Hold the Dream by Barbara Taylor Bradford
‘No, seemingly not. Charwood told Graves that she was terrified of Cross. Her father had wanted to go to the police, but Alice begged him not to do so, insisted it would only stir up more trouble. That’s when Mr Peele confided in Tommy, whom he’d remained friendly with. Tommy tried to talk Peele into going to Leeds CID – he knows a number of detectives on the force – but Peele kept wavering. In the end he decided against it. About a month after this last terrible beating, John Cross paid a visit to the Peele family, offered Mr Peele money. Peele, who sounds like the salt of the earth, threw the money in John Cross’s face. As soon as Alice was sufficiently recovered, he shipped her off to live with her married brother in Gibraltar. The brother’s in the Royal Navy, helicopters I think, and is stationed permanently in Gib. Tommy Charwood believes she’s still out there.’
‘What a ghastly story,’ Paula said, continuing to shiver. ‘I’m not surprised Alice Peele is terrified of Cross…’ She faltered, stopped, turned away, filled with revulsion for the man.
Emily gasped, ‘He must be a maniac! That girl’s family should have prosecuted him, regardless of what she said.’
Alexander nodded, and his expression, reflecting Paula’s, was one of immense distaste. He said with harshness, ‘And that’s not all…Charwood gave Graves some additional information, after our wily private eye ingratiated himself further. Charwood swears Sebastian is into drugs, quite aside from being a heavy drinker, and is a congenital gambler who has suffered some big losses at the tables. At Crockford’s, and God knows where else.’
‘And this is the man who is Jonathan Ainsley’s best friend,’ Paula said. ‘This is just awful.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Alexander concurred. ‘And whilst the information about Cross doesn’t really do us any good, it does reflect rather badly on Jonathan, in that he’s Cross’s bosom chum. Wouldn’t you say?’
Paula nodded.
Emily looked from Paula to her brother. ‘Do you think Jonathan’s also on drugs? That he gambles?’
‘He’d better not be on drugs,’ Alexander snapped. ‘Not if he wants to continue running the real estate division of Harte Enterprises. Let’s not forget he handles a great deal of money, and also has to make some very important decisions at times.’ Alexander stood up, walked over to the console, poured a glass of wine, muttered, ‘I’m going to have to monitor everything he does from now on – watch him even more closely than before. I simply can’t afford to have him make any mistakes whatsoever. As for gambling –’ Alexander shrugged, shook his head. ‘I can’t hazard a guess about that. But he might be playing the tables, and that’s another reason why I’m going to take a bigger interest in the real estate division. As I said, there’s an awful lot of cash going through that company.’
‘Presumably you’ve instructed Mr Graves to keep at it, Sandy. To dig deeper?’ Paula said.
‘Naturally.’
‘Oddly enough,’ Paula went on thoughtfully, ‘John Cross rang the store today. He wanted an appointment.’
‘Are you going to see him?’ Alexander asked, returning to the chair.
‘I don’t know – probably not. Gaye tried to reach him at his hotel late this afternoon but he’d gone out. I expect he’ll phone again in the morning.’
‘In one sense, I’d be curious to know what he has to say. He can’t possibly imagine we’d be interested in Aire. Not now, after he’s sold the building, which was the main asset of the company.’
Paula lifted her shoulders in a shrug, and instantly changed the subject. She said, ‘Sarah came to see me this afternoon.’ She proceeded to recount the meeting, not missing out on a single detail. When she had finished she sat back, waiting for their reactions.
Emily had been all eyes and ears throughout Paula’s recital. She exclaimed, ‘I’d like to hear Miranda’s version of the weekend, not to mention the whole ten days Sarah spent in Barbados. I have a feeling their stories will vary considerably. Sarah was always rather good at taking the credit when it wasn’t due her.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Paula immediately thought of their childhood days at Heron’s Nest. She and Emily had been aware of Sarah’s craftiness even then. Their cousin had forever tried to curry favour with their grandmother, paint herself in the best possible light, frequently at their expense.
Alexander spoke up. ‘Sarah’s not stupid. She knows you can’t sell the boutiques, not without first going to the board. She’s also well aware that she can’t spend the fashion division’s money willy-nilly unless she has my permission. Therefore she must have convinced herself she can bypass us, succeed in her aims by going to Grandy directly. I’m certain she sent the telex, as she threatened to do.’
‘I am too,’ Emily muttered, condemning Sarah under her breath. Paula had far too many worries and problems to contend with at the moment, without Sarah creating difficulties.
‘I won’t argue with either of you.’ Paula smiled faintly. ‘However, I can assure you that the telex ended up in the wastepaper basket. What Sarah doesn’t know is that Grandy really came to believe in the boutiques before she left in May. At the last minute she suddenly saw them as a clever means to expand and in a relatively easy way for our organization. She’s convinced the boutiques will increase the value of the Harte shares, and of course they will, so she has no more intention of selling off the boutiques than I do.’
‘Yes, but you just said Sarah doesn’t realize that,’ Emily pointed out quietly. ‘And anyway, I’ve always thought she was infuriated because you got the Harte chain and not her. After all, she is the eldest granddaughter, and she has quite an opinion of herself as a businesswoman.’
‘Emily’s taken the words out of my mouth,’ Alexander said, turning swiftly to Paula. ‘Sarah’s visit this afternoon may have been a nasty little exercise – one specifically designed to upset you, Paula, to unnerve you, throw you off balance.’ As he was speaking another thought struck him. ‘I say, could this be the beginning of the guerrilla war we’ve talked about, and have been anticipating?’
‘That had crossed my mind earlier,’ Paula told him.
‘If it is, what does Sarah hope to gain, Sandy?’ Emily demanded.
‘The satisfaction of knowing Paula’s aggravated, under additional pressure. Also, a person who has been thrown off balance is not always thinking clearly or coolly, and frequently concentration is damaged.’ Alexander gave them both a very pointed look. ‘Sarah’s been hand-in-glove with Jonathan for a long time. She bears watching as closely as he does.’
Paula stood up. ‘Enough of them, for tonight at least. Let’s go to dinner. It’s been a difficult day, and a terrible week so far.’ She sighed wearily. ‘I’m not going to burden either of you with my problems at Sitex Oil, but I’ve had those to cope with today as well. I think I’ve just run out of steam. I need a little light relief, such as an amusing evening at the White Elephant.’
‘Are they serious problems?’ Alexander asked as the three of them went out into the entrance foyer to get their coats. He squeezed Paula’s shoulder affectionately. ‘Can I be of help?’
Paula gave him a grateful smile. ‘Thanks, Sandy, it’s sweet of you to offer. I’ve got things under control –’ She hesitated before adding, ‘Dale Stevens was determined to resign as president this afternoon. I spent over an hour on the phone with him, convinced him to stay on. He has a number of enemies on the board, unmitigated troublemakers who try to tie his hands whenever they can.’ She shook her head ruefully. ‘What I should have said a moment ago is that he’s agreed to stay on as president until the end of the year. All I’ve done really is buy myself a little time.’
CHAPTER 27
‘John Crawford offered to explain the procedure in a coroner’s court,’ Daisy said, looking from Edwina to Anthony. ‘He feels it will help us to be more relaxed about the inquest.’
Anthony said, ‘It certainly would, Aunty Daisy.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll go and fetch Bridget. I think she ought to hear what your family solicitor has to say. Excuse me,
As he left the library, Daisy rose and joined Edwina on the sofa. She took her half-sister’s hand in hers and squeezed it, looking deeply into her care-worn face. ‘Try not to worry, Edwina. In a few hours this tragedy will be behind us. We must go on, you know, endeavour to get on with our lives as best we can.’
‘Yes, Daisy, and thank you for your concern. I’ll be all right,’ Edwina murmured in a tired voice. The last few days of anxiety and strain had taken their toll, and she looked exhausted, near total collapse. The black dress she had chosen to wear, stark and unrelieved by jewellery or any accent colour, did nothing to enhance her appearance. It appeared to drain what bit of colour she had from her face, emphasizing her pallor more than ever. She looked ill, and her age showed pronouncedly this morning.
Gratitude suddenly flickered in Edwina’s silvery-grey eyes as she added quietly, ‘I don’t know what I would have done without you and Jim. Where is he, Daisy?’
‘Right now he’s on the phone to Paula, and I believe he has a few calls to make to people on the paper. But he’ll join us as soon as he’s finished. It’s not really essential for him to be briefed. He knows the inner workings of a coroner’s court since he used to cover inquests in his early days as a reporter.’
‘Oh yes, of course, he would understand about those things.’ Edwina shifted her glance to the clock on the mantelpiece at the other side of the handsome panelled room. ‘It’s almost eight-thirty. We’ll have to leave soon to drive into Cork. It’ll take us well over an hour, perhaps an hour and a half, you know.’
Detecting the nervousness and panic in Edwina’s voice, Daisy said reassuringly, ‘We’ve plenty of time. The inquest is set for eleven, and this session with John won’t take very long. He said he could cover the important points in about ten minutes. After that we can start out, drive in at a leisurely pace. Do stay calm, my dear.’
‘I’m fine, really. Just a little tired. I didn’t sleep very well.’
‘I don’t think any of us did,’ Daisy said with a slight smile. ‘I’m going to have another cup of coffee. Would you like one?’
‘No, thank you, Daisy.’ Edwina sat rigidly on the sofa, twisting her hands in her lap, her chest tight with apprehension. For four days and nights she had lived with this terrible fear for her son. She could not wait to go to the county court, to get the inquest over and done with, so that the cloud surrounding him would be lifted finally. Only then would she be able to relax. She would willingly give her life for Anthony. He was the only person who mattered to her, and once the inquiry into the cause of Min’s death was over, she would support him in anything he wished to do. Even if that meant accepting Sally Harte, of whom she did not approve. Until the day she died she would regret her passive role in the trouble that had developed between Min and Anthony in the past few weeks. Anthony had asked her to intercede, to reason with her, insisting she could influence his estranged wife to proceed with the divorce as originally agreed. And perhaps she could have, but she would never know, for she had refused. Now poor Min was dead. She would still be alive if I had spoken to her, Edwina thought for the umpteenth time. The pain in her heart intensified. Her guilt soared.
Daisy brought her cup of coffee and sat down in the chair opposite. She said, ‘Have you decided what you want to do? Will you come to London for a few days’ rest after the funeral?’
‘Perhaps I should get away from here,’ Edwina began and stopped, looking at the door as Anthony came in with Bridget O’Donnell, the housekeeper at Clonloughlin.
‘M’lady, Mrs Amory,’ Bridget said, inclining her head, taking the chair Anthony indicated.
Daisy, always gracious, smiled at her. ‘As you know, Mr Crawford is our solicitor and he came over to help in any way he can. He is going to explain a few things to us, Bridget, as I’m sure Lord Dunvale has told you. However, I just want to add that there’s nothing to be alarmed about.’
‘Oh I’m not worried, Mrs Amory, not at all,’ Bridget answered quickly, in a clipped tone that partially obscured the lilting burr, meeting Daisy’s gaze unblinkingly. ‘It’s a very simple matter, telling the truth. And that’s what I aim to do.’ A small smug smile flicked across her narrow pale mouth and she sat back, crossed her legs. Her red hair gleamed in the sunlight, its fiery hue contrasting markedly with her icy cold blue eyes.
Daisy’s opinion that Bridget O’Donnell was a cool customer, calculating and sure of herself, was reaffirmed. She did not particularly like this woman, whom she guessed was about thirty-five or thereabouts, even though she did not look it.
Glancing away, Daisy turned to Anthony, but before she had a chance to say anything the door opened to admit John Crawford, the son of Emma’s solicitor of many years and now a senior partner in the firm of Crawford, Creighton, Phipps and Crawford. Of medium height and build, he was nevertheless ramrod straight and had a military bearing which combined with his forceful personality to give him an aura of presence. At forty-six he had sandy hair peppered with grey, bright informed brown eyes in a pleasant face that was oddly bland, and did nothing to reveal a razor-sharp legal brain of great brilliance.
‘Good morning. Sorry to keep you waiting,’ he said briskly, striding forward to join them at the windowed end of the long book-filled room. Daisy offered him coffee but he declined. He remained standing behind a chair, his hands resting lightly on its back. He looked completely relaxed and untroubled, and as he always did with his clients, he endeavoured to convey a feeling of supreme confidence whatever his private thoughts and opinions were.
Crawford said, ‘I realize this is going to be quite an ordeal for you this morning, and so I thought I might help if I gave you a run down on the manner in which a coroner’s court is conducted. Understanding something about the proceedings may lessen everyone’s nervousness, I hope.’ His eyes swept over the four of them. ‘Feel free to ask any questions as I go along. Since none of you have attended an inquest before, let me first say that the coroner’s court is conducted in a rather informal way. However –’ He paused, looked at them keenly, and speaking slowly, as if to give added emphasis to his words, went on, ‘I must stress that the informality in no way lessens its importance. It is one of the highest courts in the land, and it is ruled by the law of evidence. Any questions?’ A sandy brow lifted. ‘All right, on to the next –’
‘Excuse me, John,’ Daisy said, ‘could you please clarify what you mean by informal. I don’t quite understand.’
‘Ah yes, of course. By informal I mean that the coroner is not wearing robes. He is dressed in a business suit, also the manner of speaking is less formal than other courts. The coroner chats informally with the interested parties before evidence is given on the witness stand under oath.’
‘Thank you, John. One other question. The coroner is usually a solicitor, a barrister, or a doctor with legal training, isn’t he?’
‘That is quite correct, Daisy. The coroner is not a judge, even though he is in fact making the ruling. He also has a very wide latitude in his conduct of an inquiry. If there are no other questions, I shall continue. I now come to a most important point, and it is this. The coroner will accept hearsay in this court, which is not common practice in other courts of law under British justice, where hearsay is inadmissible evidence.’
Anthony leaned forward. ‘What does that mean?’ He shook his head. ‘It can’t mean what I think it does!’ he went on to exclaim, his voice more high-pitched than normal.
‘Yes, Lord Dunvale, it does. A coroner will listen to something a person has heard but does not know to be true…rumour, gossip, if you will.’
‘I see,’ Anthony said in a more composed voice, even though he was experiencing inner alarm at the thought of the gossip which had been rife in the village for months.
Edwina and Daisy exchanged worried glances. Neither said one word.
John Crawford, aware of their uneasiness, cleared his throat, continued, ‘Let me qualify hearsay more fully, as it applies in the
‘Do the police question any of the witnesses?’ Anthony asked.
‘No, no. Never. That is not permissible in a coroner’s court. Only the coroner is empowered to ask the questions.’ Crawford swung around as the door opened.
Michael Lamont, the estate manager at Clonloughlin, entered swiftly, closed the door behind him. Tall and heavy-set, he had a shock of dark curly hair and a merry weather-beaten face that matched a jovial manner. As he hurried across the floor he apologized profusely.
Anthony said quickly, ‘I’ll fill you in later, Michael. John’s been explaining the procedure…the way in which an inquest is conducted.’
Nodding his understanding, Lamont sat down next to Edwina on the sofa, acknowledged the other women with a quick smile. He said, ‘I did attend an inquest once before, so I’m vaguely aware of the form.’
‘Good, good,’ Crawford exclaimed with a brief nod. ‘I shall get on with this as quickly as possible. There may or may not be a jury of six or eight people. Either way, the coroner imposes his will, if necessary talks the jury around to his way of thinking and what he feels is right. But it is the coroner who decides and pronounces the verdict – of misadventure, suicide, accidental death, natural causes or –’ He paused, added quietly, ‘– or murder.’