Bluebell Castle. Sarah Bennett

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       CHAPTER THREE

      ‘Yes, yes, I understand.’ Arthur spoke into the phone as he stared across the wide oak desk in what was now his office and met his brother’s eyes. ‘And there’s no chance of recovering any of it?’

      ‘I’m sorry, Sir Arthur, we tracked the funds as far as the Cayman Islands, but they’re notorious for withholding cooperation.’ Inspector Dillon sighed. ‘Even if we could get them to let us inspect their records it’s highly unlikely the funds are still in situ. It’s taken us the best part of eighteen months to get Masterson’s case to a verdict. We assume he’s not acted alone, though he’s not said as much. Hasn’t said anything beyond “no comment” since his arrest, slippery sod.’

      The very last of his hopes sinking, Arthur shook his head at Tristan’s enquiring glance. ‘Well, I want to thank you, Inspector, for all your hard work and diligence in bringing him to justice. Please pass on our gratitude to your team, also.’

      ‘I will, Sir Arthur, I’m just sorry we couldn’t get the justice you and all the other innocent victims deserve.’ He sounded exhausted, poor man, which wasn’t surprising considering Masterson’s case had been splashed all over the tabloids. Ponzi schemes were nothing new, but it was the calibre of people who’d been caught up in Masterson’s fraud that had the press pack slavering. Arthur’s father hadn’t been the only notable name to lose a fortune. From members of the peerage to pop stars and actors, the roll call of the duped and deluded had been a gossip columnist’s dream.

      ‘Not at all, and you have our profound thanks for keeping us up to date with developments in the case, I’m sure you have enough on your plate.’

      ‘Well, the times I met your father, I was touched by what a decent man he was. I was very sorry to hear of his passing, and it seemed the least I could do under the circumstances.’

      So, Arthur wasn’t the only one who suspected the stress of the case had contributed to his father’s demise. ‘Thank you. I know he held you in very high esteem, Inspector, as do we all.’ Having ended the call, Arthur dropped the handset into the cradle then let his head fall back. As he studied the brilliant crystal droplets of the chandelier hanging above the desk, he acknowledged how much hope he’d been clinging to—hope that Masterson would have a change of heart and enter some kind of plea bargain deal. The money was gone. And that was all there was to it.

      ‘What are we going to do?’

      Tristan’s question made Arthur sit up straight once more. ‘We’re not going to do anything, little brother. You and Iggy are going to get the hell out of Dodge while you still can. No point in all three of us going down with the sinking ship, is there?’

      Swiping the dark curls of his fringe out of his eyes, Tristan glared at him. ‘Don’t start that nonsense again, or you and I will have a serious falling out.’

      ‘Stubborn fool.’ Exasperation and affection filled the words in equal measures.

      ‘Takes one to know one.’

      He had a point. The two of them were similar in far more than looks, Arthur thought as he smoothed a hand through his shaggy hair, which was well overdue for a cut. He was looking more like Tristan every day, though Arthur was broader thanks to years spent rucking on a muddy rugby field. With his taller, more slender build, Tristan had been better suited to the cricket pitch. It had relieved them both to find their own sport to excel at, as people had tried to pit them against each other for as far back as he could remember. There’d never been any sense of competition between them, though. Their father and uncle had set an example which they’d been only too happy to follow—regardless of whose shoulders the family title rested upon, the Ludworths would succeed, or fail, together. Just lately though, Arthur had begun to regret this, desperate as he was to spare his siblings the pain of witnessing their family legacy collapsing before their eyes.

      Frustrated, Arthur shoved his fringe from his eyes, an unconscious mirroring of his brother’s earlier action. He’d never really bothered much with his own appearance, content with a short back and sides whenever he could be bothered to pop down to the little barbershop in the village, and a basic uniform of cords or chinos and a checked shirt. Tristan had always been the trendy one of the two of them, and he claimed the women loved his Poldark-esque mane.

      Arthur was finding the tangle more hassle than it was worth and made a mental note to wander СКАЧАТЬ