This Was a Man Read online

  “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