Dirty Aristocrat

Quietly, Barry put on his stereo system and Nick Cave’s poignant and heartfelt song Into My Arms fills the car. No gesture could have been more appropriate at that moment. The unexpected

thoughtfulness of that mostly silent man took me by such surprise that I could not even speak. Our eyes met in the rearview mirror, mine full of silent gratitude, and his kind. I smiled

and he nodded.

When we arrived at the cemetery, I got out of the car, and Ivan strode up to me. His face was a like a thundercloud.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked harshly, his eyes sharp.

His breath smoked. I looked up at him, still dazed. The wintry air invaded my lungs and stung my eyes. Did he also believe that Robert was a pedophile? Was that what everyone was

thinking? I nodded.

‘Why did she get out of the car?’ he demanded.

‘It was nothing.’ I paused. My mind had gone blank, but he was staring at me with demanding eyes. ‘Er … she … wanted to know why we are having a reading of the will at the house and not

getting written notifications.’

‘Why on earth did she ask you that? She knows damn well that I’m the executor of the will.’

‘Anyway, why are we having it done this way?’

‘Because I wanted it this way.’

I looked at him curiously. ‘Why?’

‘I have my own reason. Now come on,’ he urged, and I fell into step with him. We walked briskly, our heads bowed on a path that glistened like white quartz.

It was strange that my hurt and confused heart should find the presence of that cold, hostile man reassuring and a comfort. I stole a glance at him. His face was closed and distant. He

gave the impression that he was not even aware of me.

As soon as we reached the freshly dug grave, the woman he had come with caught up with us and linked her arm through his. There was no mound of exposed soil. Everything was white and

completely beautiful. A woman handed out pink rose stems. I held it in my gloved hands. I looked around at the assembled. We were the official mourners, come to pay our last respects.

Our breaths rising in little visible puffs.

During the whole simple ceremony, no one spoke. There was just the slight sound of people shuffling. Then the coffin was put on the wooden lattice that had been erected over the hole in

the ground.

Someone sang a song. Her voice was beautiful. It rose up in the cold, still air and seemed to hover over us. I put the pink rose I had been given on the casket and kissed the cold smooth

wood before I moved on. I didn’t stay to watch anybody else. I was freezing cold. I walked quickly to the car and got into it. The interior was blissfully warm. I took my leather gloves

off and rubbed my hands together. They were like ice.

That was it. Robert’s funeral.

I had survived it.

Now there was the ordeal of the reading of the will to be endured.

CHAPTER 5

Tawny Maxwell

Now I ain’t saying she’s a gold digger, but old fool that he was, he pulled up in a Benz and no pre-nup.

The reading of the will had been set for 2.00pm in the music room, a bright rectangular space with many tall windows. It had a splendid German grand piano in it that nobody played.

Robert told me that it was bought for Rosalind when she was a child, but she had refused to play it after a few lessons.

Chairs had been brought in and arranged in two rows of semi-circles facing the antique writing table. Robert’s solicitor, Nathen Jeremly, sat at it. He lifted his head when I walked in

and smiled professionally. James, the butler and Mary, the housekeeper were sitting with their spines upright on the last two chairs at the back. I smiled at them and, going to the first

row, sat at the end of the semi-circle. Next to arrive were my two stepdaughters. They looked around haughtily before coming to the front row and sitting in the middle seats. Neither

spared me a glance.

Dr. Jensen arrived, nodded at me coldly, and took his seat next to Robert’s daughters. After him my stepson sauntered in, a glass of red wine in his hand. He caught my eye and smiled

lazily at me. He made his way to the chair next to his sisters. They hissed something at him and he laughed.

The chairs were quickly filled by some of Robert’s family. Most of whom I had never met. Last to arrive was Ivan. He did not take a chair but closed the doors and stood just inside them.

I saw him nod at the solicitor.

Nathen cleared his throat.

‘Well, looks like everyone is here,’ he began. ‘Here is the last will and testament of Robert James Maxwell.’