Tall Poppies (24 page)

‘He consulted with me about the jewellery to determine that it wasn't part of the Sinclair estate. It's best you don't dispose of any of it until the will is proved. Wear the ring by all means, but bear in mind that if the major's case is proved, you will have to hand it over. Is the rest safely locked away?'

‘Yes, it's in the safe.'

‘Then I'll check it against the inventory before I return to London. Try not to worry too much, my dear. If the major goes ahead with this it's possible the court will see it as an attempt to assassinate your character, and it could easily bounce back at him.'

It most certainly could, she thought, it would blacken them all. She smelled Rosemary Sangster's hand in this. ‘By any chance, would the major be in debt? I noticed at the funeral that he wasn't driving the Rolls.'

Simon Stone's eyes sharpened. ‘That's something I'd never considered. I'll make some discreet inquiries in that direction.'

Livia alerted her staff as to what had taken place, and told them a clerk would take statements.

They were indignant on her behalf, but Connie had an I-told-you-so expression on her face.

Livia remembered Richard's diary. Taking it from the safe, she carried it through to her own room. The page fell open to a loose leaf with a poem written on it.

Livia

Could I but sing as once I sang

When love and life and laughter rang

A girl adored inside my mind

My cherished one, heart soft and kind.

Tenderly, the spring curls back

Ashes of poppies in its track

Through summer, precious tho it be

Each breath steals my integrity

My love

This then is my reward, to yearn

And love my love in sweet return

I'll steal your mouth's blush when you sleep

And whisper words your heart will keep.

Your feet will walk where once I led

Sad tears for me your eyes will shed

Your heart will sometimes reach for me

A thread stitched tight in memory.

For eternity.

‘Oh, Richard,' she whispered, and she curled up on his bed and began to weep as her heart, which she'd kept carefully glued together until then, shattered into a million pieces. The summer twilight was absorbed into night before sleep finally claimed her.

Fifteen

Rosemary Sangster was spitting fury.

Fists resting on her jutting hipbones, her slender figure clad only in a black lace-trimmed slip, she turned on her husband.

‘You fool, Henry. Are you telling me you're broke? If I'd known I'd never have come back.' She gazed round her at the luxurious London mansion apartment. ‘What about this place?'

‘I had to use it as collateral for a loan to cover my gambling debts. The trouble is, I've got no income now to service it with, so the bank might foreclose.'

‘And the Rolls?'

‘Gone  . . . sold. Bought a cheaper one.'

‘But didn't you have an inheritance from Margaret?'

‘She left everything to Richard, who left it to that serving maid he married.'

‘So you married me under false pretences. You told me we'd be comfortably off.'

‘I did expect to inherit. Margaret knew about our relationship and changed her will just before she died. She cut me out. You can thank yourself for that. You would keep goading her. Besides, I think it was the other way round, m'dear. You were an illusion. God knows why I fell for you.'

‘I didn't marry you only for your money, if that's what you think.'

‘Are you telling me you loved me?'

‘No. I'm telling you that you were exciting, and wicked, and that pleased me. You also promised to take me to America. You know how much I wanted to become an actress.'

Henry laughed. ‘Let's be honest, Rosie. You wanted a comfortable life, one that would enable you to mix with people of influence. I don't blame you for that, since we're two of a kind. I wanted exactly the same when I seduced Margaret. The difference between us, though, is that I'm in love with you, even knowing you're rotten to the core.'

‘There was no comfort or influential people in that dreary country house you dumped me in.'

‘You didn't want to stay in London and risk catching the flu, as I recall. And Foxglove House needed a housekeeper. What else was I to do with you?'

‘Your wife wouldn't let me near her, and the staff would have poisoned me if they could have got away with it. Did you see their faces when you turned up with me on your arm and introduced me as your wife?'

‘Actually, Rose, yes, I did. It served you right for thinking you were better than them. What happened to your gentleman friend  . . . the one who was about to turn you into a film star in return for your services in the sack?'

Her face filled with fury. ‘The bastard was trash. He left me. He was an accountant, not a film studio executive. His prowess in bed didn't live up to his promise either. As I told his wife; he was rather on the small side.'

‘The world is full of deception, m'dear. Not many men would put up with a wife who has affairs. You should count yourself lucky that I don't throw you out on the street. I still might.'

‘Then why don't you, Henry?'

She slapped him lightly when Henry laughed, and he pushed her on to the bed saying, ‘We're good in bed together, if nothing else.'

A smile played across her face. ‘I must admit we like the same perversions. The man wasn't a patch on you, and he shocked easily. Don't you care about my affair?'

‘Not really  . . . I haven't been faithful to you either. I like variety in my life.'

‘You bastard! I still intend to become an actress.'

‘You're lovely, Rosie, but from what I've seen, you have no acting talent. That's hardly surprising for a woman who was in the chorus line of a second-rate burlesque show for a living. You should take acting classes, or do something with your voice. At least you can sing.'

‘Lessons require money.'

Henry smiled.

‘Richard left you something in his will, didn't he?'

‘No  . . . he left everything to that delicious little doll he married. She had him wrapped so tightly around her finger that he even gave her his mother's jewellery. But don't worry. I've managed to put the brakes on everything until I get a solicitor. I'm going to enlist the services of Philip Conrad, since he owes me a favour. By the way, the girl is expecting a baby.'

Rosemary's eyes widened. ‘Livia is? But I thought your son couldn't father a child?'

‘His doctor told me it would be extremely unlikely. Something to do with nerves being severed by the bullet he got in his back.'

‘Well, I'll be damned. So who fathered the brat?'

He shrugged, and avoided her eyes, fussing with his cufflinks. ‘To all intents and purposes, Richard did, and we won't be able to prove otherwise. But why should we want to? What matters is that the Sinclair legacy comes with the child.'

There were the beginnings of a smile on her face. ‘So?'

‘I'm going to challenge Richard's will, and I'm going to apply for custody of my grandchild.'

‘Who will look after the brat?'

‘You will of course, Rosie.'

She began to laugh. ‘That's what you think. I'm not looking after another woman's smelly brat.'

‘With the Sinclair legacy, we'll be able to afford a nanny until it's old enough to send off to boarding school. You're right, though, you're certainly not the motherly type.'

‘But Livia is. She couldn't do enough for your late wife, or your son, and she adores her ghastly brother and sister. You don't know her very well if you think she'll take this lying down, Henry. Given half the chance, she'll tear your throat out rather than part with her child.'

‘Then I won't give her half a chance.'

‘What about the scandal?'

‘There won't be one, I promise. I'll be very surprised if Livia fights me on this. The thing is, m'dear, I'll need you to help me pull it off. I'm not very popular at Foxglove House. Go down and make friends with the staff. Not now, when they'll be sympathizing with the tragic young widow, but in a month or two. See what you can find out. There were some undercurrents of resentment when Livia and Richard married, I hear, especially from that Florence creature. I think she expected to be offered the position of housekeeper, though she and Beamish were planning to move. Try and catch Florence alone. Be nice to her.'

‘I can't stand the sight of the woman.'

‘You can always look on this as a role you're playing. You say you can act, well now's the time to prove it.'

‘I suppose I could go and offer my condolences to the grieving widow. Besides, I left a few things behind, so I can use that as an excuse to be there.'

‘I'll tell you where the key to the safe is. You might have a chance to open it.'

She laughed. ‘I put my time there to good use, Henry. I know where the key is kept.' Rosemary rose to throw the doors to her wardrobe open. Half turning towards him, she allowed the strap to fall provocatively from her shoulder. ‘Now  . . . what have I got to wear in black?'

Henry's mouth dried and he whispered, ‘Your slip. I should spank you for teasing me.'

‘I might allow that, but only if you go on your knees and beg. You could use that little silk whip.'

‘You bitch.' He fell to his knees, folding his arms around her legs. Breathing through the curling tangle of hair hidden behind the silky material of her slip, he inhaled the smell of her rising musk and reared in response to it. ‘Please, Rosie  . . . please.'

It took a couple of weeks for Livia to be able to think coherently.

Beamish and Florence were to depart in two weeks, exactly a month after the funeral. She rang Mr Stone.

‘Ah  . . . Mrs Sangster. I was just about to contact you. The board has decided not to replace Mr Beamish, since your late husband employed him. And Mrs Beamish will be leaving with him, of course. Considering the circumstances, it would be best for Foxglove House to be left in the hands of a skeleton staff until the matter of Richard Sangster's will and the custody of the coming Sinclair heir is resolved. Mrs Anstruther and Mathew Bugg will be asked to stay on. Letters are being prepared for the staff and I'd be obliged if you wouldn't mention this until they have received them.'

‘What about the cook? She's been here a long time.'

‘Mrs Starling is nearly of retirement age, so she'll be let go. We can't go to the expense of keeping a cook on staff when there is no Sinclair in residence.'

Connie would be upset, and Livia wondered if she had anywhere else to go. ‘I see  . . . and myself?'

‘You still have the use of Nutting Cottage.' He cleared his throat. ‘There's another complication. The Scottish kin, Alexander Sinclair, has signed away any right to the legacy, should he become eligible to inherit.'

‘Oh  . . . why is that a complication? Richard said he didn't want the legacy. And do you know something, Mr Stone, I really don't want my child to have it either. It's too much of a responsibility.'

‘I think you're forgetting that the legacy is supporting your brother during his educational years. Besides, it will be up to the coming child to decide whether the Sinclair estate is of value to it, when it comes of age.'

‘Yes of course. I'm sorry if I sound ungrateful. I'm tired and I can't think straight. I don't know if I'm up to a court battle over somebody else's money.'

‘If I may say so, none of us know what the future holds. By the time the child has come of age, the Sinclair funds may have deteriorated, because the estate around the house hasn't been worked since Margaret Sangster's father died. Basically, it's a farm, and a farm needs to be kept productive. Now  . . . enough of what you already know. What's more important in the short term is that you retain your husband's estate. That issue must be resolved first.'

‘It's all so complicated, Mr Stone  . . . why must it?'

‘So you'll have the means to bring the child up. The major will then have to prove you're a bad mother.'

‘How can he do that, when I've never experienced being a mother? I intend to be the best mother in the world, in fact.'

‘Exactly. Cheer up, Mrs Sangster, we have some strong irons in the fire.'

He'd used the word ‘we', and Livia was relieved that he'd aligned himself with her.

She was tempted to contact Denton and tell him what was going on, but decided against it. He had his professional training to complete, and although Richard had been his lifelong friend and she knew she'd be able to depend on him, she couldn't quite bring herself to burden Denton with her problem.

A week later Connie Starling received a letter of termination, along with a year's wages by way of compensation. Although Livia could see the sense of the arrangement, she felt guilty when she saw how put out the cook was.

‘I'll be moving back into the cottage again,' Livia told her. ‘You can move in with me if you've got nowhere to go.'

Connie sniffed at that, and her bottled-up resentment was given an airing now she had nothing left to lose. ‘The Sangsters can keep their charity if this is all I get for my years of loyal service. I've been working here since I was a girl. I've saved nearly every penny of my wage for retirement. I can afford to rent my own house.'

‘But you would have retired next year anyway, and you haven't lost any wages in the time you'd have been working.'

‘That's not the point  . . .' and she went on to tell Livia what the point was. ‘If anyone deserved to be awarded Nutting Cottage, it's me. It would have suited me in retirement. It shows a lack of respect, so there! But don't you worry about me. You always did think you were a cut above. You can keep your cottage, Mrs Richard Sangster. The major and that tart he married will soon have it off you, you mark my words. And don't come running to me when you and that young brother and sister of yours are out on the street begging for food.'