Читать книгу Stranded With A Stranger - Frances Housden - Страница 8

Mount Everest

April 20

Dear Chelsea,

I can imagine your astonishment as you open this. I can almost hear you gasp, “A letter from Atlanta!”

How many years has it been? I move around so much I’ve lost count. Far, far too many, though. My fault. As eldest, I shouldn’t have let a childish rift go on for so long. I just hope I haven’t left it too late to set matters right.

What’s it all about?

Well, for a start, I’m worried.

Oh, not over making the climb of Everest I’ll be doing soon. I lost all fear of heights years ago, when I swapped my ballet slippers for climbing boots. It was only to be expected marrying an adventurous man like Bill Chaplin. And when you love someone the way I love Bill, wherever he goes, you follow.

That’s right, I used the L word. No matter what you thought of the arrangement back then, our father never forced me into this marriage. I’ve had fifteen blissful years. Not many people can claim that. You were far too young to understand back then, barely thirteen. I hope time has achieved what I couldn’t, and that you understand at last what it is to truly love another person heart and soul.

But I’m getting off track. It’s not myself I’m worried for—it’s you. Though chances are we might both be in danger, not many people can reach me up here, so I reckon I’m pretty safe. It takes a special kind of man to climb Everest, and I’m certain Arlon Rowles isn’t one of them.

Yes, I’m talking about our cousin Arlon. It seems making him CEO of the business father left us, in order for us to avoid facing each other across a boardroom table, was a huge mistake.

I received a letter yesterday from Madeline Coulter. You remember Maddie? She worked for Father. According to her, Arlon has been siphoning money out of the business for the past five years and salting it away in a Swiss bank account.

Five years. My God, he must have started soon after Father’s death. She says that she has the proof locked away in a safety deposit box. This is the number: 44578—Bank of America, Jamestown. Don’t lose it. It’s in both our names.

Along with the letter, she sent me a key. I’ve decided it will be safer on my person for now. I’m wearing it on a chain around my neck.

But this is where it gets down and dirty. I called Maddie by satellite phone and her sister answered. I couldn’t have been more shocked. Dear old Maddie was shot and killed, in an apparent mugging. It happened not long after she mailed the letter. Coincidence? I don’t think so. She was found in an alley, and the shopping she’d done on her way home from work was scattered all around her, yet they don’t live in a dangerous neighborhood. And if someone was desperate enough to kill her for money, why leave her purse and the shopping behind?

I don’t want to scare you, but I’ve had a dreadful feeling ever since her letter arrived that this situation is going to get a lot worse before it gets better. So watch your back, sister dearest. I mean it. Watch your back and don’t go out alone at night.

I expect you’re wondering why I’m not coming straight home to help you deal with this. Bill would insist on it. That’s why I haven’t told him. For years he’s wanted to climb Everest. We’ve trained for this moment in Switzerland and in South America, where we met our guide Kurt Jellic, then in New Zealand, where Kurt comes from. Besides, by the time this reaches you, I’ll probably be back from the summit and on my way to the States. It took Maddie’s letter three weeks to reach me. Why should this one be any different?

You’re probably wondering how I found your address. I’ve always made sure I knew where you were. And yes, maybe I should have phoned you, as well. But after all these years of silence I couldn’t be certain you would take my call. Please accept this olive branch and try to forgive me for deserting you. I know you always found Father hard to deal with—and with me gone? Well, enough said for now. Maybe once this is over we can meet up in Paris, now that you’ve made your home there.

Darn, reading back over this I know it sounds slightly paranoid. All I can say is, you’ll probably feel as I do after reading it.

Speaking of paranoid, ever since we climbed back down to Base Camp, even before Maddie’s letter arrived, I’ve felt that someone is watching me. Stupid, huh? I couldn’t be farther from cousin Arlon’s idea of civilization if I tried, but I can’t shake the sensation of being watched.

Tomorrow we go back up. The weather looks good to reach the summit, and we’ve spent a lot of time climbing back and forth between Camps One, Two and Three, acclimatizing to the thin atmosphere. Yet, in a way, I’ll be glad to get back up there.

Everest has a way of making our human troubles appear puny, insignificant. And I really need that right now.

I know I’m thrusting a heck of a lot of responsibility on you, but if we can’t stop Arlon and the company goes belly-up, thousands of people will lose their jobs.

Father must be turning in his grave. Not that you’ll give a damn about that. But if there was one thing that mattered to him, it was the business he built up from nothing. What he really wanted was sons, not daughters.

I’ll call as soon as I make the descent. We can go fetch the papers together and make sure they get to the proper authorities. Or maybe we ought to contact them first and get some protection before we open the safety deposit box.

Take care, and I really do mean watch your back. Maddie was shot from behind.

Your loving sister,

Atlanta