She smiled. There hadn’t been a great deal of time to do anything with the house, but she had removed a few of Saul’s slightly more masculine decorations: the dented blunderbuss on the mantelpiece, the antique pistols, the buffalo skin Zulu shields, the rather severe-looking stuffed stag’s head which looked down from the eaves.
‘I tried to tell myself that poor stag had been dead for twenty years, but his eyes still seemed to be following me around, giving me evil looks,’ she smiled.
Christopher laughed. ‘I was there when Saul shot it. Perhaps I should have taken it myself and pickled it; I could have appealed to a whole new generation of art lovers.’
They both found themselves looking at the grand portrait of Saul above the fireplace. ‘I do miss that old rogue …’ said Christopher quietly. ‘I didn’t see him enough over the last few years. I regret that.’
‘We all do,’ said Emma.
Christopher nodded, then shivered, shaking his shoulders like a dog.
‘Anyway, sorry for dropping by unannounced. I was on my way to London and thought I’d take a detour into Chilcot. I’ve just been to the church to pay my respects to Saul. I couldn’t make the funeral; Chessie my wife was in hospital.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Nothing serious I hope?’
Christopher shook his head.
‘Everything’s fine.’
He wandered over to the mantelpiece and picked up a silver frame containing a black and white photograph of Saul and himself in Egypt, and another of them arm-in-arm at the top of Mount Cook.
‘Look at him,’ said Christopher with affection, ‘he always was a big showman.’
‘You noticed he has the biggest gravestone in the church grounds?’ smiled Emma.
‘Of course he has,’ laughed Christopher. ‘He should have been an entertainer, not a businessman. I know he wouldn’t mind me saying that. But he was shrewd enough to give the company to you. That news filtered down as far as St Ives.’
‘Shrewd? Not everybody sees it that way.’
Christopher looked at her, rubbing his chin with his hand. Emma was startled to see that his artistic fingers were now twisted and gnarled by arthritis.
‘I wanted to drop by and see if you were OK,’ he said with a note of concern. ‘How is it going so far?’
‘Difficult,’ she said honestly.
‘Roger?’
Emma caught the co-conspirator’s smile.
She grinned back and nodded.
‘Roger always had a high opinion of himself. Always been the failing of this company in my opinion. Saul allowed him to get away with far too much, indulged Roger’s ego. Actually, I think he was a little afraid of him. As I’m sure you know, Roger can be very charming, but he’s also very manipulative. Saul made him creative director at 25 because, well, because that’s what Roger wanted. And the company has been going downhill ever since.’
‘Well, he isn’t creative director of Milford any longer.’
‘You fired him?’ said Christopher, surprised.
‘Not exactly. Moved him along.’
‘Well, good for you,’ said Christopher. ‘But watch out for that one. You know what a rat will do when it’s cornered.’
Emma frowned. A rat? It was obvious Christopher didn’t think much of Saul’s younger brother, but that last comment was laced with venom.
‘Sorry, Emma,’ interrupted Christopher, glancing at the clock on the wall, then at his own wristwatch, ‘I really must be going. Chessie is at the Feathers. We’re staying there tonight and then we’re off to London.’
‘Oh. OK, if you must,’ said Emma, following him out of the library towards the door. ‘It’s always lovely to see you. How are the children, by the way?’
‘All fine. Well, I think they’re fine. I don’t see as much of them as I’d like. My two eldest live in Scotland. Stella, my youngest, lives in the States now. She’s a fashion designer. I tried to get her to follow in her old man’s footsteps – she studied sculpture at the Slade, but it seems she prefers working with cloth rather than clay.’
Emma’s ears had pricked up.
‘She’s a designer. Really? Who does she work for?’
‘Oh, some trendy American company in LA. Can’t even remember the name,’ he laughed.
‘LA?’
‘“La-la-land”, I know, but her mother lives on the West Coast. Stella went over there after college and never came back.’
‘Is she a good designer?’ asked Emma cautiously.
He laughed heartily. ‘How could she fail with my genes? Hey, maybe you should give her Roger’s old job? I’d be glad to have her back in the country.’
Emma smiled weakly. ‘Maybe it’s not such a crazy idea,’ she said under her breath.
‘Really?’ said Christopher, pulling a black leather diary from his inside pocket.
‘Then maybe you should give her a ring,’ he said, writing something down. ‘She doesn’t call me much, but the last time I heard she seemed to be quite happy out there – takes all sorts, I suppose. Here’s her number, anyway. You’ll get her answer machine, she’s never there. But if you leave a message she usually calls you back.’
Christopher hugged Emma then stepped back, holding her by the shoulders.
‘You stay strong, young lady,’ he said. ‘Saul gave you the company for a reason. Saul was many things, but he wasn’t a fool and he chose you to carry on his legacy – not any of those vultures in your family. I, for one, think he made a splendid choice and I know you’ll make him proud.’
He pulled down his hat and tipped a salute back inside the house, then he was away into the darkness and gone.
Emma stood there on the doorstep, feeling a distant wave of hope.
‘Who was that?’ asked Ruan, coming behind her with a glass of wine.
‘Milford’s lifeline,’ said Emma.
‘She is such a bitch!’ said Stella Chase indignantly. ‘Have you seen this shit?’ She thrust a copy of US Rive towards her friend Tash, stabbing a finger at the page. Moments earlier, the two girls had been sitting quietly in Venice Beach’s Fig-tree Café, eating frozen yoghurt and idly leafing through the latest fashion magazines. Then Stella had come across a twelve-page photo story on handbag
