He had never seen the old man so off balance. Mentally Max rehearsed his defence. His grandfather was bound to share his view that it was unfair that his right to the tenancy was being challenged—threatened by a woman. Ben’s views on women entering the legal profession were, after all, no secret. It had amused Max to watch Olivia trying to worm herself into Ben’s good graces earlier. Much good it had done her. It was obvious that neither Ben nor Jon wanted her around.
Luckily the fact that he had trained as a barrister and not a solicitor meant that there was no point in his offering to make a similar sacrifice, which was just as well because he had no intention of doing so. The thought of ending up like David, trapped in Haslewich, brought him out in a cold sweat.
Ben had some papers in front of him on his desk and Max’s heart started to thump heavily as Ben beckoned him closer and he realised what they were.
‘I’ve been going through my will,’ Ben told him heavily. ‘At my age it’s a necessary precaution, although …’
He paused and looked from Max to the fire whilst Max tried not to betray his impatience. What the hell did the old man want? Had Caspar spilled the beans or not?
‘As things stand, David, as my eldest son, will inherit Queensmead and the bulk of my personal assets,’ Ben began solemnly. ‘I have, of course, left certain personal bequests—your allowance is one of them. At least until …’
Max gritted his teeth. He knew all this, they all did, so what was the point in the old boy’s going over it again now? Was he going senile or something? Had David’s heart attack affected his brain?
‘However, your uncle’s heart attack changes everything.’ Ben spoke slowly, reluctantly, almost as though the words were physically painful to him. ‘I can’t ignore the fact that David might not …’
He stopped and Max watched dispassionately as Ben tried to control the way his hand shook as he picked up his will. The old man was getting frail. How old exactly was he?
Max was beginning to relax now that he knew Ben hadn’t sent for him because he had found out about the potential problems with his tenancy in chambers. His stance eased, becoming indolently nonchalant as he leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets.
‘I can’t ignore the fact that David could die before me. In the normal course of events, Queensmead would pass to Jack, but the boy is only ten and his mother … well, in my opinion, women and property don’t mix. They never have. It would only take some smooth-talking scoundrel to come along and Queensmead could pass out of the family for ever. I can’t take the risk of that happening.’
‘David isn’t dead yet, Grandfather,’ Max pointed out.
‘No,’ Ben agreed. His eyes suddenly filled with tears as he cried out in a muffled voice, ‘My God, what is it about this family? Why must we lose those … have the best taken from us …? When my father died, I made him a promise that one of my sons would be called to the Bar and fulfil the ambition that was denied to him.’
Max impatiently shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He knew all about Ben’s promise to his father; he had heard the story more times than he cared to remember. The old man really must be going senile to start repeating it all over again.
‘David should have made good that promise for me. His circumstances changed and he couldn’t, but you can. I intend to change my will,’ he told Max abruptly, ‘and leave Queensmead and the bulk of my estate to you, on condition that you are a fully practising barrister at the time of my death.’
Max had difficulty in controlling his shock—and his elation. My God, and to think when he had come in here he had expected … Hastily he pulled himself together. Ben might be suffering from the shock of David’s heart attack at this point, but he was still an extremely shrewd old man; it wouldn’t do for him to guess what was going through his own mind right now, especially his plans for Queensmead once it actually became his.
His grandfather might view the house and its land as some kind of sacred cow, but he most certainly did not. Haslewich was growing and one day Queensmead’s farmland could be a prime development site.
My God. Max could feel the elation singing through his veins. It would make him millions. Forget any paltry potential barrister’s fees. Abruptly he checked himself. Queensmead could be his but first he had to fulfil that one vital condition. He knew his grandfather well enough to know that it would be there, written into the will in an unbreakable clause that could not be got round or overset. He was starting to sweat again.
If securing the tenancy had been important to him before, it was nothing to what it meant to him now. That girl … that female, whoever she was, would have to be removed from the picture and he didn’t care what means he used to make sure she was. He had to have that tenancy; he couldn’t afford to waste any more time. David could have a second fatal heart attack tomorrow. His grandfather could die just as easily.
Swiftly he lowered his head, not wanting Ben to see his expression just in case it betrayed him. ‘That’s very generous of you, Grandfather,’ he said quietly, forcing a solemn expression into his eyes as he lifted his head and looked squarely at him, ‘and I promise you that I’ll do my best to live up to the … trust you’re placing in me.’
‘You’re a good lad, Max,’ Ben told him emotionally. ‘Another David.’
Oh no, he would never be another David, Max determined, exulting as he listened to his grandfather outlining exactly what he planned to do. He would never let himself get trapped the way David had done, his whole future destroyed.
‘Right now I’d give anything to be able to trade places with Olivia and stay on here … be on hand …’ he told Ben untruthfully, ‘but I don’t have that choice, that freedom.’ Cleverly he managed to imply that in having it, Olivia was somehow less dedicated to her career than he was himself, that she was somehow slightly feckless and irresponsible in not having the commitment of a job to return to.
It was a skill of his and one he had honed to perfection over the years, using it ruthlessly whenever he felt the need—and sometimes, if he was honest, just because of the pleasure it gave him to do so—as he did now. He had never really liked Olivia. Miss Goody-goody. Well, if she thought that she was going to impress the old man with what she was doing …
‘I have to go back to London.’ Too right he did and the sooner the better. The sooner he found out just who this woman competing with him for the tenancy was, the better. ‘Queensmead will be safe with me, Grandfather,’ he lied as he clasped the older man’s hand. ‘I can promise you that.’
Olivia didn’t drive straight home after she left Saul; instead she drove into Haslewich and parked her car on one of the empty, narrow side-streets just off the main square, unwilling to admit, even to herself, just why she felt so reluctant to return home.
She wanted to see Caspar, wanted to talk to him … needed to talk to him but not just yet, not whilst she was still feeling so … so what? she asked herself as she locked her car and started to walk towards the town square, tucking her hands firmly into the pockets of her coat as she did so.
It seemed strange to be walking through her home town at this time of the evening without any real purpose, rather like a tourist instead of an inhabitant, but had she been a tourist she would have surely had Caspar with her, her arm tucked through his, his dry, witty sense of humour making her laugh as it had done so many, many times in the past.
In the past? But she and Caspar weren’t