Читать книгу The Family Secret - Terry Lynn Thomas - Страница 10

Phillip Billings sat in his solicitor’s office, waiting for his mother’s will to be read, thinking of Lady Penelope Blythedale, the bitch who tried so hard to ruin his life. After today, he would be a man of independent means. Oh, how he wished he could travel to Edinburgh and flaunt his newfound wealth. He could just imagine the look on Lady Blythedale’s face, as he drove by in a brand-new fancy car. He sighed out loud, not realizing that his cousin and her daughter – who also sat in the chairs opposite the solicitor’s desk – looked at him strangely.

About time my luck has changed. Lady Fortune will now be sitting on my shoulder!

The past two years had been difficult. Granted, he did play a small role in the collapse of the life he had so carefully created. So what if he had taken his boss’s wife as a lover? Lady Penelope had made the first move, after all. These were modern times. And women – especially women of means – took lovers just as frequently as men. In addition to being married to Phillip’s employer, Lady Penelope Blythedale, a blond socialite with money and connections, had a voracious sexual appetite that nearly wore Phillip out. Nearly. Had Martha, Penelope’s young maid, not been so eager, he would have been faithful to Penelope. Sleeping with Martha – in his own bed, no less – had been a mistake. Phillip realized that. He would never forget the look on Penelope’s face when she caught them in flagrante delicto.

Lady Blythedale – Phillip was only allowed to call her Penelope when they were in bed together – shopped and lunched with her lady friends on Wednesdays. In a natural series of circumstances, Martha and Phillip had started having their weekly trysts during this time. Soon the affair escalated, fuelled by delicious secrecy. Wednesday afternoon soon became a standing date. They would spend their afternoons in Phillip’s opulent bedroom, tangled in the sheets, drinking expensive champagne – all paid for by Lady Blythedale. Someone must have told her about the affair. Why else would she have come home early and burst into the room? He cringed at the thought of the ensuing row, the crystal glasses thrown against the wall. Martha scarpering away, grabbing her clothes as she ran. Phillip spent about three seconds wondering what would become of poor Martha, sure in the knowledge that a reference would not be forthcoming.

After Martha had fled, Lady Blythedale had tossed a beautiful chair, covered in sky-blue silk, at a closed window. It crashed through and fell two storeys to the courtyard below. She surveyed the wreckage and cast a knowing glance at Phillip. The look in her eyes had chilled him to the bone. Without a word, she turned and walked out of the house. He thought about going after her, but changed his mind. She would come around. They always did. He would go to her house with champagne and a token of his affection – charged to her account, of course. Phillip had no money of his own and had become accustomed to the lifestyle that Lady Blythedale had provided him. She really had been very generous. He lived in the gatehouse on her vast property, had access to any number of her automobiles, and enjoyed a generous allowance which she deposited into his bank account every week like clockwork. They had too much invested in their affair to let it go. Surely this one indiscretion would be forgiven. He’d talk her around. Once he told her how things stood, Phillip felt certain she would forgive him.

Phillip had showered and dressed. After arranging for one-dozen long-stemmed red roses to be delivered to the big house – where Lady Blythedale resided – Phillip walked up the long curving driveway. No one seemed to be home. After knocking for a good fifteen minutes, he started to walk around the back of the house where a burly gardener intercepted him.

‘She wants you off the property,’ the man said.

‘This is too ridiculous. It was a simple misunderstanding. Please go and tell her to at least speak to me. I can explain.’

‘She doesn’t want to see you. Doesn’t want you here. Now get off the property before I throw you off.’ The man’s hands were clenched into ham-sized fists.

‘What about my things?’ Phillip had whined.

‘They ain’t yours. Paid for with her money, weren’t they? The locks on the gatehouse are being changed right now.’

Given no other choice, Phillip had left. At the bank, he had tried to cash a cheque, only to discover that his account had been closed. Luckily, he had enough money to lodge for a night or two at a cheap hotel.

The next day, the police had come to question him about a diamond necklace that Penelope had claimed had been stolen. Not wanting trouble with the police, he left on the next train south, where he wound up at his mother’s house two days later, with only the clothes on his back.

During his absence his cousin Beth and her daughter, Edythe, had moved in with his mother, Win. Beth’s husband had died, leaving the woman alone with a daughter and little money. Phillip imagined that Win appreciated having Beth do the cooking and cleaning. She was a marvel in the kitchen. And although Beth was rather shy and quiet, his cousin was sweetly disposed. Edythe was another matter altogether. Headstrong, with fancy ideas of being a professional dancer, Edythe would have to be taken in hand.

His mother had not been overjoyed when he showed up at her door, his clothes rumpled, in need of a bath and a hot meal, not a penny to his name. Win Billings had never minced words. ‘Beth’s taken your old room. You can have the bed in the attic.’ He had taken a hot bath, thinking that his mother would see to his clothes. She had begrudgingly found something for him to wear, old clothes of his father’s that – by the smell of mothballs – must have come straight from the attic. A set of clean sheets lay folded on his bed.

‘I’ll not be your servant, Phillip, and neither will the girls. I’ll give you a roof over your head and a place at the table. Nothing more. You’ll need to find a job and support yourself for a change.’

‘What about those?’ He eyed the pile of dirty clothes that he had tossed on the floor.

‘What about them?’ His mother had turned on her heel and walked away.

Weeks later, his mother’s frosty indifference still hadn’t thawed. Phillip looked for work but couldn’t find anything to suit him. Following his natural proclivities, he had started gambling. It didn’t take long for him to accumulate a sizable debt, even though he had no way to pay it. And then, by some fortuitous stroke of circumstance, someone had tampered with his mother’s brakes, had murdered her in cold blood. And all of Phillip Billings’ problems had been solved.

He wondered if Edythe and Beth would stay on now that Win was dead and Phillip would inherit everything. He could pay his cousin a stipend and allow her to serve as his housekeeper. As for Edythe, she would respond to some proper discipline, of that Phillip was certain. If Edythe behaved properly, Phillip would consider paying for her schooling. Provided, of course, that Beth stayed on as housekeeper.

His cousin sat next to him, picking at her cuticle, lost in her own thoughts. When Beth met his gaze, he noticed the dark smudges under her eyes. She really was in desperate straits. He winked as he offered her his handkerchief. She grabbed it, careful not to let his fingers make contact with hers in the process.

The only light emanated from the solitary banker’s lamp that sat on the solicitor’s desk. In the shadows, old law books and stacks of files were arranged in bookcases against the walls. The desk, as big as a ship and made of dark wood, was covered in the clutter that accompanied a busy schedule. The chair behind the desk was empty. Mr Broadbent – the Billings family solicitor – was running late. When they had arrived, the secretary, Miss Hinch, had arranged three chairs in front of the desk – one for Beth, one for her daughter Edythe, and another for her cousin Phillip.

Phillip felt certain Broadbent was deliberately keeping them waiting. He sat in his chair, his hands clasping his knees, confident at his sudden change in circumstances. He moved into his mother’s bedroom twenty-four hours after the police had arrived on the doorstep with the news of the car accident that had killed her. As was his god-given right, he demanded regimented meal times. When he had approached Beth with the proposition she pay him a small fee when she used the kitchen to bake the cakes she sold, she had recoiled. He bit back the irritation. How dare she? She had stepped into his family home and insinuated herself into his mother’s good graces. Once the will was read, Phillip intended on setting things right. Beth and Edythe would be living in his home. As long as they remembered that, they were welcome. If not, other arrangements would need to be made.

Edythe sat with her head bowed, one lock of honey-gold hair coming untucked from her best hat, an expensive felt concoction – purchased on the last trip to London – fashioned in a shade of green that flattered the girl’s complexion. He wondered how much his mother had paid for that hat. Surely Beth didn’t have money for clothes like that.

Beth started to cry, gentle silent sobs.

‘Mum, what’s wrong?’ Edythe put her arm around Beth.

‘I can’t believe she’s dead. Who would want to kill her? Why would someone tamper with her brakes like that? I can see her lying there, mangled, wishing someone would come to save her.’ Beth covered her face with her hands and sobbed like a baby. Phillip looked away, uncomfortable with the overt display of emotion. He had little time for female histrionics. His mother was dead. The police were investigating the murder. He had an inkling that he was a suspect, but he didn’t care. The police couldn’t prove anything. There was nothing else for them to do. Sobbing certainly wouldn’t bring her back. He placed a large hand on Beth’s thigh. She recoiled and flicked it off.

Phillip ignored the slight. ‘I’m sure she didn’t suffer. The impact – it would have been immediate. I’m sure of it. It will be all right, Beth. I’ll help you get through it. I’ll see you’re provided for financially.’

Beth looked up at Phillip’s words, feeling the heat as her pale cheeks flushed. ‘We don’t want your help, Phillip.’

‘I know my mum gave you an allowance, and I know you depend on it. You won’t go without. Neither will Edythe.’

‘And what will we have to do in return? Will you make my mum your maid?’ Edythe said. ‘What about our house? Are you going to make us move?’

Phillip smiled at her. So we’ve come to the truth of the matter. You greedy little bitch. Edythe didn’t care about his mother. She cared about money, and expensive hats from London. He pushed his anger aside. This was not the time.

‘What do you expect me to do?’ Phillip said. ‘I need a place to live, and you know it. That’s my childhood home. And although my mum has let you stay with her all this time, surely you couldn’t expect the arrangement to be permanent.’

Beth didn’t get a chance to respond. David Broadbent hurried into the room, a thick folder under his arm.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting. A bit of an emergency.’ His thatch of blond hair and smattering of freckles over his nose and cheeks gave him a somewhat childish air. But the lines on his forehead and the puffiness under his eyes bore witness to his age and – in all likelihood – the stress of a domineering wife and a headstrong daughter. Phillip had never liked David Broadbent, but he pushed his feelings aside as the solicitor sat at his desk.

‘Would anyone like tea? No? Then let’s get down to business.’ He took an old document, the pages yellowed with age, out of an envelope and set it down on top of the folder. They waited while he took yet another envelope out of the file, this one newer, pristine and white. He took his time opening this envelope.

‘What have you got there?’ Phillip asked.

‘Your mother made a new will,’ he said. ‘She just signed it last month. She wished to change the way her assets were distributed. She had grown very fond of Beth and Edythe, and wanted to make sure they were provided for.’ He pushed his reading glasses up on top of his head and studied Phillip. ‘I’ll read the will and give you all the details. But I should tell you she’s left the bulk of her estate, including the house, to Beth and Edythe.’

Phillip jumped to his feet and slammed his hands on the desk so hard Beth yelped. ‘I don’t believe it. Why would she do that? I’m her son. Did she think I didn’t deserve …’ He let his words trail off.

‘Your mother said she vested you with your own money when you came of age, and – as I said – she wanted to make sure the girls were provided for. She was a forward thinker, your mum, and she didn’t want Beth to marry someone she didn’t love for financial security. She—’

‘Are you saying I get nothing?’

‘Of course not. If you’ll sit down, I’ll explain.’

‘I just don’t believe it,’ Phillip said. ‘My father would be furious if he knew what mother had done. Have you thought of that, Mr Broadbent?’

‘Sit down, Phillip. I will explain once you’ve sat down.’

Edythe, eyes agog, stared at Phillip, whose face was now a mottled shade of red. Out of the corner of Phillip’s eye, he saw Beth open her mouth and close it again. As if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

Phillip felt the room spin. This couldn’t be happening. This was a joke, some sort of a sick joke.

‘I didn’t expect – she never said anything.’ Beth turned to her cousin. ‘I’m so sorry, Phillip. I had no idea.’

White hot fury flashed before Phillip’s eyes as his rage boiled over. He didn’t dare look at his cousin, for fear he would put his hands around her lily-white throat and choke the life out of her. She had ruined everything, ruined him. He should have known the lay of the land when he arrived home. He took a deep breath and wheeled around to face Beth. ‘Really? No idea? You’ve been angling to inherit ever since you moved in. I have to give it to you, Beth, for being a quick worker. Well done.’

Beth’s face – already pale – blanched. She wobbled on her chair as though she were about to faint.

‘Mum,’ Edythe cried out. She moved to her mother’s side. ‘How dare you speak to her that way?’

‘Shut up, you little bitch. You should be ashamed of yourselves, taking what is rightfully mine.’

‘Phillip, that’s enough. Sit down right now,’ David Broadbent said. ‘Don’t make me call the police.’

Phillip hadn’t realized that he had sprung to his feet and was now towering over his cousin. Edythe rose too, and stood so close to Phillip their noses nearly touched.

‘Keep away from her,’ Edythe hissed.

‘Or what? What will you do?’

Edythe didn’t flinch. Phillip sat and plucked at a non-existent piece of lint on his trouser leg. He gave David Broadbent a forced smile. ‘She needs discipline. And I apologize. I just wasn’t expecting—’

‘Never mind that,’ Broadbent said. ‘Phillip, you’re to get a lump sum payment of one hundred pounds, along with a life income from a trust your father set up when you were born. With careful investing, you should be able to live quite well on that for the rest of your life. Your mother transferred the cottage off the high street into your name months ago. She’s been collecting the rent on your behalf, and those funds will be made available to you immediately. The tenants moved out last week – death in the family, I’m told – and the cottage is available now.’ He held up a set of keys.

‘The cottage? The bloody cottage?’ Phillip Billings grabbed the keys from David Broadbent’s hand. ‘She gets to live in my family home, and I get the rundown house that isn’t fit for a gentleman?’ He bit back his fury, doing his best not to rampage through Broadbent’s office and break everything in sight. He stood and grabbed his hat.

‘I am putting you on notice. I’ll be hiring my own solicitor to look into my mother’s estate.’ He turned to Beth. ‘I’d like to come to the house and go through my mother’s desk, if you don’t mind. Surely you have no objection to that? There are photographs of my father and other family papers that I would like to retrieve. Unless you’ve something to hide …’ He let the accusation hang heavy in the air.

‘Of course not,’ Beth said.

‘I don’t recommend that,’ David Broadbent cautioned.

‘You’d better hope your file is in order, Mr Broadbent.’ Phillip nodded at Beth and Edythe. ‘Good day.’ He burst out of the office.

Emmeline Hinch waited for Phillip in the foyer, a worried expression on her face. ‘Are you all right? I’m so sorry. He wouldn’t let me see the new will.’

‘Not your fault.’ He pushed out the door and stepped onto the high street. Emmeline kept speaking. Phillip ignored her.

* * *

Some said the Dirty Duck had been around since Henry VIII’s reign. Low ceilings crossed with thick dark beams, a fireplace large enough to roast a cow, and a bar made of ancient wood, gave credence to this. During the day, the Duck served a hearty lunch, drawing a crowd of pensioners and men without someone to cook for them, grateful for an affordable meal. Jemmy, who took pride in the ale he made and the food his wife cooked, could always be counted on to stand a pint to those short of funds. As a young man, Phillip had spent many a happy hour at the Duck, drinking with his mates, boasting about his future plans for fortune and fame. Now, as he downed one pint and ordered another, he longed for the type of clubs that he and Lady Blythedale would frequent, the places of high ceilings, Aubusson rugs, and the lush quiet that comes with unfettered opulence. They had travelled all over Scotland and England, under the name of Mr and Mrs Cyril Hammond, staying in posh hotels, ordering room service, and spending hours in bed. It didn’t take long for Phillip to become accustomed to the lifestyle. It took even less time for him to feel entitled to it.

Phillip tucked himself into a quiet table in the back and gazed out the window at the high street. The table afforded a perfect view to the path that led to the tiny cottage that would now be his home. He would live in a three-room shack while Edythe and Beth would live in his childhood home. The injustice of it all made him want to scream. Instead he sipped at his pint, and let his anger towards his mother, Lady Blythedale, Beth, Edythe, and all the women of the world flow freely. Truth be told, all of Phillip’s problems lay on Lady Blythedale’s shoulders. If she hadn’t been such a prude, he would not be in this position. How dare she bring him into her life, treat him as an equal, and then kick him out with nothing. She could have at the very least let him pack a trunk and take the suits that were custom-made for him. What was she going to do with them? And why had she told the police he had stolen her bloody diamonds? Hell hath no fury.

He sipped his beer, longing for the fine Scotch served in the heavy crystal glasses that he kept at his gatehouse. It wasn’t his fault that in the throes of his despondency he turned to a gentlemanly game of cards. It wasn’t his fault that he bet money that he didn’t have, was it? Wasn’t he used to having money? Wasn’t he used to asking for anything he bloody wanted and getting it in spades? It wasn’t his fault that the truth of what he possessed in his everyday life and what actually belonged to him could become blurred, was it?

And then there was Emmeline Hinch. Dear Emmeline and her unconditional love. He sighed. Love didn’t pay the bills – or the gambling debts – and love certainly didn’t put food on the table. Emmeline would be no help. Eventually the men would come for their money. It was just a matter of when. What Phillip needed was a miracle. Through the old warped glass Phillip watched Beth and Edythe as they stepped out of Broadbent’s office and headed down the high street, arm in arm. Beth huddled over as though she were in pain. Edythe, tall and willowy, had her arm around her mum, as though holding her up. He bit back his rage. Once it was tucked away, the answer presented itself. The perfect solution to all of his troubles. He downed the rest of his pint and hurried after them.

‘Beth, Edythe,’ he called out. They stopped and turned to face him. Edythe stepped closer to her mother, in a protective stance. Phillip didn’t let his emotion show on his face. Instead, he forced a smile and approached them with the charm that he had perfected over the years. ‘I want to apologize for my outburst. It was horribly boorish of me. I’m grateful for what my mother gave me, so you don’t have to worry about me bothering you.’

‘You embarrassed Mum,’ Edythe snapped.

‘I know. That’s why I am here, young lady. I’m apologizing. And you’d do better to learn respect for your elders.’ He turned his gaze to Beth while Edythe continued to glare at him. ‘I acted a fool and took it out on you. My mother loved you both. I had no right to say those things. It’s time for me to see about getting a job somewhere. I’ll have to move, probably. Sell the cottage.’

‘Why don’t you enlist?’ Edythe asked.

‘Why don’t I treat you to tea?’ Phillip ignored Edythe’s question. He stepped between the women and offered each of them an arm. They had no choice but to take it and walk with him along the path to Gilly’s. He needed to get rid of Edythe, so he could talk to Beth alone.

Edythe stopped walking and untangled her arm from Phillip’s. ‘Mum and I were just going to get some bread and butter and have some time alone together, Phillip.’

Phillip almost snapped at the young girl for her utter lack of manners. He stood silently by while Beth reached into her handbag and handed her ration books and some coins to her daughter. ‘Why don’t you head over to Gilly’s and get the bread and butter if she has it, and anything else you fancy.’

‘It’ll be margarine, Mum. But I’ll see if there are any tinned peaches or lemon curd.’ Edythe glanced at Phillip – as though to make sure her mum would be safe with him alone – before she took the money and ration books, headed towards the café and the shops.

‘What a graceful child,’ Phillip said.

Beth gave him an irritated look. ‘She’s been working so hard. I worry she’s not resting enough.’ Beth sighed. ‘She’s set on going to London and dancing with a professional company.’

‘We need to talk,’ Phillip said.

‘I’m sorry, Phillip. I don’t want to talk. Not today. Please leave me alone.’ Beth turned and headed towards Gilly’s.

‘Beth, wait. Please.’ He stepped close, placing a gentle hand on her elbow. She froze under his touch but slowly turned to face him.

‘That’s better. What I want to say to you, and what I hope you’ll agree to, is for us to get married.’

‘Married? Us?’ A bubble of hysterical laughter burbled out of Beth’s throat. She covered her mouth and coughed.

‘Please don’t react like that. You know it’s the right thing. You’re a 39-year-old widow, with a young daughter. And this is not about the money. I don’t care about that. You’re my family.’

‘You’re my cousin, Phillip.’

‘That doesn’t matter.’

‘But I don’t love you.’

‘You could learn to love me. Over time we would grow close.’ He stepped close and tried to put an arm around Beth. ‘Why don’t you let me take care of you?’

Beth pushed away from him. Anger flashed in her otherwise passive eyes. ‘I don’t need taking care of. I’ve been widowed for six years, four months and eight days, and I’ve managed just fine—’

‘You’re being unreasonable. You need a man. All women do. What kind of an example are you setting for Edythe? She’s headstrong already, and if someone doesn’t take her in hand, she’ll just get worse.’

Beth slapped Phillip across the face, just as two women came out of the fruiterer’s. They hurried by, trying not to stare.

‘Go to hell,’ Beth said.

When Beth turned and walked away, he grabbed her arm in a vice grip, turning her to face him. ‘Don’t you dare walk away from me.’ He squeezed her arm and pulled her close.

The two women who had passed them had stopped. Standing a few yards away, they watched the scene unfold before them.

‘Beth, do you want us to get the police?’ the younger of the two asked.

Phillip turned to face them, enraged. ‘Mind your own damn business.’

The women stepped closer.

Beth looked down at Phillip’s fingers as they dug into the soft flesh of her upper arm. Her voice shook. ‘Let. Go. Of. Me.’

He let go of her and took a step back, holding both hands in the air as if to surrender. ‘Beth—’

‘I don’t want you around my daughter,’ Beth said. She didn’t care who heard. ‘You’ve got your cottage and your money. The house is mine now. I want you out, Phillip.’

Two other women had joined the group, one of them had a young girl in tow. ‘Are they going to fight, Mummy? Is she going to hit him?’ Her voice trembled.

‘Beth, don’t—’ Phillip said.

‘You moved in without any regard for us. You have treated me like your maid. You’ve abused my good will and Edythe’s. The house is mine now. You are not welcome there. You can come and get your things this afternoon at four o’clock. After you get your personal items out, you are not to come back again unannounced or without permission. Do you understand? I’ve had it with you.’

She turned and, with a bowed head, hurried towards Gilly’s. Phillip stood, humiliated, unable to do anything but watch her go.

‘Serves you right,’ one of the women said.

He stared at the lot of them. ‘Show’s over, ladies.’

So much for his miracle.