brought it through. Then he settled himself down in his large chair and closed his hands together with his fingertips touching.
‘Now, Emma, I must say I was intrigued when I received your call. A friend of Max, eh?’
Emma thought there was a hint of innuendo in the question. ‘Just a friend; we met last year.’
‘At Portsmouth, I believe?’
This surprised Emma. ‘You know about that?’
Gains smiled. ‘I’m his agent. He does nothing that I don’t know about.’
‘He
told you, then?’
Gains confessed. ‘Yes. I’m not really a clairvoyant.’
‘You see, Jonathan – can I call you Jonathan?’ She was still quite nervous. He grinned and nodded vigorously. ‘I need to see Max, but I’m afraid I’ve rather got myself into a corner. I told him I never wanted to see him again and he has finally given in: he’s decided to stay out of my life completely.’
‘And you think I can help?’
Emma had been clutching Max’s book. She put it on the desk. ‘I called Max a cheat and a liar. He was always evasive, never really telling me about himself. I thought he was married.’
‘He was,’ Gains interrupted. ‘His wife died.’
Emma nodded. ‘I know now.’
‘How do you know?’
‘My sister, Laura. Max went to see her a few weeks ago. He told her everything.’ She put her hand on the book. ‘He gave her this.’ She opened the cover. ‘He signed it.’
Gains didn’t say anything in answer to that but asked Emma why she was so desperate to see Max.
‘When I first met him, Max was a perfect gentleman. We got on so well. But then something happened: something disturbed him, and he changed. I couldn’t help him because I didn’t know what was on his mind. He seemed so distant at times. And evasive,’ she added.
‘You thought he was two-timing you,’ Gains said.
‘Two-timing me and his wife; so I finished with him. I even ran away: moved away from the area so he couldn’t find me.’
‘And now you want to find him, is that it?’
She looked down at her hands twisting together in her lap. ‘I think I know the truth now; what was troubling him.’
‘And what was that?’
Emma tapped the book. ‘His past: it’s in there.’
Gains shook his head. ‘That isn’t what’s troubling him, Emma. That book is exactly that: his past. What is troubling Max is his present, and I don’t think you or I have any idea what that might be.’ He shifted and made himself a little more comfortable in his chair. ‘Let me tell you about Max; how we found him.’
‘We?’
‘My wife, Tanya, and I. He was a dosser, a drop-out, homeless.’ He pointed towards the book. ‘It’s all in there. He’s a born writer, gifted. Tanya saw the talent during one of her shifts at the drop-in centre. He didn’t want to let us take his books away. He was really obsessive about that. But eventually he came round and we were able to get him to write. I got his first novel published.’
Emma touched the book. ‘Not this?’
Gains shook his head. ‘No, that’s his fourth novel. His first was based on a character he knew. The man was a convict, a homosexual and a Christian. It was what Max called the ‘unholy trinity’. When I asked him if he was going to use his own name, he said no because he never knew his friend’s name until after the man died. He decided to take his name as a tribute and mimic the man’s choice of invisibility. Max was ashamed of his past just like his friend, and didn’t want his real name used as the author of his books.’
Emma felt like stone, as though all emotion had drained from her body. ‘There are times in your life when you wish you could turn the clock back,’ she said softly. ‘This is one of them.’
Gains cleared his throat. ‘We all have moments like that. On the night Tanya and I celebrated Max’s first publishing deal, we introduced him to Elise. She died in a car accident with her lover. It crushed Max.’ He shook his head, reflecting on what might have been, and glanced down at Max’s book. ‘I’m surprised he even got round to writing that.’ He paused for a moment. ‘But what’s done is done: we can’t undo it.’
Emma took the book in her hands and sat there studying it. She brushed her thumb lightly over the jacket. ‘I need to see him,’ she said. ‘I used to have his address, but I threw it away.’
Gains sat forward and pulled a notepad towards him. He took a pen from his pocket and wrote something down.
‘You know, Emma, the only reason I agreed to speak to you today was because I knew how Max felt about you and how devastated he was having lost you.’
Emma showed her surprise. ‘I didn’t think you knew who I was when I phoned.’
Gains chuckled. ‘I put two and two together, Emma. Don’t forget: I get to read a lot of books. There’s a lot of truth in those tales of fiction.’ He handed her the scrap of paper. ‘Tanya and I love Max to bits and we don’t want to see his heart broken again.’ Before Emma could take the paper from him, Gains held it tight. ‘I think we might be OK this time, though.’ He let the paper go.
Emma read the address he had written down. ‘Is he back yet?’
Gains turned his desk calendar towards him and ran his finger along the dates. ‘Two weeks today. He usually unwinds for a couple of days after a lengthy book tour: shuts himself away. I think he might like a bit of company this time, though.’
Emma put the paper into her handbag and stood up. ‘Thank you, Jonathan. Don’t tell him I’ve been here, will you?’
He came round from behind the desk and took her arm. ‘Just like a novel, eh?’
Emma sighed as he walked her to the door. ‘I wish it was,’ she said, ‘but there’s something troubling him. I just hope I can help.’
Gains wrinkled his nose. ‘You’ll do more than that, Emma: you’ll restore him.’ He walked to the lift with her and brushed her cheek lightly with his. ‘Good luck, Emma.’
Two weeks later Max returned home. His six-week book tour of Australia and New Zealand had been exhausting, and he was looking forward to doing virtually nothing for a few days before picking up the pen and writing again. He needed the distraction to take away the emptiness he felt at losing Emma, and he was confident that once he got into the swing of it he would forget her. But Max’s optimism only had root in his fertile imagination: he couldn’t get Emma out of his mind. Whenever he came up with an idea that he felt he could develop for his next book, he spent ages staring at the computer screen and thinking of nothing else but Emma. He tried everything: reading, walking, drinking, watching TV, cursing and pacing up and down. There were times when he wanted to beat his head against the wall. And there were times when he simply sat and cursed his own folly for falling in love with a woman who wanted nothing to do with him.
The days passed slowly, tormenting and teasing him. The metronomic ticking of the grandfather clock was like a constant reminder of how slowly time was moving. He wished he had a dog. Then he didn’t. Then he thought he would buy a new car and spent some time surfing the net but reading nothing; seeing only pictures. He had given his housekeeper a week off, knowing he would not be worth living with, but even the thought of absorbing himself in housework was self-defeating: he hated housework.
But Max was not stupid; he knew there was a danger that he would let himself go if he didn’t pull himself together. And this was probably his greatest fear; far greater than the loss of a loved one. He remembered how he had almost gone down that road when his wife died. The trauma was natural, but the humiliation was not. These combined to send him into a downward spiral that took an enormous feat of self-will to overcome. With Emma the loss was different and probably less traumatic, but he knew he needed to assert himself mentally and rise above the demons. So he forced himself to face up to his personal crisis and get organized into a routine, whether he enjoyed it or not.
He rose early the following day and went out for a morning run; something he hadn’t done for a long while. He found the morning air exhilarating and refreshing and although he felt bushed after jogging about two miles, he made it back to the house in one piece. He showered and shaved – he had two days’ growth – had breakfast and began tidying up around the house. Lunch was to be a takeaway, which meant no preparation, and then he would knuckle down and write during the afternoon.
It was about midday when the doorbell chimed. Max wondered who could be at the door. He knew his housekeeper would not disturb him, and he knew his agent couldn’t even find his way to the h
ouse if he tried. He went to the door and opened it wide. For a moment he didn’t realize who was standing there. His mouth fell open and his heart rate shot up.
‘Emma?’
She smiled at him.
‘Hello, Paul.’
TWENTY-TWO
Clanford Hall, 2011
Michael saw the Mercedes turn in through the gate and glide almost noiselessly up the long drive. He was standing by the open door of Clanford Hall. Kate was beside him. The car slowed to a halt. Michael took a pace forward as the driver got out and opened the rear passenger door. A woman stepped out of the car and stood there looking up at the house. Michael couldn’t see her features too clearly because she was wearing a small hat with a veil.
A man clambered out of the far side. He stood up and buttoned his coat. He looked over at Michael and then quickly up at the house. He was wearing a dark suit, black shirt and a thin, light-grey tie. His hair was grey and swept back into a small ponytail at the back. He walked round the car and offered his hand, showing the array of gold rings on his fingers and the gold watch around his wrist.
‘Michael Kennett?’
Michael nodded. ‘And you must be Mr Isaacs?’
‘Billy, please.’ He stared at Michael briefly as though something had come into his mind. Then he turned to the woman. ‘My wife, Anita.’
Michael held her hand briefly with the lightest of touches. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ He turned to Kate. ‘This is my mother, Kate.’ Then he pointed towards the house. ‘Shall we go in?’
When they were in the drawing room, Kate offered their guests a drink. They both declined.
Isaacs walked over to the large window overlooking the lawns. He stood there for a few moments, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘Impressive-looking place you have here, Mr Kennett. It must be difficult having to sell it.’
Michael grimaced at the implication. ‘Maybe not as much as you might imagine.’ He didn’t want Isaacs to think he was desperate, but it was a weak rejoinder nonetheless.
Isaacs turned away from the window and stood with his legs set firmly apart. The light from the window outlined his silhouette. He looked as hard as nails: the kind of man who would not lose in a fight.
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