- -
- 100%
- +
It was as good an excuse as any. Death in the family.
Robert gave her one of his tender smiles reaching for her hand. ‘Poor Laurie. I do understand.’
Had she ever noticed before how his lips looked slightly crooked when he did that? ‘I thought this might help. Losing family, it’s hard but we can start our own family. You and me. Have children. Our own little unit.’
Children! Plural. Was he serious? They’d never even discussed it. Having babies was big and grown up. Even though she’d just turned thirty and the old biological clock should be ticking, you had to be really, really sure before you had children. Before you had one, let alone two. If you split up … she deliberately shut out the memories. She wasn’t prepared to go there. It was a long time ago and she was over it. All grown up now … well nearly. Just not grown up enough for children. Did she even want any? Adults did so many terrible things to children.
No, she wasn’t ready and on a purely practical note − she glanced at Robert − what if they ended up with his nose? Long and a bit bulbous on the end.
Horrified by the unexpected thought, she stared at him. Where had that come from and when had she turned into such a cow? It was time to get a grip and stop being an idiot. She was nothing like her mother. This was just a silly, minor panic-attack.
Squeezing his hand, she took the ring out of the box, offering it to him. As he slid it onto her finger, he pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed each finger one by one very gently, his lips whispering across each knuckle.
It was a lovely gesture, even the waiter looked misty-eyed. Pushing her shoulders back, she ignored the small leaden lump nestling in her stomach and gave Robert a brilliant smile and asked, ‘Are you going to pour me a glass of champagne then?’
‘Stop it, that’s ticklish,’ she scrunched her neck up to her ear to try and stop Robert’s kisses.
They stumbled through the front door and he pulled her to him. ‘Bed, Mrs Evans-to-be?’
Mrs Evans! That was his mother, domineering, opinionated and disapproving of Laurie. Oh God, she’d be family!
His hands made a quick cold foray up under her shirt.
‘Oooh,’ she squeaked, pushing them away before they could hit their target. ‘You’re freezing.’
‘Let’s go upstairs and warm them up,’ he suggested rubbing his hands together, waggling his eyebrows lasciviously.
She fended him off again and pushed herself off the wall towards the kitchen. Everything seemed a bit wobbly. Lovely wobbly from the champagne. And not so lovely wobbly. Something nagged at her. Worry that she’d not done the right thing. The wine was discombobulating her brain, a whole bottle of champagne on a week night wasn’t conducive to straight-thinking, she needed to sink a few glasses of water otherwise her head would be in serious trouble in the morning.
Robert had already disappeared halfway up the stairs.
Staggering into the kitchen, she yanked open the kitchen cupboard and pulled out a pint glass, filled it to the brim and forced herself to drink the whole lot.
The room swam around and the lights bounced off the kettle which seemed to be moving up and down by itself. The evening had disappeared into a big blur, although she could feel the ring encircling her middle finger. Too big for her engagement finger, but Robert had wanted her to wear it. Guilt warred with confusion. Had she really agreed to get married on Monday?
It seemed so sudden and so out of character for Robert.
The dizziness increased and clutching a second pint of water to her chest she slumped into one of the wooden chairs at the scarred table. The fruit bowl in the middle was empty of fruit as always but there was a white envelope propped in it.
Miss L Browne. A proper letter. You didn’t get those very often these days.
From the wrinkled back of the re-sealable envelope she guessed with slight irritation, Robert had already opened it.
Peeling the letter out of the envelope, she looked at the smart headed paper. Solicitors. Sadness misted over her like a rain cloud bearing drizzle. Uncle Miles.
Dear Miss Browne
Further to your uncle’s recent death, we would be grateful if you could call Mr R Leversedge to arrange a convenient appointment to discuss the contents of Mr Miles Walford-Cook’s last will and testament.
She turned the letter over, as if expecting something on the back of it, like a clue as to why she’d been summoned. A nagging thought hovered at the back of her brain, like smoke curling out of reach.
She had no expectation from Uncle Miles. He had all his ex-wives to look after. Besides he was cross with her. Her mouth crumpled and she shut her eyes. Had been cross with her. Was probably still cross with her. Fancifully she glanced upwards. Yes, definitely would still be cross.
With a sudden smile, she thought of his irate face, faded gingery eyebrows scrunched up over rheumy eyes that still had the power to intimidate most people. Now she understood why he’d been so blinking stubborn. Regret lanced through her and her breath hitched. If only he’d told her he was dying.
Stupid old bugger. With a hurried swipe, she rubbed the tear from her face. And now it all made sense. Not so much his sudden desire that she go visit her mother, which of course had fallen on deaf ears, but his guilty admission.
Laurie let out a small mirthless laugh. She thought his guilt completely misplaced but hadn’t been able to reassure him. He’d probably left her some small bequest. It would be nice to have a keepsake from him. But she certainly didn’t expect or deserve anything else. Despite what he thought, it hadn’t been his fault.
If anything she owed him; he’d offered a haven every holiday when home was too unbearable before her parents finally called time on their battlefield of a marriage. After that the visits to her uncle and Merryview had stopped. It had been awkward, Dad refusing to see his former best friend, his ex-wife’s brother and Laurie hadn’t liked to leave Dad on his own. Hadn’t she also felt Miles could have done more to stop his sister misbehaving?
As she tapped the letter against her hand wondering what it might be, the kitchen spotlights sparkled in the stones on her new ring. And insight as sharp as the refraction of the light, struck home.
She looked down at the letter, the envelope and then back at the ring. And then frowned at herself for even thinking it.
Chapter 3
She’d thought the solicitors would be more impressive than this. Leather chairs, old wooden desks and book shelves lined with tomes. Instead the desk was birch veneer, she suspected 2009 Ikea, as were the bucket chairs in front of the desk. The bookcase in the corner sagged under the weight of haphazard mottled-grey box files, papers bursting from them, looking like an untidy sentry in the corner.
An Olympic logo of coffee rings in varying shades of brown marked the top of the desk which was empty, apart from the phone and an outsize pad of paper.
Mr Leversedge blended in perfectly, a shambolic figure with hair standing in tufts and glasses perched on his nose that were slightly skewwhiff.
He smiled gently at Laurie inviting her to take a seat.
‘Thank you for coming all this way. Was your journey good?
‘Yes, fine. Easy really. Train to Euston, walk to Kings Cross and train to York.’
‘I’m glad and I appreciate you coming. I am sorry for your loss.’ For a moment he looked bleak. ‘I’ll miss your uncle, he was one of a kind.’
‘Did you know him well?’ asked Laurie, partly out of politeness but also slightly puzzled.
‘We both enjoyed a beer and a game of chequers at The Anchor once a month.’
Then it clicked. ‘Ron; you’re Ron.’
‘That’s right!’ He looked delighted.
‘I remember him slipping off on a Sunday evening saying he was off for a pint, always used to say he needed some “man-time” away from the ladies.’ She smiled at the memory. Much as Miles had loved women, he’d disappear every now and then with a slightly apologetic air, to do ‘man things’.
‘Lovely to meet you, Lauren. He talked about you a lot … especially in recent months.’
‘Really?’ her face crumpled. ‘I feel so bad that I didn’t see him.’ She swallowed hard and looked down at her lap. ‘I was … should … we’d sort of fallen out. And now it seems so stupid but …’
Ron leant forward and patted her hand. ‘Do you want to know something?’
She lifted her head, finding his understanding tone comforting and met the warm, steady gaze of his faded blue eyes. It was easy to imagine him and her uncle setting the world to rights. Ron had the same slight air of curiosity about the world, eyes alight and dancing. She wondered if they’d shared a tailor; Ron’s eccentric scruffiness bore a marked resemblance to Miles’ slapdash dress sense.
‘He was tickled by your stubbornness. Said it showed character.’
Laurie sighed. ‘Not really. I was refusing to go and see my mother. He wanted me to visit her.’
‘And he understood exactly why you didn’t want to. Miles was under no illusions about Celeste, your mother. Unfortunately he did feel very responsible.’
Laurie rolled her eyes. They’d had that argument several times over. ‘Well he wasn’t. I know Dad blamed him but I didn’t. My mother obviously had her reasons.’
Ron shook his head. ‘It was still a terrible thing to do. Sorry dear, that’s a view I shared with Miles, and he felt he put the idea into her head.’
Just thinking about the decision her mother had, even all these years on, made her want to double over with the punch of pain she associated with that rejection.
‘My mother came to that conclusion all by herself.’ Laurie hated the bitterness that crept into her voice. She was grown up now, it didn’t matter anymore.
Guilt twisted in her gut. Miles had kept his illness to himself and she’d had no idea how bad he was until he was admitted to the hospice. On her visit there, he’d barely been able to talk to her. Now it made sense; he didn’t want her to be totally alone, he wanted her to connect with her last remaining family − especially with Dad dying only two years ago.
She clamped her lips together but it was no use, the lump in her throat overwhelmed her and the tears pooled and slid down her face.
Ron pushed a box of tissues towards her. His still watchfulness, gentle smile and the lack of inane platitudes felt soothing. Blowing her nose she finally managed to quash her emotions. ‘Sorry, I … it was so unexpected. I had no idea he was so ill.’
‘That’s the way he wanted it, I’m afraid.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘And you know Miles; nearly always got his own way.’
She nodded. Which was exactly why none of his marriages worked out. Despite his incredible generosity and garrulous personality, Miles had the attention span and self-awareness of a toddler. Some might say he was totally self-centred − but they would be mean and small-minded. He simply did what he wanted, when he wanted. Eventually the wives got fed up with him disappearing on a whim to track down a car he’d got a sniff of, the impromptu parties and the bringing home of waifs and strays from all over the world.
‘However it did allow him to put his affairs in order and I’m pleased to say that he was particularly keen to ensure you were left with something of true meaning. He thought about this very carefully.’ Ron’s eyes twinkled as he pulled out an A4 folder. ‘Very carefully.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We need to get through a fair amount before Mr Matthews arrives.’
‘Mr Matthews?’
Laurie sat up straighter, a prickling sensation easing down her spine.
If Miles wasn’t already dead, Cam would have been tempted to strangle the old bugger. He shook his head and carried on pacing outside the closed door. Something was up.
Being summoned was one thing, he expected that, the bankers’ draft was ready and waiting and maybe he’d been a bit premature about taking the keys already but the money was all there, his intentions were good. But being invited to meet Laurie … that was something else? Laurie, who just happened to be female. When Miles had asked him to look out for his sister’s child, Laurie, Cam had assumed it was a boy, not a young woman. Knowing the old man’s predilection for drama, Cam should have thought twice about making any promises. Miles was a bloody liability. And Ron was no better, playing along. He was supposed to be the responsible one. Cam pictured them devising their Machiavellian plans over their chequers games and despite his concern about what they might have cooked up between them, a rueful smile lit his mouth. He would have promised Miles anything.
‘Ah Cam, you’re here.’
Ron appeared from behind the door. ‘Come along in.’
The niece was already there. She looked paler than she had at the funeral, her face set in grim lines. She shot him an unfriendly look. It made him feel a lot better. He had no idea why he was here but he didn’t want to get involved. She clearly didn’t want him to be there either.
‘I’ve asked you both here to relay the terms of Miles’ will. Perhaps you’d both like to take a seat, as the terms are …’ he paused and his eyebrows quirked with suppressed glee, ‘somewhat unorthodox.
‘However, they are legal and Miles went to considerable lengths to ensure that all the terms are enforceable.’ He pulled out a file from his briefcase and slipped on a pair of bifocals.
It took a while for Ron to cut to the nitty-gritty and while he went through legalese, Cam spent the time studying Lauren.
Her light, brownish hair had been scraped back into a severe ponytail which wouldn’t have done anyone any favours but on her emphasised her pale narrow face and high cheekbones. She had good bone structure, he’d give her that, but she’d not bothered to do much with what she’d been given.
He couldn’t tell whether it was her posture or the appalling cut of the same cheap suit as at the funeral that made her look like a navy blue sack of King Edwards. The jacket was square and the sleeves too short, so that her stick-thin wrists stuck out like a scarecrow’s.
Then he realised she’d caught him staring and was now scowling at him.
Good.
‘And now to the details …’
Both of them turned to face Ron, who took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter, as if preparing to go into battle and held the will a little higher like a protective shield.
Cam felt a warning twinge in his gut.
‘To my niece I leave the Ferrari GT250 …’ he didn’t hear the rest. ‘There’s a letter for you.’ Ron pushed a bulky white envelope towards Laurie which she took with a shaky hand.
An involuntary indignant hiss whistled out of his mouth. Fuck, shit and bollocks. No. That couldn’t be right. Cold washed through him, an icy tidal wave of horror.
He caught a glimpse of startled blue eyes as she shot a look at him.
Ron peered over his glasses, a clear rebuke in his expression.
Cam responded with a furious stare, mind racing with the ramifications, his teeth gritted as he fought against disbelief. Shit. What the hell? This wasn’t the deal. Miles had agreed the fucking price.
‘If I may continue?’
Cam nodded tightly, his hands clenched on the edge of the seat. He’d dreamed of owning that car since the first day he’d driven with Miles down to Goodwood.
‘On the proviso that she takes it across Europe to Maranello within the next three weeks. Only on successful completion of the journey to a prescribed route, will the car be hers and at that point and that point only can she sell the car.’
Fury burned in Cam’s chest.
‘What?’ Laurie shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’
Of course she bloody didn’t. Because it didn’t make any fucking sense.
Ron smiled gently. ‘Your uncle has left you one of his classic cars.’
Cam snorted loudly. One of … only the cream of the crop.
‘But you have to take it to Italy before it’s yours.’ He looked at his watch, as if emphasizing the time constraint. ‘But … you will need to leave within the next ten days.’
‘But I … I can’t.’ She looked horrified.
Cam rolled his eyes cursing Miles. What the hell had the old bugger been thinking? This girl just didn’t have the guts and she certainly didn’t bloody deserve the car. It wasn’t as if she’d have any interest in it; she hadn’t earned it. Not like him.
She caught him and gave him a steely glance before lifting her chin and turning away. ‘What if I don’t want to do it? What am I going to do with a car like that?’
Cam shot her a look. Was she stupid? This was the classic Ferrari, Enzo’s last design. Possibly, no make that definitely, the finest Ferrari ever made. People would kill to own it.
‘Once you’ve completed the trip the car is yours to sell.’
She wrinkled her face.
‘But I don’t want to do the trip. I’ve got a job. Responsibilities. I can’t just up and go.’
‘Then it’s quite simple my dear. You forfeit the car and it goes to someone else.’
‘What, him?’ She indicated Cam with her thumb.
Suddenly relieved, he relaxed. Tension seeping out of his shoulders. Obviously that was why he was here. An easy transaction and he didn’t even have to pay for it.
Ron held the moment, like a ringmaster holding court in a circus, a small smile playing around his mouth.
‘No.’
Cam sat bolt upright.
‘Your mother.’
Lauren’s face hardened. ‘Over my dead body,’ she spat. ‘If that’s the case I’ll drive it to Timbuk-bloody-tu.’ Her eyes narrowed for a second.
‘You don’t need to go that far.’ Ron’s eyes twinkled as if pleased to see her sudden anger. ‘There’s a very clear route with places and people Miles wanted you to visit. He planned it all out, with accommodation along the way. As soon as you agree your departure date, I will make all the necessary arrangements.’
‘How will you know I’ve done what he wanted?’ Her chin had lifted in mutiny and Cam allowed himself a brief smile which was short lived. She had to succeed and complete the trip in order for him to buy the car from her. Bloody hell. Miles didn’t make it easy.
‘You have to send a postcard from each of the places specified.’ Ron pointed to a map of Europe behind him; a blue highlighter had been used to outline a route from Calais to Italy. ‘Fifteen in total. One from each town, which I’ve marked with a red drawing pin.’ He grinned happily like an overgrown house elf and Cam wanted to weep. House elves came in books you read to your shiny-eyed innocent nephews.
Furious, Cam gave a disparaging look towards the map and its meandering route through France and the mountains of Switzerland and Italy. ‘So what the hell am I here for?’
Ron grinned at him. ‘Miles felt Laurie might need a co-driver.’
Might need? Bloody hell! What was that supposed to mean? He was just supposed to accompany Miles’ niece out of the sheer goodness of his heart. In a car that Miles had damn well promised him. Except now he thought about it, what exactly had Miles promised? He recalled the exact words. A guaranteed price for the car once it went on sale. The wily bastard.
Ron pushed another one of the white envelopes towards him.
‘You’ll be recompensed, of course.’
‘I don’t want his money,’ growled Cam. Money was no bloody good. How was that going to help him? Fuck. He almost put his head in his hands. How could Miles do this to him? A leaden lump settled in his stomach at the thought of phoning Nick and the way the conversation would pan out.
‘Hi, Mate. You know that Ferrari I promised as the highlight of our classic car festival. Well I lied; it’s not mine after all. And all that sponsorship money we’ve secured to make the festival happen, is all going to vanish in smoke, leaving you with huge debts because you’ve underwritten everything against a loan on your home. Both of our reputations are going to be down the pan.’ Nick would go ape. Cam closed his eyes; his mother would kill him.
What was Miles thinking?
The white envelope mocked him. It felt like an insult. Miles knew damned well Cam would honour his promise to look after his niece, even if the conniving old coot had conned him somewhat by deliberately letting him think that Laurie was a small boy.
Truth was, he would have done just about anything for Miles. Despite the age difference, friendship had blossomed the day they met over the bonnet of a rather neat little Aston Martin. Cam had been the winner in that skirmish, outbidding Miles by several thousand to acquire the car for one of his clients. Miles had promptly taken the client and Cam out to lunch and done a deal to sell the client an E-type Jag for twice as much.
Ron’s eyes narrowed and for a moment Cam saw the steely determination that made the solicitor a worthy representative of Miles. He picked up the envelope and pocketed it with a glare at Ron. The solicitor simply smiled.
Chapter 4
Her hands shook so hard the key barely hit the lock. Tears filled her eyes … again. The brass letterbox had done it.
Over the years how many postcards often starting with the imperative, Niece, you must see this place, dropped through the door? Miles loved his postcards.
Although they wound her dad up, each one made her smile. Even in the last few years when Miles was supposedly slowing down, the postcards had never let up. Random in their frequency, there was never a place too small or insignificant for him to stop and pick one up. She’d had cards from the Empire State Building in New York, the Bellagio in Las Vegas, the Great Orme in Llandudno and Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh. Today Miles’ familiar, impatient scrawl, addressing her in his usual bossy fashion, brought piercing regret. No more postcards. Ever.
No more anything. She wouldn’t even argue against the terms of the will. Miles knew her too well. Knew that she wouldn’t deny him his last wish. Frowning hard, she gritted her jaw. Duty. She’d always been good at that. She’d stuck by her dad’s side, despite Miles’ repeated invitations to visit. Dad liked to blame Miles for the break-up of his marriage, not wanting to admit that it was probably inevitable that Celeste would leave him. He never really got over it. For him it had been a grand passion, love at first sight. At least on his part. With ten years apart, he had tried to be the sensible one, holding her at arm’s length, which had made the spoiled, wilful eighteen year old Celeste all the more determined to marry him.
Damn. The note. She’d leave it in the plastic bag in the hall along with the envelope that Ron had handed over. It felt too raw to share with anyone. Anyone? She meant Robert. Who else was there? And what would he say?
His car was already in the drive. Squaring her shoulders, she went inside.
And there he was already, twitching with anticipation.
‘So? Did he leave you anything?’
She nodded. Well that was the truth. He had definitely left her something.
‘What?’
She bit her lip. ‘It’s complicated.’
Robert frowned, ‘How so?’
Shrugging out of her coat, she took her time hanging it up. ‘Let me get us a cup of tea.’
‘So you got nothing then?’ Robert sounded sulky.
She faced him. ‘Like I said, it’s complicated. Come in the kitchen, sit down and I’ll tell you.’
Holding the mug of steaming tea as if it were some kind of talisman, she decided it was best just to spit it out and see where the conversation went.
‘Uncle Miles has left me one of his cars.’
‘Oh,’ Robert looked crestfallen. ‘Is that all?’ Then he rounded on her, irritation lining his face. ‘But that’s ridiculous? You don’t drive.’
Her fingers strayed to her eyebrow, and she rubbed the bone there back and forth.
‘I know,’ she sighed thinking of the provisional driving licence still tucked in her drawer. Renewed faithfully for the last six years but yet to be upgraded. Booking a proper driving test was still … she couldn’t do it. She would get round to it … one day, when the memories of her dad’s first massive heart attack on the driveway of the test centre faded.