A Perfect Proposal (6 page)

At first when she saw the name New York on a wodge of papers that were stapled together, she thought she’d imagined it, but a moment’s inspection told her that she had read correctly. Unlike everything else on the table, this looked interesting. She was about to start reading them when she remembered that these were Uncle Eric’s private papers so, instead, she took them downstairs with her.

‘What’s this, Uncle Eric?’ she asked him, handing him the papers.

‘How the hell should I know!’ he said, having peered at them through the glasses round his neck. ‘Is it suppertime? I’m hungry!’

This was a good sign. Uncle Eric didn’t have much appetite, but Sophie had noticed that since she’d been cooking small but tasty little snacks, he’d been eating more. She planned to leave Mrs Brown some recipes.

‘I’ll start cooking when I’ve given you your pills. You can have a look at those papers while I do it. You’ve finished the crossword, presumably?’

‘Oh yes. Didn’t need your help today.’

‘Then you’ll need something to keep you occupied. Why don’t you get a television? You’d love it.’

‘Dear child, you know perfectly well how I feel about television. Give me the papers and I’ll have a look.’

Patting his shoulder as she left the room, Sophie said, ‘I’ll take you to the library tomorrow, to get you something else to read. Or maybe we could arrange for the travelling library to come a bit nearer?’

While they were eating scrambled eggs with Marmite on the toast that evening, Uncle Eric said, ‘You know that bunch of papers you wanted me to look at?’

‘Yes?’ Sophie picked up the teapot and began to pour. Uncle Eric would have no truck with teabags and mugs; he liked tea from a pot.

‘They might amuse you.’

‘What are they?’

‘They’re to do with part of my inheritance – your family’s too. Drilling rights.’

‘What? Do you want another slice of toast? It wouldn’t take a minute.’

‘Well, I would, actually. I like this brown stuff on it.’

‘Marmite, Uncle-Eric-dear. It’s been around for centuries. Even you must have experienced it before.’

‘I’ve probably forgotten. Anyway, go and make the toast, and then I’ll tell you the story.’

When Sophie returned with a fresh supply of toast, he began. ‘Ages ago, about four generations, our family owned the drilling rights to a bit of Texas. They’re not worth anything because they’re on the only bit of Texas that doesn’t have oil in it – either that or it’s far too expensive to get out.’

‘Shame,’ said Sophie, buttering a crust. ‘I’d love to own part of an oil well. I could do with the cash.’

‘Couldn’t we all? But even if there was oil, the rights were turned into shares and they’ve been left to different people over the years.’

‘So why was New York written on the top of the paper?’

‘Oh, that’s the address of my cousin Rowena who tried to get everyone who owns any of it to form a group, so one
person could speak for us all and make it possible to negotiate renting the rights.’

‘Oh. But she didn’t manage to get everyone to do it?’

‘I have no idea. She also bought the rights from some people who thought they’d never be worth anything, but I haven’t heard from her in centuries. I expect she’s in a care home or something. I wrote to her a couple of years ago. Got no reply. Perhaps she’s dead.’

‘You don’t sound very sad.’ Sophie crunched into her toast.

‘Most of my friends are dead, Sophie. At my age you get used to that,’ he said matter-of-factly.

‘So you don’t think the drilling rights are worth anything?’

Uncle Eric became thoughtful. ‘They never have been before but it’s possible that, with newfangled equipment, they are now. Maybe.’

‘So there’s a possibility that you, and other members of your family, could be sitting on a gold mine – or rather an oil well?’

‘There’s a possibility, but not one I’m really prepared to pursue.’

‘Well, would you mind if I read through the papers? It might be interesting.’ She paused. ‘You should see your desk. It looks amazing! All ready for the
Antiques Roadshow
!’ Then she remembered that Uncle Eric didn’t have a television and wouldn’t get the reference.

‘If you’ve nothing better to do with your time, but I’m sure you’ll find it very tedious. Dry as dust, that sort of thing.’

‘But it might lead to something. Oil wells are quite interesting, aren’t they?’

‘True. If you want to look into it further there’s nothing stopping you. But no taking the papers back to your family! They’ll get all sorts of daft ideas and it’ll all come to nothing, you mark my words.’

‘You go back to your Sudoku,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you if there’s anything worth pursuing.’

‘So, did you come up with anything?’ asked Uncle Eric as they drank hot chocolate and ate digestive biscuits before bed.

Sophie had expected him to have forgotten all about her investigations. ‘Only really that address in New York, but there was an ancient letter, which obviously everyone affected received, suggesting that people got together to form a syndicate or something, just like you said.’

‘Hm. Don’t think we did though. Can’t remember why not. Long time ago.’

Something in the way he said this created a flicker of excitement. ‘Would you like me to look into it?’

‘Well, if you’ve got the energy and enthusiasm to investigate, it could be worth your while. Maybe not you
personally
, of course.’

‘No?’

‘It depends to whom the shares have been left. It’s possible that your grandfather left them to you and your siblings. Otherwise it’ll just be your father who’ll benefit. Do you want him and your mother becoming oil millionaires?’

Sophie chuckled. ‘Well, it’s unlikely they’d be millionaires, but I’d be happy for them to have a few extra thousand. They could get the house put in order, repair the roof. That would be good.’

‘Then go to it! If you had something to really get your teeth into, it would stop you bothering me.’ He frowned. ‘There may be some more papers in the loft, but I had a bad leak up there some years ago, so I expect they’ve all been ruined.’

‘I could look—’

‘No you can’t. There’s nothing of use there, I’m certain.
You work on the papers you’ve got. Quite enough for your purposes.’

‘But I’d have to go to New York.’

‘You told me you wanted to go anyway. See your friend Molly.’

‘Milly,’ said Sophie. ‘Yes. I’m hoping she can get me a job. It would be dreadfully extravagant to just go for a holiday.’

‘I’m sure you’ll find a way to get there. You’re a resourceful girl.’

At the end of her stay, Sophie hugged Uncle Eric hard. From his reaction she got the impression that no one had ever hugged him hard before. He was rather frail in her arms but she knew it was good for him to feel loved.

‘Goodbye, you scamp,’ he said. ‘Keep in touch. And let me know if you find out anything useful about those drilling rights. I might need to go into a care home myself one day, if Mrs Brown can’t cope with me.’

‘I’ll come and look after you,’ said Sophie, and realised she meant it.

On the train journey home Sophie daydreamed about announcing to everyone that she’d saved the family fortunes. It would be brilliant being the one who actually made a difference to the family, without having been to university, or passed dozens of A levels. Then she realised she couldn’t say anything until she’d got somewhere with the project or they’d tease her unmercifully.

A couple of days later she found herself helping out in a café where she’d worked on and off since school. While it was fun seeing all her old friends, and discovering that the same customers still went there and all remembered her, it did make her feel very claustrophobic. There must be more to life than this!

Every day she went home and headed straight to her
laptop hoping for an email from Milly. Sometimes there was one but it was only news and chat. Then one day, at last, there was an email headed ‘Possible work opportunity’.

It’s only holiday cover, but they’re lovely people. Hugely rich, but going on what Jess says (she’s their regular nanny) generous with it. Jess says they’ll pay your fare as long as you don’t mind going cattle class. I think you’ll be fine with that! Let me know if you’re interested ASAP and I’ll tell Jess. She’d be thrilled if you’d come. It would be big brownie points for her if she found her own replacement while she goes back home.

The email went on about needing references and other details.

A quick glance at her watch told her she could ring Milly immediately. Then she checked the balance on her mobile phone; she had hardly any credit left. She decided to email instead:
Brilliant news! No, I don’t mind going cattle class. I’ll go online and find out about a visa and things.

When she went downstairs later to join her family for supper she was feeling very positive.

Her brother noticed. ‘You’re looking very chipper, Soph. Don’t tell me Uncle Eric just sent you a huge cheque.’

‘Nothing like that.’ Sophie was having to fight down the smile that was drawing her family’s attention to her.

‘You didn’t manage to find out where he’s leaving his money, did you?’ asked her mother. ‘If it’s a cats’ home, I think we’ll have to contest the will.’

‘No, I don’t know who he’s leaving his money to. I don’t think he’s got much, actually,’ said Sophie. ‘This looks lovely, Mum.’ She indicated the cottage pie that graced the table. With her away, her mother had had to get back into cooking.

‘Thank you, darling!’ Her mother was distracted by Sophie’s praise, as she was supposed to be.

‘But, Sophie, you look as if you’re the cat who’s got the cream,’ said her brother. ‘There must be some reason.’

‘Sophie’s always had a sunny disposition, darling,’ said her mother, putting the serving spoon into the mashed potato.

‘She doesn’t usually look smug,’ said Michael.

‘Glad to hear it!’ said Sophie, not really wanting to share her news just now. She wanted to have time to get used to the idea herself before she told her family, who were bound to have lots of reasons why it wasn’t a good idea to escape them all.

‘So, what’s up, Sophie?’ asked her father. ‘Are you feeling smug? Or just looking it?’

‘Do tell us if you’ve got something to say,’ said her mother, handing her a plate.

Realising there was nothing to be gained from holding out on them any longer, Sophie launched in. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing really. I’ve just had an email from Milly. She’s got me a job in New York.’

‘New York!’ said her brother and father, practically simultaneously. ‘What would you want to go there for?’

‘Lovely shopping,’ said Sophie, giving them the answer they expected, knowing they’d be disappointed if she said anything else.

‘How on earth could you finance a trip to New York?’ asked Michael, checking his plate against everyone else’s to make sure he’d got enough.

‘I’ve saved up,’ said Sophie, ‘and I’ll be working when I get there.’

‘Can’t do that without a green card,’ said her father, pointing out the obvious as usual.

‘I’m being a nanny for a month. I’m not planning to stay there for ever.’ Her lack of green card did concern Sophie a bit but her employers hadn’t been worried about it so she supposed she could get away with it, for such a short time.

‘Oh, a nanny!’ Sophie’s father made his opinion of this means of making a living predictably clear.

‘Yes. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Children do have to be looked after,’ said Sophie. This was a perennial topic of conversation and she waited for her mother’s well-rehearsed response.

‘I never had a nanny for you lot,’ said her mother. ‘I looked after you myself.’

‘That’s partly because you didn’t have a job outside the home,’ said Sophie, feeling a little unkind.

‘I had my work!’ said her mother, as she always did, referring to her painting, which she’d used as an excuse to get out of anything she didn’t want to do with her children; if Sophie’s older siblings hadn’t taken her to the local pool, Sophie would never have learnt to swim.