The Dream House (35 page)

Kate read the letter through twice. So Agnes really had given birth to a child – a son, the sealed envelope in the safe had revealed – and had lost him. But not to death, if the phrase ‘taken from me’ was to be read literally. What a terrible thing, even so. How had it happened and why? And how frustrating that Agnes had been so close to sharing her secret with Kate. Once again the young woman cursed herself for not visiting Agnes last week.

Slowly, she handed the letter over to the lawyer. Raj Nadir read it quickly, nodded, and returned it to her.

‘She didn’t tell you about this matter then?’ he asked. ‘She told me nothing more either, I’m afraid. Just how she wished to frame the will.’

‘She started to say something the last time I saw her,’ Kate said. The letter indicated that Agnes’s original intention had been for the diaries to be read
after
her death. She must have changed her mind. And yet so far there had been nothing in the old exercise books about this mysterious child or quite what had caused the split in the Melton family. It was all deeply mysterious.

Nadir’s voice pulled Kate out of her reverie. ‘Basically, the will leaves the house, its land and its contents to you, Mrs Hutchinson, without condition. You are free to sell the contents in order to raise the money necessary for the upkeep of the property. That is the arrangement enshrined here. But then follows the problem. All Miss Melton’s financial assets – and I should say that these are not inconsiderable – are to transfer free of tax to this unknown person, her missing child. If the child or its heirs are not found living six months after Miss Melton’s death, or if it is discovered before then but is incapable or deceased and without direct heirs, the money automatically passes to Maximilian Charles Jordan. It’s an unusual arrangement, but there is no doubt that Miss Melton was clear in her mind when she directed the will to be drawn up.’

Nadir scootered his chair over to his computer and tapped the keyboard briskly. ‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘The previous will . . . It was dated December 1984.’ He manoeuvred the chair back and flipped through some folders in a box behind him, eventually dragging one out. He unfolded the document. ‘On that occasion everything was left to Max’s mother, Elizabeth. She was Agnes’s niece by her brother Raven. Or to Max on the event of Elizabeth’s death. Mmmm, yes, just refreshing myself on the details.’ He peered over the top of the document at Kate. ‘In this old version, if a proven child of Agnes Melton be discovered alive at the time of her death, it could have claimed £200,000 of the estate. So, Sammy must have known about the child. That puts an interesting light on the matter.’

‘Who is Sammy?’ asked Kate, wondering whether she had fallen down a rabbit-hole like Alice, she felt so confused and disorientated by the turn of events.

‘Samuel Horrocks. Former senior partner here. He oversaw the Melton family’s affairs for forty years – until his death last year, in fact.’

‘Why is that significant?’

‘Well, it isn’t. Except that if this mysterious child was mentioned in the previous will and is now found, so that Max ends up with nothing, it might be more difficult for him to contest the new will on the basis of his great-aunt being mentally incapacitated. It wasn’t some scheme she just dreamed up in hospital.’

‘Do you think he would contest it?’ Kate said. ‘I suppose I could see his point.’

‘He might be successful if he could demonstrate that Miss Melton was mentally fragile at the time of drawing up the will, or that it was in some ways blatantly unfair. But I will be able to reassure the authorities that she was as sharp as a tack. Plus Miss Melton assured me that documentation exists in which her father set out his reasons for excluding Raven Melton and his line from inheriting. It might be hard for Max to overturn that. Still, he could try.’

‘Is there any information in any of the files about this missing child?’

Nadir shook his head. ‘I have been through all the papers,’ he said. ‘There is some correspondence between Miss Melton and Mr Horrocks arguing the clauses of the 1984 will. Mr Horrocks was a traditionalist and advised her to leave the house to her brother’s family. He didn’t like this talk of a love-child at all, oh no.’ He laughed. ‘Miss Melton would have had a far harder time persuading
him
to draw up the new will. Quite a tough cookie, was Sammy. Lucky for her and for you it was me this time!’

He picked up the copy of the new will. ‘There are minor bequests,’ he said, frowning as he flicked through the pages. ‘Five thousand pounds free of tax for Marie Summers, twenty-five hundred for Daniel Peace, sums to various charities . . . Ah, and the executors. They are to be myself, you and Mr Jordan.’

‘That’s going to be a little difficult, isn’t it, with Max? What would happen if he did contest the will?’

‘Yes, but Miss Melton insisted on his name appearing. There would have to be some dispensation of his duties in that situation,’ said Nadir. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. There is, also, another possibility . . .’ He stopped. ‘No, it’s not very likely,’ he said.

‘What? I think you must tell me,’ Kate said.

‘If Agnes’s child or his descendants are found, it might be that they could successfully sue for a bigger part of the estate. But,’ he shrugged, ‘there are too many ifs and buts to worry about
that
happening. My guess is that it’s going to be very difficult, if not impossible, to track down this heir, dead or alive. There are no clues, you see. The first thing we must do is advertise.’

‘You mean “Any who may have an interest in the last Will and Testament of Agnes Melton should contact her solicitor”? Like a Victorian novel.’

‘Like a Victorian novel, yes. And, like a Victorian novel, we shall probably receive a number of enquiries from fortune-hunters. Thank goodness for DNA testing!’ And he smiled.

That afternoon, with an hour to spare before she had to pick up the children, Kate took Bobby out along the winding path she had walked that evening back in April when she had seen Seddington House and its inhabitant for the very first time.

The air was warm, the path almost dry despite the recent shower, though the hedges glittered with raindrops. But this time, when after twenty minutes she reached the little door in the wall, it was to find it locked against her. Someone had been taking their security duties seriously – the same person, presumably, who had locked the front gates. Conrad, she supposed.

She whistled to Bobby, who was snuffing at some interesting smell wafting under the door, then set off again along the foot-path, which followed the wall, wending gently downhill to the road. There she clipped on Bobby’s lead and walked along the worn verge under the poplar trees until she reached the drive of Seddington House.

The gates were closed, but today there was no padlock and the latch lifted easily. Bobby dragged her inside, forcing her to drop the lead. He bounded off towards the house and round the corner, out of sight.

Kate relatched the gates and stood for a moment, looking up at the house. It seemed different, knowing it was hers. Like a lover whose love was finally fully requited, she studied it as it slept in the sun, loving the imperfections – the chipped rooftiles, the ragged gardens sparkling with rain – as much as the graceful sweep of the drive, the elegant dimensions of the building and the Gothic shapes of the diamond-paned windows. Slowly, she walked up the drive to the front door and tapped the knocker lightly in case Conrad was there. But no one came.

She walked around past the kitchen, across the terrace and down through the Italian garden. Bobby was rolling ecstatically in something over near the little door in the wall, but jumped up and barked when he saw her and tore off in the direction of the rose garden.

Kate stood by the silent fountain and studied the back of the house, shading her eyes against the light. Funny to think Simon had still never seen it. He had been almost speechless when she had told him her news the previous evening. A little cloud passed across the sun, casting a cold shadow over the garden and she shivered. A sudden movement in an upstairs window caught her eye. She stared but it was gone. It could have been a reflection, she thought. Was that the cry of a peacock? The sun came out from behind the cloud and the moment passed.

She looked down at the fountain – three scalloped stone bowls, the topmost the smallest, all covered with lichen. A pipe emerged from the ground just by the small basin beneath and Kate wandered over to the battered greenhouse to see if she could find where it went. There she found it joined a network of pipes and taps, which she turned experimentally one by one. After a moment, she heard the fountain pipe bang into life and when she looked up, it was to see the water spluttering out into the bowl. A fierce gush of joy tremored through her.

Agnes had loved this house. When she was born in the Edwardian era it must have been at its heyday. But as the family had faced tragedy, war and betrayal, it languished and Agnes had only just kept it going.

Kate could bring this house alive again. It would be her sanctuary. She would nurture her children here and keep it for her grandchildren. She wouldn’t move back to London; surely Simon would see how important this was to her. She had to persuade him. Somehow.

Later, when Kate arrived at school with Bobby to pick up Sam and Daisy, Gwyneth Smithson suggested she leave the children with their teacher for five minutes whilst she went through the agenda for Thursday night’s meeting with Kate, Debbie and James, Sebastian’s father. Kate, having settled Bobby in a corner of the headmistress’s office, was hardly able to concentrate but took in that Mr Overden, the chairman, was to make the opening comments and that after Mr Keppel from the council had gone through his Powerpoint presentation, the committee should ask two or three key questions and then the discussion would be thrown open for questions from the floor.

She and the children got home to find Joyce waiting anxiously to hear what the solicitor had said. When, after frequent interruptions by Joyce, Kate had repeated the whole story, her mother-in-law smiled broadly.

‘I’m so pleased for you, dear. It really solves so many problems, doesn’t it? You’ll all be able to live there, and there should be enough money to bring the place up to date. It’s probably still a little too far from Diss for Simon, but I expect he’ll get used to it. It’s a shame for that kind Mr Jordan,’ Kate had given Joyce an edited version of his anguished visit, ‘but it sounds as though he’ll inherit the money. A child, indeed. Who would have thought it? He must be in his late seventies by now or even dead! Well . . .’ She patted Kate’s hand. ‘It’s sad that the poor lady’s gone, but it’s a very happy outcome for you, isn’t it?’ Then: ‘I’m sorry, dear, I’m prattling again, aren’t I?’

‘It’s just I don’t think it’s going to be as straightforward as that,’ Kate said quietly. ‘We’ll have to see what Simon wants.’

‘But of course he’ll want to live there! Especially when he realizes how important it is to you.’

‘Joyce.’ Kate hadn’t been intending to tell her mother-in-law about the full nature of the differences between her and Simon, but she had to put her in the picture. ‘We can assume nothing. Simon has asked me if we can move back to London.’

Joyce’s face was a picture of surprised puzzlement. After a moment she said, ‘You mean all this,’ the sweep of her arm encompassed Kate, the children and Paradise Cottage, ‘was for nothing? I – I don’t know what to say. He can’t keep chopping and changing his mind, can he? Are you just going to let him? I must have a little talk with him—’

‘No, please, it’s probably better to leave it,’ Kate said firmly.

Simon rang from Frankfurt that evening, sounding harassed. Kate asked tentatively if he might be back for Agnes’s funeral on Friday morning.

‘I’m not going to be back in London until late Friday – so no, sorry.’

He was much more interested in Kate’s visit to Raj Nadir.‘Well, what did he say? Is the house really yours?’ His voice sounded sharp.

‘I still can’t believe it, but yes. There’s going to be an awful lot of admin. Everything in the house must be valued. Raj and Max will go through the investments. Agnes had an accountant, and it appears that she kept all her share certificates and whatnot in the bank, so with luck there won’t be too much to sort out there.’

‘Who can you get to value the contents? Farrell’s in Ipswich would be the obvious choice.’

‘Yes, Raj suggests Farrell’s, too’ she said. ‘They’re auctioneers as well, aren’t they?’

‘What the hell do we do about the house?’ Simon seemed to be speaking to himself rather than to her.

Kate took a deep breath.

‘Simon, we have to keep it. We must.’

‘We’re talking about moving back to London, Kate. If we sell it and its contents, we’ll be laughing. We could live in one of those huge houses in Putney, or—’

‘We can’t sell it, Simon. Don’t you see? That’s why Agnes left it to me – to us. So we’d live there. It would be the family home – we could pass it on to our children and our children’s children.’

‘Do you mean there’s a condition in the will? That we’re not allowed to sell it?’

‘No, there doesn’t seem to be. I suppose Agnes could have put one in, but perhaps she didn’t want to tie me down that much. After all, there would be no point since Max would have sold it, too. No, I think she just felt that I would want to live there. And I do.’

There was silence. Then, ‘It’s a very nice idea, Kate, and of course it’s a beautiful house, but is that what we want? I mean, we really ought to talk properly about the whole thing.’

‘Of course we’ve got to talk.’ Kate’s voice was shaky. ‘But I really really, want to live there. I must.’

That evening when she went to bed she picked up the diary she hadn’t finished, and started to read.

Summer 1928

Agnes pattered up the wooden stairs of number 11 Fitzroy Street, her legs almost giving way under her with excitement. It was the fourth, no the fifth visit to Harry’s apartment in three weeks and, in between, waiting for the endless time to pass before the next visit, she felt she floated on a different plane from other people around her, above the level of such ordinary activities as eating, gossiping or worrying about whether the butcher was supplying tough meat. Her main occupation was thinking about Harry, going over and over every tiny detail of each meeting, each word spoken, the softness of his lips on hers.