‘Ex-wife. We haven’t had anything to do with each other for many years.’
‘She’s a gold-digger from what I’ve been told.’
‘Just you leave her alone. Our arrangement is between you and me, not Yolanda, not Michael, and definitely not my sister. Is that clear?’
‘You still owe me money.’
‘If I pay you now?’
‘The original four hundred thousand plus interest.’
‘How much?’ Frost’s offer seemed the preferred option to Ralph, but he wasn’t sure how to get the money. Gilbert Lawrence’s fortune would take years to sort out, although with the money he had been given by Caroline, plus a share of the shopping centre sale, another three to four hundred thousand, then it may be possible.
‘Pay me today, and it’s just over one million two hundred thousand.’
‘How? That’s outrageous!’ Ralph said, getting up from his chair and pacing around the room. ‘I can give you two hundred thousand now, more when the sale of one of the properties goes through.’
‘How much and how long?’
‘Four to five months, and then I can only give you another four hundred thousand.’
‘What a shame,’ Frost said. ‘Such a pleasant meeting and you go and ruin it by giving me bad news.’
‘What do you mean? You’re ahead on the deal.’
‘You’re forgetting the interest. It’s ten per cent per week.’
‘I never agreed to that. That means I can never pay you.’
‘Pay me now what I want, or in four months when we have another conversation, it will be at least five million, probably closer to six.’
Ralph had been feeling good that morning when he had woken. The first meeting since Dundas’s death had been scheduled for the following day, and he was going along as Caroline’s adviser, not that Jill Dundas would approve. She’d complain, both he and his sister knew that, but not as effectively as her father. And now, as he sat with Frost, Ralph knew that he was back where he had been before. In Spain, he had had the money, or he did until his partner upon release from prison had absconded with the lot. It was either pay Frost what he wanted now, and only Caroline could help, or he could not afford to wait for his father’s fortune. He’d have to make a run for it, hope that Frost and his men could not find him, and then somehow ensure he could maintain his stake on his father’s fortune. And then there was the added complication of Michael and his association with the anarchist fool Helmsley. And what about Yolanda? She still looked lovely, though mercenary, and when he had picked her up at the airport, he had recognised that she was still fond of him, and he of her. It had only been money that parted them, but now he had the chance for that money. He had known when she had come out from customs that he wanted her back in his life.
But Frost was in the way, and if Caroline wouldn’t help with the money, then Yolanda wasn’t possible.
Ralph knew he was compromised. He had to act quickly and decisively. He was afraid. ‘One week,’ he said. ‘The money in full.’
Chapter 18
Michael Lawrence met up with his mother on a Tuesday in a restaurant not far from the Waverley Hills Centre. Neither was comfortable in the presence of the other.
‘Mother, a long time,’ Michael said.
A pregnant pause before Yolanda responded. ‘You’re looking well,’ she said. She looked inside herself for the emotions that she knew a mother should have for her child.
‘Twelve years since I’ve seen you.’
‘A long time.’
Ralph Lawrence, who had driven Yolanda to the meeting of mother and son, watched from outside. It was not intended that he join them, as he had made his peace with his son, difficult as it had been. It was now time for the mother, but he knew it would not be easy. Yolanda had left her son in the care of others, mainly the various boarding schools he had attended, and apart from the occasional difficult weeks during holidays when it had been impossible to avoid, they had barely sat down together. But now they were two adults, the son older than the mother had been when she had abrogated her responsibilities.
Yolanda moved forward and wrapped her arms around her son. A brief embrace, followed by a longer and more sincere one, though neither felt the warmth that should exist. Ralph watched from outside as they sat down at their table. He then returned to his car to wait and ponder his next move.
‘Why did you come?’ Michael said.
‘Your father told me that you wanted to see me,’ Yolanda replied, realising that the child she had emotionally rejected as a babe in her arms had grown into a good-looking man. She liked what she saw, unable to make the connection between mother and son. It had been a rainy day the last time they had met in a café in Hyde Park, not far from Buckingham Palace. Michael had been at his worst, his speech slurred, a new tattoo showing the redness of being freshly inked. On his arms she had noticed the needle marks, the sign of the tie-off that had been wrapped around his upper arm to make the vein more pronounced. Then she had been ashamed of him, and apart from having a cup of tea and a sandwich neither had said much to the other. Their parting had been no more than a brief embrace, as one shuffled off looking for somewhere to sleep, the other to find a taxi to take her to Heathrow and the first-class cabin on the flight to the Caribbean. She remembered that she had shed a tear in the taxi cab.
And now, here was a person to be proud of, a son to
