Inheritance Page 11

  “I’ll send you payment immediately. For the work already done. We’ll discuss any future payments as need be, so don’t hesitate to use whatever resources you need. I want you to look into every aspect of this. Find out who is responsible. Do anything it takes. You should contact me as soon as you have any news.”

  Edith nodded in reply. Samuel approached a waiter and paid for the meal. Soon back at the table he paced as he repeated himself.

  “You have my instructions, correct? It’s imperative that you find out as much as you can, as soon as you can. I’m sorry I have to go like this, please enjoy the rest of the wine.”

  With that, Samuel Faircote raced from the restaurant.

  Edith took another sip of wine. He was hiding something. It seemed everybody was.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  Edith didn’t need to look up to know who was standing behind her as she watched Samuel leave. The soft Lithuanian accent she could recognise even in her sleep.

  “Andrius!” Edith gasped involuntarily. “I thought you were in New York?”

  “I was,” Andrius sat down in Samuel’s seat, “but now I’m in Manchester. Want another drink?”

  “Sure,” Edith looked at Andrius’s face, his laddish looks and hints of pure playfulness which she could never resist, “but make it a beer, I’m sick of wine.”

  “You’re always sick of wine,” Andrius laughed, “obviously your new boyfriend doesn’t know you well enough if he’s trying to pour wine into you.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “I’m away for a week and you replace me. Seriously, babe, seriously?” Andrius tutted and picked up Samuel’s business card from the table.

  “You’re not my boyfriend either.” Edith turned away to the window as she spoke, hoping that he would not notice her inability to say those words and mean them. Better to change the topic entirely. “Did you know this restaurant is the closest thing Manchester has to getting a Michelin star?”

  Andrius didn’t respond. Instead he inspected the business card, no doubt wondering what business he had with Edith.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  “Huh? What?” Andrius leant over a kissed Edith on the cheek. “I was distracted by your beauty. Say it again.”

  “Why haven’t you taken me to this restaurant before? It’s the best in Manchester.”

  “Oh, I’m saving it for when I propose to you.” Andrius winked. It was impossible to tell whether he was lying or being so honest to throw her off the truth. He went back to inspecting the business card.

  Edith answered his question before it was asked. “I’m working a case for my father.”

  Andrius nodded and grunted. What was so interesting about the business card? He knew as much about her father’s work as she did. He also knew that her father hated him with a cornucopia of jealousy, xenophobia, and protectiveness. A rich foreigner fucking his daughter. What was there not to hate?

  On his part, Andrius blamed Ben for Edith’s inability to commit. She waited on him and he disparaged Andrius in her presence. A month or two away from him would have sorted that out. Andrius would have taken her away immediately if he could. Yet after nearly six years they were barely even in a regular relationship. He had never waited so long for anything.

  “Working a case, huh?” He raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

  “Something to do,” Edith smiled shallowly, “it’s interesting.”

  “Yeah?” Andrius knew she was lying.

  “I need the money. That’s why.”

  “Babe! Why didn’t you ask me?” Andrius stretched his hands out to Edith. “You know I would help you, as much as you need. Even if it goes to your father.”

  Edith drew away from his reach. Of course Andrius would offer money. She cursed herself for mentioning it in his presence. Any debt would be turned against her father and used to pry her away. Even though Sunny and Andrius would disagree even about the weather, they were in harmony on one key thing: Edith should abandon her dad.

  Some people had interesting lives, trapped in love triangles. Edith experienced the joy of existing in a hate quadrangle.

  “Maybe we get married, hey?” Andrius flicked the business card around his fingers. “You won’t have to worry about money then, you’ll be a kept woman. Would you like that? We can put your father in a home.”

  “No!” Edith protested not from the distastefulness of the suggestion, but that she had thought it herself at various times. “I owe him my loyalty, I’m his daughter. Besides, why do you think that’s our relationship?”

  “We have a relationship now?” Andrius smiled for a moment, but soon let the corners of his mouth drop. “Sunny doesn’t want anything to do with him, does she? You told me as much. And you said he’s not getting better. Here’s your way out.”

  Edith held up a hand to stop Andrius and with the other pointed to the business card. “This guy’s just agreed to pay fifteen thousand for our work, and more to come. So I don’t need to worry for a while yet.”

  Andrius pursed his lips. “Fifteen grand, hey? Well, good for you. I mean, it will keep you going for a while.” He wondered what Edith thought constituted a lot of money. “What’s the case about? Can’t be serious for that little.”

  “Two of his relatives were murdered.” It was better to ignore his insult.

  “What? Hasn’t he called the police?” Andrius smiled at a private thought before sharing it with Edith. “And why aren’t you asking for more money?”

  “The police think one committed suicide and the other was an accident. Oh, and the fifteen grand is just a down payment for the first few days’ work.” Edith played with the rim of her wine glass. “Weren’t you going to buy me a beer?”

  Andrius threw his hand up for a waiter. “Well, that makes more sense. So somebody’s knocking off the...,” he glanced at the business card again, “...Faircotes one by one?”

  “Maybe. That’s what I have to investigate. To find out who. Or why.” The waiter came and she paused for a moment while Andrius ordered drinks. “But here’s the thing: the two murders were nearly thirty years apart.”

  “Somebody with a long memory.” He glanced out the window though Samuel was long gone. “I guess the guy fears he’s next?”

  “Why do you say that?

  “I was watching you.”

  “And?”

  “He seemed pretty agitated. I admit I thought about stepping in.”

  “He was agitated. I’ve met him twice before and he was nothing like that. He’s worried, which is understandable. But there was something more.” Edith held her hand across her mouth and thought.

  “What?”

  “I don’t what is was, or how to explain it. But part way through his demeanour just changed as though a wave passed over him. Did you see it? He went from angry to, I don’t know, distracted?”

  “I tell you what, babe,” Andreas pointed at her as he spoke, emphasising his conclusion, “he’s hiding something. He knows something you don’t. Whatever you told him is only part of the puzzle. That’s why he reacted like he did. He’s made a connection that you haven’t.”

  “I figured that. I don’t know what it could be though.” The waiter arrived with their drinks. Edith dropped the line of thought to take a mouthful.

  Andrius watched Edith drink her beer. Uncultured, uncomplicated. Sat in a fancy restaurant drinking a pint, like she had done countless times before. If only she could be this way forever. Yet he yearned to show her what she could become.

  “Will you watch the parade with me?” Andrius drew her hand toward him and kissed it. “I have tickets.”

  “The parade?” She let her arm fall limp as he held it. “Oh, the royal parade. You don’t need tickets, it’s an open event. You just stand on the street and watch.”

  “We won’t. We’ll stand in the skybar of the Beetham Tower and watch from twenty–three floors up.” He grinned. “You need tickets for that.”

  “Oh, wow. Th
at must be pretty exclusive.”

  Andrius rolled his eyes before breaking out in laughter. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  “It’s next Sunday, isn’t it? Why the royal family coming anyway?”

  “A week on Sunday.” Andrius looked sideways, thinking whether his English was correct. “Sunday the nineteenth. And they’re opening a new railway. Well, just a bridge in fact. Don’t get too excited.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Andrius turned in his seat, squirming at the prospect of what he needed to say. “It will be a little formal, of course. The bar has a dress code. No parkas and jeans.”

  “I can imagine. Actually, we’ve been there before.”

  “Yeah, we have.” He looked away. There was no way of avoiding it. “Would you like me to buy you a new dress for the occasion?”

  “Well, I'm not sure that I...”

  “I could come dress shopping with you. Make a day of it.”

  Edith’s eyes widened. Who was this imposter? The Andrius she knew would always have been forthcoming with money to buy new clothes. But never would he have dared to come shopping with her.

  “But I have that lovely blue...,” then she remembered. That blue dress. He hated it.

  The one dress that fitted just right, which maximized what she had and minimized what she didn’t, which never made her feel frumpy even next to the most beautiful woman in the room. He hated.

  Andrius wiped all expression from his face. There was nothing he could add to her thoughts which would make things better, and a great deal he could say to make things worse.

  He restated his offer as matter–of–factly as he could. “I’ld be happy to come shopping any day you want.”

  “Why are we talking about this?” She grabbed Samuel’s business card and flipped it over and over in her hand. She tapped it loudly on the table. “I’m investigating a murder and we’re talking about dresses. It’s ridiculous.”

  “Okay, okay.” He held up his palms. “Let’s leave it.”

  “No, you leave it.” She pointed the card at him, then returned to flipping it over in her fingers.

  He was mesmerised by her fingers. The thoughts piled up in his mind. Then suddenly it clicked.

  “Let me see that card again.” He held out his hand to take it. He studied it for a minute while Edith drank. “Can I keep this?”

  “Why are you so interested in that card?”

  “It belonged to the guy who you were speaking to, right?”

  “Yes, I’ve told you this. You’re not jealous are you?”

  “No. I mean, maybe.”

  “Maybe? Over me?”

  “Not over you.” Andrius looked up. “Is this his business?”

  “It’s a family business. Founded by his great–grandfather.”

  “Hmm. So can I keep it?”

  “No. It has a number on the back which I need.” Edith snatched the card back. “Samuel doesn’t want me talking to his family directly, so he’s given me the number of a family friend.”

  Andrius shrugged.

  “Why are you obsessed with it anyway?”

  “That Samuel guy is the real deal.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look,” Andrius tapped the business card, “this is genuine.”

  “Faircote Paints?” Edith’s brow furrowed. “It’s a real business, I’ve been to the factory.”

  “No!” He snatched the card back and turned it to face her. “The shield. The heraldry.”

  The green and silver coat of arms filled a quarter of the card. It looked like any other. “Isn’t it common in Lithuania? Lots of business have them here. I suppose it’s a bit old–fashioned. But so what?”

  “So what?” Andrius threw himself back in his seat. “So what! This guy is a genuine noble, look at the shield! It’s real. I’ve studied these things.”

  “You have?” Edith laughed. “You seem pretty animated by this.”

  “I am! I’m going to get myself one of these someday.” He meant it. “A coat of arms. A proper English one. You could fake them but most people who do go over the top, it’s so obvious. This one is real, I bet you.”

  “Great, but,” Edith narrowed her eyes and smiled, “so what? I’m not exactly one to bow and scrape to the nobility. I don’t care.”

  “You should.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “For your investigation.” Andrius sighed. “You say the two guys who were murdered come from the same family. It’s an obvious conclusion. If somebody is killing them off, then you have to ask who stands to inherit the title, the lands, and whatever else they’ve accumulated over the centuries.”

  Day 7: Tuesday 7 November

  The view from Andrius’s bed, even on a dull autumn morning, was magnificent. The city stretched south in an endless horizon. Rather than soaring far above its surroundings, the building peered over its neighbours by a head. The whole city layered deeply in sandstone, slate, and terracotta.

  The triple domes of the Royal Exchange stood proud immediately to the left while Barton Arcade’s twin cupolas rose from a sea of slate roofs to the right. Between them lay the pink tower of St Ann’s, restrained and straight–lined, predating everything else in sight. Behind it rose the Gothic steeple of the town hall, needling the sky and marking the very centre of the city.

  All around the city’s Victorian fabric spread outward, thick in the centre near the town hall, but thinning, growing threadbare, until it was rent by the gash of the inner ring road. The road itself was mostly invisible except for the gaps in the horizon where the road lay instead of buildings. Only far to the south, where the carriageways climbed on stilts as the Mancunian Way, could the road by spied.

  Deansgate ran like a chord, north–south across the city, from ring road to ring road. No 1 lay at near one end. At the other, in the middle distance, loomed the tallest building in the city, Beetham Tower. A tall, thin slab of glass, top–heavy by design, and surmounted by a tall glass blade that was said to sing in high winds. The bottom half one of the best hotels in the city, the top half the most desirable address.

  For a decade it had been by far the tallest building in the city. Far to the left and the right a scattering of cranes throughout the city testified that Beetham Tower would one day be unremarkable, one among many. Its greatest rivals stood directly behind, rising in its shadow.

  On the very edge of the skyline, along Owen Street, two new towers were slowly creeping upward to match and surpass the Beetham Tower. Two slender boxes with pinched sides, their grey frames struggling to keep up with a thrusting concrete core which rose every few days. Glass covered the bottom floors while the top were still non–existent in the air above. No time was wasted. In a year the Beetham Tower would be second tallest, then soon afterward the third.

  Though the twin towers of Owen Street were only months old their presence already bled into the consciousness of even the most unobservant. Views along Whitworth Street, Mosley Street, and Deansgate were now enclosed by one or both of the new towers. Andrius’s own apartment building, No 1 Deansgate, lay at the very northern end of one such view.

  Edith had hoped that being number one would be enough for him, but the view had served to inflame his ambition. He longed to own the penthouse of the Beetham Tower, but the architect had bagged it for himself. Now the Owen Street towers gave him an even higher goal. Maybe he was already planning his move.

  She had watched how, over the six years she had been with Andrius, he had gotten everything he wanted. The quick succession of more desirable cars, and apartments, and clothes, and travel. Only the girlfriend stayed the same, most of the time. He shared these things freely with her and she scandalized him with her modesty. They were nice, she said, but so what?

  She never really asked where the money came from. Andrius wasn’t a criminal but he did things she didn’t understand. He was a ‘businessman’, in his own words, which was the least committed of titles he could imagine. He certainly didn’t work for an
ybody though nobody seemed to work for him. He made things happen, and those things made Andrius rich. It was a neat equation.

  The first time Andrius showed Edith an earlier penthouse she had begun to grasp his true wealth, though only through the lens of extreme ignorance. ‘Andrius, you own this? You must have a million pounds! Andrius, why didn’t you tell me?’ She gasped half–drunk, more shocked than awed. He laughed that the apartment alone was a multiple of a million pounds, and he certainly didn’t regard it as anything particularly special. He had friends with single properties worth ten times that.

  Explaining money to her was impossible due to her indifference. She had been shocked by the possibility he was a millionaire, not excited. ‘Yes. It’s true.’ He had nodded with the simplicity of his confession. That’s all she ever wanted.

  Andrius could have been a billionaire for all it mattered. Her father would never like him. And while Dad needed daily care it was impossible for Edith to square the circle of her life.

  “Dad!” Edith sprang upright in bed.

  She slipped her frame from under the quilt and hunted the bedroom for her clothes.

  Andrius propped himself up on a single elbow and watched her naked body. From behind she sometimes resembled a teen boy, gangly and poiseless. There was little feminine about her. He couldn’t put into words why he was attracted to her, not physically. It must have been her wit and charm.

  He snorted.

  She stopped, half–dressed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “I’m not.”

  She shrugged. “Okay. Whatever.”

  “Call me when you’re free.”

  “I will.”

  “And don’t forget what I said about your date last night. Lord Nervous is hiding something.”

  Edith’s slid through the lightlock and into her father’s room.

  “I’m sorry.”

  There was silence in the darkness.