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“You’re all over the press. And they’ve been calling here. About you. And Alessia.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. Just ignore them.”
“I am. You should do something. Perhaps host a sort of ‘coming-out’ party for your wife. Invite everyone, and then you’ll be done with all this fevered interest.”
The last thing I want or need is the press digging into our hasty marriage.
But I can’t let Caro know that!
“That’s not a bad idea.” I throw her off the scent.
“I could organize it for you!” she says enthusiastically.
Hmm… not sure how Alessia would feel about that.
“Let me think about it. I’m calling because it’s crunch time with the Mayfair mansion block refurbishment. Do you want to do the interior design?”
Caroline takes a deep breath. “Yes. I do. It will give me something to focus on and put me back in that world. I’ve missed it.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
“Besides, I might need the money,” she adds, sounding more like her usual spirited self.
“Caro, you have a huge trust fund and the stipend from the estate.”
She snorts, unimpressed, but neither one of us mentions Kit’s will, and how he left her out of it.
Dude, don’t go there.
“I’ll get Oliver to call and deal with the details.”
“Oliver!” she says as if she’s surprised.
“Of course. He can put you in touch with the developer. Okay?” What is her problem with him?
“Yes. Yes. You’re right. Have you told Alessia about the letters?”
“Not yet. Have you spoken to Rowena?”
“No. Why?”
“She’s avoiding me. I’ve left her countless voice messages, and she’s not returning my calls.”
“Rowena… is Rowena.”
“True enough. Any luck with Kit’s laptop? I’ve drawn a complete blank.”
“Even with Dr. Renton?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“The tight-lipped old bastard!”
“Exactly.”
“No luck with the laptop. Fact is, Kit never gave me any of the safe combinations. Not for here or for the Hall. Why do you think that is?” Her voice wavers as she finishes her question, and I realize she’s upset.
“I don’t know. Kit was Kit… a bit like his mother.”
“Yes. He was…” Caroline’s voice has dropped to a barely audible whisper, and I want to kick myself.
“I’ll think about the party idea.”
“Do,” she responds, brightening. “You know, you should let me take Alessia shopping.”
Oh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.
“Maxim, I told you, she dresses like a student.”
“Funny you should say that. I’m hoping to get her into college. It will help with her visa. That reminds me. Your stepmother—”
“Stepsow,” she corrects me.
“Isn’t she a patron of the Royal College?”
“Yes. Ah. Music. For Alessia?”
“Yes. What do you think?”
“I think it’s a good idea. Alessia is obviously hugely talented.”
“Well, I may need to lean on the Stepsow.”
Caroline snorts. “Good luck with that. I’ve never known her to be helpful or amenable. I don’t know what my father sees in her.”
Caro is always complaining about her father’s wife.
“Did you attend etiquette lessons?” I change the subject.
“Of course I did. Kit insisted. He was a bit of a bore about it, actually.”
I gasp, shocked. Kit? A bore?
“Yes. Just after we got married.”
Kit insisted his wife sign up for etiquette lessons!
What a snob. I had no idea.
“Alessia wants to go.”
“It’s a good idea. It’ll give her some confidence. It did for me. The one I went to was great. In Kensington. I’ll send you the details.”
“Thanks. And to be clear, this is Alessia’s idea, not mine.”
“You’re so woke, Maxim,” Caro grumbles. “My offer stands. I’d be happy to take her to Harvey Nicks. With your credit card.” She cackles.
And I find myself smiling reluctantly. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Good. I need to make amends.”
“Yes, you do.”
Oliver knocks on the door and enters.
“Gotta go.” I hang up and look directly at him. “I’ve spoken to Caroline. She’s up for the interior design.”
“I’m glad that’s settled. Here are the details of your mother’s expenditure against the estate.” He hands me a spreadsheet, and the bottom line leaps off the page in all its profligacy.
What the fuck!
I glance at him in shock.
“Yes.” His lips are a thin line of disapproval.
“Is this part of her divorce settlement?”
“Here.” He hands me another document. “I’ve highlighted the figures you need.”
I scan it quickly.
Wow. A disquieting void lodges in my stomach as I intrude on my parents’ private affairs. Their divorce killed my father. He died of a broken heart, and I’ve never forgiven my mother for his death. “This is more than double her allowance.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Okay. I’ll deal with this.”
“Good luck with that, my lord.” He gives me a sympathetic smile and exits.
I call my mother and get her voicemail again. “Rowena. I’m about to cut off your access to estate funds. Call me.” I hang up, then call the bank and have a quick word about my mother with my bank manager.
Next, I text Maryanne.
Please ask your mother to call me.
I have left numerous messages.
All to no avail.
I need answers. And I’m stunned that my own mother won’t do me the courtesy of returning my call. Life as I knew it hangs in the balance—all my hopes and vague dreams on hold.
