Read Online The Silver Falcon by Evelyn Anthony - Free Book Online

he’d never see it. I promised him I’d run the horse, and I’m going to keep that promise. And he’ll run in Charles’s colours.’
    â€˜So he gets what he wants even after death?’
    â€˜That’s not what Isabel means,’ Ryan said sharply. ‘It’s in his memory.’
    â€˜I know what she means,’ Richard answered. ‘Pass me the port, will you, Isabel – thanks. You want to do something for father, carry out his dying wish, and the rest of it. You’re not interested in the glory or the money from your own point of view. Right?’
    â€˜Yes. Absolutely right,’ Isabel said. ‘What I hoped is that you would think it was a good idea. I hoped you’d share my feeling about it.’
    â€˜If it will make you happy,’ Richard Schriber shrugged, ‘then I think it’s great.’ He looked across at Tim Ryan.
    â€˜My father and I weren’t exactly buddy buddies,’ he said. ‘In fact we didn’t speak for the last ten years. Isabel tried to bring us together and I guess I was ready to be reconciled if he was. It was unlucky that I came too late. But don’t expect me to feel the same about him as she does, or you do. All right, he wanted to win the Derby. He always wanted to win; not only with horses. But if she wants to go ahead, then I wish her all the luck in the world. Here’s to the Silver Falcon.’ He raised his port glass. Isabel did the same and after a second’s hesitation, so did Tim Ryan.
    â€˜After all,’ Richard said, smiling at both of them. ‘Why shouldn’t my old man win – he always did!’
    There was no formal reading of the will. Charles’s lawyer, Henry Winter, came over from Kellway, and lunched privately with Isabel. She had asked Richard to join them, but he had refused. ‘I don’t think it’s going to concern me,’ he said. ‘And please believe me, I don’t give a damn. I’m going to take off for the day; you can tell me all about it this evening.’
    After lunch the lawyer cleared his throat and wiped his lips with his napkin.
    â€˜I have to talk to you about the will, Mrs Schriber. And one other matter.’
    She got up from the table. ‘Then let’s go and talk about it over some coffee,’ she said. ‘And we can go through our business at the same time.’
    â€˜I think,’ Henry Winter said, ‘that it would be better if I give you the copy of your husband’s will first. I don’t think you’ll find it complicated, but I’ll just explain the important points before you come to them. As I am sure you know, you are the beneficiary.’
    Isabel poured the coffee. ‘So he told me. But that’s all I know. I imagine it’s on trust.’
    â€˜No,’ he said. ‘No, it’s not. I must confess we advised him to set up a series of trusts for you, because that is the normal way when there’s such a large estate involved, but he wouldn’t agree. He has left you everything without restriction. Except one clause. Beaumont is yours, the stud, the bloodstock; his stock holdings, chattels, art collection, everything.’ He paused. ‘I estimate the value of the whole estate at something like twenty million dollars.’
    She drank some of the coffee and then put the cup down; a little of it spilled into the saucer. Twenty million dollars. Even when they were married she had never regarded herself as rich. It was his money. Twenty million.
    â€˜I don’t think I can cope with that, Mr Winter,’ she said. ‘It’s too much money. I don’t need it.’
    â€˜I should read the will,’ he suggested. He drank his coffee and grimaced. He liked it decaffeinated.
    Isabel had forgotten him. She was reading slowly. It was not so much a legal document as a testament of Charles Schriber’s love for her and his gratitude for what he described as