Inherit the Skies (5 page)

Poor Klaus, she had thought in moments when his charm was clearer in her memory than his vices, he had not been a happy man. To the end he had missed his beloved fatherland; perhaps it was homesickness that had driven him to drink and gamble and find solace in the arms of as many different women as possible. But the fact that he had been estranged from his family for many years pointed to some old indiscretion of which she knew nothing and she was aware that to make excuses for his behaviour was like making excuses for Old Nick himself.

Klaus's death had brought her freedom and she had made up her mind she would never lose it again. Men had brought her nothing but trouble, husbands were a source of unhappiness and disillusion. As if to exorcise Klaus forever she had disposed of as much of his collection as his creditors had left and the town-house had ceased to be an oppressive place. Furnished in the way in which she liked it, run on the ordered lines which suited her, Alicia had begun to feel that at least now, in what might have been her declining years, she was mistress of her own fate. Her business interests, which had always bored and irritated her, she had turned over to Guy, her son, and she occupied her time now with her small circle of friends and the charity work which had become her life. Her name appeared as patron on the headed notepaper of countless charities, she headed at least half a dozen committees and her home was thrown open several times a year for coffee mornings and the private soirées for which she was famous to raise funds for her favourite causes.

All in all it seemed to her that at last she had put the past behind her, successfully eliminating every link with events – and people – who had caused her pain.

Now, in the space of a few brief minutes, old wounds had been reopened and the past was with her once again, sharp and painful as it had ever been, invading the present and digging with deep and tenacious claws into the fragile fabric of her peace.

For a few minutes Alicia moved restlessly about the room, drawing deeply on her cigarette and returning occasionally to tap ash into the bell-boy ashtray – one of the few pieces of Klaus's collection which she had retained. The bell-boy stood waist high, his painted outstretched arm proffering a small brass receptacle as he had proffered it to the patrons of some high-class Victorian establishment, standing on the pavement in all winds and weathers like the figurehead on the prow of a ship. She had an affection for the bell-boy which she could not explain; his shiny black face and jaunty pillbox hat amused her. He was a silent ally, she sometimes felt; his presence in the room was as comforting as that of Ming and even less demanding.

Alicia returned to him now, stubbing out the second Black Russian in the brass tray and running her fingers lightly across the hard line of his shoulder. Two Black Russians in the space of one hour. She would have to curb herself. Living with the Count had taught her to despise excesses and she would no more tolerate them in herself than in others. But today was something of an exception. Had she been a drinking woman Alicia felt she would probably have poured herself a large stiff whisky or gin. But she was not a drinking woman. She relied on the cigarettes to calm her jangling nerves and if they did that then where was the harm in one more than her usual allocation?

The trouble was that the extra cigarette had not calmed her. She was still tight-drawn and edgy; she could feel the tendons stretched taut in her neck and shoulders and her mind was racing.

Why? Why had Sarah telephoned? Why did she want to see her? All very well to dismiss her summarily – now that her initial anger was subsiding curiosity was creeping in once more and with it a sense of foreboding that settled in her stomach in a hard tight knot. For some reason Sarah had been prepared to humble herself, though humility and Sarah were not compatible. And she had said it was to do with Morse Bailey.

Alicia touched her fingers to her forehead, smoothing it up and out between those dark arched brows.

Purely as a business she had little or no interest in Morse Bailey. An aircraft empire spanning the world it might be but talk of expansion and profit margins, full order books and foreign co-operation deals had always left her cold. As for the intrigues and the boardroom squabbles, she had found them energy-sapping as well as time consuming, and she had been only too happy to abdicate responsibility to her son. Let Guy do what he thought best; he knew far more about the day-to-day miming and the epoch-making decisions than she ever had. He was Managing Director – let him manage.

But on another quite different level Alicia was aware of Morse Bailey as a powerful force which had shaped her world – and an enduring monument to Gilbert Morse, her father, and Adam Bailey, who had been her first husband. They had created this empire and in turn the empire had created them – put their names at the forefront of aviation along with de Havilland and Shorts, the White family of Bristol Aeroplane Company fame and Hawker Siddeley, and made them legends in their own lifetime. For as long as she could remember now, it seemed, Morse Bailey had been more, far more, than simply a company or group of companies. It was an entity which in spite of her indifference to its daily machinations nevertheless remained so close to her heart that its well being was essential to her very existence.

It was years since it had even crossed her mind that Morse Bailey might be in any kind of trouble. Now the thought wormed its way into her consciousness and nagged like an aching tooth. Sarah had said something was wrong at Morse Bailey and unless the whole thing was a gigantic ploy it must be something serious to warrant her holding out an olive branch after all this time. If that was the case then Alicia wanted to know about it. Sarah was the one person left who felt as she did. The one person to whom Morse Bailey was far more than a great profit-making machine.

For a moment longer Alicia stood deep in thought then she reached for the telephone again. She would not be able to rest until she had got to the bottom of this, she knew, and for the first time in years she regretted that she lived in London, so far from the hub of the family empire. Not that the regret would last long, of course. Alicia loved the vitality of the city; though she seldom took advantage of the high life it could offer nowadays she was energised by the electric impulse which it seemed to her filled the air, crackling and buzzing beneath the ceiling of grey cloud as if it was the accumulated emission of a million busy brains and active bodies, the adrenaline of the masses released to short circuit and flash until it could once more be harnessed to the great machine of human kind. The country had always made her feel mummified; she experienced no sense of peace alone in an idyllic landscape. Born and raised in the heart of Somerset Alicia had known from the outset that she was a city girl at heart. Bristol had brought her to life; London even more so. No, she could not bear to bury herself in a soft green grave again, even if it did mean she had more immediate contact with her only son.

Alicia glanced at her watch, thought for a moment, then dialled the number of the office. The switchboard would be closed down by now but Guy always insisted his line was left plugged through to his office for he often worked late into the evening.

Thinking of Guy, Alicia experienced a slight pang. She would have liked to picture Guy leaving the office to go home to a caring wife and adoring children. Astute businessman he might be but Guy had always been quite incapable of managing his private life. He needed someone to love and care for him. But Guy's marriage, to a young WAAF he had met during his war service, had failed – doomed from the beginning, Alicia had always thought, though she had the grace to acknowledge that she was not the best person to judge, with two failed marriages of her own.

She stood holding the receiver and listening to the clicks and buzzes on the line, then the sound of the telephone ringing unanswered in the offices of Morse Bailey. Another minute and I'll put the phone down and try him at home, Alicia thought. Her finger hovered over the receiver rest ready to disconnect; then there was a click and a girl's voice came on the line.

‘Hello – Mr Bailey's office.' She sounded slightly breathless.

‘I'd like to speak to Mr Bailey, please,' Alicia said.

‘Oh I'm sorry. The office is closed now. If you'd like to call again in the morning …'

‘Mr Bailey is there, is he not?'

‘Well yes, but …' the girl sounded flustered. ‘I'm not sure whether he is available. Who is that?'

‘The Countess von Brecht,' Alicia said shortly. ‘ I am sure Mr Bailey will speak to me.'

‘Oh – oh yes, of course …' The poor girl sounded more flustered than ever but Alicia felt no spark of sympathy for her. These flippertyjibbet office types thought they could get by on a pretty face and a handful of certificates in shorthand and typewriting. They had no idea of social graces. None. And Guy's latest acquisition was unlikely to learn any letting him chase her around the office when the rest of the staff had gone home. Good gracious, he ought to know better!

She tapped the telephone impatiently with her thumb nail, waiting.

‘Hello, Mother.' Well at least
he
did not sound out of breath, she thought. Probably the game of squash he played regularly twice a week kept him in trim for other strenuous activities. ‘You were lucky to catch me. Another minute and I should have left.'

Liar, she thought. Aloud she said: ‘I thought I'd try the office first. I know what a fiend you are for working late.'

‘You know Morse Bailey, Mother. There's always work to catch up on.'

‘I do indeed. I'm only glad I'm not the one who has to spend long hours sorting it all out.'

‘Mother …' Guy hesitated, ‘ I don't want to rush you but I do have a great deal to get through here before I can go home. Did you have some special reason for calling or is this just a social chat?'

‘I had a reason.'

‘What? Nothing is wrong is it, Mother?'

‘I certainly hope not.'

‘Then why?'

‘I had a telephone call just now, Guy, which I must admit took me totally by surprise. It was Sarah Bailey.'

‘Sarah?' She knew she had his full attention now. He sounded as shocked as she herself had been. ‘What did she say?'

‘Very little except that she wants me to meet her. There's something she wants to talk to me about.'

‘Good God, Mother, you're not going to, are you? Meet her, I mean?'

‘I refused of course,' Alicia said. ‘She had intimated to me that whatever it was she wanted to talk to me about was connected with Morse Bailey. I told her in no uncertain manner that you handle all my business affairs. Nevertheless I can't help wondering if there is anything I should know.'

‘
Know
, Mother? What do you mean?' Alicia heard the slightly uncomfortable note in his voice and her lips tightened a shade. She did not like it when Guy blustered. It usually meant he was hiding something.

‘What I mean, Guy, is – have you any idea why Sarah should be so anxious to see me?'

There was a slight hesitation. In the momentary silence she thought: There is something. ‘Well?' she demanded.

‘I think I know what might be on Sarah's mind,' he said smoothly. ‘There was a bit of a disagreement at the board meeting this afternoon. Sarah, as usual, is out of line with the rest of us.'

‘About what?'

‘An expansion we have in mind,' he said glibly. ‘It's not even settled yet and you can take it from me we will only go for it if we believe it to be in the best interests of the company. Surely you know that, Mother?'

‘What sort of expansion?'

‘Mother – it's not easy to discuss this sort of thing over the telephone. One never knows who may be listening in.'

‘You mean your line might be bugged? Oh surely not!'

‘One can never be too careful these days. Industrial espionage is growing to epidemic proportions. Didn't you read the case the other day …'

‘Guy!' Alicia said sharply. ‘If you are in a hurry I suggest we stick to the topic of Sarah.'

‘Sarah!' Guy exploded vehemently. ‘That woman is nothing but a damned nuisance, Mother, and has been for as long as I can remember. It's time she retired and left the business to those of us who know what we are doing. As for telephoning you – she's simply trying to make trouble.'

‘And you are quite certain that what she wanted to tell me isn't something I should know?'

‘Don't you trust me, Mother?' Guy demanded.

‘Guy, I have trusted you with my voting shares for the last ten years …'

‘So why are you questioning me now – on the instigation of a woman with whom you wouldn't normally even pass the time of day! Now promise me you'll put this right out of your mind and leave it all to me. And I shall have words with Mrs Sarah Bailey when next I see her and tell her that if she bothers you again she will have me to reckon with.'

‘Very well, Guy,' Alicia said. ‘I'll leave you to get on with your work now. But you must understand I had to know.'

‘I don't see why, Mother. But still, as long as I've set your mind at rest. Just forget Sarah ever telephoned. And tell Irene to be sure not to put any more of her calls through to you.'

‘I'll do that.'

‘Good. I'll see you soon, Mother.'

‘See you soon.'

She replaced the receiver but stood motionless, her fingers still resting on the cold black bakelite. A phone call to Guy should have satisfied her. On the contrary it had not.

Guy was keeping something from her, she was certain of it. His initial discomfort, his anger at Sarah, the glib way he had tried to turn the conversation, his insistence that she should not communicate with Sarah again – oh without a doubt there was something. Hopefully it was of little importance; as Guy had said Sarah was perfectly capable of blowing up some quite trivial disagreement to suit her own ends. But why had Guy been so unwilling to discuss it?