THE summons to the solicitor's office came exactly thirty days after herfather's accident.Charlotte was just getting over the initial shock which her father's death hadevoked, just beginning to feel her way back to some semblance of normality, ifanything could be normal again after such an experience. How had it happened?she had asked herself again and again. How could her father, an experiencedyachtsman, have lost all control like that? No one would ever know, shesupposed, shuddering as she recalled her father's bloated body washed up atSheerness.People had been kind, of course. Her father's friends, his businessacquaintances, all had offered her their sympathy and condolences. After all,she was alone in the world now. Her mother had died eight years ago, andalthough she and her father had never been really close, she being away atschool most of the time, she would miss him terribly.Gradually, though, she had had to assert some interest in her own position.They had not been rich, but then again, they had by no means been poor, and ithad come as a great surprise to her to learn that her father had taken out a hugepersonal insurance policy only weeks before his death. Naturally, this hadaroused some suspicion at the inquest, but her father's solicitors had assured theCoroner that he was not in monetary difficulties. Their house, in a little squarenear Regent's Park, was worth a small fortune by today's standards, and thesmall company her father had owned seemed to be doing reasonably well.Mortimer Securities was not a large concern, but its profits were steady. Therewas no obvious reason why Charles Mortimer should have taken his own life,and so far as Charlotte was aware, that line of inquiry had been terminated.Nevertheless, to discover that almost overnight she had become virtually anheiress troubled Charlotte, particularly as she had never felt any need for a lot ofmoney. She couldn't imagine why her father should have felt obliged to take outsuch an insurance, and she didn't quite know what she was going to do with it.At the time of the accident, she had been working on a part-time basis in aboutique in Knightsbridge. The boutique was owned by the mother of a schoolfriend and as Charlotte had only just left school and was still undecided what todo with her education, she had welcomed the chance to earn some pocketmoney. She enjoyed the opportunity too of studying clothes at dose range, andwas considering taking up designing herself. There were always art coursesavailable at college.But all that seemed distant now, unreal, and she blamed herself bitterly fornot giving her father more attention. Perhaps he had been tired, overworked; onreflection she could remember a certain look of strain at times. If only she hadnot been so wrapped up with thoughts of her proposed career she might havepersuaded him not to make that final trip.And then the summons came, a rather chilly little letter which Charlotte readseveral times before thrusting it away in her handbag. She imagined her father'ssolicitors were dismayed at her apparent lack of interest in her inheritance.Perhaps they could see their fat fees dwindling now that Charles Mortimer wasno longer around to require their services. Whatever, Charlotte was not tooconcerned. With the finance company being assessed, and doubts already in hermind that she would go on living in their house in Glebe Square, what did shewant with a hundred thousand pounds?It was with some misgivings that she was shown into Mr. Faistaff's office.These surroundings reminded her too vividly of her early visits there immediatelyafter her father's death, and her mouth felt dry and there was a disturbing burningsensation behind her eyes at the remembrance.Mr. Falstaff was no Shakespearean hero figure. Small, and slight, with wispygrey hair, he looked most like a clerk out of some Dickensian novel, though hiseyes were sharp as they took in Charlotte's attractive appearance. Tall andslender, as she was, the events of the past four weeks had fined down herappearance, and in a simple jeans suit with her dark red hair loose about hershoulders, she looked years younger than the eighteen he knew her to be.They shook hands, and Mr. Falstaff indicated she should be seated in theleather-seated chair opposite his own. Then, remaining standing, he said: "I'm soglad you could come, Miss Mortimer. The matter was - er - rather urgent."The telephone rang at that moment, and with a click of his tongue, Mr. Falstaffexcused himself to answer it. It gave Charlotte a few moments to composeherself, and she looked determinedly round the office, noticing the tome-linedwalls describing law practice from the year dot. Why was it, she wondered, thatsolicitors' offices always had this air of decrepitude and solemnity? Was itbecause the reasons that most people came here had to do with death and itscomplications?Then she thrust such thoughts aside. How morbid could you get? Her fatherwas dead - she had to accept it. It came to everybody in time. What was itsomebody had once said? - the only certain thing in life was death? Sheshivered.Mr. Falstaff put down the receiver and turned to her again. "I'm sorry aboutthat, Miss Mortimer," he apologized in his dry crackly voice, as dry and cracklyas the tomes on the shelves behind him, "I hope we shan't be disturbed again.""That's all right." Charlotte shook her head. "You wanted to see me?"She was hurrying things, but she wanted this over. The old solicitor studiedher silently for a few moments, and then he nodded, and subsided into his chairas though his thoughts had driven the strength from him."Tell me, Miss Mortimer," he said, fidgeting with his pea "Have you everheard of Alex Faulkner?"Charlotte stared at him. "Alex Faulkner ? The name doesn't mean anything tome. Should it?""That remains to be seen." The lines on Mr. Falstaff's face deepened."Your father didn't mention his name to you?""No. I've told you, I've never heard of him before." Charlotte spokeimpatiently."No, no, of course not. But surely - you must have heard of FaulknerInternational?""Faulkner International?" Charlotte shook her head. "I don't think so. Look,what is all this? Why do you want to know whether I know this man?""All in good time, Miss Mortimer. You will soon appreciate that I am in arather - er - difficult position, and I am trying to handle this in the best way Iknow how.""Handle what?" Charlotte felt a twinge of unease."I'm coming to that, Miss Mortimer." Mr. Falstaff shifted uncomfortably."You were saying — you don't recollect hearing of Faulkner International. I'msurprised. The name is not unknown. Oil - shipping - casinos - ""Please, Mr. Falstaff, get to the point.""Very well. Alex Faulkner was an associate of your father's.""So were lots of people.""I appreciate that. But this - relationship was rather different.""In what way?""You must understand, Miss Mortimer, Alex Faulkner does not normallyinvolve himself in the actual running of his companies. He employs directors forthat purpose. Indeed, few people know him very well. He is not interested in ajet set kind of existence. In fact, I believe he lives very quietly."Charlotte sighed. "So? What has this to do with me?"Mr. Falstaff's lips tightened. "Give me time, Miss Mortimer. You young peopleare so impatient. It is essential that you should understand the picture." Hesighed. "Your grandfather knew his father quite well.""Did he?" Charlotte was beginning to sound bored."Yes. I should tell you at this juncture, Faulkner is not exactly acontemporary of your father's. He is, I suppose, almost forty. Your father wassome years older, wasn't he?""You know he was.""Yes. Well, they - your father and Faulkner - met again some years ago.Indeed, they shared an interest in sailing. Your father knew France quite well,didn't he?"Charlotte nodded. "We used to have a small villa - just a cottage really.Daddy sold it a couple of years ago."Mr. Falstaff nodded. "And he didn't mention Faulkner to you?""Why should he? I was still at school. I didn't know all hisbusiness acquaintances."Mr. Falstaff sighed heavily. "This wasn't altogether a businessacquaintanceship." He hesitated. "Miss Mortimer, you were aware of yourfather's interest in gambling, weren't you?"Charlotte stiffened. "I don't know what you mean.""I think you do, Miss Mortimer.""He played the horses a few times. I knew that.""That's not what I meant. You didn't know of his interest in cards, forexample?"Charlotte twisted her hands together. "I knew he enjoyed cards, yes. He usedto play bridge - ""Not bridge, Miss Mortimer. Poker !"Charlotte gasped. "No."Mr. Falstaff shook his head. "This is so much harder than I had anticipated.Miss Mortimer, your father Was a compulsive gambler. He had been so foryears.""No!""I'm afraid he was."Charlotte swallowed hard. "Wh-what has this to do with Alex Faulkner?""I'm coming to that.""You said - Faulkner owns casinos. Did he - persuade my father to play inthem? To lose money?""I mean no such thing." Mr. Falstaff was flustered. "On the contrary,Faulkner seldom enters his casinos. But your father did get into debt for - well,rather a lot of money.""I don't believe it. Why, the company - our house - ""Everything appears to be intact, doesn't it? But Alex Faulkner owns yourfather's possessions just as surely as if he had signed the deeds.""But why didn't I know? Why wasn't I told?" Charlotte was shattered."For the simple reason that I did not know myself until yesterday.""But how can you be sure - ""I'm satisfied that what Faulkner's solicitors say is true."Charlotte got up from her seat, unable to sit still after such a revelation. "I -Ican't believe it!""Nor could I. At first."Charlotte's brain darted here and there, trying to absorb what this wouldmean to her. Then she swung round. "The insurance I Daddy's insurance!" Sheexpelled her breath unsteadily. "Thank God for that !"I'm - afraid not.""What do you mean?""Oh, Miss Mortimer, can't you see? This throws an entirely different lighton your father's death. Once the police learn that your father was mortgaged upto the hilt, I doubt very much whether they'll be content with the Coroner'sfindings.""You mean - you mean - you think Daddy - Oh, no !He - he wouldn't.""In the circumstances, Ithink he might.""What - circumstances?" Charlotte stared at him."Sit down, Miss Mortimer. I haven't finished yet."Charlotte looked as though she might refuse, but eventually she resumed herseat, staring at the solicitor with wary eyes."I have in my possession a letter from Faulkner," said Mr. Falstaff slowly. "Init, he sets out a certain contract he made with your father in return for lendinghim a vast sum of money.""What kind of a contract? Let me see the letter.""All in good time, Miss Mortimer. Briefly, it waives your father's debts inreturn for - something else.""Oh, do stop hedging. What 'something else'?""You, Miss Mortimer. You!""Mel" Charlotte sank back in her chair aghast. "What do you mean - meVMr. Falstaff looked most unhappy. "Miss Mortimer, during our little talkI've tried to explain that Mr. Faulkner is a rather - remote figure. He cares littlefor anyone, and in consequence there are few women in his life. Nevertheless,he does realise that some day he will have to retire, and when that time comes hewill require an heir, someone to carry on the organization after he is dead - ""You - you mean - " Charlotte gasped disbelievingly, trying to make lightof something that was too ludicrous to be true. "Good lord, what does he thinkI am? A brood mare?""Please, Miss Mortimer. This is no laughing matter.""You're damn right. It's not. It's stupid, ridiculous! I can't believe thatanyone in this day and age could have seriously considered something so - sobarbaric! Me? Marry a man I don't even know? A man old enough to be myfather!" She hesitated. "I'm presuming marriage is what, he has in mind.""Oh, yes. The solicitors were most definite about that."Charlotte shook her head. "I suppose I should be flattered. He might havedecided just to use me !"Miss Mortimer !""Well, it's madness!""Mr. Faulkner is a very determined man.""Well, it's not on, and that's that.""I'm afraid that's not that, as you put it.?""Why not?""I don't think you've really considered what this could mean, Miss Mortimer.Alex Faulkner owns you just as surely as he owned your father. Your house,your clothes, your car ... Even the company.""There's still the insurance.""I doubt they'll pay out.""But why should they suspect? You said yourself, you didn't know untilFaulkner - ""Miss Mortimer, I have my position to consider. They will have to be told.But even if I remained silent, Alex Faulkner would not.""You mean - he would inform the police?""If you fail to agree to his plans, he might go to any lengths.""The - the swinel" Charlotte felt almost physically sick. "Why is he doingthis?""Because he wants you - as his wife.""But why? Why me?""Perhaps your father - " He broke off. "I don't know. He's not looking for awoman he can love, Miss Mortimer. Just a mother for his son.""My God, it's feudal !" Charlotte squared her shoulders. "Well, let him dohis worst. Let him take the company - and the house - and the car! I can earn aliving. I have a job already. I don't need his money, even if Daddy did."She was refusing to consider the other implications behind all this. They weretoo painful to contemplate here, in this dry dusty office, in company with thisdry dusty man. .Mr. Falstaff leant towards her. "Charlotte," he said, using her given name forthe first time. "Charlotte, don't think too badly of your father. If you want myopinion, I think he did take his own life — ""Because he couldn't face what he had done!""No. No, to try and salvage what he had done. Charlotte, remember theinsurance. He only took it out a few weeks before he died. Obviously, hethought if Faulkner got his money..."Charlotte held her breath. "Do you think - ""No. It's no use." Mr. Falstaff was very definite about that. "After receivingthe - er - communication, I contacted Faulkner's solicitors by telephone. Theystated emphatically that Mr. Faulkner is no longer interested in a settlement of thedebt""But - but is that legal?""Well, it's not illegal. Not in the circumstances. It does involve a certainamount of moral blackmail, but that's not illegal either. Clearly, your fatherunderestimated the man.""What do you mean? What kind of moral blackmail?""Consider, Charlotte, what the press could make of your father's suicide. Areyou prepared to have his name dragged through the mud?"Charlotte shook her head. "If what you say is true, my father died because ofme. Do you think he'd care about his name being smeared because of it? If itstopped Alex Faulkner getting what he wanted?"Mr. Falstaff sighed wearily. "You forget - the contract.""I signed no contract.""No. But your father did."Charlotte frowned. "Surely Faulkner would never publicise that! Good lord, itwould involve him just as much as Daddy.""Not necessarily. Charlotte, you don't realise, a man in Alex Faulkner'sposition can do almost anything without suffering the consequences. I've nodoubt he owns more than one prominent editor of a national newspaper. Canyou imagine how this could be portrayed? The Price of Virginity! Business mansettles Gambling Debts with his Doughter! The Infamous Games People Play I"Charlotte caught her breath. "You're wasted here, do you know that?" sheburst out on a sob. "You should be writing the headlines yourself !""I regret those were not my quotations," replied Mr. Falstaff quietly. "Theywere quoted to me."Charlotte got up again and walked restlessly round the room. "He can't dothis to me! He can't?'Mr. Falstaff shrugged his thin shoulders. "I wouldn't bank on it, MissMortimer. Not unless you're prepared to shoulder the interest which mightaccrue."Charlotte walked to the window and looked down on the busy London street.Her mind was in a turmoil. She could not take in all she had heard, and what shehad taken in, she could not believe. She had heard of people owning otherpeople, of course, who hadn't? But that her father should be among thatassembly didn't bear thinking about. Who was this man who thought he held thepower of life or death over people? What manner of man could he be to driveanother man to sacrifice his own daughter for a game of cards? It was likesome Victorian melodrama, only she was no Victorian. And he was a cold,heartless shell of a man, incapable of acquiring a wife for himself.Swinging round, she said: "So where is he? This Alex Faulkner? I want tosee him.""He does not live in England," said Mr. Falstaff flatly. "And that will haveto be arranged."Charlotte's lips trembled. "Oh, yes, arrange it. I want to tell him to his faceexactly what I think of him!"Mr. Falstaff rose to his feet. "Oh, Charlotte, please! Don't act rashly. You'relittle more than a schoolgirl. Faulkner could eat you alive!""Oh, really? Not when I get through telling him what an inhuman beast of aman he is! What a pathetic imitation of a man he must be to get his kicks throughmanipulating others!"Mr. Falstaff could see the unshed tears glistening behind her eyes, and heshook his head compassionately. "My dear child, stop tormenting yourself likethis.""What am I supposed to do? Accept it?""I think you may have to. There are worse fates.""Are there?""Oh, yes. Once you have - er - provided the necessary heir to the Faulknerfortune, you will be free to leave. To get a divorce and live comfortably -luxuriously - for the rest of your life. Why, by the time you're twenty-one, youcould be your own woman again."Charlotte's dark brows grew together. "Did he say so?""It's in the contract.""The contract!" Charlotte drew an unsteady breath. "Where is it? I think Ihave a right to see it."Mr. Falstaff opened a drawer of his desk and withdrew a foolscap manillaenvelope. He passed it across to her. "Take it home," he advised. "It's just aphoto-copy, naturally. I'll telephone you tomorrow when I have some moreinformation."Charlotte fingered the envelope. "Just out of curiosity, where does Faulknerlive?""He has an island, off the Greek mainland - Lydros. He spends much of hisfree time there. I should also tell you that he has homes - houses - in many of thecapital cities: of the world. There is his penthouse apartment overlooking HydePark, for example, and the town house he owns on the East Side of NewYork-""I don't want to hear about his possessions," retorted Charlotte bitterly.Then: "You - you can tell whoever it is you communicate with that I refuse toconsider this matter any further until I get to meet Alex Faulkner."Mr. Falstaff made a helpless gesture. "My dear, you don't tell Faulkneranything. You suggest.""Then suggest it. But make sure you get it right." She uttered a sound whichwas half between a laugh and a sob."My God, imagine having to insist on meeting the man you're expected tomarry!"At three o'clock in the morning, Charlotte went downstairs and made herselfsome tea. She had been lying awake for hours, her mind far too active to allowher to rest, her nerves too stretched with the sense of apprehension which filledher. She couldn't believe what was happening to her, and yet it was happening,and there seemed little she could do about it.She had cared for her father deeply, but the things she had learned about himthe previous afternoon had shaken her to the core. Briefly she recalled the littleshe had known of his enjoyment in gambling, the few occasions when he hadsurprised her with a present, some gift in celebration of a horse which hadbeaten its opponents past the post. Had she been too young to see a deepermeaning behind it all? And, like a drug, had it gradually gained a stronger holdupon him? Encouraged no doubt by men like Alex Faulkner !But whatever had possessed him to put his name to such an infamousdocument as that contract she had read with such loathing? How could he, evenfor a moment, have considered such a solution? And then to take his own lifelike that... For now she felt convinced that that was what he had done. Somepeople said that suicides were cowardly, afraid to face life. In her present frameof mind, she was inclined to agree with them, Whichever way you looked at it, itwas a horrible mess - on the one hand cheating her, and on the other cheatingthe insurance companies. It was as though the man she had known and lovedhad never even existed and it was a devastating realization.Even so, she could not bear to think of what her father's erstwhile colleagueswould say if they ever discovered to what depths he had sunk. Something, someinner sense of pride, made her flinch from their hidden laughter, from thepitying sympathy which would be hers if ever this got out. So - if she wentthrough with this, she would be doing it for herself, and not for her father, shethought bitterly. Was Alex Faulkner so astute? How cynical was his assessmentof his fellow man?One of the capsules, which the doctor had given her to help her to sleepimmediately after her father's death, brought oblivion towards dawn, and sheawoke feeling headachy, and with a nasty taste in her mouth, around noon. Atfirst, she couldn't imagine why she should have slept so late, and then theremembrance of the previous day and night's events came back to her, and sherolled over to bury her face in the pillow. If only she could just bury AlexFaulkner, she thought violently, and then kicking off the covers, she got up.When she came downstairs about a quarter of an hour later, slim and pale inmud-coloured levis and a green tee-shirt, her silky hair gathered back with aleather hair-slide, she foundLaura Winters, their daily, busily slicing vegetables into a saucepan. Laura was aWest Indian woman in her thirties, divorced now, with two young children ofher own to support. She occupied a flat in a block just round the corner fromGlebe Square, and had been working for the Mortimers for the past five years.She looked relieved when she saw Charlotte, although she noticed the darkrings around the girl's eyes with some concern. .."I was beginning to wonder if I should wake you, Charley," she said,shaking her head. "You been staying out late?"Charlotte shook her head. "No. I didn't sleep well, Laura. You okay?""Yes, I'm fine. I've got young Jessie off school with a stomach ache, butshe'll be all right. Been eating too many of them plums, that's all. That tree inthe garden has been full this year. I must have made more than fifteen poundsof jam."Charlotte bit her lip. Her father used to love Laura's M home-made jam.Going to the steel sink, she ran herself a glass of water and sipped it slowly,watching Laura's deft hands as she dealt with the onions and carrots. Then shesaid:'' "Have there been - any calls for me?"Laura frowned. "Sure, and I was forgetting." Charlotte tensed. "That ladyyou was working for called." Charlotte relaxed again. "She said to tell you shedoesn't get half the young men coming into the shop she used to do."Charlotte acknowledged this with a slight smile, and Laura went on:"What's up with you? You're looking awfully pale. Not still grieving over yourpa, are you? It don't do no good. He's gone. life goes on. just pull yourself to‐gether, Charley."Charlotte put down her glass. "I — I may be going away, Laura," she saidslowly."Going away?" Laura looked astounded. "Where would you be going?""I - don't know. Greece, maybe.""Greece. And who do you know in Greece?" Laura looked sceptical."I don't know where I'm going yet," retorted Charlotte sharply. Then: "I'msorry, Laura, but I just may have to."Laura frowned over her task. "There's more to this than you're telling me.Are you sure you're telling me the truth? About last night, I mean. You've notgone and got yourself mixed up with some man, have you?"Charlotte stifled an hysterical giggle. If Laura only knew I Shaking her head,she walked to the kitchen door. "Don't do much lunch for me, Laura," she said,opening it. "I'm not really very hungry."Leaving the older woman to her speculations, Charlotte walked across thehall and into the comfortable lounge which overlooked the garden at the backof the house. It was unusual to have a large garden in London, but it had beenone of the things her mother had most loved about the house. She had been akeen gardener, most content tending her plants and weeding the flower beds.Some of Charlotte's clearest memories were of her mother teaching her smalldaughter the names of some of the plants and how to look after them. ThenCharlotte had gone away to school and soon afterwards her mother had died. Herfather had told her that her mother's heart had never been strong, and a severeattack of bronchitis had proved fatal.Now Charlotte opened the french doors and stepped out on to the pavedpatio. They had a man who tended the garden these days, and it was pleasant tocome out here on a hot day and sit in the shade of the fruit trees. Not that shewould be able to do this much longer, she thought with sudden depression'.Whatever happened, the house would have to be sold. Besides, it was gettingquite chilly out here. September was bringing mists and cool breezes, and thesmouldering scent of burning leaves drifted from the garden next door.Charlotte had bent down to examine a particularly large beetle which hadsomehow wedged itself between two of the paving stones when the doorbellrang. Expecting it to be a tradesman, Charlotte made no move to answer it, butthen she heard footsteps behind her, and glancing over her shoulder she found arather agitated Laura stepping out of the french doors."It's a man," she told the girl in a low voice, and Charlotte got jerkily to herfeet."A man?""Yes. I've never seen him before, but he insists you'll know who he is. I didn'tknow what to do, so I've left him waiting in the hall. He says his name's Faulk -Faulkner? Is that right?"
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"Beware the beast" كيف احيا معك بالانكليزية Anne Mather
RomanceBEWARE THE BEAST ANNE MATHER
