To Be the Best (42 page)

‘I don’t believe you! You’re lying! Inventing all this!’

‘I am not!’
Anthony shot back with ferocity. ‘When Bridget confided in me this morning I was not absolutely sure about certain medical facts! So I telephoned Forensic at the hospital in Cork, where I located Doctor Stephen Kenmarr.
The pathologist who did the autopsy on Min’s body, who discovered her lungs were full of water and testified at the inquest that she had died of drowning.’

Anthony paused, finished emphatically, and very slowly, as if to give added weight to his words, ‘Doctor Kenmarr confirmed to me what I already suspected…
that water cannot be inhaled by a person who is dead.
Therefore, Min was alive when you placed her in the lake. You drowned her.’

Michael Lamont felt his hackles rising, and he was so shocked, so stunned by Anthony’s dreadful accusation he could barely stand. He swayed slightly on his feet, reached out, supported himself against the mantelpiece. The idea that he might have actually caused Min’s death struck horror in him. Over the years he had suffered greatly, had been haunted by his deceit, the lies he had told, the cover up he had wrought, and he had never stopped wrestling with his guilt and his conscience.

Now he cried out in protest, ‘No, Dunvale, no! She had no pulse, no heartbeat!’ He choked on his words and tears came into his eyes and he broke down completely. ‘I could not have done anything to hurt her,’ he sobbed. ‘I loved her. Talk to Bridget again.
Please. Please.
She’ll verify that I’m telling the truth. Min was dead…and Bridget O’Donnell knows that she was.’

‘She was alive, Lamont!’

‘No! No!’ Demented, Lamont rushed at Anthony, his arms flailing in the air, his face apoplectic. He felt a sudden and excruciating pain shoot across his temple and along the side of his face, but he did not let it slow him down. He lunged at Anthony. As he did another searing pain blinded him. The blood rushed to his head and everything went black. He fell sprawling to the floor, and then was still.

Startled, Anthony stood looking down at him, momentarily rooted to the spot, unable to move. He had noticed the sudden and dreadful change when Lamont had rushed
towards him, had instantly realized that the other man was having some sort of seizure.

Pulling himself together, Anthony bent down, felt Lamont’s pulse. It was erratic, faint, but it
was
there.

Hurrying to the telephone, Anthony dialled the cottage hospital in the village of Clonloughlin.

‘Dunvale here,’ he said to the duty nurse when she answered. ‘Could you please send an ambulance immediately. To the estate manager’s house. Michael Lamont has just had a stroke, I think. But he’s still alive. If you hurry we can probably save him.’

To see justice done, Anthony thought, as he hung up.

‘I’ve really got to take it over!’ Paula exclaimed, tightening her grip on Michael Kallinski’s arm. ‘It would be nothing short of criminal if I let it slip through my fingers.’

‘Yes, I know it would.’ Michael looked at her through the corner of his eye. ‘Six hundred and fifty million dollars is a hell of a lot of money, though.’

‘That’s true, it is. On the other hand, it isn’t
really,
not if you consider what I’m actually buying. A chain of department stores that has a fine reputation, great prestige, with invaluable real estate assets, and a balance sheet that’s in the black. And it’s a perfect chain for me, Michael, as you well know. That’s why you brought it to my attention in the first place.’ She leaned closer, added in an emphatic tone tinged with excitement, ‘Larson’s locations couldn’t be better for me if I’d hand picked them myself. Westchester, Philadelphia and Boston cover the Eastern Seaboard. Chicago and Detroit the Midwest. Los Angeles and San Francisco the West Coast. It’s a deal made in heaven, as far as I’m concerned.’

‘If you make a deal.’

Paula gave him a hard stare. ‘Is there a chance I might not?’ she asked, her voice instantly changing, rising slightly in sudden concern.

‘I suppose there’s always that chance, Paula. But I don’t think you have too much to worry about in this particular situation. As far as I know, there’s no one else after the company, and I understand from Harvey in New York that the chairman of the board is willing to start talking, to open negotiations whenever you’re ready. And what Millard Larson says goes, since he’s the majority stockholder as well
as CEO. If I were you, I’d make plans to fly to New York as soon as possible.’

‘I agree with you, and I want to go. But I can’t…at least not for two weeks. Lorne and Tessa are both coming home from their schools tomorrow. It’s the Easter break, in case you’d forgotten. I just can’t be away right now.’

‘Oh God, I
had
forgotten about Easter! I have the same problem as you I’m afraid, so I’ll have to stay put, too.’

‘Oh.’ Puzzled, she frowned, asked, ‘Are you planning a trip to the States, Michael?’

‘I thought I should be there in case you need me,’ he explained, his voice vibrant with enthusiasm, his face lighting up. ‘After all, I’m the one who introduced you to Harvey Rawson, found the Larson chain for you, set everything in motion.’ He gave her a small, confiding smile. ‘Besides, I have to be in New York on business sometime this month, and if I go when you’re going I can kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.’ When she did not initially respond, he asked, ‘What do you think?’

‘Well…yes…I suppose so.’ She realized how hesitant she sounded and rapidly nodded her head. ‘Yes, yes, why not,’ she added in a more positive tone.

‘Good, it’s settled then,’ he exclaimed, looking delighted, congratulating himself on his adroit little manoeuvre. The thought of being alone with her in New York excited him. But he said in the most neutral voice, ‘Now we’d better concentrate on Dad’s exhibition. He’s been giving us peculiar looks for the last ten minutes. I have a feeling he’s a bit miffed.’

Paula laughed. ‘I’m sure he is. We
have
been rather rude, standing here in the middle of the floor deep in conversation. Not only ignoring him and everyone else, but all these priceless art treasures as well. Come on, we must go and join him at once. He wants to show me around the exhibition himself, tell me about each piece of Fabergé he owns. And I
must admit, I am rather staggered by all this. His collection is much larger than I ever imagined it to be.’

‘Not every piece on display belongs to him,’ Michael was quick to point out. ‘The Queen and the Queen Mum have loaned some of their Fabergé objects, and so has Kenneth Snowman, the great British expert on Peter Carl Fabergé, and Malcolm Forbes, the American publisher, who’s another avid collector, like Dad.’

‘I know. Your father explained. Still, he does have a superb collection.’

‘I’ll say. Not only that, it’s given him a truly consuming interest other than business these last few years.’

They moved together down the long salon, one of two in the Royal Academy of Arts at Burlington House where the reception for the opening of the Fabergé exhibition was in full swing on this April evening. The event had been organized by Sir Ronald Kallinski to benefit one of his favourite charities, and the gallery was packed.

A waiter drew to a standstill in front of them.

Michael took two glasses of champagne from the silver tray being proffered, murmured his thanks, and handed a flute of Dom Perignon to Paula.

When Sir Ronald spotted them coming towards him, he extricated himself from a small group of people and hurried to meet them.

‘I know you two are committed to business and rarely think of anything else, but do you really have to have a confab during my reception?’ he asked, obviously quite put out. But then his eyes became warm with affection and twinkled brightly as he took Paula’s arm and led her along the gallery, his irritation instantly forgotten.

‘Now, my dear,’ he said, ‘let me take you around. I have many new acquisitions, none of which you have seen. Neither have you, Michael,’ he added, glancing over his shoulder at his son.

‘I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks,’ Michael replied in all sincerity. ‘And I’m sorry we got caught up with our business discussion the way we did. My apologies, Dad.’

‘Accepted, accepted, my boy,’ Sir Ronald answered briskly, striding down the salon with Paula, Michael dutifully in tow. Suddenly he came to a stop in front of a display case.

Turning to Paula, he said, ‘This is not one of my pieces. Sadly, I might add. It was graciously lent for the exhibition by Her Majesty The Queen. And it happens to be a particular favourite of mine. It’s called the Mosaic Egg, and I think it’s perhaps the most poignant of all the Imperial Easter Eggs. It was presented to Czarina Alexandra Feodorovna by Nicholas II on Easter morning of 1914. As you can see, it’s a gossamer platinum shell which has been “embroidered” with flowers made of precious stones…rubies, sapphires, diamonds and emeralds, the whole encircled with bands of pearls. And look, there on the little gold stand are the miniature sepia profiles of the Imperial children.’

‘It’s exquisite,’ Paula said admiringly, leaning forward, peering at the egg. ‘And the stand is concealed inside the egg, isn’t it, when not on display?’

‘Correct.’ Sir Ronald took her arm, and the three of them progressed down the gallery slowly, pausing to admire other treasures in the show. ‘That’s the beauty and genius of the Fabergé
objets,’
he went on, ‘those extraordinary, and very often magical, surprises contained within the egg itself. Like that dazzling little golden chanticleer which emerges from the translucent blue enamelled Imperial Easter Egg your grandmother once owned,’ Sir Ronald reminded her, smiling.

Paula smiled back at him. ‘Oh yes, that egg is the most beautiful – at least that’s what I think, Uncle Ronnie. And I’m glad it’s in your collection, that you won it at the auction. At least it’s still in the clans.’

He chuckled. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day at Sotheby’s. There was such competitive bidding for the egg. But it was exciting. And gratifying when I suddenly realized
I
owned it. Naturally it’s on display tonight. Let’s go and have a look at it, and then we can go through into the other salon. There are more breathtaking examples of Fabergé masterpieces, which were made for the Imperial family before the Romanov dynasty came to its tragic end…’

‘I didn’t know Amanda was coming to the exhibition!’ Michael exclaimed in surprise a short while later when he spotted her standing in the doorway, glancing around, obviously looking for them.

‘Oh, I forgot to tell you,’ Paula murmured. ‘I sent her a ticket and she said she would do her best to make it.’

‘I’ll go and get her, bring her over to join us,’ Michael said, hurrying across the room.

Paula’s eyes followed him and she smiled to herself, then looked at his father and winked.

Sir Ronald regarded her closely for a moment, then said slowly, ‘I’m not wrong in thinking you’re playing
shadchan
am I, Paula?
Matchmaking?’

‘And why not?’ she answered, laughing. ‘Anyway, she has such a crush on him…wouldn’t it be lovely if Michael reciprocated her feelings, Uncle Ronnie?’

Sir Ronald seemed initially startled, then suddenly pleased, and he nodded. ‘It would indeed. Amanda’s a lovely young woman. Clever, too. Emily and Alexander have trained her well. She’s certainly made our takeover of Lady Hamilton Clothes very smooth. But of course you know that, my dear. As I was telling Emily the other day, my people are terribly impressed with her. We’re all sorry she won’t be staying on to run the company for us. Emily explained she’s needed at Harte Enterprises and I do understand that.
Still – ‘ He cut himself short, and a look of infinite sadness crossed his face fleetingly.

Paula, aware that he was thinking of Alexander, experienced a little rush of sadness herself. Sandy had retired at the beginning of March, and now Emily was chairman of the board and chief executive officer. Amanda had moved over to become head of Genret, whilst Winston continued to run his own division, the Yorkshire Consolidated Newspaper Company and its subsidiaries, of which he was a part owner. They had become a close-knit triumvirate and Harte Enterprises was running as efficiently as it always had, but Paula knew that Alexander was terribly missed by them. She missed him herself now that he was living quietly at Nutton Priory, although they did speak a lot on the telephone.

‘Hello, darling,’ Paula said, greeting Amanda warmly as she and Michael joined them. ‘You look stunning.’

‘Thank you, Paula,’ Amanda said, smiling at her cousin, pecking her on the cheek. ‘Hello, Uncle Ronnie. Sorry I’m late, but the traffic was ghastly tonight.’

‘No problem, my dear,’ Sir Ronald said, taking her hand in his, giving her a quick kiss. ‘Now, Michael, do the honours, my boy, and get a glass of champagne for Amanda, would you please?’

‘I certainly will. Be back in a jiffy.’

Amanda turned to Paula, began to say something about her twin, Francesca, and it gave Sir Ronald a chance to study her surreptitiously, appraisingly, for a brief moment. Tall, slender and blonde, Amanda was a lovely looking young woman who bore a strong resemblance to her half-sister, Emily. Tonight she was wearing a smartly tailored red silk suit with a diamond Victorian bow brooch pinned onto one lapel and antique diamond earrings. Chic but discreet, Sir Ronald thought, and very well bred. Suddenly he saw her through new eyes. As a potential daughter-in-law. The idea strongly appealed to him. Amanda was perfect for Michael,
an intelligent, charming and outgoing girl with perfect manners, like all of Emma’s granddaughters. Just the sort of wife his son needed. The possibility that the Kallinski and Harte clans might finally be united in marriage thrilled him. He would encourage this friendship, as apparently Paula was intending to do. Yes, Amanda and Michael must become husband and wife. He would have a long chat to Paula later, together they would map out a plan of action. Michael needed to be gently guided into this relationship. His son tended to vacillate when it came to women. And he had been single far too long since his divorce.