Crimson (4 page)

“What do you mean, Adam, controlling the money?” Whenever it came to finances, Miranda was instinctively suspicious.

“She’s anxious that the money not be … frittered away. There are various possible ways of protecting it. She doesn’t the French legal requirement to share the property equally among all descendants. As you know, Elinor lost touch with her family many years ago, and she doesn’t want her brother’s children if he ever had any to suddenly appear, claim money, make trouble. But as Elinor is a resident of France, this will happen unless she makes … alternative arrangements.”

“What sort of arrangement sT Miranda demanded.

“She’s had a few rather … dramatic ideas, as you would expect. She doesh’t like the British system, where the eldest inherits everything on the understanding that the inheritor cares for the rest of the family.”

“I should think nod” Miranda was the youngest of the three sisters. For her, primogeniture would be disastrous.

“Gran saw what happened to her own husband!”

Billy’s grandmother, a considerable heiress, had left all her money to her elder son, an impulsive weakling, who lost nearly all of it in an Edwardian stock exchange swindle. When he died, Billy’s elder brother inherited what was left of the family estate Billy inherited nothing.

“Elinor seems to think the Greek system is the most sensible,” Adam said.

“What’s that “A wealthy Greek father often leaves all the family money to the child most capable of looking after it, on the understanding that the inheritor looks after the immediate family.”

“The most financially capable sister is me,” Miranda stated.

“In financial matters, certainly. But Clare has always been very conscientious and responsible; she was like a mother hen towards you and Annabel when you were little girls.” Miranda sat up sharply.

“All my life I’ve had Clare shoved down my th road Clare was the eldest, the responsible sister, whose duty it was to look after the little ones.

‘7 She could be relied upon because she was steady and practical. Conscientious Clare would never tell a He not even a white one and could be relied upon always to be fair, as Clare herself never stopped reminding people.

It was Clare’s much vaunted sense of justice that made her feel responsible for the whole damn world, particularly every underprivileged person in it, Miranda knew. If Clare grabbed the purse strings, then they would not be opened for Miranda, who was not Clare’s idea of a needy person. Miranda would be pushed back to the position of baby sister.

“Unfortunately, Elinor thinks you … Would you say you were steadier than Clare?” Adam asked.

“You mean Gran thinks I’m too … rash?” J wouldn’t say that, exactly,” Adam said reflectively, “although perhaps Elinor does think you take too many risks. She sees you as the daring young girl on the flying trapeze of business. But of course, Elinor doesn’t understand that in business, it’s necessary to take risks. I see your adventurous streak as a business asset.”, “It’s not fair!” Miranda retorted’ bitterly remembering how often she had said that as a child.

Eventually she asked, “What will happen if Gran dies without making a will?” “There may be a nasty legal mess that might take years to disentangle,” Adam said.

“And that’s something I don’t intend to allow. As soon as Elinor is well enough to do so, I will insist she make her decisions.” He paused, then added: “There is an alternative to the Greek system that would safeguard the money and yet be fair.”

“What’s that Miranda quickly looked at Adam.

“It would mean that you would be certain to get your fair share.”

“What is it, Adam?”

“I wondered whether Elinor would respond favourably to the idea of setting up a family trust,” Adam mused.

“What do you think? If you think not, then I don’t want to distract her by the idea.” Adam knew that, as the shrewdest and most forceful of the sisters, Miranda would be a formidable. opponent should she object to his suggestion.

“What would be the point of setting up a trust?” Miranda asked cautiously.

“Making a trust is a bit like making a will, except that you put it into practice before you die,” Adam explained.

“If Elinor were to set up a trust, naming her granddaughters and their descendants as beneficiaries, then the money would be protected as Elinor wishes, because there’s no risk that one heir can squander it all. The trustees wouldn’t allow it: their job is to guard the trust, not slavishly obey the whims of the beneficiaries.” Miranda ran her hand through wild red hair.

“You mean Clare couldn’t sit on the money and refuse to share it, and she couldn’t give it away to charity? And Annabel couldn’t buy a couple of yacht sT “Exactly. The advantage of a trust is that there would be a permanent cautionary control over the capital,” Adam said.

“I suspect that you would have nothing to lose, Miranda, were a trust to be established and you might possibly have a great deal to gain. Trustees do not like frivolous expenditure; they might, shall we say, guard your sisters from themselves.” Miranda said firmly, “Then I vote for a trust.”

“And what do you think Annabel will want?”

Adam asked.

“Perhaps it would be best if you discussed this with her, rather than me.” Such a matter was always difficult to bring up with a close relative at such a time: that was why he had discussed it with Miranda before their arrival at Saracen. Adam added apologetically, “You know better than I do how to handle Annabel so that such a discussion won’t upset her. I’m afraid she’d turn on me, perhaps think I’m being

coldblooded.” 11 don’t see why she should,” Miranda said.

“But I think you should talk to her because you can answer her questions, if she has any; I know nothing about the legal ramifications. Don’t worry, Adam. Of course, Annabel is ridiculously sentimental, but after all, you have nothing to gain you’re only trying to prevent trouble for us. Basically, I’m confident that Annabel won’t want Clare holding the purse strings, back in a position to boss us around. Stress that to Annabel and she won’t be sentimental.”

The apricot flush of the evening sky paled beyond the balustrade of the terrace, and the quivering reflections of the sea faded on Elinor’s bedroom ceiling. She had been drifting in and out of sleep; the churning noise of the helicopter rotors finally awakened her. After the noise ceased, Elinor heard shrieked greetings and laughter from the far terrace. Only a few moments later, her bedroom door burst open.

“Darling Gran, this is wonderful!” Miranda ran to the bedside and kissed her grandmother.

“Welcome back!”

Outside on the terrace, while Clare put two-year-old Josh to bed, Adam sipped champagne and chatted with Annabel. As he had done to Miranda, he mentioned the possibility of a trust as an alternative to Clare’s being left in charge of the family fortune.

Annabel reacted with surprise, followed by irritation.

“I had quite enough of being pushed about by Clare when we were children. Tell me more about this trust idea.”

After dinner, Adam suggested to Clare that they take a walk. He wanted to be sure there would be no time-wasting opposition or bickering among the sisters when Elinor had so little strength left.

“Do we really have to talk about this now, Ada mT Clare in no mood for financial discussion as they sauntered downhill, through winding narrow streets lined by bougainvillea and dimly lit by oldfashioned lampposts.

“I hoped that I could rely on you to be sensible, not sentimental,” Adam said firmly. He added, “I’m only trying to arrange what Elinor would want and what is best for all of you. That’s my duty as Elinor’s adviser.” ” Clare thought how pompous Adam sounded. Why did Gran always have to have some man around to tell her what to do? When Daddy Billy was alive, his word had always been final. Then Gran’s lawyer Joe Grant had become the great male authority figure in their lives, and now his son, Adam, had inherited the mantle of wisdom.

“I don’t see what’s wrong with just sharing it out,” Clarree said.

“In case you haven’t noticed, old friend, we aren’t babies any longer. I’m a grown-up married woman.” Hesitantly Adam said, “Miranda and Annabel like the concept of a trust.” . Clare spoke tartly.

“Of course Annabel will agree without thinking to whatever Miranda suggests, because -that’s what she’s always done. But I don’t see why a trust is necessary. In fact, it seems an -inecessarily complicated idea., IShe was as stubborn as her grandmother, Adam thought regretfully as he tried a new tack.

-Clare listened, then shook her head lightly and said, “It won’t work any more with me, Adam. I’ve heard it too often.”

“Heard what?” “The adult equivalent of “Daddy knows best.””

TUESDAY, 6 JULY 1965 Dr. Montand stepped from the glare of the morning sun into the chfiteauls shaded interior. The entrance hall was scented by roses in a blue jug on a dark antique chest. He was greeted in atrocious French by an angular woman with carelessly dyed jet-black hair; as they walked to the elevator, the doctor spoke in fluent English; so many Riviera residents spoke only English that an ambitious practitioner needed to be bilingual.

The woman was Buzz, Elinor’s oldest friend. In 1947, after Billy’s death, Buzz had travelled to Elinor’s house in the Wiltshire countryside and had simply never left it; she saw that the house ran smoothly, supervised the three little girls and their nanny, paid the bills, did the bookkeeping, and relieved Elinor of all small distracting tasks, so that she could concentrate on writing novels.

Buzz came from a working-class background and had a harsh south London accent; her frequent cockney modification of the Queen’s English made it easier for the Riviera natives to understand her French than her English. Because her manner was blunt and matter-of-fact, outsiders tended to underestimate Buzz, even to ignore her. She simply ignored them in return. She watched and listened and made up her own mind about everything. But no matter what, Buzz always protected her friend Elinor sometimes from herself.

The elevator jerked to a halt at the bedroom floor, where a maid folded sheets into a cherrywood armoire: each pile of antique, lace-trimmed linen was tied with butter coloured silk ribbon.

T1w family bedrooms led off this hall. On the floor above were six suites for guests, each with its own bedroom, bathroom, and small kitchen. The entire chdteau had been planned so that, should Elinor ever again find herself short of cash an unlikely event but her constant back-of-the mind anxiety she could easily turn the Chiteau de Saracen into a luxury hotel. The owners of the two hotels in the village, uneasily aware of this, were almost as delighted as Elinor when each of her romantic novels leapt straight on to the world’s best-seller lists.

Before opening Elinor’s door, Buzz turned abruptly to the doctor and said, “You’ll tell me the truth, won’t you? I can take it, but them girls can’t.”

“I have told you all I know,” said Dr. Montand.

“Madame O’Dare has had a partial stroke a cerebral vascular accident, as we call it.” The doctor patiently repeated what he had said the previous evening.

“Her left arm and leg are paralysed and so is the left side of her face. Later, she will need further investigation: an arterial brain scan, X-rays, and electroencephalography. At the moment, there’s no point in taking her to a hospital in Nice: anything that can be done there can be done with nursing help here, in her hoi ne Buzz nodded.

“A better idea. No risk of cross-infection. Hits one in four patients in Western hospitals! “I see that you keep up to date,” the doctor said, assuming that this tall, graceless woman in the unfashionable navy dress had once been a nurse. He sensed that unspoken complicity between nurses and doctors, an absence of the frightened trust that most relatives exhibited.

Buzz’s shrewd eyes had asked the question before her mouth: “Will she make a complete recovery?”

Dr. Montand shrugged.

“She’s not overweight. You say she doesn’t smoke or drink heavily. She

isn’t diabetic, and her blood pressure is almost normal for her age.” The patient was sixty-five years old, and no civilized doctor would suggest that she go on a dict, cut out drink entirely, or take up exercise. He would counsel them to let her enjoy her remaining life should she recover.

Buzz pushed an unnaturally black wisp of hair behind her ear.

“You ain’t answered my question.”

“It’s too early to tell,” the doctor said.

“It takes time ta, recover. A patient often has impaired mentality but not always. I really cannot say. Now you should get some rest, madame, after sitting up with her all night.” She hadn’t said so, but this woman was the sort that didn’t trust a night nurse.

After the doctor had finished his daily poking and probing of Elinor, Buzz returned to the bedside. Elinor lay in a cream lace nightdress against silk pillows.

“He says you’ll soon be as fit as a fiddle,” Buzz said.

“I’m getting a physiotherapist so you’ll get proper exercise.”

“But I’m too weak. And I can’t move or talk properly,” Elinor protested, her voice still slurred.

“A phys io will soon get you on your feet, Nell..

“But will I ever talk properly again’? My left cheek feels frozen, as if I’ve had a dentist’s injection.”

“You’ll talk properly soon enough then the Lord help us.” Elinor’s anxiety dissolved, and she relaxed. Buzz was so reassuring, so comforting. The two women had shared some tough times when they were young. Buzz knew Elinor’s faults and didn’t care; Buzz would never reveal her secrets.

“What exactly does Buzz doT people sometimes asked. Supposedly a secretary, Buzz never typed if she could avoid it, and whatever shorthand she may have known was long forgotten.

“She protects me,”

“Elinor would say with a little laugh.

“But why do you let a secretary speak to you in that Offband way7 Why do You let her criticize You? Why do you put up with her?” Elinor would firmly close the subject by answering, “We’ve been together a long time. You wouldn’t understand.”

Although outsiders never understood their relationship, it was clear enough to the two women: Elinor was Buzz’s friend and her boss; Buzz was Elinor’s secretary but not her slave. Elinor was glad to have forgotten what life was like without Buzz, this odd woman who had become a vital part of her existence.