Authors: Lucinda Riley
‘I won’t,’ said Ava as she climbed into the taxi. ‘Let me know how LJ is, won’t you? I’ll call tonight. Bye!’
The taxi sped down the drive and away from Marchmont.
Ava was glad to be swept up in the whirlwind of newness – good and bad – that first week away from LJ and Marchmont. There was so much to learn, like how the
underground and London buses worked, and the way her peer group seemed to think it was huge fun to have drinking competitions, even to the point of passing out. And, above all, getting used to the
incessant hum of traffic outside her airless shoebox of a room. On the plus side, everyone on her course that she’d met so far seemed nice, and already a camaraderie had built up between
them. Unused to crowds, or being with other people all the time, Ava was still shy about joining in. But the merry-go-round of events organised for the new intake left her feeling far more relaxed
by the end of the week.
And the best news was that a letter from Simon had been waiting for her when she’d arrived. He told her that he was keeping true to his promise in the summer and would love to meet up with
her and show her around London.
At moments during the first few long, airless nights, when every atom of her being longed to be back in the fresh, open space of Marchmont, Ava thought of him. She’d written back to him
after he’d left the note with Uncle David, giving him her new London address, but had tried since to push down any ideas that he might actually have liked her. The fact he’d written to
her again sent a tingle of pleasure up her spine.
It had taken her until Thursday to pluck up the courage to use the student payphone at the end of her corridor and call him to set up a meeting. And this Sunday he was coming to take her out, as
he put it, to show her the sights.
On Sunday morning, having got to bed at gone three after the Freshers’ Ball, she staggered out of bed.
‘I really must learn not to drink whatever’s put in front of me,’ she told herself, her head pounding. She swallowed two paracetamol and stared at the contents of her wardrobe.
For the first time in her life, Ava thought carefully about what she might wear. She chose a pair of bright-pink trousers and an expensive cashmere jumper that Cheska had bought for her, put them
on, then decided she looked far too like her mother, so discarded them in favour of a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Her eyes were far too sore for contact lenses this morning – they would just
turn red and water if she put them in – so she put on her glasses.
At eleven o’clock she arrived uncertainly in the entrance hall of her building, which, for a change, was deserted. Everyone else must be sleeping off their hangovers from the night before.
Simon was already waiting outside; she could see him through the glass doors. Her heart beating hard, and telling herself firmly that he had only got in touch because of the connection between
their families, she pulled open the front door and went to greet him.
‘Hi, Ava. Goodness you look different!’ said Simon, kissing her on both cheeks.
‘Do I?’
‘Better different, like you’re the real you. And I love you in your glasses,’ he added. ‘You look rather like a very pretty young teacher I had when I was seven. I had a
huge crush on her for years, and I’ve had a thing about glasses ever since!’
‘Thank you – I think.’ Ava smiled shyly, taking in his similar attire of jeans and a sweatshirt.
‘Now, I thought on the way here that there was no point taking you to the usual tourist attractions – you can easily go yourself – so I’m going to show you the London
that
I
love. Okay?’
‘Great.’
He offered her an elbow, which she took, and the two of them walked off together along the sleepy Sunday-morning street.
When she arrived home at seven o’clock that evening Ava felt completely exhausted. Simon might be a city boy but, ironically, everything they’d done had involved a
great deal of walking. They had strolled through Hyde Park and paused at Speakers’ Corner to listen to the would-be orators extolling their radical political views; some of which were so
bizarre that the two of them had to leave as hysteria got the better of them. Then they’d walked along the Thames on the towpath from Westminster to Hammersmith, where they’d stopped at
a riverside pub for lunch.
Ava had loved every second of it, because they hadn’t been studying ancient monuments or jostling with tourists to get the better view of a painting in a gallery, they had just talked
about anything and everything. And, in the wide-open spaces Simon had chosen as the backdrop to their day, Ava had stopped feeling claustrophobic – both physically and mentally – and
relaxed.
The day had been warm enough for them to sit outside the pub and, while they ate, Simon told her more about the job he’d just landed in a musical in the West End.
‘It’s not really my chosen career path, as you know, I want to be a songwriter,’ he’d admitted, seeming embarrassed by the whole thing. ‘But they needed real
musicians who could sing and play a couple of instruments, and someone I know suggested I audition. I went along and got the job. No one was more surprised than me, I can tell you, but on the other
hand, it pays the bills. And once the show’s up and running, it leaves me all day to concentrate on writing my own stuff. I even have a theatrical agent now, too.’ He’d rolled his
eyes at this.
‘What’s the musical about?’
‘Oh, four very famous singers from the fifties and sixties. It’s full of their hits, so it’s a sure-fire crowd-pleaser for thirty and forty-somethings.’
‘When does it open?’
‘In three weeks or so. You can come to the opening night if you like.’
‘I’d love to.’
‘Mind you, I don’t think I’m much of an actor to be honest.’
‘But it might make you famous, Simon.’
‘Famous is the last thing I want to be, I promise you. I’m aiming to open my own recording studio one day, where I’ll write and produce songs for other people. I’d prefer
to remain firmly in the background.’
‘Me too,’ Ava had agreed fervently.
At the end of their day, Simon had escorted her back to her hall in Camden and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Good luck this week, Ava. Try not to fall asleep in too many lectures,’
he’d added with a grin.
‘I won’t. And thank you so much for today. I really enjoyed it.’ She’d turned to walk inside, but he’d caught her arm and pulled her back to him.
‘Look, I know what the first few weeks can be like but, if you could spare the time, I’d love to see you again.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes! Why do you look so surprised?’
‘Because I thought you were probably doing this as a favour to your grandfather, that he ordered you to take me out because he’s friends with my great-aunt.’
‘Then you’re assuming I’m a much less selfish person than I really am. Seriously, I’ve really enjoyed today. So how about this Friday evening? Pick you up at
seven?’
‘If you’re sure?’
‘Ava, I’m perfectly sure.’
Ava lay on her bed and daydreamed about Simon. She must have dozed off, because when she woke up it was already dark. She turned over and checked the clock by her bed. It was
past ten o’clock.
‘Damn!’ she swore to herself. It was far too late to call Marchmont, as she’d promised LJ she would.
She went to make herself a cup of tea in the communal kitchen along the corridor, then took it back to her room and sipped it while she prepared what she needed for her first lecture in the
morning. Then she sank back into bed, making a mental note to call LJ tomorrow.
After she had taken LJ’s cocoa up to her, Cheska went back downstairs into the library. After days of searching, she had finally found the key to the desk drawer that
afternoon, secreted under a plant pot. The fact that it had been hidden confirmed her suspicions that it was in this drawer that LJ kept her private documents.
She sat down at the desk, put the key in the lock and turned it. She slid the drawer open and pulled out a bulging green folder. There were numerous documents inside. Cheska leafed through them
until she found what she was looking for. Putting the folder aside to look through later, she opened the thick vellum envelope and unfolded the piece of paper within. On it was written: ‘The
Last Will and Testament of Laura-Jane Edith Marchmont’.
Cheska began to read.
The Marchmont estate is being left to my son, David Robin Marchmont. And on his death my wish is that the estate in its entirety passes to my great-niece, Ava Marchmont, in
tandem with my son’s current will.
Cheska could feel the rage bubbling up inside her, but she did her best to control it and read on. It was only in a codicil that she finally found her own name.
A few minutes later, she was incandescent with fury. Slamming her fist down on the desk, she read the codicil again, just to make sure.
As executor for the trust of Cheska Marchmont (known as Hammond), left to her by her father, Owen Jonathan Marchmont, it is my duty to revoke this trust. It is stated in
Owen Marchmont’s will (attached) that ‘the sum bequeathed in trust to Cheska Marchmont be given only on the condition that she visits Marchmont at least once a year until she is
twenty-one years of age’. I confirm that Cheska has not been to Marchmont once since she was sixteen therefore this condition has not been fulfilled. Not only that, but she has left her
daughter in my care and not seen fit to contact either of us for a number of years. Therefore, I feel I have no alternative but to follow Owen Marchmont’s stipulation and pass the
proceeds of the trust to Cheska Marchmont’s daughter, Ava, who has lived at Marchmont all her life. This money, I believe, is rightfully hers.
It was signed by LJ and witnessed.
‘Bitch!’ Cheska screamed, then rifled maniacally through the folder until she found what she wanted. It was an interim statement from a firm of stockbrokers, revealing the amount
accrued in what should be
her
trust: it was over one hundred thousand pounds.
She looked at a number of other bank statements. The most recent showed that there was over two hundred thousand pounds in the Marchmont estate account.
Cheska broke down completely. ‘I’m his daughter!’ she sobbed. ‘It should all be mine. Why didn’t he love me . . . ? Why? Why?’
Remember, Cheska, remember . . .
said the voices.
‘No!’ She put her hands over her ears, refusing to listen to them.
On a damp October morning, a few days after Ava had left, LJ woke to see Cheska sitting in the chair by the window.
‘God, I feel groggy. What time is it?’ she asked.
‘Past eleven.’
‘Eleven o’clock in the morning? Good grief! I’ve never slept that long in my life.’
‘It’ll do you good. How are you feeling?’
‘Dreadful today, actually. Ancient and sick. Don’t get old, Cheska. It’s not a pleasant experience.’
Cheska stood up, crossed the room and sat beside her on the bed. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking you, but I feel I have to. What’s happened to the money my father left in
trust for me?’
‘Well, I—’ LJ winced as a sharp pain darted up her left arm.
‘I mean, it is still there, isn’t it? The thing is, I need it rather urgently.’
LJ could hardly believe that Cheska was asking her about this now, standing over her like some beautiful avenging angel, as she lay weak, sick and defenceless. The pain intensified, and she
experienced a strange tingling sensation on the left side of her head. She felt breathless and struggled to reply to Cheska’s question.
‘There was a clause in your father’s will. It said that you had to come back and visit Marchmont at least once a year. You haven’t done that, have you?’
Cheska’s face hardened. ‘No, but you wouldn’t stop me having my rightful inheritance because of some goddamn silly clause, would you?’
‘I . . . Cheska, can we discuss this another time? I really don’t feel too well.’
‘
No!
’ Cheska’s eyes glittered with anger. ‘That money’s mine!’
‘I’m giving it to Ava. Don’t you think she deserves it? After all, I thought you had lots of money. I—’ LJ caught her breath as the pain ripped up her neck and into
her head.
Cheska seemed oblivious to LJ’s agonised expression. ‘And what about Marchmont? I’m the direct heir, being my father’s daughter. Surely it must come to me? Not Uncle
David?’
‘Cheska, I am the legal owner of Marchmont and I can leave it to whomever I wish. And, of course, the rightful heir, the true blood relative of your father, is David, my
son—’
‘
No!
I’m Owen’s daughter! I even have a birth certificate to prove it. Not only have you given the money in my trust fund to my daughter, but my home to my uncle. What
about me?! When will anyone ever care about me?!’ she shouted.
LJ watched Cheska through a veil of red mist. Brightly coloured patterns were dancing in front of her eyes. She wanted to answer . . . to explain, but when she opened her mouth to do so, it
refused to form the words.
‘You’ve always hated me, haven’t you? Well, you won’t win, dearest Aunt, because—’
LJ jerked forward, let out a small moan, then fell back onto her pillows. She lay still and was deathly pale.
‘LJ?’ Cheska shook her aunt harshly. ‘Wake up and listen to me! I know you’re only pretending so you won’t have to talk about it! LJ! LJ?’
As her aunt lay motionless, the expression on Cheska’s face turned from one of fury to horror.
‘LJ! For Chrissakes, wake up! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Please! Please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’ She threw her arms round LJ’s limp
shoulders, sobbing hysterically.
And that was how Mary found them, after hearing Cheska’s cries from downstairs. She called an ambulance and went with both LJ and Cheska to Abergavenny Hospital.
Ava found the first few days of lectures both terrifying and exhausting as she embarked on a whole new way of learning. Sitting in a lecture theatre with eighty other students
straining to catch every word that dropped from her professors’ mouths, she’d scribble everything down as fast as she could, then she’d scurry home to write up her notes neatly
and in context. She was also loving every second of it, starting to make friends and settling down into university life.