Murder at the Rocks (2 page)

‘Claire?’

‘Hello, Nick.  I heard you were back.’

‘How?’

‘The University grapevine, of course.  Aren’t you going to invite me in?’  As she spoke, Claire Howell ran her hand along his arm as she walked past him into the room.  ‘My, this is very nice.’  Nicholas closed the door and turned back, frowning as he found her arms encapsulating his neck.  ‘And look at you.’  Her fingers went through his hair.  ‘Ecuador must have agreed with you.’

‘We’re not taking up where we left off, Claire,’ he said, pulling her arms away.

‘But we can do just that, darling. Matthew and I decided to go our separate ways a couple of months ago.’  She sighed.  ‘It just wasn’t working out for us.’  She tossed her bag onto the bed before her arms slithered back around Nicholas’s neck.  ‘So you see there’s nothing to stop us being together.  For now anyway.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve been offered a Visiting Fellowship at the London School of Economics.  I leave in a couple of weeks, but I’m sure we’ll make use of the time we have left.’

Nicholas shook his head and pulled away.  ‘No Claire.  I told you before I left for South America that what happened that night was a mistake.  It shouldn’t have happened.  Let’s leave it there, okay?’  Nicholas’s thoughts went back to the evening he had called on Matthew only to find him away.  Claire, her eyes sparkling, had invited him in for a drink.  With her face illuminated by the firelight as they talked and laughed together, it was in that evening’s charged atmosphere that their lives had become entangled.

‘It’s too late for that.’  Her curdled laughter filled the air.  ‘You see I told Matthew all about that night.’  Nicholas ignored the smirk that came across Claire’s face.  He grabbed her evening bag and handed it to her while guiding her to the door.

As it closed behind her, he remained motionless for a moment, a mixture of feelings taking hold.  Relief at the news that Claire was leaving for London, but also regret that the night they had spent together had, no doubt, cost him Matthew Howell’s friendship.

Trying to put Claire Howell out of his thoughts, Nicholas left the hotel a short time later and made his way to Phillip Street for his appointment with Andrew Pemlett.  He entered the building amidst those arriving for work that day, stopping at the notice board in the foyer before taking the elevator to the 9
^th
level.  Emerging moments later, the name Pemlett & Slythe appeared on the glass door in front of him.  Pushing it open, he found himself in a spacious waiting room where a woman in her late forties peered at him over a pair of black rimmed glasses.

‘Good morning, can I help you?’ she said, her small brown eyes looking him up and down.

‘Yes.  I have an appointment with Mr Pemlett at nine.’

The woman looked at her computer screen her officious manner grating on Nicholas’s already frayed tolerance.  ‘Dr Harford is it?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Take a seat, Dr Harford.  I’ll tell Mr Pemlett you’ve arrived.’  At that moment, Andrew Pemlett emerged from a hallway to the side of the woman’s desk.

‘Ah, Nick, you’re here.  I trust you feel refreshed from your journey.’

‘Yes.’

‘Good.  Come through.’  Nicholas followed Andrew Pemlett back along the hall.  ‘Ferocious isn’t she?’ he said, smiling widely.

‘Just a little.’

‘She can, of course, be worth her weight in gold by keeping some of my more troublesome clients in place - like the one in my office now.  Your uncle arrived a few minutes ago.  Surprisingly, he’s no match for her.’  Pemlett pushed the door open and let Nicholas go in ahead.

Laurence Harford stood on the far side of the room in front of the window.  A heavyset man of medium height, his large shape enveloped in a charcoal grey pinstriped suit, he looked around unsmiling when the door opened.

A moment of silence ensued as the two men stared at each other before Laurence, forcing a smile said, ‘Hello, Nick.  Good to see you back. It’s been a very long time.’

Standing slightly taller than Laurence, Nicholas looked into his uncle’s cold grey eyes and gripped his outstretched hand, sensing at once, his insincerity.  ‘It has.’

‘I understand you’ve been in South America.’

‘Yes, in Ecuador.’

‘Not much of a holiday destination.  What on earth were you doing there?’ asked Laurence.

‘Working with an international research team conducting fieldwork.’

‘Ah, yes, I seem to remember hearing somewhere that you work in the geosciences.  Didn’t go down too well with your father, I understand.’

Nicholas ignored Laurence’s last comment.  ‘I’m only sorry I couldn’t get here before Dad passed away.’

‘Mmm.  It’s unfortunate, but then again, perhaps it’s a blessing.  You can remember him as he was before his health declined.  He became a shadow of the man you knew.’  A slight smirk crossed Laurence’s face as he looked past Nicholas to Andrew Pemlett.  ‘Well, Pemlett.  Let’s get on with it.  I haven’t all day.’

Andrew Pemlett ignored Laurence’s brusque manner glancing at Nicholas before gesturing for the two men to be seated in front of his desk.  ‘Very well, we’ll begin.’  Pemlett sat down, placed his reading glasses on the end of his nose and opened the file on the desk in front of him.  After clearing his throat, he read the opening paragraph of the will at the end of which he paused before continuing.  ‘And now, gentlemen, there are bequests to a number of people who are unable to be with us this morning.’

“To my long serving staff, Hubert Godwin, my butler, Eileen Hadley, my housekeeper and Arthur Rutledge, the caretaker of Gray’s Manor, I leave each the sum of twenty thousand dollars.”

Andrew Pemlett placed the first page of the will face down on the left side of the file and looked up over his glasses at Laurence who sat rigid in his chair, his fat stubby fingers drumming on one of its arms.  Pemlett took a breath and continued.

“The remainder of my estate, I leave to my son Nicholas Harford.  This incl...”

‘What?’  The bellow of Laurence’s voice reverberated around the room.  Pemlett ignored his outburst.

“This includes a fifty-one per cent share in Brayshaw’s Jewellers, the commercial properties listed below, my homes in Mosman and Bowral, their contents and all monies and debenture stocks.”

‘You mean to tell me my brother left everything to Nick including his controlling share of Brayshaw’s.  Obviously he wasn’t in his right mind when you drew up this will, Pemlett.’

Andrew Pemlett glared at Laurence over his glasses.  ‘I assure you, Mr Harford, your brother was in complete control of his faculties when he made this will.’  Pemlett took his glasses from the end of his nose.  ‘I believe that completes our business, gentlemen.’  As he sat back in his chair, Laurence’s fist hit the desk.  Pemlett did not flinch.  Nicholas followed Pemlett’s gaze to see Laurence’s face, now red with rage, his upper lip curling back as he spat out his response.

‘This isn’t the last you’ll hear about this Pemlett,’ said Laurence as he rose from his chair.  ‘And as for you.’  He sank his eyes into Nicholas’s face.  ‘Don’t get too comfortable with your new found wealth.’

As the office door slammed behind Laurence Harford, Nicholas turned back to Pemlett.  ‘I’m sorry about this, Andrew.’

Pemlett sighed, gathering his papers together.  ‘It’s all right.  I expected as much.  Especially in this case.  In my years as a solicitor, I’ve come to realise that wills tend to bring out the worst in families.’

‘Now, let me see.  I have one or two more duties to perform.  I have here the keys to your father’s car for one.’  Pemlett picked up a set of car keys that lay on his desk in front of him and handed them to Nicholas.  ‘You’ll find the vehicle in the garage at Mosman.  It hasn’t been driven much in recent times, but I understand the servicing has been performed regardless.  Then there are the keys to both properties.’ He opened the top drawer of his desk and brought out a brown envelope.  ‘As I mentioned yesterday, Mr Rutledge is still in his position at Gray’s Manor.  I took the liberty of telling him of your return.’  Pemlett hesitated.  ‘What I didn’t mention, however, is that his wife, Marjorie, passed away a couple of months ago.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.  She was always very good to me as a child.  They both were.  How has Rutledge taken it?’

‘We’ve only communicated by telephone, but he seems to be coping well.  He’s a stoical man.  He has expressed an interest in staying on at the Manor, unless, of course, you decide to sell.’

Nicholas thought for a moment of Arthur Rutledge and the bond that had been fused between them over the years.  ‘No.  I won’t be selling.’

Andrew Pemlett smiled as he closed the file in front of him.

Later that same day, Nicholas stood on the front porch of his father’s house in Mosman fumbling for the key in his pocket.  Moments later, the heavy oak door opened and he stepped inside.  As he did so, visions of Godwin and whispers from the past brushed over him, the imposing entrance hall with its cold stillness, a reminder of his early childhood.  Tentatively, he made his way through the house to the kitchen where, as a small child, he had found comfort and warmth in an otherwise sombre household.  The door creaked as it swung open into the now dimly lit room.  Nicholas hovered in the doorway before entering, memories of Mrs Hadley’s reassuring voice and the aroma of her freshly baked biscuits once again filling the air.  He ran his finger along the edge of the oak table in the centre of the room and walked over to the French windows.  Now hidden behind a pair of faded blue curtains, he tentatively drew them back and for a moment stood in disbelief.  Instead of the manicured garden beds once lovingly tended by his mother, and later by Mrs Hadley, he found a tangled mass of overgrown bushes and dead leaves.  The spell broken, Nicholas let the curtains fall back into place as a rush of long suppressed thoughts surfaced in his mind.  With a desire to get outside into the fresh air, he turned and made for the door, the sound of his footsteps reverberating through the house as he went.  Emerging into the entrance hall, he lurched for the front door but then stopped.  The door to his father’s study stood ajar.  Nicholas paused, and then with a mixture of inquisitiveness and regard, he stepped inside to be met by the familiar smell of books and leather.  Instantly, he felt himself swept back into the past

Edward Harford stood, once again, behind his desk, a dark, formidable figure against the light from the window behind.  Nicholas’s mother sat silently in a wingback chair to the side of the desk, tears in her eyes.  Nicholas at eight stood in the centre of the room, his blue eyes riveted to the patterns on the Oriental rug beneath his feet.  ‘Look at me, Nicholas.’  Edward Harford’s voice sent a jolt through Nicholas’s small frame and he raised his head.  ‘I’ve called you here because I’ve decided it’s time for you to go away to school in Melbourne.  The same school I attended as a boy.  You leave in the morning.  I will accompany you.’

‘Edward, please.  Let Nicholas stay at home for just one more year.’

‘No, Elizabeth.  The boy needs to be away from your skirts and your pampering.’

Nicholas’s legs shook as Edward turned back to him.  ‘Now, Nicholas.  Mrs Hadley will help you to prepare your things.’  Edward Harford paused before continuing.  ‘I expect you to do well.’  Nicholas stared at his father who loomed before him.  ‘Well?’

‘Yes, Dad,’ he said, his voice quivering.

The sound of rain as it hit the window brought Nicholas back from his thoughts and he walked over to close the curtains against the penetrating cold.  Turning back into the darkened room, he switched on the desk lamp and looked down at the leather chair from which his father had once ruled the house.  Gingerly, he pulled it out and sat down, the hollowness he felt since his arrival yesterday, persisting.  Added to this now, of course, was Laurence and his animosity, the likes of which Nicholas knew he would have to deal with in an attempt to come to some kind of agreement about Brayshaw’s, and its future.

CHAPTER 4

Nicholas sat back in his father’s chair contemplating his next meeting with Laurence.  As he did so, he looked across the dimly lit study.  The desk lamp with its warm glow created a comfortable feel to the atmosphere.  In stark contrast, he thought, to his impressions as a child when the room had manifested itself as bleak, its dark mahogany bookcases and cold marble fireplace only adding to its gloom.  He picked up his mother’s photograph that sat in a silver frame on the far right-hand corner of the desk before his eyes came to rest on the telescope she had given him only months before her sudden death.  She never knew that her gift would spark his passion for looking into the heavens, he thought.  At that moment, the grandfather clock in the entrance hall chimed.  Nicholas sighed knowing it was time he left if he wished to confront Laurence that afternoon.  He set the frame back in its place, and turning off the lamp, he left the study making his way across the entrance hall to the front door.  He opened it to find a slender young woman, the collar of her black winter coat pulled up around her neck against the brisk wind.

‘Dr Harford?’

‘Yes, I’m Nick Harford.’

‘I’m Ellen Ashworth.  I nursed your father.’  Her eyes went to the jacket slung over Nicholas’s shoulder.  ‘I see you’re on your way out.  I can come back another time if you wish.’

‘No.  Please, come in, Ms Ashworth.’

‘Oh, please, call me Ellen,’ she said stepping inside and rubbing her hands together before undoing the buttons of her coat.  ‘I feel I know you.  Your father talked about you so often.’

‘Here, let me take your coat.’

‘No need.  I can’t stay long.’  She smiled as she pushed back her fair hair, its layers framing an oval face and accentuating her high cheekbones.  ‘It’s just that I promised your father I’d come to see you when you returned home.’

Intrigued by her crisp English accent, Nicholas said, ‘Come through.’  Ellen followed Nicholas across the hall and into the study where she stood for a moment in the doorway and looked around before crossing the threshold.  ‘I so love this room.  I spent many an evening here reading after your father was settled for the night.’  Nicholas turned on the light and closed the door, gesturing for her to sit down.  She chose the wing back chair.  Nicholas threw his jacket over the other chair and half sat on the front edge of the desk.