Page 59 of A Change of Location
“I’m wondering how I’ll make my next rent payment. On a one-bedroom apartment. According to this writer, you’re richer than some members of the royal family.”
“She’s better informed about them than I am. Here are the facts. When my grandfather died, Uncle Rufus inherited the bulk of the family fortune, in addition to the properties in Somerset and up north and in London. My father received a sizeable trust that was set up to provide him with significant income, not that he needed it. He had this.” He pointed to a line of type. “Latimer Global Investments. He founded it.”
“You never told me he was businessman.”
“Younger sons in our family usually joined the military, but when a congenital heart defect turned out to be disqualifying, he chose to take an economics degree. By the time he married my mother, he was a chartered accountant, based in Reading. Not long after my arrival, he rose to chartered financial analyst. That was his springboard into hedge funds.”
“I don’t know much about those,” she admitted. “Only that they’re a popular source of film financing.”
“When I was five, we moved to London,” he continued. “Every morning Dad walked from our house in Gibson Square to his office in the City, headphones on, listening to a favorite album on his portable compact disc player. I’ve got his entire collection in my study at Latimer House.” He sipped his drink. “In the evening, a taxi brought him back to Islington. We were never sure when he’d arrive, because he was doing business in so many time zones. The firm spread itself around the globe. New York, Toronto, Los Angeles, Sydney, Hong Kong, Singapore, Tokyo.”
“Wow.”
“And Jersey, in the Channel Islands. We spent every August in our house near St. Helier, where Dad had his other primary office. Mother spent the entire month painting—she’d studied art in Paris. I messed about on the beach with my bucket and spade, constructing sand forts and dreading my return to school. We’d ferry over to France and explore the Normandy coast. Happy memories.”
Hannah placed a hand on his.
“Dad wasn’t greedy. But he was determined to ensure his financial security, and eventually mine, in ways that could withstand erratic stock markets and the rise and fall of property values. He’d seen how periods of economic uncertainty and recession affected owners of large estates, and he was destined to become one himself. Nobody expected that he would die before his older brother. But his defective heart couldn’t hold up to the pressures of the job and the strain of his terrible work hours.”
“When you were at Eton.”
Martin stretched out his arm and grasped the bottle. Adding whisky to his glass, he said, “Latimer Global is one of the world’s most respected fund management companies. I’m heavily invested, of course—a major shareholder. I also have a permanent seat on its board of directors.” His attention returned to the open magazine. “My being a millionaire can’t possibly be as objectionable to you as these stupid pictures. Especially the purple hair one.”
“That wasn’t a surprise. You’ve mentioned it. So did Poppy.”
Slowly he turned the pages. “When I was young and rebellious, paparazzi used to trail me in and out of clubs, restaurants, and concerts. They never hacked into my phone or trawled through my bins. But I knew full well that their keen interest could damage people I cared about. Any girl I dated. My uncle, gay and closeted. My mother, after her diagnosis.”
Hannah empathized. She had vulnerable loved ones. Her uncle, the former prisoner. Mum, whose television career had stalled in the aftermath of Chase’s difficulties. Dad, a hardworking veterinarian. Grampa, struggling against the demise of the lobstering trade.
“You must be the source of the fifty thousand pounds earmarked for the Milver Vale promotional campaign.”
“A worthwhile investment.”
“And a means of keeping me here?”
“That was an afterthought.”
“Here’s something I don’t understand. If poverty isn’t your reason for letting a film company take over your ancestral acres, what is?”
“Publicity about Forsaken Fortune and its worldwide release will spotlight this area. I expect the movie to draw tourists and new residents, whose money will boost the profits of our small businesses and agricultural producers. I’m sacrificing privacy to build up our local economy and increase entrepreneurial activity.” He flashed a grin. “And I was instantly attracted to the location manager.”
By remaining, she would put him and his various business initiatives at risk. One simple, sleazy headline—The Marquess and the Murderer’s Niece—could imperil all his grandiose plans.
“Why the tears?”
She reached up to brush them away. “It’s a lot to absorb. At the worst time of the month.” Gazing at the distant woodland, she saw that the sun was about to slip behind the treetops. Mental and emotional agony blunted the discomfort of menstrual cramps. “I should take paracetamol and lie down.”
“I’ll join you later. Unless you don’t want me.”
She did. She didn’t.
“Jewel—stay.” He grasped the dog’s collar to prevent her from following. “I’ll put together the hurdles and obstacle course before the light goes.”
Pausing on the staircase landing she peered through the arched window. Sections of the agility set lay scattered over the lawn—cross-posts, the bar, the hoop. Martin held his phone flashlight against the box so he could read the instructions again.
Industrious and thoroughly absorbed. That’s how she would remember him.
In her bedroom, she removed her toiletries kit from the pocket of her packed bag and fished out the bottle of paracetamol. After swallowing two, she switched on her laptop and clicked the bookmark for the airline website.
