The Legacy (8 page)

‘I expect that's him, now,' she said. ‘I'll go down. Come and say hello if you like, but don't stay long; I want to get this over with.'

He was waiting in the panelled drawing-room. He got up and came towards them, smiling. ‘I'm so sorry, Mrs Farrington, I'm terribly late. I hope you got the message from my secretary?'

‘Yes, I did,' she answered. ‘Don't worry, it's quite all right. Lindy wanted to say hello to you.' He stooped slightly and shook hands with the child. It surprised Christina to see real warmth in his expression.

‘Hello, Lindy. How are you? Enjoying your holiday?'

Belinda smiled up at him. ‘Yes, I'm having a great time. I've been riding and staying with friends; they've got a super pony.' She gave a mischievous glance towards her mother. ‘I'm trying to persuade Mum to buy me a decent pony so I can compete. We've got an old donkey who won't go faster than a trot!'

He laughed. ‘I'm sure your mother will think about it,' he said. ‘I'll try and talk her round.' He was naturally at ease with Belinda, but not with her. Guarded, calculating; she couldn't pin it down, but the effect was uncomfortable.

‘Lindy, we've got to talk some business, so you go on and amuse yourself, will you?' she said. They waited in silence till Belinda had left them. Then she asked, ‘What can I get you to drink? And do sit down.'

‘Vodka on the rocks, please,' he said. ‘But can't I get it for you?'

There was a tray of wines and spirits laid out on a fine walnut table. Richard had insisted that they had their pre-dinner drinks alone and talked about what they had done during the day. Not even the adored only child had been allowed to intrude on that private time. She had always prepared their drinks.

‘No thanks, I'll do it.' She noticed with a jolt that he had taken Richard's chair. Not that he knew it, of course, but combined with his personality, it jarred on her. She poured vodka, added crushed ice and lemon and then a much smaller drink, filled with tonic, for herself. She sat opposite to him. ‘It's good of you to come down,' she said.

‘I felt it was really necessary. And again, I'm sorry I'm so late. I hope you're not going out this evening and that I haven't inconvenienced you?'

All this politeness, she thought; this modest approach—it didn't suit him. She wished he would stop and be himself, whatever that was. ‘No, I wasn't doing anything. Lindy and I were just having a quiet supper together.'

He drank the vodka and said pleasantly, ‘This is very good. Is it Stolichnaya?'

‘Richard wouldn't touch anything else. I find it very strong. He always said I drowned everything.' She smiled slightly, not at Rolf, but at the memory of Richard's gentle teasing. ‘Now, Mr Wallberg, why are you so worried about me seeing my stepson?'

He looked straight at her. ‘Because I think it's some kind of a trap,' he said. ‘You've given him an opening and he's taken it. Not because he wants a peaceful resolution, but because he sees it as weakness. Who else will be at this meeting? His lawyers? He didn't mention that, just gave you what sounded to me like a rude ultimatum. Can I ask you something? What gave you the idea of making personal contact? The letter mentioned James, your other stepson. Where does he figure in this?'

‘He came down to see me,' she replied. ‘I asked him to talk to Alan.' Rolf began to see the pattern. James had ingratiated himself with his brother by coming down to spy on her and report back, and she'd given him a weapon Alan could use against her.

Christina saw the hard expression and thought suddenly that he was as intimidating as Alan Farrington, yet he had said she should try for a settlement; that really surprised her. He caught her looking at him and knew that he was being examined. ‘Mrs Farrington,' he said very quietly, ‘you don't have to like me, but you do have to trust me. I'm your lawyer and I'm on your side, and I would feel a lot more comfortable if you called me Rolf. Please.' He saw her face flush.

‘I'm sorry … I didn't mean to give an impression like that. I was just being po-faced.' She smiled at him awkwardly and said, ‘Please excuse me.'

‘Po-faced? I haven't heard that before.'

‘I hadn't either till I came to live here. It's very English; very Fifties, I think. It means sour, disapproving. Boot-faced … they have such funny expressions.'

‘They're a funny people altogether. We're open, easy to understand; they're not. I wonder how you managed to be happy; it's all so different from home.'

‘Yes, but I've grown to love it,' she countered, ‘and remember I had a wonderful husband. It took a little time to make friends; the English don't accept you until you've proved yourself, but when they do, they're the best friends in the world.'

She stopped, realizing they had lapsed into Swedish. For those few moments there had been a rapport between them. As if he sensed this, he spoke in English. ‘That was nice,' he said, ‘like being at home. But I musn't waste your time or forget why I'm here. What are you going to say to your stepson tomorrow?'

She hesitated, then she said, ‘I'm going to tell him I understand why he feels so bitter and angry. I never knew what kind of an upbringing he and James had had, till James told me; I didn't know how much he suffered when his mother got into drugs and when she died. I'm going to tell him I'm not his enemy.' He nodded. ‘But I'm not going to go against Richard's will; he can have everything that was left to me personally, but not RussMore.'

‘Which is the only thing he wants,' Rolf countered. ‘And do you really think he'll listen?'

She said quietly, ‘I don't know, but I have to give him the chance. Both those sons had a traumatic childhood; it explains a lot about them.'

‘A lot of people suffer trauma,' he said, ‘it doesn't need to turn them into bullies; often the reverse. I wouldn't be too influenced by what James told you. Do you believe your husband was a bad father?'

‘No,' she said quickly. ‘No, I don't. He was a man of his generation and upbringing. He told me how miserable his life was; the anxiety; the hope that this cure or this psychiatrist would help her … the terrible disappointment when she went back on heroin. And she played Alan off against Richard, turning him against his father, making him take sides. She petted James one minute and rejected him the next; he was hopelessly confused.'

‘Yes,' Rolf said. ‘You know the saying? Show me an addict and I'll show you a manipulator and a liar; it's harsh but it's true. If you must see your stepson, let me come with you.'

Christina said, ‘No, that would be provocative. I'm not starting off by being aggressive.'

Rolf could imagine the good intentions, the sympathetic approach, based on reason and discussion. He could predict Alan Farrington's reaction. She had a lot to learn about people, this Swedish girl who had turned into an English lady. You fight force with greater force, otherwise you're dead.

He finished his vodka, leaned back in the chair and said, ‘You realize he may have a tape running, recording everything you say, including this offer to give up your personal legacies? He may even be wired himself.'

Christina dismissed it. ‘That's fantasy, not real life. People don't behave like that.'

‘I've known it happen, several times. I can't persuade you not to go?'

‘I'm afraid not.'

He paused. They had made progress; she was more relaxed, less cautious with him. He looked at his watch. ‘I'm keeping you from your dinner,' he said. ‘I should go. It's after eight.'

Christina got up, she took his glass. ‘We don't eat till eight-thirty, and of course you must stay. Perhaps we can talk about something else except this horrible business. Let me give you a refill.'

‘Thank you, I'd like that. And we won't mention your stepson or the will. I think perhaps we can find lots of things to talk about.'

The dining-room was small and dark with heavy panelling. He noticed that the silver was beautiful, with the soft patina of age; the wine, too, was exceptional. He also noticed that she looked quite beautiful in the soft light from the pictures and candles. She had a fine bone structure that would age gracefully, and the clear Nordic blue eyes that were deeper than his own, and a full mouth that promised sensuality. No wonder Richard Farrington had fallen in love with her. She began by asking him about himself; more from politeness than real interest, he realized that, but it was a step forward. Brothers and sisters, she enquired. None, he told her. He was an orphan, adopted by a couple who lived in Gothenburg; good people but stern. Lutheran stern, he added, and Christina said, ‘I know what you mean, but my family weren't like that, they were very liberal, very socially conscious. My father encouraged us to express ourselves, make our own decisions. We didn't worry about Church; truth was my father's God. The only time he ever punished us was if we lied.'

‘You were lucky,' he remarked. ‘I was beaten if I lied
or
told the truth. I learned early on it was better to say nothing. Maybe that's why I became a lawyer, so I could talk all the time. They were very proud of me; I was a success and they liked that, but I knew they weren't my real parents—they told me very early on. It made a difference, I think. I used to go and see them occasionally, but we weren't close. They're dead now.' She looked at him and her face softened.

‘It sounds very bleak to me. And sad.' Easy to arouse her sympathy. He felt no scruple; what he'd told her was the truth. As adoptive parents went, he had drawn a very short straw.

‘And what do you do when you're not being a lawyer? Are you married?' Christina asked him.

‘No, and never have been,' he said, ‘I don't like commitment. I have girlfriends, but I don't want more than that. I ski … show me a Scandinavian who doesn't, and for amusement, I collect old manuscripts.'

‘How strange. So did Richard.' He lowered his eyelids, covering any sudden glitter of excitement.

‘Did he? What a coincidence. There was no mention of a collection in his will. Perhaps it wasn't serious collecting?'

‘I don't know,' she admitted. ‘He used to go into the library and shut himself away sometimes, but I never thought about it. It was his hobby and I wouldn't have appreciated any of it anyway. You know, when we met in Stockholm, he told me he'd been to some dealer and got lucky. I can't remember what he bought, but he seemed very excited about it. James talked about this hobby of his, too. He said Richard was obsessed by his collection when they were children, and spent hours locked away in the library. It used to annoy them and their mother. He said something about the study of comparative religions.' She shrugged slightly. ‘I'm afraid that sort of scholarship is way above my head.'

‘The study of comparative religions through the Scriptures and the scrolls,' he remarked.

‘I've heard of it; it's very esoteric. I'd no idea he was so intellectually gifted; Humfrey Stone described him as a nice old-fashioned English gentleman.'

‘Which he was,' Christina said, ‘with a wonderful sense of humour and a loving heart.'

He looked at her for a moment and then said, ‘What a nice tribute. How many wives would say that of their husbands, I wonder? Not many.' He looked at his watch, pushed back his chair and said, ‘If you'll excuse me for not having coffee, I should be going. It's a good three hours, even at this hour.'

Christina did what she would have done if they had been in Stockholm, and hospitality was a Farrington tradition. ‘You've had too many drinks to drive and the police are very strict around here, you'd better stay the night. There's a room always ready for anyone who needs a bed. Richard never let guests drive home after dinner unless they didn't drink.'

Rolf smiled. ‘Did he learn that from you?'

‘No, he learned it from friends who'd lost their licences. Please stay.'

He hesitated; he didn't want to spend the night there; it was too seductive, too removed from the real world, and yet it was a major step towards gaining her confidence.

‘All right, that's very kind, and perhaps you could show me your husband's manuscripts? I'd be so interested.'

‘I would if I had any idea where to find them amongst all those books and folders in the library,' Christina said. ‘If you come again we could look for them.' He had to be content with that.

3

He had gone when she came down to breakfast, and the housekeeper handed her a note: ‘Thank you for dinner and a very pleasant evening. I'm in the office all day if you need me. Please call after the meeting. Rolf.'

Christina threw the note away. She had a busy morning and she planned to drive to London in time to keep the appointment and then come straight home to RussMore. Belinda had invited her friend over to spend the day and stay the night. She was a confident self-sufficient child; she had always been loved without being spoilt, and she had no doubts about herself, unlike Richard's two sons. Christina was glad to be occupied; it stopped her being nervous about confronting Alan. She meant to approach him reasonably, to try and defuse some of the rage and resentment which had devolved from his father onto her.

Above all, she told herself as she drove towards his Holborn office block, I'm not going to be intimidated. It was a tall glass-fronted building, with Farrington Fast Foods in heavy steel letters above the entrance. Alan's office was on the top floor. A secretary came to meet her; a smooth efficient young woman with an empty smile.

She knocked on the door of the inner office and Christina heard his voice call out, ‘Come!'

‘Mrs Farrington to see you,' and then she was walking in and they were face to face. He was standing, but he didn't move towards her. There was a huge window behind him with a view of sky and rooftops, and Christina noted a stream of cumulus cloud speeding past on a strong wind.