Winds of Change (20 page)

She looked at the price and almost screwed up the paper. She couldn't afford that unless the trust allowed her to sell the flat, and she was sure they wouldn't do that. But she didn't throw it away, because the cottage was very pretty. And anyway, she could
ask
the trust to sell, couldn't she?

After a breakfast substantial enough to gratify Tania and Jack, whom she found sharing a tea break in the kitchen, she wondered what to do, then decided to go and check Lou's computer. As far as she could tell, she'd be the one who had to clear up his emails and anything pending. That must be why he'd left her the contents of his office. He'd given her his password a while ago as part of his ‘preparations for departure', assuring her that there was nothing on the computer that she couldn't see. But she still felt as if she was prying when she switched it on and clicked on the email program. His laptop was a much faster and more modern machine than her elderly one, slimmer and sleeker too.

She checked his emails, sending replies to several people to tell them he'd died, cancelling an order for some books that just needed a final confirmation and also stopping his subscriptions to several email newsletters.

Then she went on to check his recent documents. To her surprise there was a draft will there, with different clauses from the one that Sally had read. This looked like a new one that he'd been intending to sign. It left her money as well as the furniture and works of art. Well, too late now. And she didn't mind, really, because she wasn't a greedy person, whatever Hilary said, and he'd been more than generous with her.

She went to her bedroom, where her own computer was set up and used that to write a letter to Sebastian and Mr Tressman about the trust, asking if she could sell the flat and buy a house in England instead. She'd grown quite keen on the idea of moving to England. After all, her sister and niece lived there, and she'd got on better with Regina this time than ever before. And it was as far away from Sebastian as she could get. The idea of that was very appealing.

She didn't expect the trustees to agree, but was going through the motions in order to leave a paper trail of what she wanted, in case she ever decided to challenge the trust. Not that she thought she would. How was she to win against an experienced lawyer like her brother, for goodness' sake?

Given the current situation, she'd probably have to rent somewhere in England. She couldn't sell any of the things Lou had left her yet, but she was going to sell her antiques and use what she got for them as living money until she found a job, any sort of job.

On consideration, she sent the letter to Sebastian by courier, to be sure it'd get there quickly, and sent a copy to Sally Patel as well.

She was pleased that Lou's laptop belonged to her now. She could take it to England with her. Hers was four years old and was developing a few eccentricities that hinted it was coming to the end of its useful life.

When she felt like a break, she couldn't resist going back on line for another look at the cottage Lou had found for her. He was right. It looked lovely, exactly the sort of place she'd dreamed about buying in her years of looking after her father. She'd done too much dreaming and not enough standing up for herself. That would change now.

While Miranda was reorganizing Lou's email system to suit her own needs, another message arrived. She opened it to find it was from the detective he'd hired to trace her daughter. Her heart started to thud as she read the message, then read it again to make sure she hadn't misunderstood what he was saying.

He'd found her daughter in England!

She printed the message out, holding back the tears, because she'd done enough weeping. This seemed like another sign that she was doing the right thing in going to England.

She wasn't going to tell anyone else in the family about finding her daughter, though, not even Regina. She didn't want anyone interfering.

Regina came home from work to a quiet, tidy flat. She'd been longing for her own space for years, looking forward to the day Nikki left home, and now that she'd got it, she knew she'd been fooling herself. She could have gone out tonight with people from work, but hadn't felt in the mood for socializing. She'd just ditched one guy and wasn't up to hunting for another yet. In fact, she was growing tired of the dating game.

She must be getting old!

She switched on the TV, checked the newspaper programme listings and found nothing worth watching.

Giving in to an impulse, she rang her daughter's mobile. ‘Hello? Nikki, it's me.'

‘Can I ring you back, Mum? We're just in the middle of something.'

‘Yes, of course. I'll be in all evening.'

She waited for the call but it never came, which left her worrying about Nikki, who hadn't sounded her usual chirpy self all week. Or was she fooling herself about that as well?

She went to fiddle with emails, then rebelling against the idea of growing too old to date, she trawled the Internet for a dating site she'd seen advertised on the television. But when she got there, the men all looked so young, with that silly haircut that stood on end like the cartoon character Tintin, or those unshaven cheeks which scratched horribly when they kissed you.

They said forty was the new thirty, but she felt nearer fifty tonight. She should take up knitting or do charity work. If she caught herself saying, ‘Things were better when I was young . . .' she'd throw herself off the nearest cliff.

Would Nikki even miss her if she did?

Did she deserve to be missed?

Katie Parrish looked at the letter, wondering who was writing to her from Australia. She gave in to curiosity and, keeping one eye on the clock, tore it open and skimmed through it. The words seemed to waver in front of her and she had to force herself to breath deeply a few times before she could calm down enough to re-read the letter.

Dear Ms Parrish

I believe you were searching for your birth parents last year.

I have information about your birth mother, who is looking for you. If you're still interested in pursuing this matter, please let me know, and I'll get her to contact you.

J. Halliday

She froze for a moment, unable to believe this was happening. She'd given up hope, then first her birth father and now perhaps her mother had turned up. She wasn't prepared for another encounter, not yet.

Impossible to reply to the letter that night, she just couldn't. Instead, after she'd put Ned to bed, she wrote a long, loving email to Darren, attaching a photo she'd taken of their son kicking a football around.

But she kept stopping to wonder what she was going to do. She was still tiptoeing on ice with her birth father, whom she'd met twice. He didn't push for anything more than she was willing to offer. She wished he would. She couldn't tell how he was feeling, not really, because he was always calm and pleasant, keeping his feelings under control. He was sharing facts about himself, at least.

He worked as an IT consultant offering software solutions for company systems, was divorced with one child, a son of twelve – which meant she had a brother, well, half-brother, but still – a brother! His clothes were always casual, usually jeans and tops that had seen better days, but his leather jacket was so beautiful it must have been expensive and his car was a late model. She didn't know what to think about him, how to understand what he really wanted from her.

He spoke of her birth mother only with bitterness. If this Miranda had been so bad, why had he made a baby with her?

But Dad had always said not to pass judgement until you knew both sides of a story, so she was trying not to close any doors between them.

Now a further dilemma hovered: should she wait for Darren to finish his tour of duty and then tell him about her birth parents and ask his advice about her birth mother? No, that wasn't how a self-reliant modern woman behaved. Katie prided herself on coping with anything and everything. A soldier's wife had to.

It took her three days to bring herself to the point, but in the end she wrote back to the anonymous Mr or Ms Halliday saying she would like to know more and perhaps meet her mother one day. The return address on the letter was a post office box number in London.

After much thought she gave them her home address. It'd be stupid to hire a PO Box just for this and, anyway, she was in the phone book now. They could easily trace her on the Internet.

It took five days for Miranda to get a reply from the PI about her daughter. She saw another email from him when she switched on her computer in the morning and opened that one first.

Your daughter is willing to meet you. When will you be coming to England?

Jeff

‘As soon as I can,' Miranda said softly. ‘As soon as I possibly can.' She told the PI to say she'd be coming to England once she'd finalized a few things in Australia.

She loved her daughter's name. ‘Katherine, familiarly known as Katie.' She'd always loved that name, found herself murmuring ‘Katie' at intervals. It seemed like a good omen. Or was she reading too much into things?

She got on the phone as soon as places opened for business, first contacting an auction room which had a good reputation to ask to have her possessions valued. Surely they'd sell for enough to provide the money to pay her fares and start renting a place in England? That was her first priority at the moment.

They'd not got probate on Lou's will yet, but she could sell her own antiques straight away. Thinking of them made her angry all over again. Sebastian had refused to confirm to Hilary's lawyer that they were indeed hers, forcing her to go through another series of hoops to prove that to the stupid woman's satisfaction.

Although Miranda stressed the urgency of her wish to sell, the auctioneer said they were very busy planning a special auction of rare antiques. He asked what exactly she had for sale, and she mentioned one or two pieces, especially the eighteenth century chest of drawers and one of Lou's paintings, which was by a well-known Australian artist. There was dead silence at the other end of the line, then he said, ‘I'll send someone round this afternoon. It'll not be till about four o'clock, but if it's urgent, I'll make an exception for you.'

He was doing it for himself, not her, she thought, putting down the phone, because he scented something valuable. That thought lifted her spirits a little. She went to look at the chest of drawers, running her fingers across its beautiful gleaming wood. Perhaps it was worth more than she'd thought? She didn't really want to sell it, but hardened her heart, reminding herself she had no choice.

The rent money from the trust's flat would make a big difference in England, too, helping with her daily living expenses. And surely she'd be able to get some sort of job?

She kept copies of all the business correspondence, printing out emails, photocopying letters and sending backup copies of everything to Sally, who had offered to remain her lawyer. Miranda had offered payment for this.

‘No need. I'm doing this for my own satisfaction, and for Lou,' Sally had said, grinning as she added, ‘And just a little bit for women's lib. Don't let the cause down, Miranda Fox. Get out there and make a new life for yourself. That'll be payment enough for me.'

‘I will.'

Miranda smiled at that memory and went home full of enthusiasm, sure she was well on the way to a new life, only to find a letter waiting for her from her father's lawyer, Mr Tressman, to say that he and his fellow trustee didn't feel it right to sell the flat when real estate prices were so depressed.

Knowing Sebastian, she'd expected that but was still disappointed. All right. She would manage without their help and if she ever got together any spare money, she'd take them to court about how they were managing the trust.

The valuer arrived at four thirty and went through her possessions carefully, not quite managing to hide his excitement at what she showed him. He refused to give her a valuation estimate, however, until he'd called in a colleague.

‘Now?' she asked in surprise.

‘Right now. If what I suspect is correct, we don't want to leave them uninsured for even an hour longer.'

There was only one conclusion to be drawn from that and excitement began to bubble up inside her.

The valuer and his colleague didn't leave till eight o'clock that evening, phoning for insurance before taking the chest of drawers with them, carefully wrapped and secured. By that time Miranda was exhausted but elated. Some of the objects were definitely valuable then. It looked like she would have more than enough to live on and even buy a decent car.

She wished she could ask Lou if she was doing the right thing, though, or had someone to share her jubilation with. How had she let herself get to this age without making any real friends? Why had she let her family trap her in such a cloistered existence?

Since Jack was out and Tania had found herself another job, Miranda went into the kitchen to find something to eat. She'd have to go shopping for food soon, but only for herself. Jack was going to start looking for a new job next week and seemed confident that it'd only take him a day or two to find one. After that she'd be completely on her own here.

She made a sandwich and afterwards walked slowly round the house, room after room, at least half of them unfurnished. Ridiculous of Lou to move in here, only he'd not had time to wait for somewhere else suitable for a wheelchair to come vacant, and as it turned out, she was glad he'd had the pleasure of spending his final days in a beautiful home by the water.

She might as well close the place up and go to England straight away, or at least as soon as the auction was over.

That made her wonder about the year-long lease. She hated the thought of wasting the money that had gone into it. A place like this cost a fortune. The mere thought of how much made her cringe. Could she let it temporarily? She went into the office and made a note to ring up the rental agent the following morning.