“Such a pity the coroner concluded that poor Desmond died intestate.” She took a sip of her tea. “Earl Grey,” she remarked, before adding, “It’s going to be difficult for anyone to prove otherwise before June twelfth, when the company will fall so conveniently into that nice Mr. Sorkin’s hands, and for a mere ten thousand pounds he’ll be entitled to fifty-one percent of Mellor Travel, which I estimate to be worth at least a million and a half, possibly more.”
“The board of Farthings has already considered that problem,” said Giles, “and the question of who might be judged by the court to be Mellor’s next of kin. Arnold Hardcastle concluded that with two ex-wives, one daughter he’s lost touch with, and two stepchildren, the legal battle alone could take years to be resolved.”
“I agree,” said Virginia, taking another sip of tea. “Unless, of course, someone came across a will.”
Giles stared at her in disbelief as she returned to her handbag and extracted a slim manila envelope, which she held up for Giles to see. He studied the neat copperplate handwriting that proclaimed, The last will and testament of Desmond Mellor, dated May 12th, 1981.
“How much?” asked Giles.
19
SEBASTIAN STEPPED OFF the plane and joined the other passengers making their way into the busiest terminal on earth. As he only had an overnight bag, he headed straight for customs. An officer stamped his passport, smiled, and said, “Welcome to America, Mr. Clifton.”
He made his way out of the airport and joined a long taxi queue. He had already decided to go straight to Kelly Mellor’s last known address on the South Side of Chicago, which had been supplied by Virginia, but not before she’d extracted another £5,000 from Giles. If Kelly was there, the chairman considered it would have been worth every penny, because he wanted Desmond Mellor’s heir back in England as quickly as possible. They needed to have everything in place for the crucial board meeting in ten days’ time, when it would be decided whether it was Thomas Cook or Sorkin International that would take over Mellor Travel, and Kelly Mellor could be the deciding factor.
He climbed into the back of a yellow cab and handed the driver the address. The cabbie gave Seb a second look. He only visited that district about once a month, and that was once too often.
Seb sat back and thought about what had taken place during the past twenty-four hours. Giles had arrived back at the bank just after five, armed not only with a copy of the legal agreement showing that Mellor had risked losing 51 percent of his company to Sorkin for a mere £10,000, but with the bonus of the only letter Mellor had ever written to his daughter, supplied by Virginia. No doubt acquired after the threat that if Giles didn’t pay up, she would burn the letter in front of him. The singed bottom right-hand edge suggested that Giles hadn’t given up bargaining until the match was struck.
“We’re going to have to move quickly,” Hakim had said. “We only have eleven days left before Mellor Travel’s next board meeting, when it will be decided who takes over the company.”
This time it was Sebastian the chairman selected for the unenviable task of flying to Chicago and bringing back to London the only person who could stop Sorkin taking over Mellor Travel, although there was a Plan B.
Seb had boarded the first available flight from Heathrow to Chicago, and by the time the plane touched down at O’Hare, he felt he’d covered every possible scenario—except one. He couldn’t actually be certain that Mellor’s daughter was living at 1532 Taft Road, because he’d had no way of contacting her to warn her he was coming, although he was confident that if she was, what he had to offer would make her feel like a lottery winner.
He glanced out of the taxi window as they drove into Taft, and was immediately aware why this wasn’t an area taxis would choose to hang around at night looking for fares. Row upon row of dilapidated wooden houses, none of which had seen a lick of paint for years, and no one would have bothered with a double lock because there wouldn’t have been anything worth stealing.
When the cab dropped him outside 1532, his confidence grew. One and a half million pounds was certainly going to change Kelly Mellor’s life forever. He checked his watch; just after six p.m. Now he could only hope she was at home. The taxi had sped away even before he’d been given a chance to offer the driver a tip.
Seb walked up the short path between two scrubby patches of grass that couldn’t have been described as a garden by even the most creative estate agent. He knocked on the door, took a step back, and waited. A moment later the door was opened by someone who couldn’t have been Kelly Mellor, because she only looked about five or six years old.
“Hello, I’m Sebastian. Who are you?”
“Who wants to know?” said a deep, gruff voice.
Seb turned his attention to a squat, muscle-bound man who stepped out of the shadows. He was wearing a grubby T-shirt with “Marciano’s” printed on it, and a pair of Levi’s that looked as if they hadn’t been taken off for a month. A snake tattoo slithered down each well-exercised arm.
“My name’s Sebastian Clifton. I wondered if Kelly Mellor lives here.”
“You from the IRS?”
“No,” said Seb, suppressing a desire to laugh.
“Or that fuckin’ Child Protective Services?”
“No.” Seb no longer wanted to laugh, as he had noticed a fading bruise on the little girl’s arm. “I’ve flown over from England to let Kelly know her father has died and left her some money in his will.”
“How much?”
“I’m only authorized to disclose the details to Mr. Mellor’s next of kin.”
“If this is some kind of scam,” the man said, clenching his fist, “this will end up in the middle of your pretty face.” Seb didn’t budge. Without another word the man turned and said, “Follow me.”
It was the smell that first hit Seb as he entered the house: half-empty fast-food trays, cigarette ends, and empty beer cans littered a small room furnished with two unrelated chairs, a sofa, and the latest VCR player. He didn’t sit down, but smiled at the young girl who was now standing in a corner staring up at him.
“Kelly!” the man bellowed at the top of his voice without looking around. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Seb.
A few moments later a woman appeared in a dressing gown embroidered with the words The Majestic Hotel. She looked worn out, although Seb knew she was only in her early twenties. But she was unquestionably the young girl’s mother, and she had something else in common with the child—several bruises and, in her case, a black eye that heavy makeup couldn’t disguise.
“This guy says your old man’s died and left you some money, but he won’t tell me how much.”
Seb noticed the man’s right fist was still clenched. He could see that Kelly was too frightened to speak. She kept glancing toward the door, as if trying to let him know that he ought to leave as quickly as possible.
“How much?” the man repeated.
“Fifty thousand dollars,” said Seb, having decided that the suggestion of £1.5 million would have been greeted with incredulity and would mean he’d never be rid of the man.
“Fifty grand? Hand it over.”
“It’s not quite that easy.”
“If this is a con,” said the man, “you’ll wish you’d never got off the plane.”
Seb was surprised that he felt no fear. As long as this thug thought there was a chance of picking up some easy money, Seb was confident he had the upper hand.
“It’s not a con,” said Seb quietly. “But because it’s such a large sum of money, Kelly will have to accompany me to England and sign some legal documents before we can hand over her inheritance.”
In truth, Seb had all the necessary paperwork in his overnight bag should Kelly be unwilling to return to England, Plan B. He only needed a signature and a witness, and then he could have handed over a banker’s draft for the full amount in exchange for 51 percent of Mellor Travel. But now he’d met her partner, that was never going to happen. He had moved way beyond Plan
A, B, or C, and his mind was now working overtime.
“She ain’t goin’ nowhere without me,” the man said.
“Fine by me,” said Seb. “But you’ll have to pay your own plane fare to London.”
“I don’t believe a fuckin’ word you’re saying,” the man said, picking up a steak knife and advancing toward Seb. For the first time Seb felt frightened, but he stood his ground, and even decided to take a risk.
“Makes no difference to me,” he said, looking directly at Kelly. “If she doesn’t want the money, it will automatically go to her younger sister.” He hesitated for a moment. “Maureen.” Seb’s eyes never left hers.
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” said the man, swinging around to glare at Kelly.
Seb gave her a slight, almost undetectable nod.
“I, I haven’t seen her for years, Richie. I didn’t even know she was still alive.”
She had told him everything he needed to know.
“Maureen is very much alive,” said Seb. “And she rather hopes Kelly won’t be returning to England.”
“Then she can think again,” said Richie. “Just make sure that bitch comes back with my money,” he said, squeezing the little girl’s arm until she burst into tears, “otherwise she won’t be seein’ Cindy again. So what happens now?”
“My flight leaves for London at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, so I could pick Kelly up around eight.”
“Five hundred dollars would help convince me you’ll be back,” said Richie, brandishing the knife in front of him.
“I don’t have that much on me,” said Seb, taking out his wallet. “But I can give you everything I do have.” He handed over $345, which quickly disappeared into the back pocket of Richie’s jeans.
“I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow morning,” said Seb. Kelly nodded, but didn’t speak. Seb smiled at the little girl, and left without saying goodbye.
Once he was back on the street, he began the long walk to his hotel in the center of town, aware that it would be some time before he came across a cab. He cursed. If only he’d known Kelly had a daughter.
* * *
Sebastian woke at two o’clock the next morning, eight o’clock in London. Despite closing his eyes, he knew he wouldn’t get back to sleep, because his body clock was ticking and he was wide awake on another continent. In any case, his mind was buzzing with thoughts about how Kelly Mellor could possibly have ended up living in such circumstances and with a man like that. It had to be the child.
When three o’clock struck on a nearby church tower, Seb phoned Hakim at the bank, and told him in great detail about his encounter with Richie, Kelly, and Cindy.
“It’s sad that she’ll have to go back to Chicago if she wants to be with her daughter,” were Hakim’s first words.
“No mother would be willing to leave her child with a monster like that,” said Seb. “In fact, I’m not even certain she won’t have changed her mind about leaving her by the time I get back.”
“I wonder if you gave him a thousand dollars in cash, he might let the girl go too?”
“I don’t think so. But twenty-five thousand might do it.”
“I’ll leave you to decide what Plan C is,” said Hakim. “But make sure you’ve got a thousand dollars on you, just in case,” he added before putting the phone down.
Seb took a long hot shower, shaved, dressed, then went downstairs to join the other early risers for breakfast. Looking at the menu, he realized he’d forgotten just how much an American could eat first thing in the morning. He politely declined an offer of waffles and maple syrup, fried eggs, sausage, bacon, and hash browns, in favor of a bowl of muesli and a boiled egg.
He checked out of the hotel just after seven thirty. The doorman hailed a cab, and once again the driver looked surprised when Seb gave him the address.
“I’m picking someone up,” he explained, “and then we’ll need to go on to O’Hare.”
The cab pulled up outside 1532 Taft a few minutes early and, after taking one look at the house, the driver kept the engine running. Seb decided to stay put until just before eight o’clock, not wanting to antagonize Richie any more than was necessary. But he hadn’t noticed two pairs of eyes staring expectantly out of the window, and a moment later the front door eased open and a little girl came scampering down the path toward him. Her mother closed the door quietly behind her and then also began to run.
Seb leaned across and quickly opened the back door of the taxi to allow them to jump in beside him. Kelly pulled it closed and screamed, “Go, go, for God’s sake, go,” her eyes never leaving the front door of the house even for a moment. The driver happily obeyed her command.
Once they’d turned the corner and were heading toward the airport, Kelly breathed a deep sigh of relief, but didn’t stop clinging onto her daughter. It was some time before she had recovered enough to say, “Richie didn’t get back until after two this morning, and he was so drunk he could barely stand. He collapsed on the bed and fell asleep straight away. He probably won’t stir before midday.”
“By which time you and Cindy will be halfway across the Atlantic.”
“And one thing’s for sure, Mr. Clifton, we won’t be coming back,” she said, still clinging onto her daughter. “I can’t wait to see Bristol again. Fifty thousand dollars will be more than enough to buy a little place of my own, find a job, and get Cindy settled into a decent school.”
“It isn’t fifty thousand,” said Seb quietly.
Kelly looked alarmed, her expression revealing her fear at the thought that she might have to return to 1532 empty-handed. Seb took an envelope out of his briefcase addressed to Miss Kelly Mellor and handed it to her.
She ripped it open and pulled out the letter. As she read it, her eyes widened in disbelief.
HMP Belmarsh
London
May 12, 1981
Dear Kelly,
This is the first letter I’ve written to you, and I fear it may be the last. The thought of death has caused me to finally come to my senses. It’s far too late for me to make up for being an abject failure as a father, but at least allow me the chance to make it possible for you to enjoy a better life than I’ve led.
With that in mind, I have decided to leave you all my worldly goods, in the hope that you might, in time, feel able to forgive me. I would be the first to admit I have not led a blameless life, far from it, but at least this tiny gesture will allow me to leave this world feeling I have done something worthwhile for a change. If you have any children, Kelly, be sure to give them the opportunities I failed to give you.
Yours,
Desmond Mellor (AZ2178)
Witnessed by Colin Graves, SPO
PS. You may find it strange that when writing a letter to my daughter, I have signed it with my full name, and had it witnessed by a prison officer. It’s simply to show that this letter is to be considered my last will and testament.
The letter fell to the floor of the taxi, but only because Kelly had fainted.
20
“TODAY THE BOARD must decide,” said the chairman, “who will lead Mellor Travel into the twenty-first century. Two highly respected companies, Sorkin International and Thomas Cook, have each made a bid of two million pounds for the company, but it is for us to decide which we feel is best suited to our present needs. I should point out at this juncture,” continued Knowles, “that I wrote to both Mr. Sorkin and Mr. Brook of Thomas Cook inviting them to address the board so we could assess the merits of both their offers. Mr. Brook failed to reply to my invitation. Make of that what you will.” Knowles didn’t add that although he’d signed the letter to Brook a week ago, he’d only posted it the previous day. “Mr. Sorkin, however, not only replied immediately, but interrupted his busy schedule to be with us today, and this morning deposited two million pounds with our bank to prove his intent.”
Knowles smiled, but then he’d already been promised that a further million would be transferred to his numbered account a
t Pieter & Cie in Geneva, to be cleared the moment Conrad Sorkin took control of the company. What Knowles didn’t know was that Sorkin never had any intention of paying two million for the company. In a few hours’ time he would own 51 percent of Mellor Travel, and everyone sitting around that boardroom table would be out of a job, Knowles included, and he could whistle for his million, because he would no longer be the chairman.
“And so,” continued Knowles, “I would now like to invite Mr. Sorkin to address the board, so he can tell you how he sees the future of Mellor Travel were we to accept his takeover bid.”
Sorkin, dressed in an elegantly tailored dark gray suit, white shirt, and a crimson-and-yellow-striped MCC tie that he didn’t have the right to wear, rose from his place at the other end of the table.
“Mr. Chairman, may I begin by telling you a little about the philosophy of my company. First and foremost, Sorkin International believes in people, and therefore its first priority is to its employees, from the tea lady to the managing director. I believe in loyalty and continuity above all things, and can assure the board that no one currently employed by Mellor Travel need fear being made redundant. I consider myself to be no more than a guardian of the company, who will work tirelessly on behalf of its shareholders. So let me assure you from the outset that if Sorkin International is fortunate enough to take over Mellor Travel you can look forward to a rapid expansion of the workforce, because I intend to employ more staff, not fewer, and in the fullness of time, I would hope it will be Mellor Travel that is making a bid for Thomas Cook, and not the other way around. This of course will require a large capital investment, which I can promise the board I’m happy to commit to. But my company will also require a firm and reliable hand at the tiller, following the distressing circumstances of the past few months. To misquote Oscar Wilde, To lose one chairman is unfortunate, but to lose two…”
Knowles was pleased to see one or two members of the board smiling.
“With that in mind,” continued Sorkin, “I think it’s important to show my confidence not only in your chairman, but in the entire board. So let me say unequivocally, if my company is chosen today to take over Mellor Travel, I would invite Jim Knowles to stay on as chairman, and would ask each and every one of you to remain on the board.”