Fox Evil

18

Wolfie marveled at how clever Fox was as he watched him pretend to Bella that he didn't know anyone had been in the camp. But Wolfie knew he knew. He knew it in the way Fox smiled when Bella told him everything was cool: Ivo had taken the chainsaw gang back to work and she and Zadie were about to relieve the guards on the rope. "Oh, and a reporter came," she added lightly. "I explained about adverse possession and she left."

He knew it in the way Fox praised her. "Well done."

Bella looked relieved. "We'll get on then," she said, nodding to Zadie.

Fox blocked her way. "I'll need you to make a phone call later," he told her. "I'll give you a shout when I'm ready."

She was too trusting, thought Wolfie, as her natural bullishness returned with the baldly stated order. "Sod that," she said crossly. "I'm not your fucking secretary. Why can't you do it yourself?"

"I need the address of someone in the area, and I don't think a man will be able to get it. A woman might, though."

"Whose address?"

"No one you know." He held Bella's gaze. "A woman. Goes by the name of Captain Nancy Smith of the Royal Engineers. It'll take one call to her parents to find out where she's staying. You wouldn't have a problem with that, would you, Bella?"

She gave an indifferent shrug, but Wolfie wished she hadn't dropped her gaze. It made her look guilty. "What d'ya want with an army tart, Fox? Ain't you got enough excitement here?"

His lips spread in a slow smile. "Are you offering?"

A flash of something Wolfie didn't understand passed between them, before Bella took a step to the side and walked past him. "You're too deep for me, Fox," she said. "I wouldn't have a clue what I was signing on for if I took you to bed."

Mark found the Colonel in the library, sitting behind his desk. He seemed absorbed in what he was doing, and didn't hear the younger man come in. "Have you called her?" Mark asked urgently, leaning his hands on the wooden surface and nodding toward the phone.

Alarmed, the old man pushed his chair away from the desk, scrabbling his feet on the parquet floor in an attempt to gain some purchase. His face was gray and drawn, and he looked frightened.

"I'm sorry," said Mark, backing away himself and holding up his hands in surrender. "I just wanted to know if you'd phoned Nancy."

James ran his tongue nervously across his lips but it was several seconds before he found his voice. "You gave me a shock. I thought you were-" He broke off abruptly.

"Who? Leo?"

James waved the questions away with a tired hand. "I've written you an official letter-" he nodded to a page on the desk-"asking for a final account and a return of all documents relating to my affairs. I'll settle as promptly as I can, Mark, and afterward you can be assured that your connection with this family is at an end. I have expressed my gratitude-warmly meant-for everything you've done for Ailsa and myself, and all I ask is that you continue to respect my confidence-" there was a painful pause-"particularly where Nancy's concerned."

"I would never betray your confidence."

"Thank you." He signed the letter in a shaking hand and made an attempt to fold it into an envelope. "I'm sorry it had to end this way. I've much appreciated your kindness over the last two years." He abandoned the envelope and offered the letter to Mark. "I do understand how difficult this whole wretched business has been for you. I fear we've both missed Ailsa. She had a way of seeing things in their true light that, sadly, you and I seem unable to do."

Mark wouldn't take the letter. Instead he dropped into a leather armchair beside the desk. "This isn't to stop you sacking me, James-I'm a bloody useless lawyer so I think you probably should-but I'd like to apologize unreservedly for everything I said. There are no excuses for what I've been thinking except that you hit me with those tapes without warning or explanation. En masse they have a powerful effect-particularly as I know that some of the facts are true. The hardest thing to deal with has been Nancy herself. She could be your daughter. Her looks, her mannerisms, her personality-everything… it's like talking to a female version of you." He shook his head. "She's even got your eyes-brown-Elizabeth's are blue. I know there's a rule about that-Mendel's law, I think-that says she can't have a blue-eyed father, but that's no grounds for assuming the nearest brown-eyed man was responsible. What I'm trying to say is that I've let you down. This is the second time I've listened to unpalatable facts delivered by telephone and on both occasions I've believed them." He paused. "I should have been more professional."

James examined him closely for a moment before putting the letter on the desk and clasping his hands on top of it. "Leo always accused Ailsa of thinking the worst," he mused pensively, as if a memory had been triggered. "She said she wouldn't need to if just once or twice the worst hadn't happened. By the end she had such an abhorrence of self- fulfilling prophecies that she refused to comment on anything… which is why this-" he made an all-encompassing gesture to include the terrace and the stack of tapes-"has come as such a shock. She was obviously keeping something from me, but I've no idea what it was… possibly these terrible allegations. The only thing that comforts me in the cold hours of the night is that she wouldn't have believed them."

"No," agreed Mark. "She knew you too well."

The old man gave a faint smile. "I presume Leo's behind it… and I presume it's about money-but in that case why doesn't he say what he wants? I've agonized over it, Mark, and I can't understand what this endless repetition of lies is supposed to achieve. Is it blackmail? Does he believe what he's saying?"

The younger man gave a doubtful shrug. "If he does, then it's Elizabeth who's persuaded him." He reflected for a moment. "Don't you think it more likely Leo's fed the idea to her and she's busy repeating it as fact? She's very suggestible, particularly if it means she can blame someone else for her problems. A false memory of abuse would be right up her street."

"Yes," said James with a small sigh-of relief?-"which is why Mrs. Bartlett is so convinced. She mentions several times that she's met Elizabeth."

Mark nodded.

"But if Leo knows it to be untrue, then he also knows that I merely have to produce Nancy to discredit what he and Elizabeth are saying. So why attempt to ruin my reputation like this?" Mark propped his chin in his hands. He didn't know any better than James, but at least he'd started to think laterally. "Isn't the whole point of the exercise that Nancy doesn't exist for Leo or Elizabeth? They don't even know what name she was given. She's just a question mark on an adoption form more than twenty years ago-and as long as she remains a question mark, they can accuse you of anything they like. If it's any help, I spent the last hour working backward from effect to cause. Maybe you should do the same. Ask yourself what the result of these phone calls has been and then decide if that's the result that was intended. It might give you an idea of what he's after."

James thought about it. "I've been forced onto the defensive," he admitted slowly, explaining it in military terms, "fighting a rearguard action and waiting for someone to show himself."

"It looks more like isolation to me," said Mark brutally. "He's turned you into a recluse, cut you off from anyone who might support you… neighbors… police-" he took a breath through his nose-"solicitor… even your grandchild. Do you really think he doesn't know that you'd rather leave her as a question mark than put her through the nightmare of a DNA test?"

"He can't be sure of that."

Mark shook his head with a smile. "Of course he can. You're a gentleman, James, and your responses are predictable. At least recognize that your son's a better psychologist than you are. He knows damn well you'd suffer in silence rather than let an innocent girl think she's the product of incest."

James conceded the point with a sigh. 'Then what does he want? These lies to stand? He's already made it clear he and Elizabeth will bring claims under the family-provision legislation if I try to cut them out altogether, but all he's doing by accusing me of incest is giving this alleged child of mine a reason to bring a claim as well." He shook his head in bafflement. "Surely a third claimant would reduce his share? I can't believe that's what he wants."

"No," said Mark thoughtfully, "but Nancy wouldn't have a case anyway. She's never been financially dependant on you in the way that Leo and Elizabeth have. It's the catch-22 I told you about when you first consulted me… if you'd refused to support your children through their difficulties, they wouldn't have a claim. Because you've helped them, they've a right to expect reasonable provision for their future… particularly Elizabeth who would be left effectively destitute if you abandoned her."

"Through her own fault. She's squandered everything she's ever been given. All a legacy will do is maintain her various addictions until they kill her."

Which had been Ailsa's point, thought Mark. But they'd been over it numerous times and he'd persuaded James that it was better to leave Elizabeth an equitable maintenance allowance than open the door to a claim for a larger share after his death. Under family-provision legislation a testator's moral responsibility to provide for his dependants had become a legal obligation in 1938. Gone were the Victorian days when the right to dispose of property freely was inviolable, and wives and children could be cut off without a penny if they displeased their husbands or fathers. The social justice favored by twentieth-century parliaments, both in divorce and the bequeathing of property, had imposed a duty of fairness, although children had no automatic rights to inherit unless they could prove dependency.

Leo's case was less clear-cut as he had no history of dependence, and Mark's view was that he would have a hard time proving an entitlement to a share of the assets after James drew a line in the sand following Leo's theft from the bank. Nevertheless, Mark had advised him to make the same maintenance provision for Leo as he had for Elizabeth, particularly as Ailsa had reduced the size of her bequest to her children from the promised half of everything she owned to a token amount of fifty thousand, with the rest passing to her husband. It was hardly tax efficient, but it allowed for the second chance that Ailsa wanted.

The difficulty was-and always had been-how to dispose of the bulk of the estate, specifically the house, its contents, and the land, all of which had a long connection with the Lockyer-Fox family. In the end, as so often happened in these cases, neither James nor Ailsa was willing to see it broken up and sold off piecemeal, with family papers and photographs destroyed by strangers uninterested in and ignorant of the generations that had gone before. Hence the search for Nancy.

The irony was that it had produced so perfect a result. She fitted the bill in every respect, although, as Mark had suggested to James after the first time he met her, her attraction, both as an heir and a long-lost granddaughter, was greatly enhanced by her indifference. Like a femme fatale, she seduced through coolness.

He linked his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. He had never discussed any of his clients with Becky, but he was beginning to wonder if she'd been through his briefcase. "Did Leo know you were looking for your granddaughter?" he asked.

"Not unless you told him. Ailsa and I were the only other ones who knew."

"Would Ailsa have mentioned it to him?"

"No."

"To Elizabeth?"

The old man shook his head.

"Okay." He hunched forward again. "Well, I'm pretty sure he does know, James, and it may be my fault. If not, he's taken a gamble that it was your most likely course of action. I think this is about removing the only other heir from the equation in order to force you to reinstate your previous will."

"But Nancy's been out of the equation for months."

"Mm. Leo doesn't know that, though… wouldn't even guess. We didn't. It's as I said earlier, we thought she'd be a clone of Elizabeth… and I can't believe Leo's expectations were any different. You base your judgments on what you know, and by the law of averages Elizabeth's child should have jumped at the chance to inherit a fortune."

"So what are you suggesting? That these calls will stop if I make it clear she's not my heir?"

Mark shook his head. "I think they might get worse."

"Why?"

"Because Leo wants the money and he doesn't much care how he gets it. The sooner you die of exhaustion or depression the better."

"What can he do if the main beneficiaries are charities? Ruining my reputation won't prevent them from accepting the legacies. It's written in stone now that the estate will be broken up. There's nothing he can do about it."

"But you haven't signed the will, James," Mark reminded him, "and if Leo knows that, then he knows your previous will, leaving the bulk of the estate to him, still stands."

"How can he know that?"

"Vera?" Mark suggested.

"She's completely senile. In any case, I lock the library door now every time she comes into the house."

Mark shrugged. "It doesn't make any difference. Even if you had signed, the will can be torn up and revoked at any time… as can enduring power of attorney." He leaned forward urgently and tapped the answerphone. "You've been saying these calls are a form of blackmail… but a better description would be coercion. You're dancing to his tune… isolating yourself… becoming depressed… blocking people out. His greatest success is bullying you into doing what you've just done-erecting a barrier between yourself and Nancy. He certainly won't know what he's achieved, but the effect on you is the same. More depression… more isolation."

James didn't deny it. "I was isolated once before and it didn't make me change my mind." he said. "It won't this time either."

"You're talking about the POW camp in Korea?"

"Yes," he said in surprise. "How did you know?"

"Nancy told me. She looked you up… says you're a bit of a legend."

A smile of pleasure lit the old man's face. "How extraordinary! I thought that war was long forgotten."

"Apparently not."

The return of self-esteem was almost palpable. "Well, at least you know that I'm not easily defeated… certainly not by bullies."

Mark shook his head apologetically. "That was a different kind of isolation, James. You were defending a principle… your men supported you… and you emerged a hero. This isn't the same at all. Don't you see how friendless your position is? You're refusing to go to the police because you're afraid of involving Nancy." He jerked a thumb toward the window. "For the same reason, you've no idea what anyone out there is thinking because you won't go out and challenge them. Plus-" he turned his thumb to jab it at the letter on the desk-"you're ready to sack me because you're worried about my commitment… and the reason my commitment wavered was because you didn't tell me a damn thing."

James sighed. "I hoped it would stop if I didn't react."

"That's probably what Ailsa thought-and look what happened to her."

The old man pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his eyes.

"Oh, lord!" said Mark contritely. "Listen, I really don't want to upset you again, but at least consider that Ailsa felt as isolated as you do. You talked about her being afraid of self-fulfilling prophecies… so don't you think she was subjected to these lies as well? That Bartlett cow goes on and on about how she must have felt when she found out. Whoever fed Mrs. Bartlett the information almost certainly knew that Ailsa was shattered by it. It's easy to say she should have told you-I expect she was trying to protect you just as you're protecting Nancy-but the effect is the same. The more you try to keep something secret, the harder it is to bring it out into the open." He leaned forward again and his tone became more insistent. "You really can't let these accusations stand, James. You must challenge them."

He crumpled the handkerchief between his fingers. "How?" he asked tiredly. "Nothing's changed."

"Oh, but you couldn't be more wrong. Everything's changed. Nancy isn't a figment of your imagination anymore… she's real, James… and a real person can disprove everything Leo's saying."

"She's always been real."

"Yes, but she didn't want to be involved. Now she does. She wouldn't have come here otherwise, and she certainly wouldn't have asked for an invitation back if she wasn't prepared to support you. Trust her, please. Explain to her what's been going on, let her listen to the tapes, then ask her if she'll agree to a DNA test. You may be able to do it on blood groups alone. Whichever… it doesn't matter… I'll lay my last cent on her saying yes, and then you'll have evidence of menace and coercion that you can take to the police. Don't you see how much stronger your position is since she turned up this morning? You have an honest-to-God champion at last. I'll talk to her on your behalf if you won't do it yourself." He grinned. "Apart from anything else, it'll allow you to take Pokeweed and Staggerbush to the cleaners. Ailsa would approve."

He shouldn't have mentioned Ailsa. The handkerchief rushed to James's eyes again. "All her foxes are dead, you know," he said in quiet despair. "He catches them in traps and crushes their muzzles before he throws them onto the terrace. I've had to shoot them to put them out of their misery. He did the same to Henry… left him where Ailsa died with a broken leg and a shattered mouth. The dear old thing growled at me as I approached, and when I put the barrel to his head I knew he thought I was responsible for hurting him. There's a terrible madness behind it. I'm sure Ailsa was subjected to it. I think she was made to watch while some poor creature's skull was smashed, and I believe Prue Weldon heard it happen. I'm sure it's what killed the poor old girl. She couldn't bear cruelty. If the creature was still alive, she'd have sat beside it while it died."

It would explain a lot, thought Mark. The bloodstains near her body. Ailsa's accusations of madness. The sound of a punch. "You should have reported it," he said inadequately.

"I tried. The first time, anyway. No one was interested in a dead fox on my terrace."

"What about the evidence of cruelty?"

James sighed and squeezed the handkerchief into his fist again. "Have you any idea of the damage a shotgun blast does to an animal's head? Perhaps I should have left it to die in agony while I waited for a policeman to turn up? Assuming, of course, they'd be remotely interested in a flea-ridden animal that gets hunted and poisoned every day of the year… which they weren't, of course. They told me to phone the RSPCA."

"And?"

"Sympathetic but impotent where vermin's concerned. They thought it was the work of a poacher who took out his venom when he trapped a fox instead of a deer."

"Is this why you sit on the terrace every night? Are you hoping to catch him?"

The old man gave another faint smile as if he found the question amusing.

"You should be careful, James. Reasonable force is all you're allowed in the protection of your property. If you do anything that smacks of vigilantism, you'll go to prison. The courts are very hard on people who take the law into their own hands." He might not have spoken for all the reaction he got. "I'm not blaming you," he went on. "In your position I'd feel exactly the same. I'm just asking you to consider the consequences before you do something you'll regret."

"I consider little else," said James harshly. "Perhaps it's time you listened to your own advice… or is it true that a man who has himself for a lawyer has a fool for a client?"

Mark pulled a wry face. "I'm sure I deserve that, but I don't understand it."

James tore the letter into pieces and dropped them into the bin beside the desk. "Think twice before you persuade Nancy to reveal her connection with me," he said coldly. "I have lost my wife to a madman… I have no intention of losing my granddaughter as well."

Wolfie slipped through the trees in the wake of his father, drawn by a terrified curiosity to find out what was happening. He didn't know the saying "knowledge is power" but he understood the imperative. How else could he find his mother? He felt braver than he had for weeks, and he knew it had something to do with Bella's kindness and the conspiratorial finger that Nancy had put to her lips. They spoke to him of a future. Alone with Fox, he thought only of death.

The night was so black that he couldn't see anything, but he trod lightly and bit his tongue against the assault of branches and brambles. As the minutes passed, his eyes adjusted to the niggardly moonlight, and he could always hear the sound of twigs snapping as Fox's heavier tread broke through the woodland floor. Every so often he paused, having learned from his capture earlier not to walk blindly into a trap, but Fox kept moving toward the Manor. With the cunning of his namesake, Wolfie recognized that the man was returning to his territory-the same tree, his favorite vantage point-and, eyes and ears alert to obstacles, the child moved off at a tangent to establish a territory of his own.

Nothing happened for several minutes, then, to Wolfie's alarm, Fox began to speak. The child shrank down, assuming there was someone with him, but when no answer came he guessed Fox was talking into his mobile. Few of the words were distinguishable, but the inflections in Fox's voice reminded Wolfie of Lucky Fox… and that seemed strange when the old man was visible to him in one of the downstairs windows of the house.

"…1 have the letters and I have her name… Nancy Smith… Captain, Royal Engineers. You must be proud to have another soldier in the family. She even looks like you when you were younger. Tall and dark… the perfect clone… It's a pity she won't do what she's told. Nothing can be gained by involving you, you said… but here she is. So what price DNA now? Does she know who her father is…? Are you going to tell her before someone else does…?"

Mark replayed the recording several times. "If this is Leo then he really believes you're Nancy's father."

"He knows I'm not," said James, dropping files to the floor as he looked for the one marked "Miscellaneous."

"Then it isn't Leo," said Mark gently. "We've been looking in the wrong direction."

With resignation, James abandoned his search and folded his hands in front of his face. "Of course it's Leo," he said with surprising firmness. "You really must understand that, Mark. You're a godsend to him because your reactions are so predictable. You panic every time he shifts his position, instead of holding your nerve and forcing him to declare himself."

Mark stared at the window and the darkness outside, and his face in reflection had the same hunted look that James had worn for two days. Whoever this man was he had been in the house and knew what Nancy looked like, was probably watching them now. "Perhaps it's you who're the godsend, James," he murmured. "At least consider that your reaction to your son is also entirely predictable."

"Meaning what?"

"Leo is the first person you accuse in any situation."