False Step (29 page)

‘B–but—'

‘Then we can take possession when we like, eh? Move in tomorrow. Get hold of the car. Do you know where it's kept? Well, never mind. There'll be some paperwork somewhere in the house—'

Lily uncrossed her legs, and lifted one forefinger. ‘There's just one little tiny thing you've overlooked, Derek. Uncle Matthew left everything to Damaris, yes. She asked me to be her executor, and of course I agreed. But when she came to think things over, she realized that it wasn't quite fair for her to have everything and leave me with nothing. After all, I was just as much a member of his family as her. The very next day she made a will herself, leaving the house and its contents to me. And that's why she gave me her bunch of keys.'

The solicitor grabbed at his papers, trying to tease one out of the sheaf. ‘Yes, I've Mrs Frasier's will here, b–but – if you c–could hold on a moment—'

Derek's blood pressure was rising. He poured himself another glass. ‘What trickery is this? You weren't a member of his family, not of his blood, nor—'

‘Neither was Damaris.' Lily stroked her wings of hair, left and right, her manner complacent. ‘If there was any trickery involved, it was the way she sucked up to Uncle Matthew. You can't deny it.'

‘I can, and I will. And if you think you're going to get away with what's rightfully mine—'

‘P–please!' The solicitor flapped his papers around. ‘P–please! Both wills will have to go to probate and nothing can be touched till then. Is that clearly understood?' In enforcing his authority, he lost his stammer.

Silence.

Lily licked her forefinger and drew it across her almost non-existent left eyebrow … and then across her right. ‘Understood. But I need something in writing to prove that I'm to inherit. I have bills to meet, my father sold our house over my head and I need to find somewhere else to live. I shall have to get a loan to tide me over.'

‘I can provide you with a letter to the effect that you inherit the house and contents, if you'll call at the office tomorrow,' said the solicitor, cramming papers back into his briefcase. And to Derek, ‘Mrs Frasier made me executor of her will, and I'm bound to respect her wishes.'

‘She wasn't in her right mind when she made that will,' said Derek.

‘Nonsense,' said the solicitor, standing up and jerking his jacket down at the back. ‘She seemed all right to me. Perfectly in control. Ms Cunningham was there when she made the will, though not a witness, of course, as she was a beneficiary. House and contents only to Ms Cunningham. My clerk witnessed the will, as did a girl from the dress shop next door. If you wish to contest your wife's will, then that is your right, but I cannot see under what grounds you can do so.'

Lily drained her glass and set it down. ‘If that's all, I'll be on my way. Derek; don't be such a bad loser. You had nothing and you'll get nothing. So what's new?'

Derek's blood pressure was far too high. He tugged at his tie. ‘If I know you, you'll be in that house tomorrow, taking stuff out to sell.' To the solicitor, ‘If she's got Damaris's keys, what's to stop her clearing the house and selling the stuff?'

Bea leaned forward. ‘Mrs Frasier asked us to prepare an inventory of the contents of the house; for which, incidentally, we have not yet been paid. Mr Frasier, I gave you one copy and I have another here. I can supply copies to all other interested parties. I have the second set of keys, which will be kept in the bank until probate is granted. So, if anything is taken out of that house before that time, we'll know that Ms Cunningham was responsible. Right?'

Lily flushed, an unpleasant sight. ‘I'm no thief!'

Derek guffawed. ‘Prove it.'

Lily tucked both wings of hair behind her ears, exposing even more of her puffy cheeks and sharp nose. ‘If you go around saying things like that, Derek, I'll sue. It's slander, that's what it is. That house belongs to me and I can go in whenever I like!'

‘Not yet it doesn't.' Derek swung around to the solicitor. ‘Tell her!'

The solicitor was conciliatory. ‘Probate can take anything from six weeks to six months or even longer.' He twitched a smile into place. ‘Ms Cunningham, as executor, you will want to proceed with all possible speed with probate for Mr Kent's will. If you need any assistance, I shall be happy to …' He wafted one hand in the air, clutching his briefcase under the other arm.

Gail got to her feet. ‘I'll see you out.'

Lily hurried after them. ‘Can you give me a lift to the Tube station? I don't drive and I've not enough money for a taxi.'

Once they'd gone, Trixie turned on her brother, white-faced with anger. ‘Derek, you told me it was all done and dusted, that we could move in to—'

Derek jerked his head towards Bea, and Trixie fell silent, chewing her lip.

Bea got to her feet. ‘It's about time I was moving on, too.'

‘You've got the keys in a safe place?'

‘In the office, yes. They go into the bank tomorrow.'

‘You said you'd bring them with you this afternoon.'

Bea shook her head. ‘It was you who said that. I'm waiting to see how the wills stand up before I hand them over to anyone.'

Derek wanted to take a swing at her. She could see him calculating how far she stood from him. She could read in his eyes how much he wanted to hit her. She stood very still, not exactly daring him to hit her, but letting him know she wasn't afraid.

Gail put her head around the door. ‘I'm just going to check on Tom's arm, and then I'll be off, too. It's stopped raining, thank goodness. Shall I see you out, Bea?'

Bea hadn't even taken off her coat, so picked up her bag and went out to join Gail, who had opened the front door and was standing on the doorstep. The fresh air outside was keen, but welcome.

Gail said, ‘We haven't had our talk yet. Can you manage the same place as before? Six thirty? You noticed the omission, of course?'

‘Don't know how I kept my face straight.'

‘Matthew left his whole estate to Damaris, but Damaris only left Lily the house and contents. Which means that—'

‘The car, the stocks and shares and anything else he owned outside the house, should still go to Derek.' Bea grinned. ‘Now I wonder why didn't we point that out to him?'

‘I know I ought to have said something, but … he's so greedy, I can't bear to listen to him. Didn't he care about Damaris at all?' She sighed. ‘Don't answer that. I don't think he ever did, but he might at least pretend … no, he couldn't. I don't think Tom cares, either. Oh, they're both going to feel her absence because she used to do everything for them, but that's not missing someone because you love them, is it?'

Bea shook her head. She knew the difference, too, and it wasn't.

Gail followed Bea out to her car. ‘Bea, are you any happier than I am about this? Because for two pins I'd go to the police and say … but that's the trouble. I don't know what to say, except that I don't understand … well, anything.'

‘It stinks, doesn't it? Well, I've got to get back, see what's going on at work. We'll talk this evening, not least about Matthew.'

Gail drew in her breath. ‘You know, don't you?'

‘I guessed.' Bea drove off leaving Gail, hugging her shoulders, to go back into the house.

Bea let herself into her house, prepared to mount the assault course of furniture and carpet, and almost lost her balance. The carpet had gone! The furniture was still piled up in the hall, but the carpet had disappeared.

She stood still, listening.

She could see straight through to the kitchen and the only living thing there was the cat Winston, lying full length on the work surface. There was no sound of radio or TV, or of clashing pots and pans. So Maggie wasn't in.

There was no sound of hammers or drills from below. Only a soothing buzz from some machine or other that Bea couldn't identify. The dust sheet had been let down over the stairs.

The telephone pinged as a call came in, but it was quickly silenced. Someone was attending to it. Oliver? Miss Brook?

Bea turned in to the living room and found it deserted and comparatively tidy. It was clear the Green Girls' team had been and gone for there was hardly any dust to be seen. There was no sign of Max or of Miss Townend, and their piles of files had been stacked to one side of the fireplace. It might be possible for Bea to use the room again, if she avoided the area around the dining table where much of her office had landed up.

She was hungry, having missed lunch and not been tempted by the sherry which was all that Derek and Trixie had thought necessary to provide after the funeral. She foraged in the fridge, finding a plate of sandwiches and some home-made soup left for her by Maggie. What a splendid girl she was, to be sure.

Winston looked up with interest as she put her plate on the table, but she fended him off with one hand while putting the soup in the microwave to warm.

‘Thought I heard you.' Oliver appeared in the doorway. ‘How did it go?'

‘Interesting. Gail is ready to talk now. We're meeting this evening. Things have been happening here? No carpet, no Maggie, no Max?'

‘Maggie's at the job down the road, the foreman took the carpet at her instigation, and there's someone sanding and polishing the floors downstairs as we speak. Miss Townend has popped out for some indigestion tablets but will be back shortly. As for Mr Max,' Oliver tried to smooth out a grin, ‘Miss Brook got him to remove himself by sheer force of personality.'

‘How on earth did she do that?'

‘I wish I knew. She said she'd had enough of working in your bedroom and went down to confront him. He went out soon after. I expected her back upstairs straight away, but no … she came back ten minutes later, brushing one hand against the other, to announce that she will be working in the front office downstairs as soon as the furniture is replaced. She must have checked out the agency rooms while she was at it.' Oliver switched on the kettle. ‘Coffee?'

Bea worked her way back over what he'd just said. ‘You mean, she wants to come back to work for us on a permanent basis?'

Oliver stared at the kettle, didn't reply. Shrugged.

Bea stroked her temples. Was she getting another pressure headache? ‘I suppose … do we have enough work to …? Yes, we do, because Maggie is wonderful as a project manager but has no great interest in the day to day agency business. But I'm not sure … Oliver, how would you feel about Miss Brook moving in?'

‘She's good. Very good. A bit sharp at times, but I don't mind that. She understands that I can do some things better than her and I have to admit she handles people better than I do. Come to think of it, routine bookkeeping isn't exactly my favourite thing. I like puzzles, finding things out. I don't want to do the same thing day in and day out. Oh, by the way, I've run off Matthew's engagements for you.' He slapped some papers down on the table. ‘Two months back, you said? I included what he'd got on for a month in the future as well. Lots of hospital appointments, I'm afraid. The big C.'

Oh? Then perhaps he had been depressed about his health? Depressed enough to commit suicide? Yes, probably. Cancer was a killer. But why kill himself in that bizarre way?

‘Thank you, Oliver. I'll look at them in a minute.' He was coming on, was young Oliver. He reached for the coffee jar and Bea noted that he was filling out, his shoulders becoming more solid, his arms and legs ditto. Even his hair seemed thicker, glossier. He'd treated himself to a good haircut, which helped.

He was growing up in more ways than one. A while ago, he'd no more have been able to make her a cup of coffee than fly. He wouldn't stay with her for ever, nor should he. He was rapidly losing the little-boy-lost look which had tugged at her heart when she first saw him, and turning into a good-looking young man. He'd coped with the horrible business of being unjustly thrown out of his home, and he'd been secure enough in himself to write off for a copy of his birth certificate.

‘Oliver, do you want to talk about … whatever?' She didn't want to force the issue, but surely it wasn't good for him to keep the information about his parents to himself? If what Bea suspected was true, his birth father was not the man who had brought him up and then disowned him. As for his birth mother – she might or might not be the woman he'd been taught to call ‘Mum'.

He bit out the words. ‘It's OK. It's fine. I'm not bothered about it at all. I mean, lots of people get adopted every day. It's what they make of themselves that matters.'

‘True. I believe that nowadays you can discover who really—'

He jerked his head. ‘I'm not going down that road. I suppose some teenager got into trouble and the man wouldn't or couldn't marry her. What good would it do to find them? If they didn't want to know me then, I don't want to know them now.'

‘I suppose I could readopt you, if you liked the idea?'

He closed his eyes and put out a hand to steady himself. Opened his eyes, stared straight ahead. In a deliberately casual voice, he said, ‘You'd have to adopt Maggie, too, and I don't think you can do that because her mother is such a control freak she wouldn't let her daughter go.'

‘Er, no. I suppose not.'

Now they were both embarrassed.

He looked at his watch. ‘Miss Brook will kill me if I don't get back soon. Some glitch at one of the embassies who haven't enough staff to cope with a big event this evening. She's dealing with it in her usual efficient manner, but will expect me to field everything else that comes in. Maggie will be in about six. Oh, and Mr Piers rang, said he'd be dropping by this evening.' Without making eye contact again, he withdrew.