The Eden Inheritance (60 page)

‘Guy – I'm so sorry I doubted you,' Lilli said. ‘Honestly, so sorry. Do you really have to go?'

Guy looked at her and felt sick at heart. She knew now that he was not a DEA agent, but she did not know the truth about his mission here and Guy knew that he could never tell her. Lilli had suffered enough. She had taken on board the unpalatable facts about her father's life on Madrepora and somehow managed to make excuses for him. She had accepted his death, inevitable yet premature, with a courage that shone from her dark eyes along with her inconsolable grief. He could not do anything to destroy her last precious illusions. Loving her was both a prize and a penance. The price of it was his silence.

‘Yes, Lilli, I have to go,' he said, steeling himself.

‘Couldn't you stay … for me?'

I'm going for you, he wanted to say, and knew he could not.

‘What will you do?' he asked, changing the subject.

‘I don't know … go back to New York, I suppose. Life has to go on, doesn't it?' But her expression was bleak.

‘I shall go home to Germany,' Ingrid said.

But neither of them was looking at her. Guy was absorbing the last minutes with Lilli, locking them in his heart for the lonely days he knew lay ahead, she was gazing at him, loving him, blaming herself for all that had happened, and still praying that even at this late stage he might relent and stay.

But why should he? He was a pilot – he had a job to do and there was no longer an Air Perpetua to employ him. Besides, who would stay with a girl whose father was a drug-trafficker, a girl who had mistrusted him, on an island where he had come so close to meeting a violent death at the hands of those who had shared her suspicions?

‘At least it was a good way to die,' she said, returning to the subject of her father and comforting herself with the one good thing that had come out of all this, ‘It was better, I suppose, than failing day by day. Daddy always said he wanted to die with his boots on. I don't know how he found the strength to do what he did, though.'

‘Desperation lends people incredible strength,' Ingrid said. ‘He was a hero, Lilli. Be proud of him.'

‘Oh, I am – I am!'

And that, thought Guy, was the heart of the matter. There was really nothing else to be said.

K
ATHRYN DE SAVIGNY
carried the tray of tea and biscuits into her tiny living room and looked at her son sitting sprawled in front of the roaring fire. There was something different about him, she thought, something she could hot put her finger on, and wondering about it was mitigating the fierce relief she felt at seeing him back in England.

‘So,' she said quietly, setting down the tray on a low table and pulling it up to her chair so that she could pour. ‘I take it the German you went to investigate turned out not to be von Rheinhardt after all.'

For a moment Guy did not reply. He sat staring at the sparks showering up the chimney from the split log and again she felt a qualm of misgiving. What had he learned out there in the Caribbean that had wrought this change in him? Had he, after all, discovered the full truth of what had happened in occupied France after all these years? Then he turned, his eyes, dark and full of secrets, meeting hers.

‘Oh, it was von Rheinhardt all right. Without a doubt the same man who was the cause of so much suffering. I've even seen the treasures – the family heirlooms. They are all there, in his villa.'

Kathryn frowned.

‘Really? Then why? What changed your mind about handing him over to the authorities?'

‘He's dead.' Guy's voice was curiously flat. ‘He was already dying when I got there – of cancer.'

‘Oh.' Kathryn's eyes went very far away. In spite of herself, in spite of her hatred for von Rheinhardt, she was experiencing a sense of shock. It was difficult to picture the man she had known, strong and cruel, on his deathbed. Destruction was what von Rheinhardt brought to others. Associating it with him required a total turnaround in conception.

‘What about the treasures then?' she said. ‘Didn't you try to claim them and bring them back with you?'

‘No.'

‘But why not? If they really were the family heirlooms. You were so set on getting them back, Guy.'

He sighed, sipped his tea and took a biscuit, twisting it between his fingers but making no attempt to bite into it. ‘It's a very long story.'

‘And I'm waiting to hear it.' She sat back, curling her feet beneath her. ‘I've shut up the shop for the day. There's no hurry.'

‘All right,' he said.

And he began to tell her.

Lilli was helping Ingrid sort through her father's possessions ready to vacate the villa and leave Madrepora for ever.

It was a heart-rending task – every item held memories for her and made her want to weep not only for her father but for the happy days of her lost childhood. But it had to be done. Ingrid was going home to Germany and Lilli knew that she would never again live in the villa that had been her home. There was nothing here for her now. Madrepora was to be sold – to a legitimate buyer this time, it was expected, who would develop the hotel and the marina and turn the island into a holiday paradise for those able to afford the luxuries it would be able to offer.

The last weeks had been traumatic ones, lightened only by the birth of Josie's baby – a little girl. With Otto dead and the Sanchez family holed up in Venezuela there had been no one to insist she should leave the island for the birth – in fact Lilli had insisted she should not. And so the child had become the first native-born Madreporan for almost twenty years – and once again josie had asked Lilli to be godmother, an honour she was reluctant to accept in her present state of depression.

Now, as she helped Ingrid sort through the possessions accumulated by her father in his twenty-five years on Madrepora, the bleakness was there again. Was this all a lifetime amounted to in the end – a houseful of furniture and clothes and bric-á-brac? Valuable though some of it might be, at the same time it was a poor substitute for the wealth of a close-knit family and the love of those dear to you, who asked for nothing but that you should be yourself and give them love in return.

Lilli straightened up from packing her father's books into a crate to be despatched to a bookseller who would be able to separate the rare first editions from the run-of-the-mill volumes and dispose of them accordingly. Already she and Ingrid had sorted Otto's clothes, which would be shared out amongst the servants who wanted them, and arranged for a dealer to acquire the collection of rare stamps. Now the time was coming when they would have to decide between themselves who would have the various household effects. Otto's will bad made provision for Ingrid but left the bulk of his estate to Lilli, but Lilli was determined that Ingrid should not be dispossessed. She had, after all, been Otto's wife, and she had been there at the end when he had needed her. Besides, Lilli did not particularly want any of the large items of furniture. She had no room for them in her little apartment in New York. Better that Ingrid should have them shipped to Germany to form the basis of the new home she would be making there.

No, as long as she had one or two personal mementos, and her treasures, Lilli did not very much mind letting Ingrid have everything else. Just as long as Ingrid knew that the treasures were hers and did not try to lay claim to any of them.

Lilli got up, going to the little bronze of Ceres and running her fingers over it lovingly as she had seen her father do so many times, then appraising each and every one of the treasures in turn. She must have them professionally packed, she decided. She couldn't risk them being damaged in transit. She lingered in front of the triptych, seemed to hear her father's voice across the years telling her that it was ‘Lilli's triptych', and tears stung her eyes. She turned away, picking up one of the silver candlesticks and turning it idly in her hands whilst she regained control of her emotions. It was cold to the touch, solid and heavy, a perfect piece of silver, wrought in an elaborate design. She upended it, holding it to catch the light and looking for the hallmark. Then, to her surprise, she realised that there was another inscription of some kind engraved on the base.

She carried the candlestick to the window, looking at it more closely, and as she made out the words her forehead creased into a frown.

De Savigny.

I'm imagining things, Lilli thought. It would be too much of a coincidence for Guy's name to be on my candlestick! But no, there was no denying it. The engraving was minute but nevertheless clear.

De Savigny.

The salon door opened and Ingrid came in carrying a box of slides.

‘I don't know what you want to do with these, Lilli. They are mostly photographs of you when you were a little girl …' She broke off, realising that Lilli was not paying her any attention. ‘What's the matter? Are you all right?'

‘Ingrid, where did Daddy get these candlesticks?' Lilli asked.

A faint flush coloured Ingrid's ivory cheeks.

‘I don't know. He had them long before I married him. Why do you ask?'

‘Didn't he ever say where they came from?' Lilli persisted, ignoring Ingrid's question. ‘They've been here as long as I can remember, of course, but they couldn't be from his old home in Germany, could they? That, was bombed in the war. And they don't look like something he would have picked up in South America. There's no Spanish influence there. In fact, none of the things look German or Spanish. They're more … Well, even my triptych is Joan of Arc, isn't it?'

‘They are French,' Ingrid said. ‘I thought you knew that.'

‘I've never really thought about it until now.'

It was true, she never had, or at least, not in any depth. But quite suddenly she was thinking about it very hard indeed, and the thoughts she was having were unwelcome ones. French treasures had been in her father's home ever since he had come here to make a new life after the war. And where had he done most of his service? In France.

‘He brought them with him, didn't he?' she said. ‘He got them out of France.'

Ingrid's colour was higher now and she looked unusually agitated.

‘You mustn't blame him too much, Lilli,' she said, her words tumbling over one another. ‘ He had to have something to help him start his new life. He had nothing – nothing! His home was destroyed, his family dead, the career that he had worked and lived for in ruins – is it any wonder he needed some things as an insurance for the future? And in any case, he loved them! He had wanted those treasures from the first moment he set eyes on them. He couldn't have borne to leave them behind. That family whose house he lived in had everything – everything.' Her voice was growing harsh now with the bitterness of defeat. ‘They didn't have to flee their country and never see it again as he did. Their château was still standing, their lands returned to them …'

‘You are telling me he stole these things from a French château,' Lilli said. Her voice was cold and level.

‘They came from the château, yes. I wouldn't say he
stole
them.'

‘Well I would!' A tremble crept into Lilli's voice now. ‘If they belonged to the family of the château there's no other word to describe what he did. Unless they
gave
them to him, of course.'

‘Don't be ridiculous, Lilli.'

‘Or sold them to him? Did they do that, did they sell them to him for privileges of some kind under the occupation?'

She was grasping at straws and she knew it. More than anything she wanted Ingrid to say yes, they had come into his possession as a result of a bargain of some kind. But she did not. Far from making excuses, Ingrid seemed to want Lilli simply to accept the truth as she saw it. Perhaps she herself had felt some guilt over the years regarding the treasures which belonged elsewhere and by making Lilli face the truth was in some way sharing the burden of that guilt.

‘The family weren't in the château when your father was there,' she said. ‘They were living in a cottage on the estate.'

‘Why?'

‘Your father had to have a headquarters of some kind for his officers. They needed decent billets. They weren't the hoi polloi, you know.'

‘So they turned out the family who lived there and then stole their belongings,' Lilli said. She was very cold.

‘It was wartime. These things happen in time of war.'

‘And should be put right afterwards,' Lilli said. Her heart felt like lead in her chest. Shock after shock, would they never end? First her father's illness, then the horrible truth about her mother's death and the evil beneath the beauty on the island she loved, now her precious treasures which her father had given to her not hers at all, for they had not been his to give.

‘These things must go back to their rightful owners,' she said firmly.

‘You're upset, Lilli. Think what you are saying.'

‘You think I could keep them now, knowing they were stolen? I shall see they are returned where they belong, each and every one of them.'

‘And how will you do that?' Ingrid asked scornfully. ‘For one thing you would have to admit that your father took them and bring shame on his memory. For another, how would you know where to return them? I can't remember where he was posted in the war – I only know it was somewhere in the middle of France – and I don't want to remember. You can't begin trying to find out now.'

‘I don't need to do any investigating,' Lilli said. ‘I know where they come from and to whom they belong.'

‘How can you possibly know that?'

Lilli upended the candlestick again, looking at the inscription.

‘You know the pilot who came here? The one we thought was investigating the drugs cartel? Well, he wasn't. He was investigating Daddy for quite another reason.'