Masters & Lovers Box Set Three

Mitch
She descends the stairs as if the devil is behind her...
He is...
She risks a look up; the briefest of glances. She can’t see him, but the clang of pursuit echoes above her.
And she runs...
Down two stories, three. Almost to ground level... and there... As she hits tarmac... a door close by... An emergency exit swings
open, a body erupting out of it...
Frank.
He canons into her, grabbing her by the waist, swinging her around.
“Mitch...”
“Don’t stop.” She jerks a head up to where Klempner rattles down the steps after her. “Where’s your car?”
“Basement, but the keys...”
“Got them. Move.”
The pair swerve, u-turning back into the stairwell, barrelling downwards. From above, the sound of a slamming door; echoing
boots on concrete
They burst into the parking lot.
“Where?” She peers into the low dark space.
“There.” He points, still running, snatching at her wrist, towing her along. From behind another crash from a swinging door. From
off-side, Bech appears with Malory, both with guns in their hands.
The pair dash from one grey concrete pillar to another; stooping, running at a crouch, dodging between corridors of vehicles;
vans, station wagons, saloons... Then, a sports car; shiny, bright red and low...

A crack behind her. A whistle...
Mitch shrieks and drops as the bullet skids over the door of the two-seater, taking paintwork with it...
Klempner’s voice, reverberating through the low space. “Put the fucking gun down. Hurt her and I’ll gut you.”
... but she keeps moving...
Frank is ahead of her. For a moment he skids, foot sliding over a patch of oil. Slipping, he falls but catches himself on the handle
of the nearest door, then, “There... Keys!”
She tosses them across and twisting, he catches them one-handedly, pointing ahead to his own 4x4. Lights flash orange,
beeping and the crunch of disengaging locks resound through the low-ceilinged space.
She tumbles into the passenger seat.
“Stay down.” Frank engages and with the screech of tortured rubber, the car careens down the ranks of vehicles.
Bech and Malory race behind, but Klempner cuts across, sprinting for the exit. Silhouetted against the daylight he stands, legs
akimbo, arms outspread... “Mitch, no!”
Frank’s foot flat on the gas, the car screams down the aisle, up the ramp, adding to the black-burned stripes on the pitted
concrete. Slamming his fist onto the horn, it shrieks defiance as the car rockets to the exit. At the last moment, Klempner hurls
himself to one side as they smash through the barrier and out.
Scrambling up off the tarmac, cursing, he runs after them, squinting into the sunshine but already the traffic has closed around
his quarry. They’re gone.
Panting, Bech catches up with him, Malory wheezing behind. “We can’t let them go. I’ll find them.”
Klempner whirls, punching forward, directly into Bech’s stomach. The man drops, grunting and clutching his gut. Klempner
lashes out with a foot, planting his boot in Bech’s ribs. “Use a gun near her again and it will be the last thing you do. Understand
me? Hurt her and I’ll finish you.”
Curling in on himself, Bech hisses through his teeth, winded; no words, but he nods.
“Good. Next time it’ll be more than my boot in your guts. Now get up and find them.”

*****
Charlotte
Francis’ intercom buzzes. “Francis, it’s Kirstie. I’m trying to find Charlotte. Is she up there?”
Francis starts to reply, but I interrupt her. “Yes, I’m here, Kirstie.”
“I have someone down here for you. A Mr Maurio Vincenzo. He says he’s from Vincenzo and Partners...”
My Master cocks a questioning brow.
“The lawyers who handled my divorce.”
What on earth could they want?
“Does he say what it’s about, Kirstie?”
“Just that he needs to speak with you. Should I send him up?”
“Yes, of course.”
My Master, frowning, “You don’t have anything outstanding from your divorce surely?”
“I don’t see how I could. And if there was anything, I’m sure Chad would have mentioned it.”
He sucks in his cheeks. “Would you like me to sit in with you?”
Translation... I want to sit in with you...
“If you would like to, yes, of course.”
The elevator doors Ssshhhh... open and a man wearing a dark grey suit and a professional manner steps out. He glances
around, then to me. “Mrs Summerford?”
“That’s right.”
He steps forward, hand outstretched. “Maurio Vincenzo. You dealt with my father when he handled your divorce.”

I take the hand, shake it. “Pleased to meet you. I’m a bit baffled though. Surely everything to do with my divorce is...”
He holds up a hand. “This isn’t to do with your divorce, but another matter entirely. Although it was your estranged husband who
informed us where we could find you. Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”
Francis pipes up. “Richard has no appointments just now, Charlotte. The conference room is free all morning.” She gestures
across. “If you’ll go through, Mr Vincenzo...”
My Master follows us in, to the sidelong glance of the lawyer.
“It’s fine,” I say.
Sitting down, “First of all,” says Vincenzo, clicking open his briefcase, “I mean no offence, but you and I have not met before and
I must establish your identity. I understand you are currently known as ‘Charlotte Summerford’, but my father dealt with one
‘Jennifer Conners’. I have only Mr Bennett’s word that you are the same person. You can confirm that you are the woman once
known as Jennifer Conners?”
“That’s right.”
“And you can prove that?”
“If I need to. But why should I need to?”
“For now, could you please give me your signature as Jennifer Conners.”
My Master sits, silently watching, a finger pressed to his lips as I sign my old and long-abandoned name. The lawyer compares it
with some paper from his case, then looks up again, smiling, holding up the paper. “Your original petition for divorce,” he
comments. “And that’s fine, Mrs Summerford. Now...” He takes out another document. “As to why I am here. As I mentioned, my
firm was contacted recently by your ex-husband, Charles Bennett, to inform us that he had relocated you after he, and we, lost
track of you for some years.”
“Right... So?”
“So...” He holds up the document, punctuating his words with it. “So, I hold here the will deposited with my firm by one Levi
Kalkowski...”
My stomach clutches and my Master stirs in his seat...

“Mr Kalkowski...” Vincenzo looks over the rim of his spectacles at me...” Your old school-teacher I understand...” He hesitates.
“As you probably know, he died some years ago...?”
My throat tightens. “Yes, I knew that.”
He exhales. “Good. I’ll admit I was worrying that I might be breaking bad news to you. However, putting it in a nutshell, Mr
Kalkowski died without spouse or heirs. In short, he willed his estate to you.”
My world stops.
I should be pleased...
I think...
I’m not sure...
My breath comes in short gasps.
My Master moves to take the seat beside me. He squeezes my hand. “Charlotte?”
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” But my voice is wobbly, and moisture gathers at the corners of my eyes.
He casts a sceptical eye over me then turns to the lawyer. “What does the estate consist of?”
“He wasn’t a wealthy man; of modest means. But he used his resources intelligently. There is a little money, his house complete
with contents, some small investments. It adds up to a respectable sum.” Vincenzo pushes the document to me. “You will find a
summary here,” He steeples fingers as I read, not a word of the contents reaching my brain.
“It’s as well,” he comments, “that Mr Bennett contacted us when he did. It has been a number of years since your friend passed
away. Had you not been found, eventually the property would have reverted to the state.”
*****
Vincenzo leaves and I sit, trying to make sense of my thoughts. My Master sits by me, holding my hand in his. His voice soft.
“What will you do with it? The house?”
“I’ve no idea. I hadn’t got that far.”

He left it to me...
Of everyone there...
All the children he taught...
He left it to me...
“Perhaps you should visit before you decide? You can have a look around. Go through the house. Perhaps find something to
remember him by...”
“I’d like that, yes. But the people there weren’t exactly welcoming the last time I visited.”
He hmmms... Stands. Paces. “You could ask Chad to go along too? Maybe clear things up for you.”
“Perhaps.”
He sits again. Takes my hand again. Kisses the fingers. “I’d like to come too...”
“Of course, Master. I’d assumed you would.”
“... You see, among other things, I’d like the chance to meet the original ‘Charlotte’...”
Ooohhh... Goddd...
My horse...
*****