This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles #7)(48)
Giles produced a cheque for ￡15,000 from an inside pocket and held it up for her to see.
‘You haven’t signed it.’
‘I will, as soon as I see Mellor’s signature.’
Virginia slowly unsealed the envelope, extracted a thin legal document and turned to the third page. Giles leant forward and studied Mellor’s signature, which had been witnessed by a Mr Colin Graves, senior prison officer, and dated May 12th, 1981.
He placed the cheque on the table, signed it and passed it across to Virginia. She hesitated for a moment, then smiled mischievously before slipping the document back into the envelope and handing it to Giles. He placed it in his briefcase, before saying casually, ‘If you only got the copy, who has the original?’
‘That will cost you another five thousand.’
Giles wrote out a second cheque and handed it across.
‘But it’s only for one thousand,’ Virginia protested.
‘That’s because I think I already know who it is. The only mystery is how he got his hands on it.’
‘Tell me the name, and if you’re wrong, I’ll tear up this cheque and you can write out another one for five thousand.’
‘Jim Knowles collected it from Carter on behalf of Conrad Sorkin.’
The second cheque joined the first in Virginia’s handbag, and although Giles pressed her, it was clear she wasn’t going to let him know how Sorkin had got his hands on the original, not least because, like him, she suspected that Desmond hadn’t committed suicide, and she didn’t want to become involved.
‘Tea?’ suggested Giles, hoping she would decline so he could get back to the bank where the other three were waiting for him.
‘What a nice idea,’ said Virginia. ‘Quite like old times.’
Giles hailed a waiter and ordered tea for two, but no cakes. He was wondering what they could possibly talk about, until Virginia solved that problem. ‘I think I’ve got something else you might want,’ she said, displaying the same mischievous smile.
Giles hadn’t been prepared for this. He sat back, trying to appear relaxed, as he waited to find out if Virginia was just enjoying herself at his expense, or if she really did have something worthwhile to offer.
The waiter reappeared and placed a pot of tea and a selection of wafer-thin sandwiches in the centre of the table.
Virginia picked up the teapot. ‘Shall I be Mother? Milk and no sugar, if I remember correctly.’
‘Thank you,’ said Giles.
She poured them both a cup of tea. Giles waited impatiently while she added a splash of milk and two sugar lumps before she spoke again.
‘Such a pity the coroner concluded that poor Desmond died intestate.’ She took a sip of her tea. ‘Earl Grey,’ she remarked, before adding, ‘It’s going to be difficult for anyone to prove otherwise before June twelfth, when the company will fall so conveniently into that nice Mr Sorkin’s hands, and for a mere ten thousand pounds he’ll be entitled to fifty-one per cent of Mellor Travel, which I estimate to be worth at least a million and a half, possibly more.’
‘The board of Farthings has already considered that problem,’ said Giles, ‘and the question of who might be judged by the court to be Mellor’s next of kin. Arnold Hardcastle concluded that with two ex-wives, one daughter he’s lost touch with and two stepchildren, the legal battle alone could take years to be resolved.’
‘I agree,’ said Virginia, taking another sip of tea. ‘Unless, of course, someone came across a will.’
Giles stared at her in disbelief as she returned to her handbag and extracted a slim manila envelope, which she held up for Giles to see. He studied the neat copperplate handwriting that proclaimed, The last will and testament of Desmond Mellor, dated May 12th, 1981.
‘How much?’ asked Giles.
19
SEBASTIAN STEPPED OFF the plane and joined the other passengers making their way into the busiest terminal on earth. As he only had an overnight bag, he headed straight for customs. An officer stamped his passport, smiled and said, ‘Welcome to America, Mr Clifton.’
He made his way out of the airport and joined a long taxi queue. He had already decided to go straight to Kelly Mellor’s last known address on the South Side of Chicago, which had been supplied by Virginia, but not before she’d extracted another ￡5,000 from Giles. If Kelly was there, the chairman considered it would have been worth every penny, because he wanted Desmond Mellor’s heir back in England as quickly as possible. They needed to have everything in place for the crucial board meeting in ten days’ time, when it would be decided whether it was Thomas Cook or Sorkin International that would take over Mellor Travel, and Kelly Mellor could be the deciding factor.
He climbed into the back of a yellow cab and handed the driver the address. The cabbie gave Seb a second look. He only visited that district about once a month, and that was once too often.
Seb sat back and thought about what had taken place during the past twenty-four hours. Giles had arrived back at the bank just after five, armed not only with a copy of the legal agreement showing that Mellor had risked losing 51 per cent of his company to Sorkin for a mere ￡10,000, but with the bonus of the only letter Mellor had ever written to his daughter, supplied by Virginia. No doubt acquired after the threat that if Giles didn’t pay up, she would burn the letter in front of him. The singed bottom right-hand edge suggested that Giles hadn’t given up bargaining until the match was struck.