Cat Carlisle Book 2. Terry Thomas Lynn

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СКАЧАТЬ who tried so hard to ruin his life. After today, he would be a man of independent means. Oh, how he wished he could travel to Edinburgh and flaunt his newfound wealth. He could just imagine the look on Lady Blythedale’s face, as he drove by in a brand-new fancy car. He sighed out loud, not realizing that his cousin and her daughter – who also sat in the chairs opposite the solicitor’s desk – looked at him strangely.

       About time my luck has changed. Lady Fortune will now be sitting on my shoulder!

      The past two years had been difficult. Granted, he did play a small role in the collapse of the life he had so carefully created. So what if he had taken his boss’s wife as a lover? Lady Penelope had made the first move, after all. These were modern times. And women – especially women of means – took lovers just as frequently as men. In addition to being married to Phillip’s employer, Lady Penelope Blythedale, a blond socialite with money and connections, had a voracious sexual appetite that nearly wore Phillip out. Nearly. Had Martha, Penelope’s young maid, not been so eager, he would have been faithful to Penelope. Sleeping with Martha – in his own bed, no less – had been a mistake. Phillip realized that. He would never forget the look on Penelope’s face when she caught them in flagrante delicto.

      Lady Blythedale – Phillip was only allowed to call her Penelope when they were in bed together – shopped and lunched with her lady friends on Wednesdays. In a natural series of circumstances, Martha and Phillip had started having their weekly trysts during this time. Soon the affair escalated, fuelled by delicious secrecy. Wednesday afternoon soon became a standing date. They would spend their afternoons in Phillip’s opulent bedroom, tangled in the sheets, drinking expensive champagne – all paid for by Lady Blythedale. Someone must have told her about the affair. Why else would she have come home early and burst into the room? He cringed at the thought of the ensuing row, the crystal glasses thrown against the wall. Martha scarpering away, grabbing her clothes as she ran. Phillip spent about three seconds wondering what would become of poor Martha, sure in the knowledge that a reference would not be forthcoming.

      After Martha had fled, Lady Blythedale had tossed a beautiful chair, covered in sky-blue silk, at a closed window. It crashed through and fell two storeys to the courtyard below. She surveyed the wreckage and cast a knowing glance at Phillip. The look in her eyes had chilled him to the bone. Without a word, she turned and walked out of the house. He thought about going after her, but changed his mind. She would come around. They always did. He would go to her house with champagne and a token of his affection – charged to her account, of course. Phillip had no money of his own and had become accustomed to the lifestyle that Lady Blythedale had provided him. She really had been very generous. He lived in the gatehouse on her vast property, had access to any number of her automobiles, and enjoyed a generous allowance which she deposited into his bank account every week like clockwork. They had too much invested in their affair to let it go. Surely this one indiscretion would be forgiven. He’d talk her around. Once he told her how things stood, Phillip felt certain she would forgive him.

      Phillip had showered and dressed. After arranging for one-dozen long-stemmed red roses to be delivered to the big house – where Lady Blythedale resided – Phillip walked up the long curving driveway. No one seemed to be home. After knocking for a good fifteen minutes, he started to walk around the back of the house where a burly gardener intercepted him.

      ‘She wants you off the property,’ the man said.

      ‘This is too ridiculous. It was a simple misunderstanding. Please go and tell her to at least speak to me. I can explain.’

      ‘She doesn’t want to see you. Doesn’t want you here. Now get off the property before I throw you off.’ The man’s hands were clenched into ham-sized fists.

      ‘What about my things?’ Phillip had whined.

      ‘They ain’t yours. Paid for with her money, weren’t they? The locks on the gatehouse are being changed right now.’

      Given no other choice, Phillip had left. At the bank, he had tried to cash a cheque, only to discover that his account had been closed. Luckily, he had enough money to lodge for a night or two at a cheap hotel.

      The next day, the police had come to question him about a diamond necklace that Penelope had claimed had been stolen. Not wanting trouble with the police, he left on the next train south, where he wound up at his mother’s house two days later, with only the clothes on his back.

      During his absence his cousin Beth and her daughter, Edythe, had moved in with his mother, Win. Beth’s husband had died, leaving the woman alone with a daughter and little money. Phillip imagined that Win appreciated having Beth do the cooking and cleaning. She was a marvel in the kitchen. And although Beth was rather shy and quiet, his cousin was sweetly disposed. Edythe was another matter altogether. Headstrong, with fancy ideas of being a professional dancer, Edythe would have to be taken in hand.

      His mother had not been overjoyed when he showed up at her door, his clothes rumpled, in need of a bath and a hot meal, not a penny to his name. Win Billings had never minced words. ‘Beth’s taken your old room. You can have the bed in the attic.’ He had taken a hot bath, thinking that his mother would see to his clothes. She had begrudgingly found something for him to wear, old clothes of his father’s that – by the smell of mothballs – must have come straight from the attic. A set of clean sheets lay folded on his bed.

      ‘I’ll not be your servant, Phillip, and neither will the girls. I’ll give you a roof over your head and a place at the table. Nothing more. You’ll need to find a job and support yourself for a change.’

      ‘What about those?’ He eyed the pile of dirty clothes that he had tossed on the floor.

      ‘What about them?’ His mother had turned on her heel and walked away.

      Weeks later, his mother’s frosty indifference still hadn’t thawed. Phillip looked for work but couldn’t find anything to suit him. Following his natural proclivities, he had started gambling. It didn’t take long for him to accumulate a sizable debt, even though he had no way to pay it. And then, by some fortuitous stroke of circumstance, someone had tampered with his mother’s brakes, had murdered her in cold blood. And all of Phillip Billings’ problems had been solved.

      He wondered if Edythe and Beth would stay on now that Win was dead and Phillip would inherit everything. He could pay his cousin a stipend and allow her to serve as his housekeeper. As for Edythe, she would respond to some proper discipline, of that Phillip was certain. If Edythe behaved properly, Phillip would consider paying for her schooling. Provided, of course, that Beth stayed on as housekeeper.

      His cousin sat next to him, picking at her cuticle, lost in her own thoughts. When Beth met his gaze, he noticed the dark smudges under her eyes. She really was in desperate straits. He winked as he offered her his handkerchief. She grabbed it, careful not to let his fingers make contact with hers in the process.

      The only light emanated from the solitary banker’s lamp that sat on the solicitor’s desk. In the shadows, old law books and stacks of files were arranged in bookcases against the walls. The desk, as big as a ship and made of dark wood, was covered in the clutter that accompanied a busy schedule. The chair behind the desk was empty. Mr Broadbent – the Billings family solicitor – was running late. When they had arrived, the secretary, Miss Hinch, had arranged three chairs in front of the desk – one for Beth, one for her daughter Edythe, and another for her cousin Phillip.

      Phillip felt certain Broadbent was deliberately keeping them waiting. He sat in his chair, his hands clasping his knees, confident at his sudden change in circumstances. He moved into his mother’s bedroom twenty-four hours after the police had arrived on the doorstep with the news of the car accident that had killed her. СКАЧАТЬ