Malcolm’s apartment was literally two minutes from the restaurant. Within easy walking distance, normally he didn’t need to drive. He liked living in Town, he could walk to any part of it within fifteen minutes. The walk home was uphill and it was a measure of his fitness that he never returned out of breath.
After parking in the underground car park, he escorted Louisa to the lift for his penthouse. He still couldn’t quite believe that he was about to invite his daughter into the apartment. Until yesterday he’d had no idea that she even existed, whereas Louisa had known for years about him. Or at least the idea of him. As the lift purred its way to the top, he thought of Susan, the lovely woman who’d had his child. If only his mother had not fallen ill at that time…Although he’d had a good life, he often felt the lack of something, someone. Initially, he’d thought it was the loss of his mother in her fifties. Too young. Their bond had been close, but not claustrophobic. It was her idea for him to spend time working in London.
‘You need to breathe your own air, son. Do things and learn things that I can’t teach you. You’re thirty now, time to come out of my shadow and try a different path. You might decide you don’t want to be an hotelier…’
‘Don’t be daft, Ma. I can’t think of anything better. I’ve loved every minute of working by your side. You’ve taught me the business too well for me to want to try something different.’
His mother nodded, a pleased look on her face. At fifty she was still a very attractive woman, her blue eyes and fair hair drew admiring glances from much younger men. But she didn’t seem to notice. She had an on–off relationship with a guy from out of town who “visited” at irregular intervals, but it seemed to suit her. Malcolm guessed that Betty liked being independent too much to settle permanently with a man.
They were eating dinner together in her private suite and his mother looked thoughtful as she sipped her wine. ‘If you’re serious about staying in the hotel business, then why not go to London and get a managerial position in a top-notch hotel. Just for a couple of years. When you return we’ll open a luxury hotel or two ourselves.’ She fixed him with her penetrating gaze. ‘Could be fun.’
‘What, going to London or opening luxury hotels?’ he replied, laughing.
‘Both, of course!’
Betty hadn’t lived to see him open his first luxury hotel in Toronto. When he’d rushed back from London she was in the final, debilitating stages of ovarian cancer. Although they’d been in regular contact by phone while he was away, she had never once told him about her illness. His shock soon turned to despair when he discovered there was nothing to be done. His wonderful, loving, hard-working mother died weeks later.
As the lift reached its destination, Malcolm smiled at the woman he knew his mother would have adored. Louisa’s answering smile was guarded, as if she wasn’t quite sure about him. He sighed inwardly, it might take time but he was determined to make their relationship work. There had to be some good come out of Susan’s untimely death.
‘Right. Please come in.’ He pushed open the maple wood door, switching on an array of lights from a central control.
Louisa’s eyes opened wide as she gazed at the marble flooring and pale wood panelling of the hallway. He strode ahead into the softly-lit enormous, open-plan living/dining area, beckoning her to join him by one of the floor to ceiling windows. She followed his gaze and gasped.
‘Oh, how beautiful! What a fantastic view of the marina and the islands. If I lived here I’d spend all day just gazing out of the window.’
Malcolm grinned. ‘That’s what I did when I first moved in. There’s a terrace too, see? Too cold now, but great when it’s warm.’
She nodded, staring out at the terrace bordered with glass and stainless steel and furnished with tables and chairs. Huge pots, filled with date palms and lit from inside, glowed with a soft blue light. It was enchanting.
‘This is some place you have here. It looks pretty new. Is it?’
‘Yes, I was lucky. These apartments were being built at the time I bought La Folie and was looking for my own place in Town. I bought this off-plan so I could choose the finishes. Made life a bit hectic once we started upgrading La Folie, but I found a great interior designer to work on both projects.’
After guiding Louisa to one of the two enormous sofas, he headed into the kitchen to make coffee. He hadn’t used half of the fancy appliances his designer insisted he absolutely needed, but the jazzy coffee machine was a constant joy. Moments later he joined Louisa on the sofa, bearing two cups of aromatic coffee.
‘Thanks.’ She took an appreciative sip and grinned. ‘You may not be much of a cook, but you sure make a mean cup of coffee.’ Putting her cup down on an intricately carved wooden coffee table she asked, ‘Ready to tell me about those jewels?’
‘Not only will I tell you, I can show them to you if you like.’
Louisa’s eyes opened wide. ‘They’re here? I assumed they’d be in a bank.’
Malcolm got up and headed towards the hall. ‘I have a safe in my study. Back in a minute.’ His study, originally planned as a bedroom, adjoined the master suite and the walls were lined with shelves crammed with books. A lifetime’s collection, they had been shipped over from Canada when he moved in. But his pride and joy was the massive mahogany partner’s desk that had originally belonged in La Folie. The previous owner, Hélène Ferbrache, had included it in the sale, not knowing it had once belonged to his father. It was part of the furniture that came with the house when her parents bought it after the war. A bit battered, Malcolm had restored it himself and now the wood glowed against the old leather top. Walking over to one of the bookshelves he pressed a concealed button. A shelf swung out, revealing the safe. Controlled by iris recognition and guaranteed bomb-proof, it offered him total security. He removed two velvet bags, closed the safe and returned to the sitting room.
He found Louisa sitting mesmerised by the flickering flames of the floating fireplace set in the wall.
Malcolm opened one of the bags and pulled out a necklace. Louisa gasped as the firelight reflected sparks off rubies and diamonds, creating the illusion that it, too, was on fire. Two pear-shaped rubies the size of walnuts formed a central drop pendant hanging from a collar of smaller diamonds and rubies.
‘May I?’
‘Of course.’
She picked it up cautiously, as if it would break in her hands. Looking up, she said, ‘I recognise it from the photo, but it looks much more beautiful in the flesh. Is it very old? The setting seems a bit old-fashioned.’
He chuckled. ‘You could say it’s old. Late eighteenth century, actually. And it was from India, belonged to a Maharani, wife of a Maharaja.’ Catching her look of amazement, he continued, ‘I’ll explain. It’s a bit of a long story and, I’m afraid, doesn’t reflect too well on my – our – ancestors.’
Bending over the table he took a matching pair of earrings from the first bag and then opened the second. He lifted out two gold objects, heavily encrusted with emeralds, diamonds and rubies. ‘This is the turban ornament belonging to the Maharaja. Here, have a look.’
Louisa held the larger one first. Shaped like a peacock’s feather, it was studded with “veins” of emeralds against the white of the diamonds. Pear drop emeralds hung from two golden hooks at each end. Picking up the second, looking like a pin brooch, she stroked the enormous central emerald, surrounded by diamonds, and hung with a large drop pearl.
‘I can’t believe this! If these are real they must be worth an absolute fortune.’
Malcolm leaned back with his cup of coffee. ‘Oh, they’re real all right. Had them checked out by an expert in London. One who didn’t ask too many questions,’ he replied, tapping his nose. ‘That’s why I had them with me when I was dating Susan. My great-grandfather was working for the British East India Company when a number of Indian rulers rose up in revolt in 1857. At that time the East India Company weren’t just traders, they were political rulers and the princes, understandably, didn’t like having their power usurped. Most of the old Mughal empire had been annexed by that time, hence the massed revolt.’ He took a long sip of his coffee as Louisa sat wide-eyed on the sofa. ‘The jewellery and artefacts belonging to the defeated Maharajas were sent to Britain and presented to Queen Victoria. However, some found its way into the pockets of the Nabobs, the high-ups in the East India Company, one of whom was my great-grandfather. Roland told my mother the story, passed down the family, that great-grandfather, Albert Blake, amassed quite a fortune while out in India. He scuttled back to England when the British government took control in 1858, kicking out the East India Company.’
‘Wow! That’s some story. So what happened to my great-great grandfather Albert?’
‘Apparently he stayed in England long enough to find a bride and then came over here and built La Folie. With his ill-gotten gains. I gather there’d been rumblings about officials lining their pockets and old Albert thought it was best to be out of sight, but didn’t fancy the tropics. My father was born in La Folie in ’99 and the family still lived very well off Albert’s shrewd investments.’
‘Mm, this is all very interesting, but how does this connect with that…man and my mother?’
Malcolm sighed heavily. ‘I suspect that he was linked in some way to Archie, who killed my father. He’s the only one who knew about the jewels. You see,’ He got up and walked around, stretching his legs, ‘before Archie and my mother left Guernsey, he took the jewels and cash from the safe. Everything would have been inherited by her anyway, if she and Roland had married, as planned. But Archie knew he stood to inherit nothing, hence the row with Roland. So in effect he stole the money and jewels.’ He stopped walking around and sat down next to Louisa.
Taking her hand, he said, ‘There were no other relatives who stood to inherit, Roland was the last of the line and if my parents had married, I’d have been the heir. Although neither my mother nor I had a legal right to Roland’s fortune, it could be argued we had a moral right.’
Louisa nodded in apparent agreement.
Malcolm continued, ‘Archie hid the jewels and any unspent money in their new home in England but, unknown to him, Ma knew the hiding-place. After he was called up she used some of the cash to buy our passage to Canada. I’d imagine Archie was pretty steamed up about it when he got back on leave and found it all gone. Ma changed our surname to avoid being traced. He was probably looking for us for years. And then one day, perhaps he saw the photo of Susan wearing the jewels in the report of the charity ball and…’ He shrugged, gripping her hand tighter. He could only guess this is what happened, but it fitted with what Louisa had said about Susan’s last words – the man said they had seen the photo of her wearing the jewels and he asked about Malcolm. Archie knew Betty’s son was named Malcolm so it would have been logical to assume he had inherited or borrowed them from her. He may have assumed that he had married Susan and she now had the jewels. At the moment he could not think of any other reason why someone would target Susan for the jewels.
Louisa chewed her lip and Malcolm’s feelings of guilt and remorse rose up from where he’d pushed them since she’d told him about Susan. Dear God, my family’s robbed this poor girl of her mother, all for the sake of stolen jewels. I’m going to find the bastard who did this, if it’s the last thing I do.
‘The man I saw wasn’t that old. Late middle-aged, I’d guess. He didn’t run like a young man. Could Archie have a son?’ She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
‘I’ve no idea. We’ve been trying to track Archie down these past few months, so far without success. But I’m even more determined now. The police investigation was led by a local inspector, and he’s since retired so I’d like him to act for me privately. He’ll have access to useful sources and we have more to go on now.’
Louisa, appearing mesmerised by the bright, garish jewels, yawned. ‘Sorry, I’m so tired. Any chance of a lift home? Or I can get a taxi.’
‘Of course I’ll run you home. Let me put these baubles away first.’
He came back bearing their jackets and jangling his car keys. Minutes later they were in the car and heading back into Les Canichers on the way to the sea front. A tired stillness filled the car, only broken by the purr of the powerful engine as Malcolm throttled up the steep Val des Terres. Louisa’s head rested on the back of the seat, her eyes closed. Not wanting to disturb her he remained quiet, his mind full of the events of the past two days. His nightly ritual was to review the day, creating a virtual balance sheet of positive and negative experiences or events. Two entries in the balance sheet for the previous day stood out, one negative, one potentially positive. The negative was Susan’s death, robbing him of the chance to make amends to the woman he now acknowledged was the love of his life. The positive was the arrival of Louisa, apparently a daughter he never knew he had. Initially, he was wary. After all, he was wealthy, an easy target for a con artist or the genuine article looking for money. In his heart he knew Louisa was his flesh and blood so that was okay. He still wanted her checked out and the London private eye had done a thorough job. It seemed that, not only was Louisa who she said she was, but that she had been well provided for by Susan. So not a gold-digger. It was a huge relief as Malcolm believed strongly in getting second chances in life, his mother being a prime example. As he negotiated the winding lanes out to St Martins and La Trelade, he fervently wished for a second chance at love. But this time around, sharing the love between a father and daughter – not a lover.