The Grayson Trilogy

by Georgia Rose

  Susie had given him the once-over and, having no further interest in him, had gone back to her bed. I looked at him then, settled at our kitchen table, and was at a loss as to how to proceed. As he didn’t appear to be about to reveal the reason for his visit, instead making small talk with Trent about which roads he’d used to get to us, I decided to come right out with it.

  “I’m sorry, Mr Peabody, but I’m not sure why you’re here.”

  “Oh I do apologise, Mrs Trent, a common fault of mine, I’m afraid, not getting to the point.” He was so particular and spoke so very precisely it made me smile. “I’m here to discuss the estate of my client,” and there he paused, looking between me and Trent expectantly as if we knew.

  “Your client?” I prompted.

  “Yes. Zakhar Volkov is…was, I apologise, one of mine.”

  “One of yours?”

  He nodded enthusiastically, looking most pleased with himself. “Yes, one of my most esteemed clients.”

  I wondered if he had any idea what my father did for a living.

  “How did you hear that he had died?”

  “Ahh, the arrangement I had with Mr Volkov was that he had to make contact with me at a certain time each week. If he did not I could assume he was dead. I’m sorry.” He held his hand up and bowed solemnly for a moment as if only then realising how blunt he’d been, but then bouncing back to his previously perky self, he leaned slightly across the table as he whispered conspiratorially, “And at that point I was to put things in motion.”

  “Things?”

  “Yes. Now firstly I must apologise for not making it to the funeral. I’m sorry to have missed it, but the weekly check-in was only the day before and by the time I found out the details, alas, I’d missed it.” His hands came up as if in supplication and I waved away his apology as he continued.

  “I shall be dealing with the estate, which should be wound up pretty quickly as it is straightforward, there being no property and you the only beneficiary.” That was the first time it had occurred to me there might be legal stuff to do following my father’s death. It was just as well Mr Peabody was on top of it as I wouldn’t have had a clue as to where to start. He smiled benevolently at me as if he were a kindly uncle, or at least what I imagine a kindly uncle would be like, and I suddenly thought of something.

  “Have you always dealt with my father’s legal matters?”

  “Yes, I’m most delighted to say I have.”

  “Then you must know about the inheritance I received when I was eighteen?”

  “Ah yes, a fine piece of work of ours, even if I do say so myself.”

  “How so?” chimed in Trent.

  “Obviously there’d been no planning and the timing was all wrong, but we managed to set up the appropriately dated paperwork for the estate to enable Mr Volkov to put the funds in it that he wanted to make available to you in the future. What with that and the other…things Mr Volkov has requested us to do over the years, he has certainly kept us busy. He will be sorely missed. A most valuable client.”

  I felt for Mr Peabody, I really did.

  “I’m sure,” I consoled, before prompting, “What other things did my father ask you to do?”

  Mr Peabody looked a little uncomfortable for the first time, shifting nervously on the chair like he’d only just realised that maybe he’d said too much. He glanced anxiously between the two of us. I reassured him he was among friends.

  “The changes of identity and the moving of the foster parents mostly…” and he coughed to clear his throat. It all became much clearer: this was presumably where a great deal of my father’s support network lay.

  I leaned forward a little. “Mr Peabody?” His attention snapped back to me. “Bentley, Bartlett and Rudge is not your everyday, run-of-the-mill solicitors’ firm, is it?” He shook his head, placing a finger to his lips as if walls had ears. I sat back, not needing to know more. “Okay, so what else do you have to tell me?”

  “Not too much, really. I was just to come here, meet you so you have a contact point should you need anything and let you know the work on the estate is in hand. Oh, and I need to give you this.”

  He reached into the top pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small key which he slid across the table to me. I looked at it and then at Trent, who shrugged, no wiser than I was, and finally back at Mr Peabody for an explanation. “A safety deposit box,” he clarified, as if having one was the most normal thing in the world. Which it wasn’t in ours.

  Mr Peabody left soon after, having given us details of the whereabouts of the box. As Trent and I sat down, finally, to some lunch, we discussed arrangements to go and retrieve the contents which Mr Peabody had assured me contained absolutely nothing of monetary value, so did not form part of the estate.

  I was intrigued.

  The following week we made an appointment with the appropriate bank branch about thirty miles away. Having left Zaffy with a delighted Mrs F, we took a trip. I hated leaving her, but in my determination not to be an overly protective mother, a couple of hours away was a start and it was good that it was for something so interesting that would distract me. While fascinated about what my father had left, I was also a little apprehensive, wondering what other thoughts and feelings the contents of this box were going to dig up for me.

  The thought of a safety deposit box had been an exotic one and I’d had a couple of imaginative daydreams of being led through increasingly high levels of security to the vault itself, but these imaginings turned out to be fanciful notions. Trent and I found ourselves waiting in a small, windowless and blandly beige room containing nothing more than a table and two chairs, cheap ones at that. We’d been shown into the room by a harassed-looking man who’d introduced himself as a something or other in Customer Liaison, but I’d missed the full title. As soon as we were settled with coffees on the way he scurried off, presumably to the vaults, and appeared a couple of minutes later carrying the box. The way he put it down made it look as though it was quite heavy. I couldn’t help wondering if the bank staff knew who or what my father had been, but quite honestly the stressed-looking man couldn’t have appeared less interested. I sat staring at the box as he excused himself and eventually we were alone.

  I’d already taken the key out of my jeans pocket and had been holding it clenched in my fist. “Here we go,” I said under my breath as I reached across the table to pull the box closer. I was surprised. “It is heavy! What do you think is in there?”

  Trent grinned before saying, “Gold bars?”

  I looked at him with mock disbelief, inserting the key and turning it as I replied, “I’m pretty certain Mr Peabody would want to know about that.” I stood, opening up the lid, Trent standing with me, keen to see what treasures the box revealed.

  We weren’t expecting what we did find: my mother, or more precisely my mother’s ashes, in an urn. A small engraved plaque on it read Rosa Volkov. Well, that explained the weight.

  “Ohh!” A little taken aback, I mouthed at Trent, “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “No,” was all he could manage. I lifted out the urn and put it to one side. The first thing underneath it was an envelope bearing my name and containing one folded piece of paper with only a few words on it, which I read aloud to Trent.

  “Dear Emma,

  “If you are reading this then I guess Mr Peabody has broken the news to you of my death and filled you in on my life. I imagine you are surprised, if not shocked, and I only wish I’d had the opportunity to talk to you in person and attempt to explain.

  “I hope that in here you will find some answers to the many questions you must have and that you are not too angry with me.

  “Apologies for your mother’s ashes. It was difficult for me to get them, and once I had I didn’t know what to do with them, but you will.

  “With all my love X”

  It was signed with a kiss. I wondered if he’d pondered long on how to sign off, trying to weigh up what was the right level to hit bet
ween the extremes of Volkov and Dad.

  “The note’s pretty out of date,” Trent said. “I wonder when he last had access to this box.”

  “I’m not sure,” I replied as I put the note to one side. I turned my attention back to the box and, as I was about to find out, my history. Each item I touched was revealing. Another pile of photos, some of me, but more importantly several of my parents, both of them, before me, together and apart, young, carefree and, I could tell, very much in love.

  Precious things.

  My birth certificate – my real one for who I had once been: Zafrelia Rosa Volkov.

  A business card for a hypnotherapist.

  Trent’s eyes widened when I handed it to him. “We’ll have to try to find him,” he said. All these years on I wondered if there was anything that could be unlocked, but for now I moved on.

  A bundle of letters tied with a blue ribbon. I pulled at the ends of the bow, and the ribbon, crisp and fragile with age, unravelled and lay faded and distorted from having been bent into shape for so long. I flicked through the mismatched envelopes, the only connecting feature being my name, all sealed and each with a date in the corner. Some meant nothing to me at first glance, written in my childhood years, but others did.

  My eighteenth birthday.

  My wedding day – the first one.

  Eva’s date of birth, and a couple of envelopes further on her death.

  Several letters padded out the time until I recognised the date I’d come to the estate.

  Last summer, my wedding day to Trent.

  Then one final letter dated at the beginning of March.

  A box full of treasures. Letters from my father. Priceless…

  I sat heavily in the chair, clutching the bundle in my hand, my knees weak. He had cared. I grinned at Trent, satisfied for the moment just with the find. I couldn’t open them yet. I’d need to build myself up to hear the words my father had wanted to say to me over the years. That would come all in good time.

  We had visitors, many, many visitors. Everyone on the estate popped in for a cuddle – with Zaffy, obviously, not with me – and I was particularly delighted to see Sophia and Reuben among them. Grace brought them over as soon as they came home for a weekend break from school. It was strange – at first they came in shy and quiet, I guess not used to seeing me in the role of mother. Sophia gazed wide-eyed at Zaffy as she lay in her pram and cooed over her when I placed the baby in her arms as she sat on the settee. Reuben was less interested in the baby and more in telling Trent all about the new shooting club he’d joined at school. I watched him as he stared up at Trent, idolising him, and they chatted seriously about how to improve cluster groupings on the targets Reuben had been shooting at.

  Cavendish and quite a few of the others – Carlton, Greene, Wade and Hayes among them – disappeared. Trent told me they were ‘going for a while’ as they wanted to bring the rest of the Polzin organisation to its knees before anyone had a chance to step in and take over at the top. They were splitting into teams, hitting the network from different angles, and I knew who wanted to be with them.

  Duty. It can eat at you.

  Trent fretted, torn between feeling he ought to be with them and wanting to be with me and Zaffy. Bad guys. They have no respect for the private lives of the good and not having a life that could be put on hold I told him to go. Much better for him to be busy getting his hands dirty than waiting at home with us, where the only likelihood of that happening was in dealing with Zaffy’s nappies. That didn’t suit him at all, and the energy that gathered in him once the others went would be more constructive if it were directed at the enemy.

  Zaffy and I got to know each other, got into a routine of sorts, and I enjoyed having her to myself for a couple of weeks. I say myself as if it was only her and me, but in reality we had people visiting us frequently. But it was all good: they brought food and they freed up my arms by wanting baby cuddles. The horses had been turned out for a few weeks as we all recovered and while Zaffy entertained her adoring fans I could get out to do the few jobs that were needed. I was going to have to watch it though or she’d end up one spoilt baby.

  The evening was our time. I’d bathe her, the warm soapy water relaxing her as I washed the dark hair that curled more each day. Then, when she was clean, fresh and softly pink, I’d dry her and cosy her up in an all-in-one sleep suit ready for the night. She’d smell particularly delicious at that time and we’d curl up in the rocking chair in her nursery and as I fed her I’d tell her stories of her big sister who I wanted to be a natural part of her life.

  Turning away from me.

  Though I’d questioned it at the time I’d given this freeze-frame image from that most stressful time a lot of thought. I knew Eva hadn’t left me, would never leave me. As Trent had once told me, ‘if she were still here I’m sure she would have enjoyed having a little brother or sister, and she would have shared you then. She will always have a place in your heart, Em, so don’t think of it as you replacing her, but more of her sharing you with someone else’, and now I felt her turning away was that she was content to leave me to another who needed me more and I could live with that.

  I loved feeding Zaffy just as I had done Eva. It was an exquisite experience, immensely comforting, and I adored the closeness it brought to us. It was in those moments, when a deep feeling of contentment rolled through me, that I realised however elusive happiness was, it had now come to me as an unexpected gift. Happiness can’t be forced. No amount of chasing it, setting it as a target or pursuing it as a goal would ever achieve it; neither would material possessions. It was born of small moments, cherished fragments of time with those we love, and I longed for Trent to return to share this with us.

  Trent and all the others were now back, mission accomplished, and for the time being an air of relaxation permeated the estate. There was going to be a gathering at the Manor that evening, a barbecue; a chance to unwind but also a goodbye. Turner was leaving us, returning to his naval unit. I was going to be sorry to see him go, but he’d conquered his demons and was ready to move on.

  I’d been concerned for him at first, worried he’d feel he hadn’t got the satisfactory conclusion he’d wanted by being the one to kill Anatoly. But Trent was pleased with him. However hard it might have been, he’d followed orders. His selfless act, his control in ignoring the opportunity in front of him and putting my safety first, had told Trent all he needed to know. Turner was ready – more than ready, actually, he was raring to go.

  It was a good evening, Zaffy being the star attraction, and it was great to see Sophia and Reuben back for the weekend again. Sophia had eventually settled back at her school and was enjoying life again and it was wonderful to see her back to her previous bubbly self. She couldn’t get enough of Zaffy and even Reuben took a few minutes to have a cuddle with her. I’d felt a bit distanced from them recently, but was looking forward to the long summer holidays when we’d have plenty of time to catch up on what they’d been up to and ride out together again.

  With our new-found need to grab whatever sleep we could, Trent and I were among the first to leave. Saying goodbye, I hugged Turner fiercely to me, thanking him yet again, though with his usual humility he brushed my thanks aside, promising he’d keep in touch.

  The following morning I was up and out as quickly as I could manage after feeding Zaffy as I needed to get the horses ridden early. We had an outing planned. Not so much an outing actually, more something we had to do.

  I was mounting Regan when Trent came out, Zaffy strapped to his chest in a baby carrier, the pair of them looking adorable. He carried her car seat in one hand and her bag of essentials in the other and he grinned up at me as I asked where he was off to.

  “We’re going shopping,” he announced.

  I frowned. “I’m not sure I should let you out looking as gorgeous as you do with her like that. You are pure woman bait.”

  He laughed. “It’s all right, Carlton’s coming with me. He can r
ide shotgun.”

  I rolled my eyes. Having Carlton with him would only exacerbate the problem. I could imagine the attention they’d garner, and no doubt love every minute of it.

  “Have a good time,” I laughed, saying goodbye as I headed out the yard, Susie hot on my heels.

  They were back by the time I returned from my second ride. After turning the horses out and finishing off in the yard, I went into the cottage for an early lunch. Trent, Carlton and Zaffy had indeed gathered a lot of attention at the supermarket, but they’d had a good time and got the shopping done, so who was I to complain?

  We got ready after lunch and set off for Crowthorpe. Another appointment with the vicar waited. I’d contacted him a couple of weeks before and explained what had happened. He was sympathetic, as you’d expect, and he’d known of my orphan status since the time I’d lived in Crowthorpe, knowing I had no family to support me when Eva died. He was therefore interested in the fact I’d found my father, though I didn’t share all the details with him, sticking to the basics of what he needed to know. He’d agreed to have a small service of interment so my parents could be buried together.

  I knew Cavendish, Grace, Carlton and Greene were going to join us at the church. What I didn’t expect was for us to drive into the car park and find it already nearly full. I was astonished, but Trent parked, stopped the engine, then turned to me.

  “They wanted to come,” he explained, and everyone was there: everyone from the estate, and in many cases their partners.

  We got out and walked up to the church, greeting our friends with smiles and hugs as we walked through the crowd. I carried flowers to leave for Eva and Zoe and Trent held Zaffy in her car chair as the others joined in the procession with us. After greeting the vicar, we gathered around the small hole where a casket was placed containing both sets of ashes. As their souls were laid to rest, I hoped my parents were reunited, wherever they were.

  As we drove away from the churchyard I asked Trent to turn down the road where I used to live. I usually avoided it, though had shown it to Trent once before. We slowed as we approached and Trent pulled the car over, coming to a stop on the other side of the road.