Royal Heist Part 31

Clint sighed. "It was a while back now, three months." He stared hard at the photograph. "Yes, it's him."

Sylvia replaced the photograph in her handbag and smiled. Her lips were almost blue it was so cold. No wonder de Jersey hadn't wanted to help her trace Philip Simmons. He'd threatened her, and now she was pretty sure that those threats had been designed to throw her off the scent, but she'd show him! Edward de Jersey, alias Philip Simmons, was going to pay her handsomely for what she had discovered.

CHAPTER 20.

Over lunch a couple of days later, Christina told de Jersey that she was planning a dinner party.

"Who do you want to invite?" he asked, as he unfolded his napkin.

"I don't know. Maybe some of the jockeys and trainers, make it a fun evening." She ladled out the spinach soup. "What do you think?"

"Sounds good to me. We've not had a staff get-together for a long time." He broke up his bread and dipped it into the soup.

"Shall I organize it, then?"

"Sure."

He looked up in surprise as her roll hit his head. "What was that for?"

She glared at him. "Do you think I'm blind, stupid, or what? I want you to stop treating me like a child and start telling me the truth. The yard is like a morgue. The entire east wing is empty, and half of the staff are missing. We're in dire financial trouble, aren't we?"

"Ten points."

"Don't use that sarcastic tone with me."

"I wasn't aware that I was using any specific tone."

"G.o.d, I hate you when you're like this. It's like I'm sitting opposite a stranger. If things are bad, then we should discuss it like adults."

"And what could you do about it, my darling? Did your mother leave you a vast legacy?"

She stood up, walked round to him, removed his soup plate, went to the kitchen, and threw it into the sink. She returned with a large bowl of salad and banged it down on the table. "Help yourself."

"Thank you," he said. She returned to the kitchen and came back with a roasted chicken. She banged that down too, jabbed it with a carving knife, then returned to her seat.

"Throwing a tantrum, Christina, is not going to help. Pa.s.s me your plate and I'll serve."

It whizzed past his head and crashed against the wall. "I'm waiting for you to tell me what is going on," she said. "Or do you want me to go out and ask Donald Fleming?"

She poured herself a gla.s.s of wine as he carved the chicken breast. Eventually he said, "It's those investments I lost out on. The situation is worse than I initially thought. A lot worse."

"How long have you known?"

"Quite a while. I just didn't want to bother you with it. With your mother's illness, I felt you had enough to worry about without me adding to it."

"How bad is it, then?" she asked.

"Well, I've had to sell off a lot of the horses, and I'll probably have to sell more. Now is the time to do it. I shouldn't be away too long. Couple of days."

"Where are you going?" she snapped.

"To look at some auctions, maybe Dublin. I'm not sure."

"I'll come with you."

"If you want."

"What I want, Edward, is for you to be honest with me. If you're saying we're in financial trouble, why buy more horses?"

"I'm more than likely going to try to find buyers for the ones I have to let go. Does that answer your question?"

"Why are you being like this?"

He pushed away his plate and sighed. "Because it's breaking my heart."

"So you have to hurt me too?"

"Not intentionally. But I have a lot to think about and-"

"Maybe if you shared it, it wouldn't be so bad."

She was shocked when he met her eyes. His were br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears.

"Oh, Edward," she said softly.

"Christina . . ." He turned away from her, and she got up to put her arms around him. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Darling, whatever happens, no matter how bad, if we see it through together we'll be okay. That's what's important, sharing it."

He drew her down to sit on his knee. "This is what happens when you marry someone old enough to be your father," he told her. "I should be taking care of you and the girls, and here I am getting tearful because it's all crumbling about my ears."

Christina hugged him tightly. "So, from the beginning. I know it started with David Lyons's suicide. I want you to tell me everything."

He sighed. "David got me into this mess. He stiffed me rigid. He delved into every account and proved to me how dumb I was to place such trust in him. He had carte blanche." He rocked her. "Let's continue this in more comfort. I need a brandy."

De Jersey walked with his wife into the drawing room. The fire was blazing, and she drew the curtains as he poured himself the brandy. He was working out in his mind how much to tell her. He lit a cigar and sat in the center of the sofa. He patted the cus.h.i.+on, and she curled up next to him, more like one of his daughters than his wife. She seemed so young and he felt so very old.

"I forgot to tell you. You must promise me that you'll be free on the second of May."

"What?"

"We have a school open day. They're doing The Taming of the Shrew, and Natasha's got the lead part. We have to be there at about six."

He took a deep breath. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"So, now that you have your brandy and your cigar and I'm sitting comfortably beside you, start with David Lyons's suicide."

He blew a smoke ring, then closed his eyes. "I can't believe you threw a roll at my head."

"Don't change the subject."

"Followed by a dinner plate." He laughed but stopped when he saw her expression. "I love you so much," he said quietly.

"Don't cut me out, Edward. Please. How bad is it?"

"Well, for me to lose one horse hurts like h.e.l.l, so to lose an entire wing was a catastrophe. But I made enough from the sales to cover a substantial part of my losses. The estate is worth millions-the land alone is worth a fortune and I can sell some if I need an infusion of cash." He talked on, embroidering the lies for his wife, wis.h.i.+ng they were true.

That following afternoon, de Jersey went into the yard with Fleming to look at the horses, particularly Royal Flush, who was being saddled for a training session. De Jersey stroked his neck. "How you doing, my son, eh?"

"He's a special one, isn't he?" Mickey Rowland, the jockey, had joined them. He was fixing the strap beneath his riding helmet. "He's been a b.u.g.g.e.r the last few days. If he gets downwind of the stud he's a right handful. Couple of mares are in season, and you know what the young colts are like, randy sods."

De Jersey nodded. It was rare to have a racing stable and a stud in the same vicinity-a colt could smell a mare in season from a good distance away. This was why racing stallions did not go to stud until they had won enough races to make it worth the stud fees. Once they had mounted a mare, they became willful.

Mickey took the reins and could not resist kissing the horse's velvety nose. "I love him, he's a real character," he said.

De Jersey helped him into the saddle. "Yes, he's special, Mickey, and he's going to win the Derby."

"That's every racehorse owner's dream," Mickey said as he slipped his feet into the stirrups. "It's my dream too, Boss. I'd give a lot to ride him in the Derby."

"It's your ride, Mickey, but you've got to bring him in first at Lingfield, yeah?"

"Thank you, sir. I'll do my best."

De Jersey watched as his beloved Royal Flush walked out of the yard, Mickey talking to him as he tossed his head, eager to get to the gallops.

"Tony. Tony!"

Driscoll sat up in bed, his heart beating fast.

"What?" he yelled back.

Liz walked in with an invoice in her hand. "You've not paid the florist and they're saying that if we don't settle up they'll take legal action."

He flopped back onto the pillows. "s.h.i.+t, is that all? I thought there was a bleeding fire."

"I'd like to throw you in one," she snapped. "The caterers are screaming too-and don't you hide under the duvet, cos I've not finished. I had Mich.e.l.le on the phone this morning. She tells me an estate agent's been walking in and out of the villa showing buyers around. They're on their honeymoon, for G.o.d's sake!"

Driscoll closed his eyes. She sat on the edge of the bed and prodded him. "You'd better come clean with me, Tony. What the h.e.l.l is going on?"

Driscoll burped, and she threw his antacid tablets at him. "I'm waiting. Have you not told me the full story about these bad investments?"

"I lost everything I invested."

"And how much was that?"

"A lot. We're in trouble now, but I'm gonna sort things out. In the meantime, though-"

"In the meantime you've got to pay these bills. It was your daughter's wedding, and you know how people round here talk."

"I don't give a f.u.c.k."

"Well, I do!" She paused. "Do you need the money from the villa to pay for the wedding?"

"Yeah. Soon as it's sold I'll sort out the florist."

"But it might not sell for ages-and what about all my stuff there?"

"I'm selling it furnished."

"But I worked my b.u.t.t off doing that place up! I could have a real go at you, Tony. I really could."

"Oh, go and work it off with your muscleman. I can't take any more of your yelling."

"I'm not yelling. But I think we're gonna have to sit down and talk this out. I need to know just how badly off we are. We don't have to sell this place, do we?"

"Not yet."

"Not yet! I've got a garden party arranged for this summer. We can't sell. Please don't tell me we're in that deep."

He sat up and rubbed his head. "Can you just leave me alone? I've got a headache."

"You've had one for months," she said and stormed off.

Kevin was warming up when Liz came in. She was about to join him when she burst into tears.

"I've just about had my fill of him." She sniffled. "He's selling the villa without even asking me." Kevin handed her a tissue. "He's got into some terrible financial difficulty. It's just unbelievable that he's not said a word to me."

Kevin hovered. "Perhaps he didn't want to worry you."

"Worry me? He can't pay for his daughter's wedding. I'm worried all right."

Kevin took another tissue and handed it to her as she blew her nose. "I'm sorry. Do you want to leave the workout this morning?"

"No, no I don't. I want to work this out of my system. I want you to really push me this morning, Kevin. Take my mind off that husband of mine."

"I can think of a number of ways I can do that," he said, taking her in his arms. They went into a pa.s.sionate embrace as he tried to peel off her red leotard.

"No, Kevin, we can't. He's in the house."

"So? He's been in and around before. It never bothered you then."

"Well, it does now. I'm just not in the mood. I'm sorry."