فصل 20

CHAPTER 20

There was no sign of Mrs. Warren when Hal finally descended, and for a moment she stood in the front hallway, trying to get her bearings and remember which of the wooden doors hid the drawing room. She had passed it on her way to breakfast, but then the door had stood open. Now they were all closed, and the long, monotonous hallway with its featureless tiled floor and identical doors was surprisingly disorienting.

Hal tried one at random—but it opened onto a dim, paneled dining room, far grander than the breakfast room they had used that morning. The tall windows were shuttered, thin gray shafts of light piercing the shadows, and a vast table draped with calico dust sheets stretched the length of the room. Above her head hung two huge shapes swathed in gray that at first, in the darkness, Hal thought were giant wasps’ nests. She ducked reflexively, before her eyes adjusted and she realized they must be chandeliers, encased in some sort of protective covering.

Her footsteps swirled in the dust, and backing out slowly, she closed the door quietly behind her and made her way up the corridor.

At the next doorway she put her hand out to knock—but before her knuckles could make contact with the wood, she heard a voice coming from inside, and paused for a moment, unsure if she was about to interrupt a private conversation.

“. . . conniving little gold digger.” It was a man’s voice, one of the brothers, Hal thought. But she could not be sure of which.

“Oh, really, you are impossible.” A woman’s voice, Mitzi’s, clipped with impatience. “She’s an orphan, no doubt your mother felt sorry for her.” “First of all, we have no proof of that whatsoever, we know nothing about this girl, we have no idea who her father is or was, or whether he’s still in the picture. For all we know, he could have put Mother up to this. And second”—it was Harding, Hal realized, as he raised his voice to speak over Mitzi’s exasperated protests—“second, Mitzi, if you had known my mother in the least, you would realize how very unlikely it would be for her to be motivated by anything as charitable as pity for an orphan.” “Oh, Harding, what nonsense. Your mother was a lonely old woman, and perhaps if you’d been willing to let bygones be bygones the children and I might have got to know her a little better, and this whole situation—” “My mother was a bitter, cruel harpy,” Harding shouted. “And any reluctance to let you and the children be exposed to her venom was entirely out of concern for you, so don’t you dare suggest that this situation is my fault, Mitzi.” “I wasn’t suggesting that for a moment,” Mitzi said, and a placatory note had crept into her voice, beneath the irritation. “I understand your motives were good, darling. But I just think that perhaps it’s not really surprising at this point if your mother chose to pass over two sons who were completely estranged, and a third who kept his wife and children away for nearly twenty years. I can’t blame your mother for being a little hurt. I certainly would be! When was the last time we were down here? Richard can’t have been more than seven.” “Seven, yes, and she told him he was a sniveling little coward when he burned his finger on the grate—remember?” “I’m not saying she didn’t have her faults—”

“Mitzi, you are not listening to me. My mother was a bitter, poisonous woman and her one aim in life was to spread that poison as far and wide as she could. It’s exactly like her to continue to spread division from beyond the grave. The sole surprise is that she didn’t leave the entire place to Ezra in the hope that he, Abel, and I would end up in a bitter dispute over all this, and the whole estate would get swallowed up in legal fees.” “Oh, Harding, that’s absurd—”

“I should have seen it coming,” Harding said, and Hal had the feeling he was no longer even really listening to his wife. “She wrote to me, d’you know that? About a month ago. No word of her illness, of course, that would have been too simple, too straightforward. Oh no. She wrote her usual letter, full of complaints, but her sign-off was different—that’s what should have told me.” “Different, how?”

“She signed off, always, your mother. Always. Even when I was at boarding school, crying my eyes out every night. All the other boys’ mothers signed off with love and kisses, and ever your adoring mummy, and a thousand hugs. All that sort of tripe. But Mother—no. Your mother. That was it. No love. No kisses. Just a cold statement of fact. A perfect metaphor, in fact, for her life.” “And the last time? Did she add something?”

“Yes,” Harding said. And he paused, a brooding silence that made Hal hold her breath, wondering what was coming. Not the love that Harding had waited all his life for, surely? The silence stretched, until Hal thought she must have missed whatever Harding was about to say, or that he had thought better of it, and she raised her hand, ready to knock and announce her presence, but finally Harding spoke.

“She finished, après moi, le déluge. That was all. No name. No sign-off. Just those four words.” “Après what?” Mitzi sounded completely nonplussed. “After the . . . the rain? What on earth does it mean?” But before Hal could hear Harding’s answer, she heard a voice at her back.

“Eavesdropping?”

Hal spun round, her heart thumping.

It was Harding’s daughter, what was her name? Kitty. She was standing in the corridor, twirling her long blond hair around one finger, and chewing something. When Hal didn’t speak, she held out a packet in one hand.

“Tangfastic?”

“I—” Hal swallowed. She spoke low, not wanting Harding and Mitzi to hear from inside the room. “I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t mean to—I was about to go into the room, but they seemed—” “Hey, no shade from me.” The girl threw up her free hand, the charm bracelet on her wrist jangling. “It’s the only way I ever find out anything around here.” She pulled out a jelly shape from the packet, examined it critically, and then popped it in her mouth. “Look, I kept meaning to ask, what are you?” “I—I, what?” Hal swallowed again. Her mouth felt dry, and she flexed her cold fingers inside her pockets, digging her nails into her palms, trying to anchor herself. She was uncomfortably aware that the Pandora bracelet Kitty was wearing on her left wrist probably cost more than her own entire outfit, possibly more than her whole wardrobe. “What am I? I’m not sure what you—” “I mean, like, I know you’re some kind of relation, but Dad hasn’t really explained the connection. Are you the missing aunt? No, wait, you’re too young, right?” “Oh! Right. No—” She blinked, trying to remember what exactly she was supposed to be doing here. The photograph of her mother lounging on the lawn outside the drawing room flashed through her mind, and she screwed her eyes shut for a moment against the image, rubbing her forehead as if to vanquish her mother’s face.

She must not think about her mother. She had to remember who she was supposed to be—not who she was. Maud was Harding’s sister, which meant . . .

“I guess I’m . . . your cousin?”

“Oh, right, so your mum was the one who ran away?”

“I—I suppose so, yes. She—she didn’t really talk about it.”

“So cool,” the girl said enviously. She pushed another Haribo into her mouth, and spoke around it. “Not gonna lie, there’s been points where I’ve seriously considered it, but I reckon you need to be at least eighteen to pull it off, otherwise you’re pretty much guaranteed to end up on the streets, and there’s no way I’m turning tricks for some pedo pimp.” “Um—” Hal found herself completely at a loss. This girl was self-assured in a way that Hal had never been. “I— How old are you?” “Fourteen. Rich is nearly sixteen. Freddie’s twelve. He’s a total dickwad, so I wouldn’t bother with him. Rich is okay if you can get him to take his headphones off. And hey, I’m at a girls’ school, I need to keep on his good side, right? He’s my shortcut to hot older boys.” “I never really thought about it like that,” Hal said faintly.

“Have you got a boyfriend?” Kitty asked. Hal shook her head.

“Girlfriend?”

“No, I—I’ve not really been in the right place for dating for the last couple of years.” “Gotcha,” Kitty said wisely. She nodded and put another Haribo in her mouth. “You should try a dating app. They can match you up by location.” “That wasn’t really what I—” Hal began, but then the drawing room door opened and both their heads turned, to see Mitzi standing there.

“Oh, girls. I thought I heard voices. Kitty, if you want to come into Penzance, you need to get your shoes on, and tell Richard to hurry up. Harriet, if you have a moment, your uncle would like to speak with you.” Hal nodded, and looked past Mitzi to where Harding was standing in the drawing room, his back to the door, looking out to the cloud-dark sky and rain-soaked lawns. The sea in the distance was invisible in the mist.

Mitzi stood back, ushering Hal inside, and then closed the door, and Hal heard her trotting purposefully away up the corridor, lecturing Kitty as she went.

Hal stood waiting nervously for Harding to turn around, but he did not. Instead he spoke, still facing the view in front of him.

“Harriet, thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

For a moment, Hal could not think what to say in reply. The incongruity of the phrase struck her—as though they were both businessmen discussing a merger, rather than—rather than what?

“I—you’re welcome,” she managed at last, and took a hesitant step forwards into the room.

But Harding was speaking over her, as if he were determined to get through his piece and would not be derailed from his course.

“As you may have gathered from Mr. Treswick last night, there is quite a lot of paperwork we need to go through before he can start to move forward on the process of obtaining probate.” “I, well, yes,” Hal said. She felt her stomach twist at the mention of paperwork. What could she do? Could she delay the meeting? Or would it be better to go and find out what they needed from her, and then claim she had forgotten it? “Although I didn’t know, I mean, I didn’t bring—” “There is a great deal we need to discuss,” Harding said. “All this”—he waved his hand at the expanse of green lawns falling away in front of the windows—“all this is a great responsibility, and there are a lot of decisions you will need to make, Harriet, and fairly quickly. But that will come later—in the meantime, we have an appointment with Mr. Treswick in Penzance in”—he glanced at his watch—“just under forty minutes, and it will be fairly tight to get there. You don’t have a car here?” Forty minutes? Hal felt her mouth drop open in horror. This was all moving much too fast. She needed time to research—to work out what Mr. Treswick was likely to ask. What if they wanted her to complete forms, and she tripped up over some minor detail? Then she realized that Harding was waiting for an answer to his question, and swallowed.

“I—no—” she managed faintly.

“No matter. We’ll squeeze you in. There’s a fold-down seat in the boot.”

“But, Unc—” She stumbled over the word, unable to make herself articulate it, and began again: “Look, there’s something I must—” “Later, Harriet,” Harding said briskly. His moment of reflection had passed, and he turned, clapping Hal on the shoulder so that she staggered, and then opened the door to the hallway. “There will be plenty of time to talk on the journey, but for now, we must get going or we’ll be late for Mr. Treswick. The appointment is at noon so we are already cutting it rather fine.” With a sinking heart, Hal followed Harding into the corridor, and from there out to the front of the house, where the car was waiting, the three children belted in the back.

“Just a moment, Harriet, while I get the boot seat set up,” Harding said, but his face changed as the big estate boot swung open. “Mitzi? Where are the fold-down seats?” “What?” Mitzi looked over her shoulder. The engine was already running, and her impatience was plain. “What are you talking about, Harding?” “The boot seats. Where are they? Harriet is traveling with us.”

“But she can’t—there’s no room. We took the seats out to make room for the cases, remember?” “Oh, for heaven’s sakes. Does no one in this family plan more than two steps ahead?” Harding said testily. “Well, there’s a simple answer: Freddie will have to stay behind.” “Firstly, darling”—Mitzi’s voice was brittle as cut glass—“it was your idea to remove the seats, if you remember. And secondly, Freddie can’t stay behind, he’s a beneficiary. Mr. Treswick needs to see his ID.” “Oh, for God’s sake!” Harding said explosively. Hal felt a little flicker of hope ignite inside her. Was it possible she would not be able to attend after all?

She was just about to offer to remain at the house when a voice came from behind her.

“Good morning, all.”

Hal and Harding both turned, and Hal heard Harding’s sigh, a plosive noise, like a whale coming up for air.

“Ezra,” he said flatly.

He was standing, hands in his pockets, grinning widely.

“Hello, dear brother. And hello again, Harriet. Nice to see Harding is putting you firmly in the crumple zone. Have you investigated what happens to the estate if Harriet doesn’t survive the trip, Harding?” “Ezra!” Harding snapped. “That is an entirely inappropriate joke to make. And no, Harriet won’t be traveling in the boot, as someone”—he ignored Mitzi’s eye-rolling sigh of exasperation from the driver’s seat—“forgot to pack the spare seats. We were just discussing how to proceed.” “Well, I can solve that,” Ezra said. “I’ve got to go into Penzance myself. I need to transfer some money while I’m here. I’ll give Hal a lift.” “Oh.” Harding seemed—Hal couldn’t quite put her finger on it—almost disappointed at having his bubble of irritation pricked. Or perhaps it was annoyance at having to be beholden to his brother. “Well. That is a . . . neat solution. Excellent.” He shut the boot with a slam and smoothed his Barbour jacket over his stomach.

“Right. Well. Do you know where we are heading, Ezra?”

“Very much so.” Ezra twirled his car keys on his finger. “I may have been out of the country for a while, but Penzance isn’t so vast that I’m likely to lose my sense of direction. See you there, Harding.” “Very good. Do you have my mobile number?”

“I don’t,” Ezra said carelessly. “But given I’ve survived this long without it, I’m sure we’ll manage.” Harding gave an exaggerated sigh, and pulled his wallet out of the inner pocket of his Barbour. Inside was a small stack of business cards. He pulled one off the top, and handed it to Hal.

“I will entrust you with this, Harriet, as I have very little confidence in Ezra’s organizational abilities. Don’t lose it. And don’t be late.” He opened the passenger door and climbed inside the car. “The appointment is at tw—” But his last words were drowned in the scrunch of tires on gravel as Mitzi accelerated. Hal heard a faint, “Bye, Hal!” from her window, and then the car disappeared out of the gate and down the drive, a cloud of magpies rising indignantly from the trees as they passed below.