The Masterful Mr. Montague by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online

“I have a matter to do with the Halstead estate that I would like to discuss with you. If you have the time?”
    Runcorn stepped back and waved to his office. “Of course.”
    He ushered Montague into the office, and into a chair before the large and well-used desk. As Runcorn rounded it, making for his own chair, he offered, “The office was my father’s before me, of course. I’m the son.”
    Montague found the young man’s enthusiasm infectious. “I had heard as much.” When Runcorn looked his question, Montague added, “From Lady Halstead.” Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew her letter of authority. “Before we proceed, you will need to read this.”
    Sobering, Runcorn took the letter, unfolded it, read it, then, slowly refolding the sheet, he looked across the desk at Montague with a faint, puzzled frown.
    Montague had no difficulty reading the thoughts passing through Runcorn’s head, not with such an open, expressive face; even the vague possibility of a suspicion he’d harbored that Runcorn might in some way be involved in the irregularities was rapidly fading. “Permit me to assure you that I am not here to poach your client, Mr. Runcorn.” Holding out his hand for the letter, when Runcorn surrendered it, Montague stowed it in his pocket once again.
    “Then I admit I’m confused, sir.” Runcorn regarded him steadily. “Why are you here?”
    “Lady Halstead requires . . . shall we say ‘reassurance’? . . . that whatever explanation you find for the irregularities in her bank account is the correct one. That is my focus and that alone. I will also state that I have no financial interest in this matter—I have agreed to provide my oversight purely out of professional curiosity.” Montague held Runcorn’s gaze. “I am quite intrigued, Mr. Runcorn, as to what the explanation for the unusual payments into her ladyship’s bank account might be.”
    A moment passed, then Runcorn blinked and, as if assuring himself, said, “She wants reassurance . . . well, I can understand that. I haven’t been in this business for all that long, and . . .” After a second, he met Montague’s eyes. “To be candid, sir, I would greatly appreciate your guidance in this matter. I had thought the payments must be due to some old, long-forgotten investment, but they’re not—or, at least, that doesn’t appear to be the case.”
    “No.” Montague hesitated, then added, “In fact, that’s what sparked my interest in this matter. I’ve been in this business for a very long time, yet I do not recognize the style of these payments. They don’t match any pattern I’ve seen before.”
    “Exactly!” Runcorn held up his hands in a helpless gesture. “Pringle—he’s my clerk—and I have been wracking our brains trying to think of what they might be arising from, but as yet we’ve found no clue. And as the bank has noted the payments as cash deposits, it’s unlikely they’ll be able to shed light on the source, and”—Runcorn looked uncomfortable—“I didn’t think it wise to raise the issue with the bank at this time—not without Lady Halstead’s explicit permission, and not until we’ve eliminated all the more likely investment sources.”
    Meeting Runcorn’s gaze, Montague nodded approvingly. “Indeed. We should only involve the bank once we’ve exhausted all other avenues of inquiry. No need to air our questions more widely than necessary.”
    “So we thought.” Runcorn looked reassured. “Consequently, pursuing the angle that the payments relate to some forgotten investment, we’ve pulled the complete Halstead file—it goes back a good thirty years—and we’re combing through it page by page, but as yet we’ve had no luck.”
    Montague considered, then nodded again. “At present, that’s the first question you must answer—regardless of appearances, are these payments in some way linked to some past investment? You are, indeed, taking the right tack.” He smiled at