Dinner time at Karen’s house was usually a raucous affair. But that evening you could have heard a pin drop, as Zani and Corbin related the events of the last twenty-four hours.
“So is your father going to be okay?” asked Karen.
“Eventually. It’s going to be a long road. I don’t think he’ll ever be the same.”
“And have you heard from Klebnikoff?” asked one of Karen’s sons, glancing nervously out the window.
“No, I’ll get everything at Everwood organised, then see if I can negotiate something. At least then I’ll know what I’ve got to offer.”
“What about Paul?” asked another son.
Zani shrugged. “He’ll turn up.”
“But I don’t understand how he could have just left you like this. It seems so dishonourable. Surely if he’s Lord of Southwick, he should act like it.”
“Michael!” snapped Karen in outrage, and gave the boy a glare that promised recriminations later.
“No, it’s okay. He’s just not very good at taking responsibility for anything. Either Dad or I have always stepped in and done it for him. He just did what he’s done all his life: run away.”
“Yeah but…” Mike subsided after another look from his mother.
“I still don’t like the sound of this Russian chap,” chipped in Karen’s husband.
“I think we’re of more use to him alive than dead,” replied Zani.
“Help me clear the table, Tegan. You, too, boys,” said Karen abruptly, mostly to her young daughter, whose eyes were on stalks.
The boys reluctantly began to gather dirty plates and start the washing up. Tegan made a tactical withdrawal, tucking herself away in a corner on the floor, surrounded by dogs and reading a moth-eaten copy of Harry Potter.
“Do you suppose Chichester has a chance against Stubbington in the football on Sunday?” asked Corbin, and was nearly buried under a barrage of opinions.
Later Karen and her husband waved Corbin and Zani off.
“Be careful, call me in the morning,” said Karen.
“Let’s forget work for the rest of the week, until things are a bit clearer. I don’t want…” Zani hesitated.
“…anything to happen. I understand. Consider the office closed,” said Karen.
“No more putting it off then,” said Zani to Corbin as they drove away.
“No,” said Corbin, watching the rear-vision mirror. As they accelerated down the street, a car pulled out behind them. “We’ll be there soon.”
But Zani wasn’t listening. She stared at the passing street lights, propping her arm against the door and leaning her head on her hand. She thought about Everwood, her mother and Corbin. Her heart ached, but the pain was faintly tinged with a Corbin-induced happiness.
The house stood, dark, alone and imposing when they arrived. Everything was unnaturally still, as if the woods and the creatures in them were holding their breath, waiting to see if anything would happen.
“It feels different, like it’s not mine anymore,” murmured Zani as she looked up at the dark windows.
Corbin, who vainly fumbled with keys, trying to find the right one, stopped and came back to her.
“We don’t have to do this. We could go back to my place.”
“No. I want to be here tonight. After they all go over it tomorrow, it won’t be the same.”
Zani took the keys and let them in.
“Shall we start in the kitchen and work our way up, or in the attics and work our way down?”
“Kitchen,” said Corbin. “It will be warmer and I need coffee.”
“Yeah, I’m not looking forward to the attics, either. Is it just me, or does the house feel sad somehow? I never noticed before. Maybe it knows why we’re here,” said Zani as they walked through the dark corridors.
“I think perhaps the house is sad because the people in it were so sad.”
“Poor house,” she sighed. “It’s time it had a happy family.”
In the kitchen Corbin made a coffee for himself and a tea for Zani, whilst she poked around in the kitchen cupboards and the enormous pantry with its stone shelves.
“Look,” she said, dragging out an earthenware pot with something that looked a bit like egg-beaters attached. “It’s a butter churn. It must have been in the back of that cupboard since World War Two. That’s when they closed the dairy. I don’t think I’ve ever really looked at all this stuff.”
She sat suddenly at the table, drooping like the snowdrops that dotted the lawn under the trees.
“Zani?”
“No, I’m fine. It’s just overwhelming. You have no idea how much stuff there is. I don’t know what to do with it all. We could spend hours here in the kitchen, but there’s the rest of the house and the attics, not to mention the servant’s quarters. Then there’s the old stables, where they used to keep the hay. It’s full of stuff, piles of old books, toys, there’s even a couple of coaches that my great-grandparents used to use.”
“Hey, look, you’re just here to take a look around and make a plan of what to show with the valuers and agents tomorrow. You don’t have to single-handedly sort it all out tonight.”
Zani perked up a little.
“Look what Mrs. Stewart left us…” Corbin went and got a platter from the fridge. Pastries, éclairs, Portuguese tarts, strawberry tarts.
“Comfort food. Sometimes I swear that woman is psychic,” exclaimed Zani, perking up a lot more and falling on the platter.
“Do you think we should go and look around now?” asked Corbin worriedly, ten minutes later. “You’re going to be sick if you keep eating like that.”
Zani looked at the few remaining cakes and wondered what he was talking about. “Yeah, no sense in putting it off.”
Slowly they drifted from room to room. Corbin simply followed and listened as Zani nosed around in the back of cupboards, pulled dust sheets off furniture and told stories from her past.
They came to a small, flowery room at the front of the house, and she hesitated in the doorway.
“It always smells like hospitals in there,” she said.
“Your mother?” asked Corbin.
“Yes, this is where she came when they said there was no hope left. I haven’t set foot in here since the day she died.”
“You were here?”
“I was with her. She slept most of the time. She was on masses of drugs to stop the pain, and I’d sit next to her, reading. Swallows and Amazons by Arthur Ransome. I can still quote them by heart. Mum stirred a little and opened her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, look after everyone for me,’ she said, and then I thought she went back to sleep. But the nurse came in a bit later and said she had died.”
“Christ, Zani.” Corbin’s warm hand settled on her shoulder. “We don’t have to go in.”
“No, it’s time.”
She turned on the light and took two confident steps into the empty room. “See not so bad at all…” She turned to Corbin then her voice faded away.
“What?” he asked following her look.
“There she is!”
“The Duchess.”
“Typical dad, he must’ve known everyone wanted to know where it was, but he kept it, just for Mum,” sighed Zani, wiping away a tear that clung damply to her lower lashes. “Still, here she is. That’s going to be at least half our money problems solved.”
But Corbin had stopped listening. “Shh, do you hear something?”
“No, nothing.”
They waited, frozen, every sense alert.
“Probably mice,” said Zani after a few minutes.
“Now where have I heard that before?” Corbin grinned and paused to kiss her.
“We should go and tackle upstairs,” said Zani.
“You need more cake first.”
“Oh, I adore a man who understands about cake.” Zani sighed.
Twenty minutes later they wearily climbed the stairs to start on the second level of the house.
“What time is it?” asked
Zani.
“Past eleven.”
“We’re going to be doing this all night.”
“It’s okay. I’ve nothing better to do anyway.”
A loud crash and the firesnap of splintering wood stopped them in their tracks.
“Run,” growled Corbin in her ear, as he grabbed her arm, and almost dragged her up the stairs.
“This way.” Zani pulled free of his grasp and led the way through a sumptuous bedroom, where one wall was taken up by a life-sized reclining nude, into a dressing room and up short, narrow stairs, to a small sitting room. It was cold and musty. A television so old it had a dial to change the channel sat in one corner, and two armchairs huddled under dust sheets.
“Mum used to call this room her hideyhole. On a clear day you can see out across the Solent to the Isle of Wight. They won’t find us here,” said Zani.
“But we’re trapped.”
“No. See here, this panel, it leads to another set of stairs, up to the attic. From there we can get pretty much anywhere in the house.”
“I think it’s time we called the police.”
“Me, too,” agreed Zani. “But my mobile is downstairs, in my bag,”
“No problem, I have mine.” Corbin’s voice faded as he keyed nine-nine-nine into his phone. It twittered at him in a disheartened manner. “Merde, merde, merde, battery flat.”
“So we’re on our own?”
“Yes.”
“It must be the Russians. No burglar would choose to break in with people here. The place is deserted from one week to the next. They could do it any day they chose. Do you think they want to kill us?” Zani’s voice shook. She couldn’t help it. Discussing one’s own demise tended to do that to a person.
“I don’t know. I doubted it before, but Klebnikoff must be very angry.”
“He’s such a prideful little man. Maybe he would send his goons after us.” Zani stopped abruptly as Corbin held a finger to his lips and tiptoed to the door of the hideyhole. Zani followed quickly. Muffled voices could be heard, not yet in the bedroom, but most assuredly in the hallway beyond.
“Follow me,” Zani barely breathed, and waved Corbin behind her. Together they silently slipped through the panel in the wall. The old, warped stairs creaked and protested as they climbed. After each screech of ancient wood and rusty nails they froze, holding their breath, waiting to see if there was a sudden burst of activity or raised Russian voices.
The stairs ended in a blank brick wall, and Corbin glanced confusedly at Zani who pointed upwards. Above them was a trapdoor. An iron ring hung down and, reaching up with both hands, she twisted it, ducking and blinking as rust rained down. It took both of them shoving upwards to get the door to open. It gave suddenly, flying open and hitting the attic floor with a crash and a choking shower of dust. Corbin teetered for a moment, clutching at the sill of the doorway to keep his balance.
Zani sneezed silently, eyes streaming. Wiping her face on her sleeve, she grabbed hold of the sill and pulled herself up. Her dignity was not helped by Corbin, who put a helpful hand on her bottom and boosted her up onto the attic floor. Flat on her stomach, she wiggled out of the way, keeping her legs up so she wouldn’t kick Corbin as he followed her.
The night was clear and still, and the full moon, streaming through the windows, made the shadowy shapes of sheet-covered furniture loom over them like a coven of vampires.
Standing slowly, Corbin shook the dust out of his hair and looked around. “There’s enough furniture here to furnish another house,” he said quietly.
“Most of it hasn’t been looked at in the last hundred years, either. Maybe we should give ourselves up to the Russians and they can deal with it all!”
Corbin gave her a quick hug and a dusty kiss on her forehead.
“You lead the way.”
They crept through the roof of the old house. The windows let in some light, though Zani trod carefully. One misstep could cause an avalanche of junk. In some places the warped floorboards let through fingers of light from the rooms below, and she sensed people there. How many had invaded the house?
Slowly she led Corbin to a small door in the brick wall that marked the end of the attic.
“We’ll take the stairs down through the servants’ quarters to the kitchen, and then to the back door. Then we can head into the woods. I know them like the back of my hand, they’ll never find us there in the dark. We can get help in the village. It isn’t far.”
They continued their cautious escape, tiptoeing slowly down the stairs until finally Zani hesitated before the last door that led to the kitchen.
“I can’t hear anyone, it should be okay,” she whispered.
“I’ll go first,” replied Corbin, stepping in front of her and putting his hand on the door latch.
Zani decided that then wasn’t the best time to elbow him aside and announce that as it was her house and her escape plan she’d be going first.
Corbin slowly opened the door. The unmistakable snick of a gun being cocked made them both freeze. With a whoosh of air, the door was torn out of his grasp and hands hauled them, blinking, into the bright kitchen light.
“This has nothing to do with Corbin, let him go,” said Zani to the three men. One of the men, tall and thin in a long black coat, had a small handgun trained on Corbin. Mischka and Grishka stood to one side, both smirking.
“Mr. Klebnikoff has something of a bone to pick with Mr. de Villiers,” said the thin man in a cultured British accent. “So I regret he will remain with us until Mr. Klebnikoff arrives.”
“Vladimir is coming here?”
“Yes, indeed, Lady Best. He prefers to deal with these matters himself. Especially when so much money is involved.”
“Fine, we shall wait for him,” said Zani, brushing past the man with the gun and sitting at the table. She wove her fingers together in her lap, so that no one would see them shaking. As she’d hoped, the men, including Corbin, looked slightly nonplussed.
“Corbin, have a seat, if you please. And Misch…er, sir, if you would be so kind as to make us all some tea.” She nodded regally to Mischka.
The thin man didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “Do as Lady Best says, you bovine thug,” he snapped when Mischka hesitated.
They drank tea in awkward silence, each party keeping an eye on the other, and Zani constantly aware of the light glinting evilly off the barrel of the gun. With every passing second, the tension in the room mounted.
Zani yawned loudly and crossed her legs.
“This is terribly dull. I do hope Vladimir won’t be too much longer,” she announced.
“He is due at any moment,” the thin man assured her.
He might have been due at any moment, thought Zani sourly an uncomfortable half an hour later, but clearly he was running late.
“This is getting a trifle wearing. Come along, Corbin.”
She stood and swept out of the kitchen before anyone could stop her, hurrying to the blue drawing room. As usual the fire was waiting to be lit. Zani had to stop herself from crouching and lighting it. Instead, she sank onto one of the sofas to wait for the men.
They filed in warily, Corbin smirking, Mischka and Grishka looking angry and the thin man still smug, confident and holding the gun. Behind them were three other men Zani hadn’t seen before.
Christ! How many of them were there?
“You, light the fire.” She pointed at Grishka, who, with a glance at the thin man, did as he was told.
The fire was beginning to warm the room when there was a flurry of movement at the door and Klebnikoff himself strode in. It was two a.m. The long wait and being in the sanctuary of her own home had lulled Zani into a false sense of security. The sight of Vladimir, looking tired and angry, made her dizzy with apprehension.
She closed her eyes, trying to hide her sudden panic.
“Keep strong, you can do this,” whispered Corbin under the kafuffle of Klebnikoff’s entrance. He squeezed her shoulder, and, taking a deep, c
alming breath, she stood.
“About time, Vladimir. I don’t like to be kept waiting at this ungodly hour. Please take a seat. You there, get Mr. Klebnikoff some tea.” Mishka hurried to do her bidding.
“Lady Best.” Vladimir took his time, taking off his coat, surveying the room then sitting.
Zani wavered for a moment, wondering how one began negotiations with a Russian Mafia boss. She wanted to start gabbling, showing off the points of the house, reassuring Klebnikoff he’d get his money, beg him to leave her and her family alone.
“I would like to apologise. There have been difficulties between us. My family owes your family a debt, and it is my most heartfelt desire that peace is made between us,” she said formally.
Klebnikoff merely nodded. His aura of pent-up aggression radiated throughout the room. Corbin shifted a little behind her.
“Tomorrow men will come and evaluate the house and its contents. I invite you to stay for their valuation. I expect it will more than pay off our debt.”
“Good, though I must tell you that I will be requiring twenty million pounds to clear things between us.”
He smiled evilly, and Zani swayed a little as the shock hit her.
“Perfectly fine.” She smiled to hide the horror welling inside. Of course he’d want more money. She’d humiliated him.
Klebnikoff sprang from his armchair and crushed her in a bear hug that squashed the air out of her. He kissed her wetly on each cheek and she had to steel herself not to wipe the residue off with her sleeve.
“I am glad you agree. I would so hate to kill your boyfriend,” he said so easily that he could have been commenting on the fourteenth century fireplace.
“Come and see the Duchess,” said Zani, leading him out of the room and explaining the significance of the painting. She couldn’t look back at Corbin. If she did, she’d start to cry.
The night had taken on a distinct sense of unreality as Zani showed the Russian Mafia around her house, pointing out antiques, paintings and other treasures. Klebnikoff became more and more enthusiastic as they went along.
“You might do it, you know. This stuff is worth a bit,” he said at one point. He was particularly taken with a bronze casting of a galloping horse. “Let me have it, then I won’t kill your brother when I find him,” he joked. At least Zani thought it had been a joke. He’d laughed.
Secret Intentions Page 23