The Knapthorne Conspiracy

by Malcolm Ballard

  “Why can’t they say it in English?” the youth in front asked the girl next to him as Bella felt compelled to look towards her sister and found Laura looking smugly over her shoulder, in her direction. To Bella’s embarrassment, Laura had made no secret of the fact that she had wanted the necklace, a family heirloom, ever since she had found out that Rupert’s wife, Claire, had no wish to wear it. With Claire having passed away eighteen months previously, after suffering a stroke, Laura had got her wish. To the best of Bella’s knowledge, it was worth in the region of eighty thousand pounds. Ben Hollingsworth’s eyes sought out Bella among the people seated in front of him before he continued reading.

  “To Arabella Foxton, my youngest niece, I bequeath the ownership and title of the property known as Willow Cottage, in the county of Dorset.” The words hung in the air, momentarily, before their full meaning hit Bella. Surprise gave way to disbelief and her hands went to her mouth, fingers steepled over her lips, as the news sunk in. A sixth sense drew her gaze to where Laura was seated and she was shocked by the malicious look on her sister’s face. “The bequest stipulates,” the solicitor continued, “that if Miss Foxton tires of the property at any time, or has no further use for it, the cottage must be sold and the proceeds distributed to a charity or charities of her choice.”

  By the time Ben Hollingsworth had fielded questions at the end of his reading of the will and made a short closing address, nearly an hour and a half had passed since the meeting had started. People were talking in an animated fashion as they left the room and Bella hung back, in no hurry to depart especially if it meant running in to Laura. As she stood watching everyone leave, Ben Hollingsworth picked up his folder from the desk and made his way over to her.

  “Surprised?” was all he said.

  “More like stunned, really,” Bella answered. “It was totally unexpected and so generous!”

  “Rupert thought you’d be pleased. He was a canny fellow you know. Had great insight where people were concerned and he thought the world of you.” And it’s not difficult to see why, Ben thought, as he sensed himself falling under her spell. “He had a feeling about your latest book….”

  “If it wasn’t for Rupert,” she interjected, “I know the book wouldn’t have had the same impact. He allowed me to witness the anguish and torment that both he and Claire went through after her stroke in a way that I don’t think many people would have been prepared to do. Not only was he brutally honest about his own views on the subject but he also revealed how much he loved his wife and how her suffering was affecting him. If I could ever find a man who loved me half as much as he loved his wife, I’d consider myself lucky.” The sincerity of her words touched him.

  “I think you’re very lucky to have had an uncle like Rupert. He always impressed me with his humility and there’s not many people I can say that about today. Especially from the circles he moved in.” Bella nodded in agreement, then gave a deep sigh.

  “So, Mr. Ben Hollingsworth, what happens now?” Had he wished, he could have chosen to interpret the question as he saw fit but knew she was alluding to the matter of the cottage.

  “There’s the inevitable paperwork, I’m afraid, but little more than that to take care of. I can arrange a time for you to come in…”

  “Where did you get my mobile number from, incidentally?” she asked, with mock suspicion.

  “Your publisher was kind enough to give it to me, once I had established my identity.” He looked pensive, for a moment. “Do you know Willow Cottage, at all? I mean, have you ever been there?” She appeared to be amused by his comment. “Have I said something funny?”

  “Not at all! Please don’t get me wrong,” she said, placing a hand on his sleeve, briefly, in a placatory gesture. The intimacy of her touch was unexpected and he wasn’t prepared for the small shockwave that raced through him. He searched her eyes for any response, sensing that it was a shared experience rather than his alone, and wasn’t disappointed with what he saw there. It prompted an idea that quickly began to take shape in his mind.

  “It just occurred to me,” Bella continued, interrupting his train of thought, “that I’m getting all excited about Willow Cottage and it could be derelict, for all I know!” It was Ben’s turn to laugh, that engaging chuckle of his that she’d heard down the phone.

  “So, you mean to say you’ve got no idea what you’ve inherited from your uncle?” Still laughing, she shook her head. “Well, there’s a simple way to put that right. If you’re free, why don’t I take you down there, this weekend? I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.”

  “With the cottage, you mean?” she replied, with a grin.

  “What else?” he answered, half in jest. “Seriously, as the executor of your uncle’s will I would consider it no less than my duty to show you the cottage. We could be down there and back in a day. Strictly business. What do you say?” Bella couldn’t deny she was intrigued by the thought of seeing the cottage. And a day spent with Ben Hollingsworth wouldn’t be a great hardship. He seemed like good company.

  “Ok, it’s a deal. I’ve got my first free weekend for months. Saturday or Sunday?” He thought for a moment, before answering, knowing that he’d have to move heaven and earth to make either.

  “Can you meet me here, outside, at 8-o-clock Sunday morning? We can leave your car in the company car park, out back.”

  “Consider it done. Will I need to bring anything?” she asked, as they walked towards the boardroom door.

  “Not that I can think of but it’s probably best you only have a light breakfast,” he answered jovially, shutting the door behind them. “See you Sunday, then,” he said by way of a farewell, leaving her looking more than a little perplexed by his comment.

  All the way back to her Holland Park flat, as she negotiated her sporty, red Alfa Romeo through the heavy London traffic, Bella could hardly contain her excitement. Following hard on the heels of the news about the cottage, she now faced the prospect of being able to view it, at the weekend, and could look forward to the company of Ben Hollingsworth. While caught at a set of traffic lights in Edgware Road, she contemplated the man she was about to spend Sunday with, a man she knew nothing whatsoever about. There were two types of men in Bella’s life. Those that she was attracted to instantly and those that she had known over a long period of time and had grown comfortable with, like pieces of old furniture that were cherished and loved. The former rarely made the transition to the latter but she needed the stimulation of a new man in her life, from time to time, like an addict needing a fix. Her brief marriage had shown her that she couldn’t cope with long term commitment. Not yet, anyway. She recalled the solicitor’s athletic physique, his easy charm and polished manner and the way he had made her laugh. Ben Hollingsworth was certainly not unnatractive, either. The lights changed to green and she took it as an omen, grinning broadly as she slipped the stick into drive and roared off.

  The phone in the flat was ringing as she put the key in the door but by the time she reached it, and picked up the receiver, the caller had rung off. With a sigh of relief, Bella kicked her shoes off, glad to be home, and went in search of a glass of Chablis. This was her haven, her private world where she could relax at leisure and write when the mood took her. At least, that’s how it used to be but events of the past six months had overtaken her and infringed on her privacy. The concept of having somewhere to write that was remote and peaceful was a dream come true and, when the wine was poured, she raised her glass in a toast to Rupert. The moment was short-lived as the sound of the phone broke the spell. There was a wall-mounted portable right next to her, on the kitchen wall, and she picked it up.

  “Bella Foxton,” she announced to the caller but all she heard was the dial tone so she replaced the phone.

  “Strange,” she murmured but didn’t give it another thought as she brought the glass to her lips and took a sip. Knowing there was nothing in her diary until the next day, when she had to go and see an elderly friend in Hampstead, she
determined to make the most of the rest of Thursday. It was an opportunity to luxuriate in the good fortune of her new acquisition, which she still couldn’t quite believe and there was only one way to truly pamper herself.

  Bella lay back in the silky, aromatic water of the bath, her eyes closed, letting the oils and essences she had added gently caress and soothe her. With her hair up, out of the way, she could just about submerge herself up to her chin and feel any tension draining away as if the water were soaking it up, like blotting paper. For several minutes she lay there, in a trance-like state, totally relaxed, with her mind in limbo before allowing herself to reflect on recent events. It seemed that she was having an incredible run of good luck lately and she had Rupert to thank for it. His assistance and support with the book had been wonderful and now he had given her somewhere special to continue her work. The only cloud on the horizon was Laura, and Bella recalled the look on her sister’s face when she had heard about the necklace. The memory of how Laura had openly coveted that piece of jewellery, in front of Rupert, made her feel ashamed but she felt something altogether different, something malevolent and chilling, at Laura’s reaction to news of the cottage. As she reached for the glass of wine, which she’d placed on the side of the bath, Bella couldn’t help but wonder why she’d never even thought about the fact that Laura might be present at the reading of the will. If it had have occurred to her beforehand, she conjectured, then she might very well not have gone herself. So preoccupied was she, thinking about Laura, that she downed the remaining contents of the glass and poured herself another almost absent-mindedly.

  Laura had been born three years after her brother, Liam, and Arabella had made her entrance into the world three years after that. Therein lay the root of the problem. Patrick Foxton was overjoyed on the occasion of Laura’s birth because he had always wanted a daughter, and, moreover, the child had inherited his pale complexion and red hair which pleased him immensely. Not so, unfortunately, the child’s mother, Maria, who remembered a girl with similar colouring from her own childhood, in Florence, and the taunts the girl had put up with at school. A sensitive child, the girl had grown up not only despising her red hair but hating the fact she had to cover up in the sun when all of her friends were looking tanned and healthy. Only time would tell if Laura would suffer the same fate and her mother could only pray that she wouldn’t. As the apple of her father’s eye, Laura had all the attention she could handle for the first three years of her life, to all intents and purposes a bonny baby with a very pleasant disposition. Then Maria fell pregnant again and Liam was in awe of his mother’s condition, watching her grow before his eyes and, much to her amusement, frightened that one day she was going to explode. His sister, however, showed very little interest, but became jealous if Patrick demonstrated the slightest concern over Maria and the baby. After Arabella was born, things did not get off to a good start, with Laura appearing to resent the arrival of her baby sister from the very first moment her mother and father brought her home from the hospital. In stark contrast six-year-old Liam was absolutely over the moon at the prospect of having another sister in the house. Even the casual observer could see the likeness between baby Arabella and her mother and, as was to be expected, Maria devoted a lot of time to the new arrival in the first weeks of the baby’s life. Visitors would fuss over Arabella and remark on what a well-behaved, happy looking baby she was while the pale child with the red hair attracted polite but cursory attention. One of Patrick’s less endearing features was his quick temper, which could flare with the intensity of a lighted match at the least provocation. Maria put it down to his Irishness, as she called it, happy to lay the blame at the feet of the whole race but the contagion had spread from his father, a man capable of fearsome rages, who could keep his whole family living in fear for days. The old man had passed away recently but his legacy lived on. Laura’s tantrums started about three weeks after the baby came home, the first one happening one meal time when she flatly refused to eat. On being gently reprimanded by her father, she promptly threw the plate of food on the floor. Patrick had yelled at her, something he had never done before and Laura had burst into tears. When Maria had finished chastising Patrick, for yelling at their daughter, both parents had smothered Laura with affection to try and placate her but Laura had only made more noise, revelling in the attention. A lesson learned, she stored the knowledge away for future use.

  Not long after that episode, the precocious, three-year-old Laura took the hostilities one step further. Since her entry into the household, Arabella had been a model baby in almost every way, sleeping right through on most nights, breast-feeding without giving Maria too much discomfort and rarely crying. So different to Laura when she had been that age, her parents would delight in telling family and friends and fuss over Arabella all the more for it. Each afternoon, Maria had got into the habit of leaving the baby in the bassinet, where she could enjoy the warmth of the summer sun by the french windows in the lounge. The windows led directly out into the back garden of their Windsor home, therefore it wasn’t difficult for Laura to slip in unnoticed and approach the sleeping baby. She would stand, silently, for a few moments to check that the baby was sleeping soundly then, with a quick look over her shoulder to make sure no one was around, reach into the bassinet and pinch Arabella really hard, to make her cry. By the time her mother arrived to find out what was the matter, Laura was long gone. These events had taken place over thirty years ago but they had sown the seeds of Laura’s sibling jealousy. These were, in turn, cultivated by the fact that Arabella had grownup to be a pretty girl, then a striking young woman whose looks and personality opened doors which, for Laura, would be forever closed if not firmly padlocked. Try as she might, Arabella had never been able to get along with her sister. Whatever she attempted to do, Laura would somehow turn against her and accuse her sister of being patronising. When they were teenagers, she had given up trying to get boys interested in Laura because all they ever wanted to talk to her about was Arabella and that would just make Laura madder than ever. Jealously had made Laura into a mean, narrow-minded adult unable to sustain a relationship with a man and having few friends, the blame for all of which she laid firmly at her sister’s feet. Now, nearing forty years of age, the passing years had not been kind to Laura and it showed in the sullen expression on her thin, lined face and her perpetually downturned mouth. The red hair she wore proudly now like a symbol of her aggression and a testament to her sad life. Arabella’s success as a novelist had only served to drive the wedge more deeply between the two women and the reading of Rupert’s will had been the first time they’d seen each other in more than six months.

  The water in the bath was cooling rapidly but Bella felt totally at peace with the world after her long soak and the two glasses of wine. She eased herself up out of the water, quickly soaped herself all over then immersed herself. As she stood once more, leaning forward to let the water out of the bath as she did so, the front door bell rang. The immediate thought that crossed her mind and one that, later, she wished she’d listened to, was to ignore it in the hope that whoever it was might go away. But, following on in a very short space of time after the first ring, came three rings in quick succession. As Bella reached for her thick, towelling robe it occurred to her that, whoever it was, they must want something urgently. A trail of wet footprints marked her exit from the bathroom as she proceeded down the hallway into the living room. The room was on two levels and she mounted the step that took her from the dining area up into the lounge, humming an anonymous little tune to herself as she made for the door. Before she reached it, the bell rang again, three times in quick succession.

  “Alright, keep your hair on!” she muttered under her breath, reaching for the knob to turn the catch. Red hair, as it happened. Bella’s mouth dropped open as she stood looking at her sister but she wasn’t given the chance to speak.

  “Well, you did very nicely for yourself, today, didn’t you?” she sneered, looking up into her sist
er’s face as she barged past her into the flat. Any vestige of the relaxed feeling generated by the bath was immediately dissipated as Bella felt her blood rising.

  “Come in, Laura. Make yourself at home,” she murmured. Her sister turned, hands on hips, and squared up to her.

  “And what little tricks did you get up to with your Uncle Foxy to get him to give you the cottage then?” Sarcasm and innuendo had become second nature to Laura, over the years and Bella should have known better than to let it affect her but the barb dug in deep and her eyes flashed angrily at Laura’s pathetic insinuation and the crudeness of the implication.

  “Get out, Laura, if that’s all you’ve got to say!” she retorted, not having moved from the open door. Her sister laughed out loud. It wasn’t a pleasant sound.

  “Ha! You don’t get rid of me that easily Miss high and mighty Arabella Foxton,” she replied, taking a seat in the nearest armchair. “I wondered what Rupert was going to leave you after I only got that piddling bit of jewellery!” Bella couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

  “Laura!” she exclaimed, slamming the door shut. “That necklace is worth a lot of money. You’ve always had your eye on it…” Laura rounded on her before she could finish, a look of pure scorn on her face.

  “A lot of money? Have you any idea of what that old bastard was worth Arabella?” Laura had never and would never call her sister Bella. “Old Rupe was as rich as Croesus! Even you must have figured that out after today, and all I get out of it is that fucking necklace. Still, you didn’t do too badly, did you?” Bella was absolutely fuming. Only Laura could wind her up like this.

  “How dare you talk about Rupert like that. He was one of the kindest, most understanding men I’ve ever known. And, for your information, I had no idea he was going to leave me the cottage.”