“I don’t understand.”
“He had borrowed money from the bank and the sum is still owing. It will have to come out of his estate.”
Louisa was again surprised and fought the urge to simply leave the room. She’d had no idea Elliot owed more money. He’d only ever admitted to a few gambling debts.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Reeve?” Withington said.
No, she thought, I am not. Her mind raced and, as she imagined Elliot’s hand caressing her hair, his lips moving over her skin, she felt a tremor.
* * *
—
Irene and Harold had returned to Colombo, but Margo was staying on to support Louisa, though Louisa secretly thought it was because her sister-in-law found it less painful dealing with her than her mother. Louisa thought about Harold, with his thinning hair and toothbrush mustache. His defeated expression didn’t prevent him from somehow managing to remain kind. He must have been handsome once, like Elliot, but now he was a faded man, and Louisa felt a sense of pity whenever she met him. His constant attempts to soften his wife’s sharp comments often fell on deaf ears, but it didn’t stop him from trying. That he loved Irene, for all her faults, was never in doubt. Louisa felt sure he was the reason Margo and Elliot were as decent as they were. But poor Margo, who had cried a great deal at first, now seemed to have settled into a controlled kind of practicality. Louisa hoped she wasn’t bottling up her feelings.
As it happened, Margo had waited in the garden while Louisa had been with the solicitor and accountant. Then, after they left, Louisa went straight outside to join her.
“Heavens!” Margo said. “You look pale.”
“Could you get me a brandy?”
While Margo went indoors Louisa sat and blankly watched the wind rustling the leaves overhead, thinking over what she had been told. A strong scent of jasmine drifted across from the hedge and the canna lilies glowed bright yellow and red.
Margo came back and passed a glass to Louisa who sipped the liquid, grateful for its soothing amber warmth heating up her insides. She felt uncertain, wanting to talk to Margo, but at the same time feeling disloyal to Elliot. There had to be good reasons why he’d withdrawn the money, why he’d taken out a loan, and why he hadn’t lodged the plantation shares with the solicitor, as you would normally do. But whatever the reasons were, he hadn’t involved her. In the end, she decided to tell Margo what had happened.
“There’s probably a simple answer, but I need your help.”
“Anything.”
“It seems Elliot emptied his entire account before he died. I need to search his study for the cash.”
“Gosh. Very well. I’ll help you look.”
“Not only that, I also need to find his share certificates for Cinnamon Hills. I thought the solicitor would have them but he knew nothing about it, so they must be here too.”
* * *
—
Once back in the study, Louisa opened the safe and found it empty but for the usual few notes and some of her jewelry. Then she glanced around. Elliot’s study wasn’t tidy. His desk was strewn with papers and letters, so while Margo examined those, Louisa began the laborious task of plowing through his filing cabinet. She found two of the drawers held duplicates of transactions at their gem polishing and cutting center and only the top drawer contained anything personal. She had expected to find a life insurance policy but, so far, there was none. She did find some old letters from Irene but no share certificates and no cash. There were several cardboard storage boxes on one of the shelves so they divided them between them and began trawling through the contents, but found nothing there either, except more polishing and cutting records.
Margo tried all the drawers of the desk, but again there was nothing of note. “But where else might he have secreted the share certificates?” she said.
“I’m sorry to ask, but do you think you’d be able to check his chest of drawers in our bedroom? I haven’t felt ready to touch his personal things yet.”
While Margo was gone, Louisa attempted to tidy up the mess they’d made. If Margo found nothing the only place left was his office at Hardcastle Gems, though as far as she knew Elliot had never kept anything personal, or domestic, there. But where had the money gone? She was just on the point of coming to the conclusion that everything must be in the bedroom when Margo came back in shaking her head and looking drawn.
“Gosh, that felt awful,” she said.
“I shouldn’t have asked you to do it.”
“It’s okay.”
Louisa slumped down in Elliot’s desk chair.
“Come on, Lou. Don’t despair. The money will be somewhere, don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll find it, and the certificates too.”
Louisa glanced up. “I just wish he’d talked to me about what was going on and explained where everything was.”
There was a short silence.
“What is it?” Louisa asked when she noticed Margo was frowning and looking a bit uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry about the timing of this, but I need to go back to Colombo tomorrow. My father called earlier. Mother isn’t doing too well and he can’t cope with her on his own. He thinks she needs me.”
“I understand.”
“I’m sorry. But I’ll be back as soon as Mum settles down.”
Louisa shook her head. “Take however long you need. I’ll be fine. My most pressing concern right now is that I need to find either the money, or the share certificates. I inherit, of course, but first the repayment of the loan will have to come out of Elliot’s estate: in other words, out of the cash, investments, property or possessions he left behind.”
“A loan?”
“I’m afraid so. He has a significant debt at the bank. God only knows what my father will say.”
“And you knew nothing about it?”
“God, no! Nothing.”
Then Ashan, with a concerned look on his face, came in to whisper to Louisa that the police inspector wanted to speak with her. She sighed and followed him into the living room.
There was only one thing for it and so the next day—a beautiful sunny morning soon after Margo had left at the crack of dawn for Colombo—Louisa set off from Galle Fort in their Triumph Dolomite to drive to Cinnamon Hills. She hoped to be able to recall the route from the time Elliot had taken her there.
As she drove she went over the inspector’s news. Apparently, the car Elliot had been driving had belonged to Elliot’s sailing partner, Jeremy Pike, who he was supposed to have been out sailing with on the day he died. The inspector didn’t know why Elliot had been driving that car, but it had definitely belonged to Pike. This had been confirmed by Pike’s housekeeper—he himself was away on business. It didn’t make sense to Louisa. If Elliot had wanted to go to Colombo, why hadn’t he just said so? And why hadn’t he taken their own car?
She carried on thinking as she followed the road.
Luckily there had been no shipment of rubber so there was just the heavy salty air to contend with, and as she drove around the crescent of Galle Bay, passing its small deserted islands, she glanced out at the larger boats anchored at the southern end of Rumassala Hill. After several miles of coastal road, she turned off to the left and began the climb up to the house at the top with the wonderful views. It was a potholed driveway, more of a track than a road, and she hoped not to get into difficulty.
She wound down her window and, enjoying the rich cinnamon-scented air and the sweet fragrance of orchids and rhododendrons, couldn’t deny the seductive pull of the place. She heard voices, a shout, maybe that of a child, and then an adult replying, but she carried on past. It had nothing to do with her.
A little farther on, she gasped as searing emptiness pulled at her edges. How would she find a reason to get up, to live, to breathe? And still the living and breathing went on anyway, automatically, wit
hout her say-so. It should be me and Elliot, she thought, not just me on my own and now, instead of joy, loneliness and fear twisted inside her. If someone as young and healthy as Elliot could die, then how fragile was her world? How fragile was life itself?
For a moment she considered turning back, but she had to find out if Elliot’s share certificates were kept here at the plantation. She felt sure they must be—after all they hadn’t been at his work office either, so there was nowhere else to look. If she could settle that one question maybe the others wouldn’t feel so bad. And yet the reason Elliot hadn’t mentioned he was going to Colombo on the day he died still perplexed her. Surely, he’d have no cause to hide that?
At the top of the drive, she pulled up and noticed Leo McNairn’s motorbike parked in the same place it had been before. She felt a momentary doubt, but as she stepped out of the car and he appeared in the doorway, she reminded herself he had come to Elliot’s funeral and been kind.
“Mrs. Reeve,” he said, and she noticed the flecks of lighter color in his red hair. “How are you?”
She shrugged. “Well, you know…but do please call me Louisa.”
“I’m so sorry about your husband. It must be terribly hard for you. Is there anything I can do?”
She hesitated for a moment. “There is. I need to ask you a question.”
He smiled and there was genuine warmth in his eyes. “Of course. But come inside. It’s too humid to talk out here.”
They went up a staircase and into a living room, and then through a metal door to a veranda. It had a dark wooden-beamed roof, walls painted in ochre, a floor tiled in terracotta, and it overlooked a jungle of palm trees. Hanging from the roof were baskets of pale green ferns, and the view beyond them was startling.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, staring down the hill over treetops to the bay of clear blue water.
He indicated she should sit.
A faded chaise longue was pushed to one end of the veranda, along with several chairs and a low coffee table covered in books. After Leo called the houseboy to clear the table and bring some tea, they made themselves comfortable in two worn rattan armchairs.
“Too damn close when there is no breeze.”
“But it can’t always be this bad? Up here, I mean.”
He nodded. “You’re right. It’s all down to the time of day. So much better for the workers just before nightfall and soon after sunrise. It’s pleasantest then and perhaps more importantly, most productive.”
She twisted her head for a moment to listen to the noise coming from the uncleared vegetation behind the house.
“Monkeys,” he said, seeing her look. “North of here is still all jungle.”
She plumped up a cushion and waved an arm across the view to the sea. “You must love it here.”
“I do, though at first I was reluctant to take it on.”
“Why was that?”
He puckered his chin and gave a slight shake of his head. “It’s a huge commitment.”
“But this view is very soothing, don’t you think?”
She glanced at his handsome tanned face with dark eyes that still seemed to reflect something of the sky. Dressed casually in shorts and an old threadbare shirt, he wasn’t a man who cared about his appearance, or who wasted words, and as they sat in silence for a few moments she became aware of conflicting feelings. He was someone who was impossible to ignore, and she was surprised by how much she wanted to soak up the unexpected comfort she felt in his presence. It had been the same at the funeral, when his condolences had almost made her cry.
The boy arrived and the noise of rattling teacups broke the silence.
Leo poured, then leaning back in his chair with his arms resting on the sides, he gazed at her. “So? Tell me. What can I do for you?”
She took a breath, wondering how much to say, and noticed his eyes, fixed intently on her, as he waited.
“The thing is,” she said. “Well, it’s a bit awkward, but I wondered if Elliot’s share certificates are here. I can’t seem to lay my hands on them.”
“Share certificates?”
“Yes. I’m awfully sorry, but I think I’m going to have to sell.”
He frowned.
“I’m talking about Elliot’s share certificates in the plantation. He owns shares here, doesn’t he?”
Leo shook his head and, surprised by the hesitancy in him, she watched as he glanced around the veranda and then stared at the ground before looking at her. “I don’t understand, I—”
She interrupted. “Elliot told me about them. It’s why he used to come here, isn’t it? For planning meetings. To get the plantation back on its feet.”
“I’m so sorry, Louisa, but Elliot has never owned shares here.”
Stunned by this wholly unexpected news, she couldn’t take in his words. “What do you mean?”
He looked as confused as she felt and, scratching his chin, frowned.
Not knowing how to behave in these circumstances she hoped at least to hide her shock, but she felt so disoriented that everything seemed to be spinning. Elliot had told her about the shares. Had explained it all to her. When her hands began trembling in her lap she got herself to her feet and went to lean on the railings, pressing her palms down hard on the wood.
She swallowed and attempted to speak but the words failed to come out, only a strangled sound halfway between a moan and a cough. She felt as if all the parts of her had become separated from each other, and she had no idea how to put herself together again. Like Humpty Dumpty, she thought. At least he’d had all the king’s horses and all the king’s men. She turned to face Leo.
“That can’t be right. Are you sure?”
“I’m afraid so. I own the plantation outright. There are no shares.”
She remained where she was for a few moments. “He has left you some money in a deposit account. Why would he leave you money?”
He glanced away before replying, and she got the distinct impression he had wanted to say something but had then thought better of it. Now the atmosphere between them had changed—had somehow become more charged.
“I don’t know,” was all he said.
She frowned. “I don’t understand any of this. Why would he come here so often then? Or was he even really here? Why would he tell me he had shares?”
Leo shook his head.
In the short silence that followed she stared at her feet. “Well, I should be going. The money’s not much but I’ll see you get it.”
His replies hadn’t helped Louisa understand where Elliot had really been when he’d said he was at Cinnamon Hills, and she longed to know why he had lied to her. Elliot’s sudden death had marked her and now, to find out the man she had loved so much, who she would have trusted with her life, had been lying to her—and not just about going sailing. She felt a rush of heat and then a sense of rising panic. If she could not believe in what she thought they’d had, if she could not believe in the truth of the past, then what could she believe in?
She glanced at him. “Where is your cousin?”
“She lives in the old bungalow halfway down the hill. She’s an artist.” He got to his feet. “Louisa, I’m sorry.”
She took a deep breath but didn’t speak.
He moved a step away. “Come on, I’ll show you out, but please”—and he turned to gaze at her—“do let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
She followed him and at the bottom of the stairs he held out his hand.
After shaking it, she took one last look at him then sat in her car and began the drive down. After a few minutes, she pulled up and left the car, wanting to take a closer look at the plantation. Treading carefully, she followed a path winding between the cinnamon trees, or bushes as they appeared to be, and soon found herself not quite halfway down the hill. A trail of ferocious-looking
ants crossed her path and a striped squirrel raced up one of the trees. Startled by a loud crash she glanced around. She couldn’t see what had made the noise but imagined it must be one of the elephants routinely used to clear land by uprooting trees and then moving the logs. She stood still for a moment. As a drift of butterflies passed overhead, the smell of the trees and the shady magic of the place lifted her mood a little. There was such a sense of timelessness here, otherworldliness even; if not exactly lessening her worries it made her feel strangely peaceful. But then, in a small clearing, she stumbled across a red-haired woman leaning against the trunk of a huge tree; her eyes were closed and from her blotchy complexion she looked as if she had been crying.
Louisa wished for invisibility and didn’t know whether to tiptoe away or to speak. The woman was obviously distressed—she didn’t look as if she’d even brushed what was very wild hair and her clothes seemed thrown together. Louisa wasn’t sure she was even dressed in day clothes—she wore a kind of robe that might have been a dressing gown.
“Is there anything I can do?” Louisa said as she took a step forward.
The woman’s eyes flew open. “Who are you?”
“Louisa Reeve.”
The woman stared at her feet.
“You must be Leo’s cousin. What a wonderful place to live. You are—”
But the woman turned on her heels and began threading her way through the trees and away from the clearing. As Louisa returned to her car a flock of at least twenty bright green parakeets with red beaks and rose-red collars fluttered from one tree to the next. Consumed by such a muddle of emotions, she watched them. And, although she wondered why the woman had been so distressed in such idyllic surroundings, she felt again that sensation of bittersweetness. Why? What was it about the place that had gotten under her skin? She dwelt on what Leo had said: Elliot had no shares. No shares. But was Leo telling the truth and, if not, how would she ever find out?
The Sapphire Widow Page 8