The Alchemist's Key Page 2

  The frown dispersed from Wade’s forehead for the first time all day, and he poured them both a shot of bourbon. ‘Well, let’s give him a call, courtesy of Hapwood, Baxter and Bentley, shall we?’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Hugh lifted the receiver and dialled home.

  The whole scenario was news to Damian Prescott, and Hugh had been right in saying that his father would be over the moon about the event. He swore Peter, Wade’s father, had never so much as even hinted at the fact.

  ‘Did he ever mention why he left England?’ Wade fished for clues.

  ‘Because of your mother’s health. The climate was no good for her, Wade, you know that.’

  Wade’s mind accepted that this was his father’s true motive for the move, and yet his gut disagreed — it was all in knots. It was not like him to be so uptight, and he wondered if he might be experiencing some kind of after-shock, or plain old nerves. Or perhaps this was what jetlag felt like? So much had happened today and, having travelled halfway around the world, the day had been longer than usual.

  ‘Get some rest,’ advised Hugh, as Wade sat rubbing his weary eyes. ‘Tomorrow will bring a fresh perspective, and a few facts. You can’t do much without them, so forget it!’

  Hugh was right, but he was also not the one in this weird predicament.

  Wade wasn’t really into material possessions, apart from his computer and suchlike. This probably explained why he had no problem with squandering his money. And now, some fool was going to make him responsible for the family fortune and title!

  ‘I can’t do this, Hugh,’ Wade announced.

  ‘Yes, you can,’ replied Hugh, who had already made himself comfortable in one of the suite’s two huge beds. ‘Just close your eyes and count backwards from one hundred.’

  ‘I meant —’

  ‘I know,’ Hugh broke in. ‘I also know that you’ve thought yourself brain dead. Not to mention the jetlag, the shock, the fact that you’ve had about four hours sleep in three days.’

  ‘All right!’ Wade stood to shake off his thoughts, then dived onto the spare bed. ‘I’ll drop it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ whined Hugh, rolling over. ‘Goodnight.’

  Wade grabbed the closest pillow and tucked it under his head in a futile attempt to settle down to sleep. His thoughts again turned to tomorrow. He couldn’t help but wonder if his grandfather’s will would shed any light on his father’s decision to ignore his heritage.

  Surprisingly enough, Wade did manage to get some shuteye. His usual confidence and humour had returned by morning, and he felt himself more open to the possibilities that lay ahead of him this day.

  He did his best to look presentable, meaning he dug out a pair of jeans that didn’t have any holes in them, and wore a shirt rather than a T-shirt under his long, black trenchcoat. His fine fair hair, which had not been cut in years, was tied back in a ponytail.

  ‘What do you think?’ he inquired of Hugh, who looked him up and down.

  ‘You’d best lose the earring,’ he advised, referring to the small silver marijuana leaf that hung from Wade’s left earlobe.

  Wade reluctantly complied, though he resented not feeling free to be himself.

  Hugh managed to look the part in his two-piece suit and woollen vest. His dark unruly curls, along with well-trimmed beard and moustache, gave him that lived-in look whilst making him appear older and more worldly than he truly was.

  ‘That will be Giles.’ Hugh moved to answer the knock at the door. ‘Are you ready, Baron Ashby?’

  ‘Hey, that will be Your Excellency, if you please,’ demanded Wade, in jest.

  ‘Uh, not until after the title has been signed over,’ Hugh informed him.

  The legal company’s Rolls Royce awaited them at the hotel entrance, and it transported Wade’s party a good two blocks before it parked on the doorstep of the firm.

  Wade climbed out of the Rolls, amused to discover he could still see their hotel. He then turned and looked up at the sandstone stairs of Hapwood, Baxter and Bently.

  ‘What! No red carpet,’ he joked for Hugh’s amusement, though the statement caught the attention of the two women who were scaling the stairs.

  The older, more refined looking of the ladies wavered from her course to inquire: ‘Would this be the young Baron Ashby I have the pleasure of addressing?’

  ‘It certainly would be.’ Wade advised in a cocky though friendly fashion.

  A large smile graced the woman’s face. ‘Your accent gave you away.’

  ‘Your Excellency,’ Giles intervened, before Wade was given the chance to offend the Contessa. ‘May I introduce Baron Wade Ashby, and his associate, Hugh Prescott. Gentlemen, this is the Contessa Selene Montagu.’

  ‘Am I bowing?’ Wade queried sideways to Hugh, as they climbed the stairs behind Giles.

  ‘Definitely,’ he advised in a whisper.

  The Contessa, in her early fifties or thereabouts, seemed to find their banter amusing. She held out her hand to Wade as he neared her and he, on impulse, kissed it.

  ‘Just like your grandfather,’ she commented with delight. ‘Please allow me to introduce my assistant, Hannah Martin.’

  The woman to whom the Contessa referred was barely more than a girl, and was a cross between a highly-paid secretary and a ballet dancer. ‘How do you do?’ She came forward and shook Hugh’s hand firmly. Then, taking a step back, she astutely bowed her head to Wade. ‘Baron Ashby.’

  ‘A pleasure.’ He found Hannah too snobbish for his taste. The Contessa was far more interesting. Wade had been immediately enthralled with her, which wasn’t hard, as she was beautiful despite her age. ‘Did you know my grandfather well?’

  ‘The Contessa and your grandfather had vested interests in a college for the performing arts,’ Giles interjected.

  ‘Yes. Thank you, Giles,’ the Contessa dismissed him, taking hold of Wade’s arm to escort Wade inside.

  As they entered the large foyer of the building, a distinguished-looking gent was exiting with a young lady, and he tipped his hat to the young Baron-to-be. ‘Baron Ashby.’ He nodded to acknowledge the new noble and his stately escort. ‘Contessa.’

  Wade, wearing a dumbfounded expression turned and watched the couple exit out the front doors of the establishment. ‘What … am I wearing a sign? Who was that?’ He turned back to consult the Contessa, who was also watching the very polite gentleman disappear.

  ‘That’s the very odd thing, I have no idea.’ The Contessa smiled to herself, obviously finding the handsome stranger intriguing. ‘I shall have to do some snooping,’ she advised Wade, as they resumed their course. By the time they’d reached the partners’ offices, the Contessa had given Wade her pitch on the college and invited him to visit. ‘Your forefather’s have always been ardent supporters of the arts,’ she informed him. ‘I hope that the college can continue to rely on the generosity and patronage of the Ashby Family.’

  Wade didn’t know what to say. He had no idea how much he was inheriting, nor could he be sure that the charming Contessa was telling him the truth. ‘I hope so, too,’ he told her with a smile.

  After a brief pause, the Contessa gave a quiet chuckle and, patting Wade’s cheek affectionately, she turned and entered the room where the Will was to be read. Not too sure what to make of her response, Wade looked to Hugh, who merely shrugged and motioned him to lead the way.

  Aside from the partner handling the title claim and the Will, there was another small gathering of men in the room. They were all rather aged, except for one who looked to be in his early twenties.

  Are they relatives? Wade wondered, as the master of ceremonies came forward to introduce himself.

  ‘Lord Ashby. I am Robert Hapwood, the solicitor and nominated executor of your grandfather’s will. The Contessa you have already met. And these gentlemen,’ he referred to the group of men Wade was curious about, ‘were in the late Baron’s employ, and are present at his request.’

  The most distinguished of the three old
men came forward to address Wade.

  ‘Talbot Jenkins, at your service, my Lord.’ He bowed as much as his ageing back would allow. ‘I was butler to your grandfather for forty years, and he highly recommends me. He would also like to recommend the services of his chauffeur, my son, Andrew Jenkins.’ The young man in their party stepped forward and bowed. ‘Your grandfather’s grounds-keeper, Dougal McMurry.’ Talbot motioned to a greying, redheaded man, who looked very fit for his age, and then to the little, round man remaining … ‘And your grandfather’s cook, Winston Hobbs.’

  ‘One meal, my Lord, and you shall never let me go.’ Winston bowed, rather confident of his abilities.

  ‘Well, I am very pleased to meet you all.’ Wade was a bit lost for words. ‘This is my friend, Hugh,’ he advised, whereby they all shook hands and were seated.

  Although the Will did not yield up any reasons why his father had kept their ancestry and inheritance a secret, Wade did learn a thing or two about his family history.

  The Ashby title stemmed from the pirate legends of the Elizabethan era. The Queen bestowed the title of Baron on William Ashby in 1580. It came with a ninety-nine year lease on forty acres of land in Oxfordshire that was equipped with a modestly-sized Hall and quarters.

  The baronage was William’s reward for his outstanding seamanship on Sir Frances Drake’s flagship during Drake’s first circumnavigation of the globe. Queen Elizabeth extended the title lease to nine hundred and ninety-nine years in 1597, when the young Baron Ashby was killed during a daring raid on a Spanish fleet assembling in Cadiz Harbour.

  As only four hundred and eighteen of those years had expired, and there was no outstanding mortgages against the property, Robert Hapwood had seen to it that the will was declared valid.

  ‘I entrust the family leasehold estate,’ he read, ‘known as “Ashby Manor” at Ashbury in the county of Oxfordshire, along with the title of Baron thereunto attached, to my grandson, Wade Ashby, the sole and rightful heir.’

  The solicitor went on to inform the Contessa about the endowment of a scholarship foundation for her college, which was additional to a very generous final donation from the late Lord Ashby.

  Hapwood then advised of the sums of money set aside for the employees of Ashby Manor, Ashby Stables, and a considerable fee for Hapwood, Baxter and Bently, who were to continue to oversee the financial affairs of Ashby Holdings.

  Wade thought he might fall asleep if the endless roll call of names, positions held and sums of money bequeathed didn’t come to an end soon.

  But when he heard his name, Wade paid attention. ‘I bequeath the residue of my real and personal estate, including Ashby Stables, to Wade Ashby, the thirteenth Baron.’

  As there were others present, Robert Hapwood would only say that the estimated value of this part of the inheritance amounted to an eight figure sum.

  Wade had to stop and think about it, but when he figured that Hapwood was talking of somewhere between ten and ninety-nine million dollars, he nearly had a stroke.

  ‘It is your grandfather’s wish that Tunstan Wilks and myself continue to advise you in regard to your family’s business holdings, as long as that is pleasing to you, Baron Ashby.’ The solicitor raised himself, and gave a slight bow. ‘Congratulations. You are a wealthy man.’

  ‘Is that all there is to it?’ Wade was startled out of his shock.

  ‘Your forefather’s have made it so,’ Hapwood reassured him. ‘I merely require your signature on a few documents, then Talbot Jenkins will see you to the manor. I realise you must be anxious to see the property.’

  Hapwood motioned Wade to a seat in front of his desk, and held out a pen.

  3

  The Manor

  After a closed meeting with Robert Hapwood, Wade was relieved to make it back outside for a breath of air. No fan of responsibility, Wade had always gone out of his way to avoid it. He could scarcely conceive of the huge sums of money Hapwood had been talking about, and the notion that he alone was in charge of it all, along with the livelihood of so many people, was starting to make Wade feel nauseous.

  Andrew Jenkins emerged from the vintage Rolls Royce parked next to the sidewalk and opened the rear door. ‘Talbot, Dougal and Winston have gone on ahead to Ashby, my Lord. I took the liberty of collecting your luggage from the hotel.’

  Wade cringed at the lad’s formal tone, but made no verbal protest. ‘Good-oh. Thanks, Andrew.’ He climbed inside the vehicle to find Hugh reading the morning paper and smoking a fine cigar.

  ‘Another Rolls!’ Wade announced in an exaggeratedly bored fashion, collapsing into the comfortable leather seat.

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ Hugh turned the page. ‘Only, you own this one.’

  ‘You don’t say.’ Wade gave the lush interior a once-over. ‘I have great taste.’

  The drive down to Ashby took them until well into the afternoon, as they had stopped to have lunch at a country cafe.

  Wade indulged in a few drinks from the built-in bar during the second half of their journey, and smoked nearly a whole packet of cigarettes. It was getting to that time of day when he usually settled down with his computer and a fat joint.

  ‘Hey, Andrew,’ Wade leaned over the back of the driver’s seat to have a chat with him. ‘You’re an enterprising young lad. You wouldn’t happen to know where I might score myself some dope, perchance?’

  ‘Er, no, my Lord,’ Andrew stammered, almost breaking into a sweat at the question.

  ‘It’s cool.’ Wade patted his shoulder to calm him, before collapsing back into his seat beside Hugh. ‘Isn’t that just typical,’ he grumbled. ‘I can never afford the bloody stuff, and now I’m worth millions, I can’t find it!’ He lit another cigarette instead.

  ‘Well, Amsterdam is not far from here,’ Hugh suggested, in jest.

  ‘Brilliant!’ Wade played along, ‘Andrew, to Amsterdam.’

  ‘Ah …’ The chauffeur became flustered. ‘If it pleases my Lord, there might be a closer source.’

  Wade and Hugh looked to each other, both sporting a mischievous grin. ‘It would seem young Andrew has been holding out on us.’ Wade gave his new driver the old chug on the shoulder. ‘Chill out, Andy, old buddy, old pal … if what you say is true, you’ll be in my employ for life.’

  ‘He’s quite serious,’ added Hugh.

  ‘As it pleases, my Lord. I shall arrange it.’ Andrew breathed a sigh of relief as he watched Wade in his rear-view mirror. Wade was obviously delighted with the situation. ‘My Lord?’

  ‘Yes, Andy,’ responded Wade, all chipper.

  The young chauffeur was hesitant to make his request, but he was more afraid of not voicing it. ‘It might be advisable not to mention this arrangement to my father. He’s a little old fashioned about such things.’

  ‘That goes without saying, my good man. It shall be our little secret.’

  After a short detour to the local pub, Wade and Hugh were as high as kites by the time they reached the turreted gatehouse that marked the entrance to Ashby Manor. The gates opened by remote control, chauffeur operated from inside the car.

  ‘That’s a relief,’ commented Wade when he discovered this. ‘For a minute there, I thought we were haunted.’

  Andrew, who was stoned from just being in the car, gave a chuckle. ‘That doesn’t mean we don’t have ghosts, my Lord.’

  ‘O … o … o … oooooh!’ Hugh and Wade joined in with a duo of creepy moans before looking out of the window to the tree-lined drive and the beautiful grounds and gardens beyond.

  ‘So all this is my property,’ Wade assumed calmly.

  ‘My Lord, we’ve been on your property for the last ten minutes.’

  The shock of the statement spurred Hugh and Wade to laughter.

  ‘What?’ Wade peeled himself off the seat. ‘Do you mean to say that all that bush belongs to me?’

  ‘That it does.’

  ‘And what am I meant to do with it?’

  ‘You hunt in it, my Lord.’

 
‘Hunt!’ Hugh and Wade collapsed into hysterics again. Wade couldn’t kill an insect, let alone an animal.

  Their laughter ceased as the manor came into view, causing Wade to mouth a four-letter word that expressed his feeling of awe beautifully.

  ‘I can’t wait to view the architecture,’ uttered Hugh. ‘Just look at that dome,’ he drooled.

  His friend’s obvious worship of the structure disturbed Wade. ‘Steady on there, Hugh! It’s not as if it were a beautiful set of breasts. It’s just a dome!’

  Andrew bit his lip in an unsuccessful attempt not to laugh.

  ‘See, Andy agrees with me.’ Wade acknowledged the chauffeur’s chuckle.

  ‘Sorry, Excellency, but it’s not that. If I might direct your attention to the fountain.’

  The fountain was the central feature of a roundabout at the end of the drive, and was in itself a work of art. The great stone structure was adorned with marble sea nymphs and mermaids who beckoned you around to the front of the house. The half-naked beauties who dwelt on the far side of the fountain bade farewell as visitors departed the manor.

  ‘Now, there’s something worth admiring.’ Wade lowered his sunglasses to inspect the craftsmanship. ‘Taste,’ he decided.

  ‘True perfection,’ agreed Hugh.

  Talbot and the rest of the staff awaited Baron Ashby and his guest on the pillared veranda above a flight of sandstone stairs.

  There was one new face among them, that of a woman, Rosia Hobbs. She was the wife of Winston, the cook, and was responsible for the cleaning of the manor. ‘We are so pleased to have you home, my Lord.’ She curtsied, clasping her hands to her heart. ‘The last time I saw you, you were just a little boy.’

  Wade was stunned by the comment. ‘I’m sorry. Did we live here before my father shifted us to Australia?’

  ‘Yes, Excellency,’ Talbot intervened, thinking the young Baron had probably had enough excitement for one day. ‘But as you were little more than a toddler at the time, I doubt very much if you would recall your time at Ashby.’