The Legacy (11 page)

Chapter 23

Harry answered the phone on its third ring. He'd just got back from his run and he wanted to grab a shower before going out to meet friends for lunch. The only reason he'd answered the phone was because he thought it might be Lucy. He was a bit concerned. He hadn't heard anything from her since they'd kissed in the hotel foyer before she left for Pokhara. He hoped that she was all right and that she hadn't had a sudden change of heart. ‘Hello?' he said into the phone, remembering too late that Lucy didn't have his phone number.

‘Fish? Is that you?' Harry recognised the voice of his ex-girlfriend.

‘Yes, are you all right Camilla, you sound odd?' asked Harry.

‘No, no I'm not all right. I need you Harry,' said a clearly strained Camilla.

‘What's happened?' asked Harry. As he waited for her to answer, he looked at the two nude paintings either side of the fireplace that Lucy and Isobel had admired. Camilla had done them. They were of Camilla and Harry. He was drawn to the one of Camilla. She'd got her own bottom just right, thought Harry. He smiled to himself as he remembered the fun they'd had taking the photographs on which the paintings were based. Camilla had made him walk around the room naked whilst she, also naked, took photographs of his back view. They'd changed roles three or four times until Camilla was eventually satisfied that she had enough reasonable photographs to work from. They'd both found the exercise surprisingly exciting and it had therefore taken longer than it should have done because they'd stopped to make love twice, the first time at Harry's insistence and the second at Camilla's. The urgency in Camilla's voice put an end to Harry's wistful reminisces.

‘Fish, something awful has happened and I don't know who else to phone. The police are ignoring me and I'm sure I'm being followed. I'm scared Harry, please help me,' pleaded Camilla.

Harry was concerned. Camilla was not easily frightened. They'd parted on good terms but she was stubborn and proud and he knew that she wouldn't have contacted him unless something had really spooked her.

‘Take your time and tell me what's happened,' said Harry, pouring himself a coffee and settling down into an armchair. His friends would have to wait. He liked Camilla and he was determined to be there for her. He knew that whatever her faults, she would have done the same for him, even though they were no longer lovers.

Camilla took a deep breath and started to talk. She explained about Fairweather and being in his flat the night he died. She remembered going to bed with him but she fell asleep after they'd made love and the next thing she knew, someone was waking her up to tell her that her lover was dead. She'd originally accepted the police's view that it was an accident but she was starting to have reservations. For the last few days, she'd had the strongest feeling that she was being followed. She also felt that someone had been in her flat. She couldn't put her finger on why - everything was in its place and just as she'd left it - but it just felt as if her space had been violated.

Harry listened intently. He found himself getting angry when Camilla said that she'd spent the night with Fairweather. He realised he had no right to. They were no longer a couple and she was free to do whatever she wanted. But still, the image of her sleeping with someone else hurt. Perhaps he wasn't over her yet he thought to himself. Camilla continued talking for about twenty minutes, explaining how she'd met Fairweather and how she had ended up with him that night. She was clearly upset but she held it together long enough to finish her story.

‘Why do you think you're being followed?' he asked when she'd finished.

‘I just do,' she said. ‘I feel as if someone is watching me all the time. I keep turning round suddenly to see if I can see them. I haven't yet but I just get this creepy feeling. It's scary and the police aren't interested at all. They're very clear in their own minds that Fairweather had a dreadful accident. They think I'm suffering from shock and that my nerves are getting the better of me. If I'm honest, I get the feeling they think I was partly responsible. They keep asking me about the drugs but in all the time I knew him, I never saw him take any. We certainly didn't do any on the night he died. He might have got up and had a snort when I was asleep but you know how I feel about drugs. If I'd thought that Fairweather was a regular user, I wouldn't have been interested in him, no matter how many of my paintings he'd bought.'

Harry didn't doubt her sincerity. One of her best friends had died of a drugs overdose in her late teens and she was violently opposed to them. ‘OK,' said Harry. ‘What do you want me to do?' he asked.

‘I don't know,' replied Camilla. ‘I just needed someone to talk to. If you were here in London, I'd ask you to stay with me for a few days but I realise that you can't. Just talk to me for a while, tell me what you're doing.'

Harry told her what he'd been up to. He didn't mention Lucy, not because he was worried about her reaction but because he wasn't sure exactly what was happening. Lucy didn't have his phone number but she said she would e-mail him when she got to Pokhara and had a better idea of when she might be returning to Kathmandu. He hadn't received an e-mail yet and he was due to begin his journey to Everest Base Camp in a few days' time. Although his phone could receive e-mails, he knew that once he was up in the hills he would lose mobile coverage and that there would be no chance of any messages reaching him until he headed back towards Kathmandu. Camilla was clearly frightened and part of him felt that he should go and help her. Although they'd only been engaged for twelve months, they'd actually been together for four years. It was a long time and they were still close friends, even though they were no longer lovers. But if he went to London to help her, he'd miss any chance of spending time with Lucy when she returned from Pokhara. He needed time to think things through. Should he try and contact Lucy through the trekking company and explain what had happened? But if he said he was flying off to see an old girlfriend, she might think that he was still in love with her. How many prospective new girlfriends would be happy to see their new man disappear off to spend time with an ex? Not many, he supposed.

He and Camilla talked for another hour. She was calming down and when Harry suggested she go and stay with friends for a few days, she agreed. Her best friend, also an artist, lived on Dartmoor in an old farmhouse that she was renovating. It would be just what she needed. A change of scenery and lots of fresh air. Harry promised to phone her the next day before she went to see how she was doing.

Camilla felt better after she'd spoken to Harry. He was always so reassuring. She'd loved that about him. Resourceful and calm, few things ever phased him. She'd been sorry when they'd split up but they'd both agreed that it was for the best. He desperately wanted to do development work in Africa and she was determined to stay in London and consolidate her position as an emerging new artist. And although she'd found the first few months hard, she was making it work. Or rather, she was until this happened. She phoned up her friend and arranged to travel down to Dartmoor the next afternoon. She'd have to tell the police but she was sure that they would have no objections provided they knew where she was. She was excited about getting out of town and spending some time in the hills. She loved Dartmoor. She'd spent her holidays there as a child and she knew the eastern moors well. Her friend's farmhouse was in the village of North Bovey. It was small, had a great pub and was sufficiently far off the tourist track that you could walk for hours without bumping into anybody else. She couldn't wait.

Harry lay in the bath thinking about what to do. He desperately wanted to see Lucy again. He kept replaying their kiss over and over in his mind. He'd only known her for a few days but there was already something between them. He didn't know what it was. He just knew that he wanted to be with her. She was funny, bright and interested in him. This was a new experience. Camilla had many good points but asking him what he felt about things wasn't one of them. She was usually so wrapped up in what she was doing that she rarely asked his view of anything. It wasn't that she was self-obsessed, it was just that she was so focused on her painting that all they ever seemed to talk about was how to further her career. Lucy, on the other hand, had asked his views on all sorts of things, not just the historical buildings they'd visited on the tour of Kathmandu. After half an hour of thinking things through, he felt he had the solution, at least for now. He would see how Camilla was when he phoned in the morning. If she was feeling a bit better and was still intending to go and stay with her friend, then he would stay in Nepal and, after the Everest trip, would try and spend some time with Lucy. But if Camilla was still struggling when he phoned, then he would fly to the UK to be with her. He'd have to take his chances with Lucy. If she was half the girl he thought she was, he felt sure she'd understand. Satisfied that he had a plan, he got out of the bath, dried himself and padded into the bedroom to get dressed. Ten minutes later, he left the house and headed into town. He was running a bit late but provided he didn't get stuck behind one of Kathmandu's seemingly endless festival parades, he reckoned that he would just about make it in time for lunch.

Chapter 24

Lucy, Isobel and Kate left the hospital and took a taxi to George Street. Kate had suggested they stay with her but Lucy wanted to go back to her father's flat. Although she was rarely there, her father had insisted on turning one of the rooms into ‘her' bedroom. One wall was covered in framed photographs of her in various school sports teams. Another had pictures of a young Lucy with her mother and father. The shelves were full of old school books and the paperbacks she'd read as a teenager. Her possessions made the room familiar and homely, even though she'd never spent any of her childhood there. She felt safe in the flat, the main reason she'd wanted to go back there rather than to Kate's.

The taxi stopped outside the block of flats. Lucy paid and started to walk towards the main entrance. Kate had been there many times before but, wanting to be discrete, she let Lucy lead the way. Lucy opened the main door and climbed the stairs to her father's flat. She took out her key and opened the door, switching on the lights as they entered the hall. It was immaculate. Like many soldiers used to keeping their kit together, her father was a neat and tidy man but, even so, it looked as though the house had been cleaned earlier that day. The flat smelt of air freshener and the rugs were neatly aligned on the highly polished wooden floors.

‘Your Dad was a very tidy person,' said Isobel as she entered the living room.

‘Yes,' replied Lucy. ‘But he wasn't here that often and I suspect that helped. He had a cleaner who came in a couple of times a week to keep the place ticking over when he was away. Come in to the sitting room while I think about what I need to do next.'

Kate went and sat next to Lucy on the sofa and reached for her hand. ‘You don't need to do anything immediately. I can help you with the funeral arrangements if you'd like and I know which solicitors your father used. It might be best to see them in the next few days as your father went to talk to them earlier this week. Your father was a meticulous man and I've no doubt he will have left them clear instructions on what to do if anything happened to him. I know it sounds macabre and I'm still not sure exactly what he did to make his money but he seemed to think there was a fair amount of risk involved.'

‘Thank you Kate,' said Lucy, genuinely relieved that Kate was willing to help her. ‘I'm really grateful for your help. You knew Dad well and he would have wanted you to be involved.'

‘Thank you,' said Kate. They sat in silence for several minutes. ‘It's late Lucy and neither you nor Isobel have eaten anything since you landed. Do you want me to see if there's anything in the kitchen?' asked Kate.

Isobel, who had a very healthy appetite, looked at Lucy expectantly. ‘No thanks,' said Lucy. ‘We'll make a cup of tea and then go to bed. Can I ring you tomorrow when I've had a chance to think things through and get some sleep?'

‘Of course,' replied Kate, standing up. ‘I'll leave you to it.' Lucy and Isobel stood up to kiss her goodbye. ‘See you tomorrow but if you need anything during the night, just phone,' said Kate as she left the room.

The girls heard the front door close behind Kate. ‘Tea?' asked Isobel.

‘Yes please,' replied Lucy. ‘I can't believe he's gone. The flat looks just the same as it always did. I keep expecting him to come through the door and tell me that it's all been a horrible mistake.'

Isobel didn't really know what to say. She hadn't lost anybody close to her but she could see the pain that her friend was in. She went over and sat next to Lucy, putting her arm around her and pulling her close. Lucy started to cry, sobbing into Isobel's shoulder.

‘Why him Isobel? Why did it have to be my Dad that gets killed by some drunken yob in a bloody pub? Why couldn't it have been somebody else?'

‘I don't know Luce,' said Isobel, starting to cry herself. ‘I just don't know.'

‘I want to find who did this and if the police won't help me, then I'll do it myself,' said Lucy. Isobel didn't doubt that she meant it.

Isobel got up and went to the kitchen. She was surprised at how well stocked it was. She put the kettle on and found the tea bags. Five minutes later, she carried a tray of tea and biscuits into the sitting room.

Lucy was looking at the paintings on the wall. Some of them were new to her, as was the one propped on an easel near the fireplace. ‘This is very new,' she thought to herself, noticing the wooden container that it must have come in on the floor. Lucy didn't know much about art but the latest acquisition - if that's what it was - must have cost a fair bit judging by its obvious quality. The container had a Sotherby's sticker on it and Lucy made a mental note to contact them in the next few weeks to discuss her father's paintings. She had absolutely no idea as to their value but he had built up an extensive collection over the years and she knew that he would want her to look after it. Or if not look after it, at least understand its value before deciding what to do with it.

‘What did your Dad do, Lucy?' asked Isobel.

‘I'm not really sure,' replied Lucy. ‘He was always a bit cagey when the subject came up. He used to say that he was in security but exactly what this meant, I don't really know. The only thing I know is that it seemed to pay OK as he was forever going to auctions and galleries and buying new paintings. It's one of the reasons he liked living in Edinburgh. I'll show you tomorrow if you like but Dundas Street has got some great little galleries and art shops on it.'

‘That'd be great,' said Isobel, handing Lucy a cup of tea. ‘Drink this and then let's think about going to bed. I'm knackered and we could both do with a good night's sleep.'

‘OK. Will you stay with me for a few days Isobel?' asked Lucy. ‘Kate's great but I don't know her well and I could do with the support.'

‘Of course,' replied Isobel. ‘I'll stay for as long as you want me to. I've got nothing better to do anyway. I was going to spend a week or so with my family after Nepal but that can wait.'

‘Thank you,' said Lucy, clearly relieved that she wouldn't be on her own, at least for a week or so. Lucy stood up. ‘Let's go and sort out the beds.' She led the way down the hall and into the guest room. The bed was already made and there were clean towels on the end of the bed. ‘The bathroom's through there,' she said to Isobel, pointing at a door at the foot of the bed.

‘This is really nice,' said Isobel, opening the door to the en-suite bathroom and peering inside. ‘He really did have good taste your old man! I shall be very comfortable here.'

Lucy smiled. One of the things she liked about Isobel was her straightforward way of looking at things. Though she was academically brilliant, she had a very practical approach to everyday life. Very little worried her and she seemed able to impose an iron discipline on her emotions that Lucy envied.

‘Why don't you send an e-mail to Harry telling him what's happened before you go to bed?' suggested Isobel as she started to undress.

‘What a good idea,' replied Lucy. ‘I think I'll do that now. Good night Isobel and thank you for being here with me.'

‘No problem Luce,' replied Isobel. ‘It's what friends are for. See you tomorrow. Wake me if you need me during the night.'

‘Night Isobel. I'm just in here,' said Lucy, pointing to the room opposite Isobel's. ‘See you tomorrow.'

Isobel got into bed. She stared at the ceiling, thinking through the day's events. She was worried about her friend. The brutality and apparent randomness of her father's death would have come as such a nasty shock that she suspected Lucy would be numb for a while yet. She'd have to watch her carefully over the next few weeks and try and find some way of helping her cope. She knew nothing about psychology but she was in no doubt that having both parents die so suddenly and so violently would inevitably have some sort of longer term impact. She heard the toilet flush. She strained her ears for sounds of her friend and heard Lucy sobbing quietly as she walked down the corridor and into her own bedroom.