The Legacy (3 page)

Humfrey Stone stood up when she and Belinda came in; so did Rolf Wallberg. Stone went to meet her and shook hands. ‘Hello, Mrs Farrington. Hello, Lindy. I'll try to get it over with as soon as possible—it's not complicated. You said Mr Wallberg could sit in; he's over there.'

‘Yes, that's perfectly all right. You don't know my two stepsons.' Alan Farrington had followed her in, his wife Fay and his brother James close behind. He ignored Stone's outstretched hand. ‘Who's this?' he demanded. ‘Where's Paul Fairfax?'

Christina faced him. ‘Your father decided to use a different firm of solicitors. This is Mr Stone of Harvey & Stone.'

Alan didn't even turn and look at Humfrey. Suspicion twisted his face. ‘You mean he dumped our old family solicitors, the Fairfaxes, and went to some smart-assed shyster in London? What have you been playing at?'

‘Alan,' his wife pulled his sleeve. ‘Alan, wait.… come and sit down.' He jerked away from her. Humfrey stepped between him and Christina.

‘Mr Farrington, why don't you take your wife's advice? Otherwise I shall defer reading the will to another day. It's within my right, and if you are going to be abusive to my client, or to me, that's what I will do.'

Good for you, little Humfrey, Rolf conceded. He was a small slight man with a gentle manner, but he knew how to handle bullies. And he won, because Alan Farrington turned away and sat down; his wife and James taking chairs either side of him.

‘Mrs Farrington,' Humfrey asked, ‘do you want me to continue?' She had instinctively caught hold of her daughter's hand as her stepson confronted them.

‘Yes,' Christina said firmly, ‘we have guests waiting. Please get on with it, Mr Stone.'

‘I won't worry you with the preliminaries; it's the usual: the last will and testament of Richard Rowley Farrington, dated 15 February 1995. Revoked all other wills etc. I'll read from the document now.' He cleared his throat and began. ‘I leave all monies, shares and personal possessions, and everything not held in trust, to my beloved wife Christina Ingrid, who has given me perfect happiness throughout our marriage, and has cared for me in my last illness with absolute love and devotion. I cannot express what I owe to her. Her greatest gift among so many is my daughter, Belinda Mary. I have decided after much thought, and without any outside influence, to break with my family's long tradition and alter the Farrington trust, naming my daughter Belinda Mary as beneficiary. RussMore will, therefore, pass directly to her on my death, subject to the following provisions made for my said wife, Christina Ingrid.'

Rolf Wallberg had seen the explosion coming. He hadn't taken his eyes off Alan Farrington. Listening to the tributes paid to his stepmother, he had openly sneered. Now his dark face turned a dull red and he jumped to his feet.

‘He can't do that! I'm his eldest son. RussMore can't be taken away from me! I know the terms of that trust—he couldn't break it, nobody ever has …'

Stone said coldly, ‘He could and he did. He's left RussMore to his daughter with his wife as principal trustee and guardian. There's more; why don't you wait till the will's been read, Mr Farrington? You can make your objections later.'

For a moment Alan stayed on his feet. He spoke to Christina. ‘You won't get away with this.' Then he sat down.

‘I'll continue,' Humfrey said and cleared his throat again. ‘My sons, Alan and James, were beneficiaries of their mother's will and were handsomely provided for. In addition, I made over to them monies and shares that my late wife Josephine left me, including items of furniture, pictures and silver that she brought to RussMore when we married. I have never received affection or support from my eldest son, who opposed my second marriage, and publicly accused me of neglecting his mother and contributing to her drug addiction and death. I therefore feel no obligation to provide for him. He is, in capital terms, much wealthier than I am. My second son, James, is living and working in the United States and doesn't intend to return to live in England. I therefore direct that Langley Farm and its four hundred acres should be sold and the proceeds used for his benefit under the terms of the trust.' Humfrey paused and spoke to James Farrington who was watching his elder brother; he looked embarrassed and uneasy. ‘Mr Farrington, I may as well explain at this point that, under the terms of the new trust, the trustees would certainly release the capital sum to you, if you wish to make the funds transferable to the US. Now there are various bequests to members of the estate and household staff, and some charitable bequests as well. Do you all wish these read out? They're not so substantial that they need concern the family. Mrs Farrington?'

‘Why ask her?' Alan said harshly. ‘After all, she dictated the bloody will!' He pushed back his chair. He spoke to Humfrey Stone. His colour had faded now; his eyes burned like coals in the sallow skin. ‘She made my father break the trust and cut me out of my family inheritance. He was an old man dying of cancer and she pressured him to get everything for her daughter and herself. But she's not going to get away with it. I'll fight this through to the House of Lords if I have to, but she's not cheating me out of RussMore.' He snapped at Humfrey Stone. ‘I'll want a copy of that will and the trust deed sent to my solicitor, Hamilton Ross. I'm sure you'll have heard of
them.
Fay, let's go.' He looked over at his brother.

‘Good on you, James. So you've been quietly arse-licking over the years behind my back. Clever, aren't you, Christina? Don't cut
him
out; divide and rule …' He went to the door and again he paused. He wasn't very tall or physically imposing, but he possessed a dynamic energy that crackled like an electric charge through the whole room.

‘That little brat', he said softly to Christina, ‘isn't going to get RussMore. I never believed she was my father's daughter and I'm going to prove it.' He went out, leaving the door open.

It was Wallberg who closed it. He had been sitting in the background, close enough to hear that last exchange and to see the child's bewildered face. Christina Farrington looked as if she had been punched in the heart. He said, in Swedish, ‘Let me take your little girl out; don't worry, she wouldn't have understood.'

Christina looked at him; she'd hardly noticed the man in the chair behind her. She answered in Swedish, her voice uneven, ‘Thank you … please take her outside … My God if I'd known he'd do something like that …'

Wallberg held out his hand to Belinda. ‘Your mother says you'll show me the gardens. I'm Swedish, like her, and I've never been to an English house like this … would you mind?'

‘Mum?' she asked her mother. She looked confused. She'd heard the words but they didn't seem real … Not her father's daughter.

‘Lindy, you look after Mr Wallberg, then bring him in for tea. Go along darling.' Stone came up to her. And after him, looking awkward, James, her stepson.

‘I don't know what to say,' Humfrey muttered. ‘I've never known anyone to behave like that. It's unbalanced, disgraceful. What was that last exchange between you?'

‘Nothing,' Christina answered. ‘It doesn't matter. It's over and he's gone.' James was beside her then.

‘I don't know what to say either,' he said. ‘Except thank you. Father wasn't ever very close to me; I know I have you to thank for Langley Farm. It's a very generous legacy.'

‘It was nothing to do with me,' she said. ‘Nothing. I didn't even know he'd left it to you. All I knew was he wanted Lindy to have the house. I never even saw the will. I don't expect you to believe me.'

‘If you say so, I do,' James insisted. She knew he would never have said that in Alan's hearing. Neutral at best, Richard had described him, weak at worst.
I could never look to him for support. You won't be able to either
…

She suddenly felt exhausted, and her eyes filled with tears. Stone said gently, ‘You sit here quietly, Mrs Farrington. I'll bring you a cup of tea. That was dreadful for you, dreadful.' He was really shocked and angry.

‘No, don't bother about tea. I must go and see people and thank them for coming. James, take Mr Stone into the drawing-room, will you? I'll come in a few minutes.' When they had gone, she went to the window and stood looking out, seeing nothing. If she gave in now, she'd never find the strength to go in and face their friends, to thank them for coming, listen to them offering sympathy and help, saying nice things about her husband. She opened the window, as if she could expel the hate and threat that hung in the air like a miasma. Green parkland, glorious trees in full summer leaf. The sounds of summer, bees, the scent from the massive magnolia that climbed the wall of that side of the house. So much beauty, tranquillity and certainty, enriched by its long history. It had become part of her now, as if she had been born to it, instead of coming as a stranger from a foreign country. She had learned new ways, new values, spoken and thought in a language that wasn't her own for so long it had shocked her to hear Swedish spoken. She loved RussMore; it would always be part of her memories of Richard and their life together. And of the child, Belinda, given the Farrington family names. Her father's treasure in his later years. She heard a noise behind her. It was James.

‘I came to see if you were all right,' he said. ‘People are asking for you.'
Neutral at best; weak at worst
. Stamped and labelled for ever by those words. He said simply, ‘I heard what he said. I am so sorry. But he means it, Christa; he'll go to the wire, I know him. I wish I could do something to stop him, but I know he wouldn't listen. He thinks I sold out, so he'll never forgive me either.'

‘You'll mind that, won't you?' she asked him. He shrugged. ‘I suppose so. The elder brother syndrome dies hard. I always looked up to him. He stood his ground with Father, I never could; I admired that. I was shit-scared of him; shit-scared of Father too … I'm not a fighter, more like poor Mother. That's Alan's trouble, you know: he loved her; he couldn't accept it when she died, it turned him inside out.'

Christina said slowly, ‘I wish I'd talked to you about it all before, James. We never had the chance.'

‘Father wouldn't have liked it,' he said. ‘He didn't think much of me and he was so possessive of you. I used to come over and see him, but I always felt he was glad to see me go.'

‘He wasn't really,' she said. ‘He was hurt because you didn't come more often or stay longer. What a miserable misunderstanding it's been. James, I'm so worried about Lindy.'

‘You can pass it off,' he said. ‘She'll forget it, if she even took it in.'

On their way to the drawing-room, Christina paused. She could hear a loud buzz of voices behind the door. ‘Would you do me a favour?' she asked. ‘Would you not go back to London? Stay the night here? There's so much I want to ask you. Would you do that?'

I could never rely on him; you won't be able to either.
Richard's dismissal mocked her.

He hesitated. ‘I have a dinner date, I can't easily put it off. I could come next week sometime …'

‘Yes, of course,' she said. ‘Just ring and invite yourself down.' Richard Farrington hadn't misjudged his son. She braced herself, opened the door and went in.

Rolf Wallberg had followed the child down to the lake. She had been strained and silent while they toured the rose garden, answering his questions with a few words. At the lake's edge they paused. Swans were sailing past, their heads held high in disdain of the humans who had come empty-handed.

‘Do you like swans?'

She shook her head. ‘No, they're so greedy. Daddy never let me feed them; he said they were dangerous. He said they can break your arm with one wing, they're so strong. I hate fierce things.'

‘I hate fierce people,' he said. She looked up at him. ‘Me too. My brother Alan's fierce. He hates Mummy and me; I don't know why.'

Rolf said quietly, ‘Maybe he's jealous because your father loved you better than him.'

‘Maybe,' she considered for a moment. ‘But he's not at all nice, so why
should
Daddy love him?' Rolf smiled. The clarity of children's reasoning always amazed him.

‘No reason at all. Shall we go back and find your Mother now?'

‘All right,' she agreed. After a few minutes, she said suddenly, ‘Is he really going to do awful things to Mummy and take RussMore away from us?' Rolf knew he had won her trust.

‘No, not if Mr Stone can help it. And I'm going to help Mr Stone. So don't worry about it. We're on your side, Belinda.'

‘I'm glad.' She reached up and held on to his hand. ‘Mummy can't stand up to Alan by herself. I heard Daddy say that one day. He said she was too nice.'

‘I'm sure she is,' he agreed, ‘but I'm not, and nor is Mr Stone. Where do we go now?' They had come in by a side door. They faced a long stone passage, rows of boots and weatherproofs were ranged down one side, topped by an extraordinary variety of hats. Hats and coats for all the unpredictable English seasons, he thought. Mostly for mud and rain.

‘Down here,' she said, leading him. A door opened into another passage, the walls covered in old faded photographs of dead men on horses, surrounded by packs of long-departed hounds. Extraordinary people, he mused. English ancestor worship, confined to the domestic regions, but then they tended to put their citations for bravery and their old school mementos in their lavatories. He had decided a long time ago that he would never understand the English, of any class.

The doors to the drawing-room were open, some people were already leaving. ‘There's Mummy,' she said and hurried away from him. He stayed where he was, observing for a moment. She was talking to an older couple; he had retired military stamped all over him, from the neat moustache to the cropped grey hair and immaculately polished shoes. The wife was typical too. Dowdy, angular, with a hat like a flowerpot at an ugly angle on her head. He started towards them. Christina smiled as he came up; she looked pale and miserable in spite of the smile. He wasn't sorry for her; he wasn't concerned with people. He was interested but quite dispassionate. He had felt sorry for the child; he had a soft heart for children.