At Clanford Hall, Kate was busy putting together the final touches to the room where the signing would take place. Victoria had just arrived from Australia and was helping her. Outside on the lawn was a small marquee where the press would be entertained by the new owner, Billy Isaacs. Michael had baulked at the idea, but Isaacs insisted it would have to be part of the deal, which left Michael without an argument. Topper and her daughter, Pauline, were adding a few finishing touches to the seating arrangements.
A TV camera crew turned up during the morning and set up a dish with an up-link out near the marquee, and ran cables through into the drawing room where the signing would take place. Kate had tried to get enthusiastic about the whole business, but couldn’t find it in her heart to think of celebrating the loss of her beloved home. Michael was walking around like a bear with a sore head and generally getting in everybody’s way.
By eleven o’clock, the local press were there together with most of the staff. They were wondering openly if Michael’s twin brother would turn up. Other onlookers had wandered in out of curiosity, and Topper was handing out tea and coffee to ward off the chill in the air. Michael had taken it upon himself to hire a security team to man the entrance gates and generally keep an eye on the house in case some of the casual visitors wanted to get in and help themselves to the house treasures.
At the back of the house, out of sight, was a local removal company lorry, already packed with much of Kate and Michael’s possessions, which were to be put into storage. They had been given permission by Billy Isaacs to remain in the house until the end of the week, after which the locks would be changed.
Emma arrived with Laura and immediately went in search of Kate. She had warned Laura not to gawp at Michael when she saw him because of the stunning likeness between him and Max. This had proven to be difficult when Kate made the introductions. Even Emma found it hard not to keep looking at him. Laura asked Emma where Max was, but Emma had to tell her, truthfully, that she had no idea if he was even coming to the signing.
At that moment, Max was walking into the bank in Petersfield. He had phoned ahead and asked for an appointment to see the manager. He used his pen name, Max Reilly. He was told that the manager would not be available but if he was happy to, he could see a senior member of staff.
The receptionist at the bank, who was more of a floorwalker, came over to him.
‘Good morning, Mr Kennett,’ she greeted him warmly. ‘We didn’t expect to see you here this morning.’
Max was glad she had mistaken him for his brother without any histrionics. ‘I made an appointment.’ She frowned at him. Max explained. ‘I used the name Reilly.’ He shrugged his shoulders apologetically. ‘I didn’t want anyone to know, under the circumstances.’ He hoped his explanation would suffice.
‘If you would like to wait here,’ she smiled. Max wondered just how welcome his brother was at the bank. She came back and signalled to him to follow her into a side room.
‘Mr Chandler will be with you in a moment.’
Max looked at his watch. He doubted if the said Mr Chandler would be in any hurry to speak to him. Five minutes and several more looks at the watch and the man himself walked in.
‘Sorry to have kept you, Mr Kennett,’ he said unconvincingly. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I want to clear my overdraft.’
Chandler swallowed. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I want to clear my overdraft,’ Max repeated.
Chandler was obviously put out by this. Max wondered if he was privy to all the deals that had gone on behind the scenes between Billy Isaacs and the bank manager. Max pointed to the computer monitor sitting on the tabletop. ‘Can you pull up my account and let me know how much it is, please?’
Chandler seemed to switch to slow motion. ‘I’m not sure I can let you do that.’ He paused. ‘Under the circumstances—’
‘Circumstances be buggered,’ Max told him. ‘My account is still live and I wish to make a payment. Now pull it up!’
Chandler booted up the monitor and spent a few minutes logging in and generally wasting as much time as he could. But eventually the account was on the screen in front of him.
‘How much?’ Max asked.
Chandler cleared his throat. ‘£285,000.’
Max heaved the small suitcase on to the table and flipped it open. He took fifteen thousand pounds out and spun the case round. ‘Count it and pay it in. Now.’
Chandler got up from the table and went to the door. He pulled it open and called through to someone in the bank. He asked for a money counter and then came back to the table.
‘I must say this is most unusual, Mr Kennett.’
Max smiled warmly. ‘Why? Because I’m a bad client?’
Chandler tried to hide a grin, but he couldn’t. ‘Oh, I can’t say that.’
‘You can and you probably do.’
A young woman came through with a counting machine and began feeding the notes into it. Five minutes later, and Chandler was signing a receipt for the money and clearing Michael’s account of the overdraft. Max peeled off five thousand pounds and handed it to Chandler.
‘Pay that in as well, please.’ He winked. ‘Just want to make sure I don’t go into the red inadvertently.’ He picked up his second receipt and left a bemused young banker wondering if it had really happened.
Isaacs arrived at the Hall in a wine-coloured Rolls Royce. He was sitting in the back next to his wife. It was his way of showing the world that he was up there with the big guns. He wanted full exposure on this one, and with the television cameras there and a Sunday red-top newspaper, he knew he would get maximum coverage. His one regret was that the Kennett family could only persuade a red-top paper to cover the event. Not that it mattered: exposure was the key.
His driver pulled up in front of the house and Michael moved closer to the car. He felt uncomfortable doing this but it was instinctive. Isaacs must have felt like royalty, seeing the welcome party waiting for him. His driver opened the rear door for Mrs Isaacs first and then hopped round to the other side to let his boss out. Isaacs stood for a while and buttoned his jacket, a smile spreading over his face and a look that spoke a thousand words.
He shook hands with Michael and then Kate; then together they walked into the house and through into the drawing room. Isaacs’s legal team were there as was the local bank manager. They looked like a gathering of vultures as far as Michael was concerned and he hated every one of them for it. Isaacs went over to his two lawyers and shook their hands. Kate had insisted that no drinks would be served there because of the formality and gravity of the signing. There were a few papers to be mulled over by the lawyers, including the one representing Clanford Estate. Once the lawyers nodded their approval, Isaacs rubbed his hands together.
‘Right, let’s get on with it.’
Max saw the flashing blue lights half a mile or so ahead of him. They were moving in the same direction. He put his foot down and lifted the Jag’s speed way over the limit. He saw the chequered colour of the police BMW turn into the open gate of the estate followed by a plain black Audi. He swept in behind them, part of a cavalcade.
The police car stopped quickly, its wheels throwing up bits of gravel. The Audi swung along beside it and two men clambered out. Max recognized Detective Sergeant Harris, but not the other plain-clothes man beside him. They both hurried into the Hall.
Max leapt out of the Jag and ran towards the open doors, but two of the uniformed policemen from the first car stopped him.
‘I’ve got to get in there,’ Max struggled to tell them.
‘And who are you, sir?’
‘I own the bloody place,’ he lied.
The two coppers were too stunned to argue. They stepped away and let him in.
Inside the drawing room, Isaacs had taken the screw-top fountain pen from one of his lawyers and was slowly removing the gold-plated top when he heard a scuffling of feet and two men walked into the room followed by two uniformed police
officers. They came straight up to the table. The smaller one of the two men put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a police warrant card which he dangled in front of Isaacs.
‘Mr William Isaacs?’ he asked.
Isaacs scowled. ‘Who wants to know?’
‘Detective Chief Inspector Mole, Hampshire CID. William Isaacs, I am arresting you for the murder of Max Reilly at Parkhurst Prison in 1985. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
Isaacs sprang to his feet. ‘What the fuck?’
Mole looked round at the two uniformed police officers. ‘Cuff him!’
Isaacs turned one way and then the other, but the officers grabbed him, pushed his hands behind his back and snapped the cuffs on him.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?’ Isaacs screamed. ‘Who the fuck is Max Reilly?’ He forced his head round and screamed at his lawyers. ‘What are you standing there for? Fucking do something.’
His voice echoed down the corridor as the police officers grappled with him screaming and shouting until they bundled him outside. Just as they were about to push him into the police car, Isaacs spotted Max. He froze. The two policemen held him in that position briefly.
Max walked over to the car and stood in front of Isaacs.
Isaacs’ face dropped. He turned his head towards the house and then looked back at Max. ‘Kennett?’
Max smiled and nodded. ‘This is for Max Reilly, Isaacs. May you rot in hell.’
‘What the—’
Max cut him off. ‘See you in court, tosser.’ He walked away.
Isaacs was bundled into the car. The two policemen climbed in and sat either side of him. He was still reeling from the shock of being arrested and seeing Paul Kennett. He couldn’t figure it out; this was to have been his day: one that he had wished for; a day that would change his life irrevocably.
The car pulled away as the TV cameras began rolling, filming the end of Billy Isaacs.
TWENTY-FIVE
For a while there was a stunned silence in the room as they took in the reality of what had just happened. Isaacs’s screaming voice echoed in their minds and all of them were replaying what they had just seen. They looked at each other as if someone could suddenly come up with an explanation. But the simple truth was that the man who was about to purchase Clanford Estate had been arrested for murder.
Then the clamour started as a few journalists ran into the house demanding to know what was going on. None of them had heard Isaacs being cautioned, but they all guessed that a major story had broken. And as they piled into the drawing room, Max walked in with them.
Pauline saw him first and nearly fainted. She pointed at him and put her hand to her mouth, then spun round and looked at Michael. He saw the look of bewilderment on her face and turned towards the group. He couldn’t believe it.
‘Paul?’
Max walked up to him with his hand out. ‘Hello, Michael.’
Then it was bedlam: everybody was talking at once. It seemed like they all wanted a piece of Max: the reporters, the family, Emma, Laura. It took some time before there was sufficient quiet in the room for Max to say anything.
‘Were the police here in time?’ he asked. ‘Did Isaacs sign?’
Michael shook his head. ‘No. Ten seconds or more and he would have been the owner of Clanford Estate.’
Max sagged visibly. ‘Thank God for that.’
Michael had some difficulty taking it all in. ‘Were you involved in this?’
Max told him he was. ‘But I can explain later.’ He looked over at Kate, whose eyes were fixed on him above a loving smile. ‘I need to say hello to someone.’
Kate put her arms round him and held him tight. ‘I knew you would come back,’ she whispered.
‘I didn’t plan it this way though,’ he told her. ‘I don’t think I ever did mean to come back.’
‘But now you’re here, will you stay?’
He pulled away from her. ‘You will be seeing more of me,’ he promised.
Just then, Michael’s bank manager coughed, wanting attention. ‘Excuse me, but I’m afraid there is something we need to make clear.’ He had their attention. ‘Now that it seems Mr Isaacs is no longer in a position to make the purchase, it means the bank must foreclose.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, but there’s no other way.’
Max turned away from Kate. ‘Why do you have to foreclose?’ he asked.
The bank manager tilted his head and pursed his lips. ‘You need to ask Mr Kennett the reasons why, but he will only confirm the fact that I have no choice.’
‘Yes, but why?’ Max asked again.
‘I’m broke, Paul,’ Michael told him. ‘I owe over a quarter of a million and no hope at all of paying: now or ever.’
Max glanced at the bank manager and then back to his brother. ‘It was £285,000 actually, Michael.’
Michael’s face dropped. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Because I’ve just paid it.’
The bank manager’s face fell too. ‘When did you do that?’
‘This morning.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Less than an hour ago.’
Kate took hold of Emma’s arm. ‘You knew he was going to do this?’ she whispered.
Emma heaved her shoulders lightly and smiled knowingly. ‘Nope.’
Kate squeezed her arm. ‘Liar.’
The bank manager looked totally lost. ‘But you’re not Michael Kennett.’
Max arched his eyebrows and thought of the fingerprint deposition he and Michael had signed all those years ago. ‘How can you tell?’ The man looked from Max to Michael and back again. ‘So that means,’ Max said to the disturbed manager, ‘that you cannot foreclose: the debt has been paid.’ He moved closer to Michael and lowered his voice. ‘Go check your account. I know you can’t believe it.’
Michael took the hint and went through to his office. Topper followed. What he saw on the screen when he logged in brought a huge smile of relief to his face and a few tears to his eyes. He threw his arms round Topper and hugged her tight.
In the drawing room, Kate was beginning to usher people out, encouraging them to go to the marquee, where they could have a drink and come to terms with the dramatic events that had taken place.
Max was talking to Emma when Kate came up beside them. ‘Paul, it was very generous of you to clear the debt,’ she said quietly, ‘but what now? What happens when Michael gets into debt again; will you be around?’
‘Will he get into debt again?’ Max asked.
Kate reflected on this for a moment. ‘Probably not. He was making a reasonable job of running things but the recession hit him hard. What were good investments became bad investments.’ She knew instinctively that Paul, or Max as he called himself, would not let it happen now.
Michael came back into the room and caught Max’s attention. Max went across to him.
‘Can we talk about this later, Paul? I’ve got a ton of questions.’
Max nodded. ‘And I’ve got a ton of answers. But first of all, I want to introduce you to my future wife.’ He took Michael’s elbow and hauled him across to Emma, who was huddled in a close group with Laura, Victoria and Pauline. He pushed in amongst them.
‘Michael, this is Emma, the woman I’m going to marry.’
Emma blushed and felt the scar on her neck redden. She lifted her hand automatically but Max caught her elbow in time and she dropped it.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Michael said weakly. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Then don’t say anything,’ Emma told him sweetly.
Kate walked over and tried to put her arms around all of them. ‘Why don’t we all go to the marquee and celebrate? Two brothers reunited. One home saved. One engagement.’
‘How long have you known?’ Max asked.
Kate smiled at Emma. ‘Since a little bird told me in exchange for informat
ion.’
Max laughed. ‘Right, no more secrets; once we get through this we’ll have a wedding to plan.’ He kissed Emma on the tip of her nose. ‘And you, my sweet, will become—’
Emma stopped him by putting her fingers on his lips.
‘No, I don’t want to be Mrs Max Reilly.’ Max’s face fell. Emma laughed. ‘I want to marry Paul Kennett.’
Max brightened immediately. ‘So be it,’ he said, ‘now I can finally lay the ghost: Max Reilly is dead.’
Emma reached up and kissed him, thrilled now that he had finally come home.
By the same author
North Slope
Shadow of the Wolf
Hell’s Gate
The Eagle’s Covenant
The Devil’s Trinity
The Third Secret
A Covert War
The Boy from Berlin
© Michael Parker
First published in Great Britain 2015
ISBN 978 0 7198 1715 1 (epub)
ISBN 978 0 7198 1716 8 (mobi)
ISBN 978 0 7198 1717 5 (pdf)
ISBN 978 0 7198 1426 6 (print)
Robert Hale Ltd
Clerkenwell House
Clerkenwell Green
London EC1R 0HT
www.halebooks.com
The right of Michael Parker to be identified as
author of this work has been asserted by him
in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and
Patents Act 1988
Past Imperfect Page 27