Читать книгу Secrets at Toplingham Manor - T A Williams - Страница 16

Chapter 8

From the window of the study on the first floor, Linda watched the car disappear down the drive.

‘Duggie seems really keen to get on with things.’ She sounded impressed.

She turned back from the window and came over to where Roger was seated at the desk. He quickly averted his eyes, which had been feasting forlornly upon her curves. He was reminded of one of Saint Bernard’s letters to Ermengarde, Countess of Brittany. In this, he told her, my heart is close to you, even if my body is absent. For his part, he knew that his heart had belonged to Linda for years. The problem was, alas, that their bodies remained frustratingly separated from each other.

‘Duggie? When he gets his teeth into something, he doesn’t give up.’

It was an unfortunate choice of words. This was exactly what Jasper, the monster dog, was doing to Roger’s shoe at the time. Each time Roger tried to pull it back, the dog tugged all the harder, greatly enjoying what he deemed to be a super game. The fact that Roger’s foot was still inside the shoe, made it all the more fun.

‘He’s got all sorts of ideas for this country club thing. If anybody can make a go of it, he can. He tells me he hopes to have people queuing at the doors before the end of January.’

He tried to ignore the dog and its insistent tugging and concentrate on the contents of the desk. This had finally yielded to one of the keys from the treasure chest. Considering the size of the thing, it was remarkably empty. Just a few folders with fairly modern printed labels such as Housekeeping, Petty Cash and Utilities and a handful of ledgers, the top one of which was one marked Staff.

‘Bingo.’

He held it up so she could see the label, then opened it. Each page was an employee. He almost got palpitations when he saw that the book was three-quarters full.

‘How many people did Uncle Eustace employ, for crying out loud?’

His panic-stricken cry brought Linda to his side. It took only a matter of seconds before she noticed that the vast majority of the pages contained a start and finish date. Only four were still active. He sighed with relief and thanked his lucky stars that he had had the courage to ask her to come to the manor with him. He would be lost without her.

‘I would be lost without you.’

She smiled and nodded. There then ensued one of their habitual awkward silences, until a noise at the door awakened Jasper’s guard dog instincts. He released his hold on the shoe and raced across to the door. On the way, he emitted a fearful bark, designed to put the fear of God into any intruders. That was certainly the effect it had upon Roger and Linda. They both recoiled in shock.

‘Jasper, Jasper. For God’s sake, shush.’

Roger went over to the door and, dog in one hand, turned the handle. He was confronted by an extremely large lady holding a duster and a bottle of Brasso. The dog lurched forward but then, registering the expression of hostile disapproval on her face, changed his mind. He retreated backwards into the room with all the aplomb of a centre forward, watching the opposition goalkeeper clear his line. The sudden change of direction completely wrong-footed Roger. Losing his grip on the collar, he also lost his footing on the polished parquet. He ended up flat on his back.

‘My name is Vinnicombe, Mrs Vinnicombe. We have not been formally introduced yet.’ She palmed the Brasso professionally and extended a shiny black and green hand to him, as he hauled himself up from the floor. He smiled self-consciously and took the proffered hand.

‘Very pleased to meet you, Mrs Vinnicombe. My name is Dalby, Roger Dalby. Mr McKinnon was my uncle, my mother’s brother. This is my colleague and personal assistant, Linda Reid. We were just commenting upon how clean and polished the house is. Very impressive.’

‘Yes, Mrs Vinnicombe, you should be very proud of your work here.’

Linda’s enthusiastic tone seemed to do the trick. They both saw the hint of a smile before, as if by magic, the Brasso reappeared in her right hand and she was gone. Roger looked across the room to where Linda was standing, the huge black dog tucked in right behind her legs for protection.

‘Seems we have the answer to Jasper’s discipline problems.’ They both laughed. Roger’s mirth was tempered by the fact that his sock was sticking now out of a hole in the toe of one shoe. ‘I must have a word with you, my friend.’ The dog affected to look suitably chastened, but fooled neither of them.

Transferring his attention back to the desk, he spotted something propped up right at the back. It was a light-blue envelope. On the top left was the crest, with which he was beginning to become quite familiar. It cropped up all over the manor on plates, ashtrays, books and even toilet seats: McKinnon Marine and the crossed anchors. Then he saw, to his surprise, that the envelope itself was addressed to him, Professor Roger Alastair McKinnon Dalby. He picked it up, noting the insertion of his mother’s maiden name, which he had never used. The paper was stiff, heavy and a bit dusty. It had obviously been waiting there for some considerable time. The handwriting was spidery and untidy. It could have been that of a child, but he felt pretty sure it was that of an old man. He slipped his finger under the flap and tore it open. He was not wrong. There was a single sheet of paper inside, again written by the same shaky hand. It was dated five years earlier.

My Dear Nephew

By the time you read this, I will have succumbed to this damn illness, lost my mind and then passed on. The manor will be yours and I hope you love the place as I have done. Please look after the staff who are all, in their way, loyal and devoted friends. There is but one cloud upon the horizon, about which I should warn you: George Jennings.

My former business partner at MKM is an unmitigated scoundrel and rogue. He cannot contest my will – my lawyers have seen to that – but I would not put it past him to attempt more direct means of obtaining what is without question neither legally nor morally his. He cheated me for more than fifty years and finally paid the price. Do not let him try the same again with you.

I advise you to beware of George Jennings and any of his line. The man is unworthy of trust and a potential threat to any of my family. The company’s solicitor, Adam Heslop, of Heslop Greaves of London will be able to tell you more.

It is my fervent hope that I will meet your dear mother, my beloved sister, where I am going and that you and your family will enjoy a long, happy and trouble-free life.

Yours affectionately

The Black Sheep

Eustace

Roger passed the note across to Linda without a word. As she was reading it in her turn, he considered the implications. This former partner might be a threat – Eustace had been quite clear in his choice of vocabulary. What sort of threat might he pose? Legal, apparently not, but the solicitor in London would no doubt shed more light on that. Financial, it was hard to see how anybody could take away the manor and the houses in London, which were the source of Roger’s now considerable income. Physical, unlikely if he had been in partnership with Eustace for fifty years. That would make him in his eighties, if not older. It would not take Bruce Lee to fend off an assault from an octogenarian.

He looked across at Linda as she picked up the phone. The afternoon sun was shining through her mop of blond hair and even, he tore his eyes away, through the linen of her blouse. He ran his hands through his own hair and collected himself as he listened to her voice.

‘Yes please. Heslop Greaves, solicitors in London. Yes, G R E A V E S, like the footballer. Thank you.’ She glanced at him and, in response to his nod, dialled the number. ‘Hello, would it be possible to speak to Mr Adam Heslop, please? Thank you. Professor Roger Dalby from Toplingham. Thank you.’ She passed the receiver across to him. A lady’s voice at the other end asked him what it was in connection with. He replied with his uncle’s name. A few seconds later, he was put through.

‘Adam Heslop, good afternoon.’ The voice was cordial.

‘Yes, hello.’ Roger collected his thoughts. ‘My name is Roger Dalby and I am the nephew of the late Eustace McKinnon. He, or at least his company, McKinnon Marine, was one of your clients. I have been instructed to contact you.’ He paused, trying to phrase his next words carefully, but the solicitor saved him the trouble.

‘Good afternoon, Professor Dalby. You have just opened your uncle’s letter, I presume.’ Roger murmured agreement. Heslop was clearly very conversant with the case.

‘It was written, to the best of my knowledge, four or five years ago, when the doctors first diagnosed him as suffering from Alzheimer’s. Alas it turned out to be a fairly aggressive form of the disease. He was very concerned to set his affairs in order before the onset of dementia and any undesirable symptoms it might produce. He and I had quite a bit of contact around that time. Our firm has acted for the company almost since its foundation. He was especially concerned about the possibility that his ex-partner might rear his ugly head once more.’

Roger’s ears pricked up.

‘I am pleased to tell you that things have moved on since then. I think a meeting would be in order all the same. Will you come up to see me, or would you like me to come down to the West Country?’

Roger immediately agreed to travel up to London two days later, and a time was agreed. Before hanging up, he could not help asking a final question. ‘You mention that things have moved on with regard to his former partner. Might there still be a risk from him?’ The answer came as a considerable relief.

‘Not unless you believe in spiritualism or reincarnation, Professor Dalby. The gentleman in question died over a year ago, but I’m afraid your uncle’s mental state had deteriorated so badly by then, that he was unaware of it. I look forward to seeing you.’

Roger replaced the phone and smiled at Linda. ‘The other chap has died as well.’ She smiled back, considerably relieved. She then settled down alongside him to go through the remaining contents of the desk in detail. The dog, not to be left out, settled down with the Yellow Pages. By the time they spotted what he was doing, his corner of the room looked like the aftermath of a tickertape parade.