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CHAPTER SEVEN

HARRIET

‘So there you have it, Mrs Lewis. You inherit your ex-sister-in-law’s house here in town and your daughter inherits a substantial sum of money from a trust set up by her aunt which I will have to talk to her about personally – provided you accept the legacy and the conditions attached to it.’

‘How substantial a sum?’ Harriet asked weakly. ‘And the conditions?’

Trevor Bagshawe rustled a few papers before looking up and saying, ‘As of yesterday, £900,000. But, of course, there is interest accruing all the time.’

Nine hundred thousand pounds? How the hell had Amy accumulated that kind of money? It wasn’t an amount she, Harriet, could even dream of recompensing Ellie with when she turned down the legacy. Which she would. No way could she accept whatever the conditions were. The impact on Ellie’s life would be too colossal.

‘There are just two conditions, both quite brief and to the point,’ Trevor said and started to read from one of the pieces of paper. ‘1.You must agree to live in the house for at least a year and keep it in good repair. 2. Ellie must eventually inherit it. In other words,’ he glanced up at Harriet, ‘You are not allowed to sell it. There is a sum of money entailed with the house to pay for essential maintenance.’

He placed the papers down on his desk and smiled at her. ‘So nothing too contentious there. Your sister-in-law also left you a private letter.’ He pushed a sealed envelope across the desk towards her.

Harriet could only look at him in dismay. Nothing contentious? What did he know? The first condition rendered everything unacceptable.

‘Has your firm acted for Amy in other matters?’ Harriet asked, fingering the embossed envelope. Just how much did this man know about her and the scandal that had torn her life apart years ago?

‘Oh yes,’ Trevor said. ‘Not me personally. I only joined the firm two years ago, but I understand Mr Atkins, the senior partner, was a great friend and had advised Miss Widdicombe for a number of years on various matters. I took over most of his probate cases when he retired last year.’

‘I see.’ Did that mean he knew the history behind this bequest? No way was she going to ask the question.

‘It’s a small town, Mrs Lewis, but confidentiality is everything in our business,’ the solicitor said quietly, somehow sensing her unspoken question.

So he did know about her past. No secrets in small towns, however hard you try. Harriet could imagine the tit-a-tattle that would happen once the locals, particular the older ones, realised who had inherited Amy Widdicombe’s house.

‘I have to think about this. Talk to my husband. To my daughter,’ Harriet said. ‘It’s a bit of a shock.’

Trevor nodded. ‘Understandable. I have a key to the house if you’d like to take a look?’

‘Umm,’ Harriet hesitated. ‘OK. Thanks,’ she said, standing up. Easier to take the key than to make an excuse. Right now, she needed some air and space to think.

‘One more thing, Mrs Lewis,’ Trevor said. ‘If for some reason you decide not to accept the legacy conditions, our instructions are to sell the house and donate the money to a local charity – along with the monies from the trust fund.’

So Ellie would end up with nothing. Would never need to know about Amy or her brother. The whole episode could stay in the past and Ellie could continue to live her life in happy ignorance.

Harriet left the solicitor’s office and made her way through town with no real knowledge of where she was going, but instinctively making for the remembered back lanes, away from the shops and people until she found herself walking through the Royal Avenue Gardens and crossing the road towards the embankment.

Why, oh why, had Amy left her and Ellie the house? No contact for years and now a bequest that threatened everything she held dear. How was Frank – let alone Ellie – going to react to this legacy from her past?

A few people were strolling along the embankment, enjoying the afternoon sunshine and watching the activity on the river. Harriet dodged around a young couple lost in a world of their own. Ahead of her she could see four or five people standing by the river trips kiosk, eating hot cross buns, drinking coffee and generally blocking the way. Harriet, quickly glancing behind her to check the traffic, stepped off the pavement and crossed the road, not wanting to disturb what was clearly a friendly get-together amongst locals.

Wandering up Newcomen Road and into South Town, Harriet could feel the key in her pocket banging against her leg. Amy’s house was just up the road. She could walk there in less than ten minutes if she wanted to. Maybe she’d just go and look at the outside. Looking wouldn’t affect her decision in any way. But why bother to even look at the house – it would only bring back painful memories – when she had no intention of accepting the legacy. Knowing Frank though, he would insist on exploring every eventuality, every possible escape clause, before he’d allow her to turn the offer down.

Deep in thought, Harriet walked on, barely noticing her surroundings until she reached the junction of Swannaton and Above Town. Decision time. Fingering the key in her pocket, she stood looking up at the short steep incline that was the beginning of Swannaton. How many times in the past had she breathlessly pushed Ellie in her stroller up there to reach Aunt Amy’s house a hundred yards or so further on from where she stood now? Did she want to re-trace those footsteps today? On her own? Without the support of Frank? So many memories would surface. Memories that were hers alone – her life before Frank. It would be better to face them privately. But not today, Harriet decided, turning resolutely on to the Above Town road. The implications of the legacy were enough to think about for now, without adding sentimental nostalgia into the mix. Easier to think straight, plan how she was going to convince Frank that refusing to accept Amy’s inheritance was the right thing to do, without the complication of remembering how happy she’d once been when the house had been a part of her life.

Walking back into town along the narrow road, Harriet tried to marshal her thoughts into a logical order, the way she’d point them out to Frank. The main stipulation of the legacy that she must live in the house for a year would be the real deal-breaker with Frank, she was sure. No way would he countenance giving up his own home, even temporarily. It was too convenient for work, the golf club and, after twenty years, he’d finally got the garden the way he wanted.

Harriet took a deep breath as she approached the Crowthers Hill junction. Who was she trying to kid that, so long as Frank agreed with refusing the legacy, everything would be fine. Deep down, she knew it was really Ellie, the daughter she’d give her life for, who was at the root of the biggest moral and guilt-induced headache that was beginning to throb in her head.

‘Good god! I don’t believe it. Tatty?’ A woman running down to the junction stopped and stared in amazement at her.

Harriet herself forced to stop to avoid bumping into the woman, looked at her equally surprised.

‘Beeny?’

‘Yes.’ The woman threw her arms around Harriet and hugged her. ‘God, it’s so good to see you.’

‘You too,’ Harriet said, returning the hug.

‘Are you on holiday? We must meet. Catch up.’

‘Lots of catching up to do,’ Harriet said ruefully.

‘Come to supper tonight. Six doors up on the right. Scarlet front door. Seven o’clock.’

Harriet hesitated before smiling and saying ‘Just you and me? OKAY. But please don’t mention to anyone that you’ve bumped into me.’

‘Promise. Have to dash, I’m already late,’ Sabine said. ‘See you later.’

‘Look forward to it,’ Harriet said as Sabine waved and ran on down the hill.