The Endgame Read online

  ‘The shop hasn’t been showing a worthwhile profit for some time, Elizabeth, and you know it. If we don’t accept Cornelius’s offer, we could be paying off the debt for the rest of our lives.’

  Elizabeth remained unusually silent.

  ‘Well, that seems to be settled,’ said Cornelius. ‘Why don’t you just pop round and have a word with my solicitor? He’ll see that everything is in order.’

  ‘And will you sort out Mr Botts?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘The moment you’ve signed over the shares, I’ll deal with the problem of Mr Botts. I’m confident we can have everything settled by the end of the week.’

  Hugh bowed his head.

  ‘And I think it might be wise,’ continued Cornelius – they both looked up and stared apprehensively at him – ‘if Hugh were to remain on the board of the company as Chairman, with the appropriate remuneration.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Hugh, shaking hands with his brother. ‘That’s generous of you in the circumstances.’ As they returned down the corridor Cornelius stared at the portrait of his son once again.

  ‘Have you managed to find somewhere to live?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘It looks as if that won’t be a problem after all, thank you, Elizabeth. I’ve had an offer for The Willows far in excess of the price I’d anticipated, and what with the windfall from the auction, I’ll be able to pay off all my creditors, leaving me with a comfortable sum over.’

  ‘Then why do you need our shares?’ asked Elizabeth, swinging back to face him.

  ‘For the same reason you wanted my Louis XIV table, my dear,’ said Cornelius as he opened the front door to show them out. ‘Goodbye Hugh,’ he added as Elizabeth got into the car.

  Cornelius would have returned to the house, but he spotted Margaret coming up the drive in her new car, so he stood and waited for her. When she brought the little Audi to a halt, Cornelius opened the car door to allow her to step out.

  ‘Good morning, Margaret,’ he said as he accompanied her up the steps and into the house. ‘How nice to see you back at The Willows. I can’t remember when you were last here.’

  ‘I’ve made a dreadful mistake,’ his sister admitted, long before they had reached the kitchen.

  Cornelius refilled the kettle and waited for her to tell him something he already knew.

  ‘I won’t beat about the bush, Cornelius. You see, I had no idea there were two Turners.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Cornelius matter-of-factly. ‘Joseph Mallord William Turner, arguably the finest painter ever to hail from these shores, and William Turner of Oxford, no relation, and although painting at roughly the same period, certainly not in the same league as the master.’

  ‘But I didn’t realise that . . .’ Margaret repeated. ‘So I ended up paying far too much for the wrong Turner – not helped by my sister-in-law’s antics,’ she added.

  ‘Yes, I was fascinated to read in the morning paper that you’ve got yourself into the Guinness Book of Records for having paid a record price for the artist.’

  ‘A record I could have done without,’ said Margaret. ‘I was rather hoping you might feel able to have a word with Mr Botts, and . . .’

  ‘And what . . . ?’ asked Cornelius innocently, as he poured his sister a cup of tea.

  ‘Explain to him that it was all a terrible mistake.’

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, my dear. You see, once the hammer has come down, the sale is completed. That’s the law of the land.’

  ‘Perhaps you could help me out by paying for the picture,’ Margaret suggested. ‘After all, the papers are saying you made nearly a million pounds from the auction alone.’

  ‘But I have so many other commitments to consider,’ said Cornelius with a sigh. ‘Don’t forget that once The Willows is sold, I will have to find somewhere else to live.’

  ‘But you could always come and stay with me . . .’

  ‘That’s the second such offer I’ve had this morning,’ said Cornelius, ‘and as I explained to Elizabeth, after being turned down by both of you earlier, I have had to make alternative arrangements.’

  ‘Then I’m ruined,’ said Margaret dramatically, ‘because I don’t have £10,000, not to mention the 15 per cent. Something else I didn’t know about. You see, I’d hoped to make a small profit by putting the painting back up for sale at Christie’s.’

  The truth at last, thought Cornelius. Or perhaps half the truth.

  ‘Cornelius, you’ve always been the clever one in the family,’ Margaret said, with tears welling up in her eyes. ‘Surely you can think of a way out of this dilemma.’

  Cornelius paced around the kitchen as if in deep thought, his sister watching his every step. Eventually he came to a halt in front of her. ‘I do believe I may have a solution.’

  ‘What is it?’ cried Margaret. ‘I’ll agree to anything.’

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Anything,’ she repeated.

  ‘Good, then I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ said Cornelius. ‘I’ll pay for the picture in exchange for your new car.’

  Margaret remained speechless for some time. ‘But the car cost me £12,000,’ she said finally.

  ‘Possibly, but you wouldn’t get more than eight thousand for it second-hand.’

  ‘But then how would I get around?’

  ‘Try the bus,’ said Cornelius. ‘I can recommend it. Once you’ve mastered the timetable it changes your whole life.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘In fact, you could start right now; there’s one due in about ten minutes.’

  ‘But . . .’ said Margaret as Cornelius stretched out his open hand. Then, letting out a long sigh, she opened her handbag and passed the car keys over to her brother.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Cornelius. ‘Now I mustn’t hold you up any longer, or you’ll miss the bus, and there won’t be another one along for thirty minutes.’ He led his sister out of the kitchen and down the corridor. He smiled as he opened the door for her.

  ‘And don’t forget to pick up the picture from Mr Botts, my dear,’ he said. ‘It will look wonderful over the fireplace in your drawing room, and will bring back so many happy memories of our times together.’

  Margaret didn’t comment as she turned to walk off down the long drive.

  Cornelius closed the door and was about to go to his study and call Frank to brief him on what had taken place that morning when he thought he heard a noise coming from the kitchen. He changed direction and headed back down the corridor. He walked into the kitchen, went over to the sink, bent down and kissed Pauline on the cheek.

  ‘Good morning, Pauline,’ he said.

  ‘What’s that for?’ she asked, her hands immersed in soapy water.

  ‘For bringing my son back home.’

  ‘It’s only on loan. If you don’t behave yourself, it goes straight back to my place.’

  Cornelius smiled. ‘That reminds me – I’d like to take you up on your original offer.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Mr Barrington?’

  ‘You told me that you’d rather work off the debt than have to sell your car.’ He removed her cheque from an inside pocket. ‘I know just how many hours you’ve worked here over the past month,’ he said, tearing the cheque in half, ‘so let’s call it quits.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Barrington, but I only wish you’d told me that before I sold the car.’

  ‘That’s not a problem, Pauline, because I find myself the proud owner of a new car.’

  ‘But how?’ asked Pauline as she began to dry her hands.

  ‘It was an unexpected gift from my sister,’ Cornelius said, without further explanation.

  ‘But you don’t drive, Mr Barrington.’

  ‘I know. So I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ said Cornelius. ‘I’ll swap it for the picture of Daniel.’

  ‘But that’s not a fair exchange, Mr Barrington. I only paid £50 for the picture, and the car must be worth far more.’

  ‘Then you’ll also have to agree to d