The Importance of Being Married (5 page)

Mr. Taylor didn’t smile. Instead he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“The liability is reduced because of various trust arrangements,” he said. “Without them, I’m afraid that the bill would be even higher.”

“Higher?” I repeated stupidly. My skin felt prickly and I was getting rather warm.

“Grace thought a great deal of you,” the lawyer said. He was smiling benevolently at me, like he was talking to a small child. “With no…no family of her own, I think she rather thought of you as…kin.”

“Me, too,” I said. “But there has to be some mistake. She wouldn’t leave me her house. No way.”

“Oh, but she did.” Mr. Taylor smiled. “You do know who Grace Hampton was, don’t you?”

I looked at him impatiently. “Of course I knew who she was. I’ve been visiting her for nearly two years.”

He looked relieved. “The estate, then,” he said, seriously, taking some papers out of his briefcase and passing me a photograph. “There is a husband-and-wife team who currently work full-time and live in one of the cottages. I understand that they’re happy to continue if you’d like them to. Then there’s a team of gardeners, a cook, and two cleaners who work on an ad hoc basis.”

I was staring at the photograph. It was even more incredible in real life than Grace had described, with ivy growing up the walls and acres of land around it with secret gardens and outhouses and places to hide where no one would ever find you. When I’d lived with Grandma in her small terraced house in Ipswich, I used to imagine that my mother hadn’t really died; that she was still alive somewhere, living in a crumbling house like the one in the photograph (only about a quarter of the size), and that one day she’d come and find me and take me home. Not that she ever did. And I knew it was just a dream, not real. But this house in the photograph was completely real. And it was mine?

“It’s…very big,” I said tentatively.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Mr. Taylor said, nodding. “Now, I’ve got all the information here, along with details on the furniture. It’s all staying with the house, so you can go through it at your leisure, along with Lady Hampton’s personal effects.”

“Lady…Lady Hampton?” My voice had become a squeak.

“So you didn’t know?”

I shook my head. Maybe I hadn’t known her as well as I’d thought.

“Then you had no idea that her will in total amounts to in the region of four million pounds?”

“Four million?” I couldn’t see properly. I felt like the world was closing in on me.

Mr. Taylor started to open his briefcase, but I held up my hand. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice now several octaves above its usual register. “Can we just rewind slightly. I thought you were talking about Grace having left me a few books or something. I didn’t know…I mean, an estate? I…And she was a lady? She never said. And I don’t want her money. That’s not…I mean…”

“Grace considered it very important that someone she trusted take over the estate,” the lawyer said, gently. “Someone who would nurture it, perhaps have a family there. Someone whom she could trust with her possessions, too,” he said. “Grace was a very…private lady. I know that when she met you, a great weight was lifted from her shoulders, because she knew that you would be a good and trustworthy heir. That by leaving her estate to you, she would protect it. I know that this knowledge made her very happy. Very happy indeed.”

“But…but…” I said redundantly. “Isn’t there someone else? Family? Someone other than me?”

The lawyer nodded. “Lady Hampton did have a son. Does have a son. But they are estranged. She…disinherited him many years ago. He left home when he was eighteen.”

My eyes widened. “She had a son? She never mentioned a son.”

“She didn’t consider herself to still have a son,” Mr. Taylor said, the flicker of a frown crossing his face. “They…father and son argued, as I understand it. He left home when he was eighteen. I believe they haven’t been in touch since.”

“But won’t he want the money? The house?”

Mr. Taylor shook his head. “I understand that he’s gone abroad. I assure you, he has no claim on the will.” He was looking just to the right of me, as though he couldn’t quite look me in the eyes.

“Right,” I nodded, my mind spinning. Grace had never mentioned a son. Then again, she’d never mentioned the four million pounds, either. Or the house.

“Mrs. Milton, you are going to be a very rich woman,” the lawyer said. “And with wealth comes responsibility. It’s a lot to take in, so I suggest you take this folder, perhaps discuss it with your husband, and try to give some thought to what you’d like to do.”

“To do?” I asked hoarsely. I was having trouble assimilating the information being given to me. I was going to be rich. Seriously rich. Which meant no more debts. No more anxiously checking my bank balance at the end of each month as I teetered precariously toward my overdraft limit. I’d never expected to be rich. Never hoped for it. And I couldn’t believe Grace really wanted to leave it all to me.

“Whether you wish to move in to the estate, or…or dispose of it.”

“Sell it?” I asked incredulously.

The lawyer shrugged.

“Sell the estate that Grace left to me specifically so that I could look after it?” I demanded.

Mr. Taylor smiled. “I’m glad you see it her way,” he said. “Grace always prided herself on being a good judge of character. Still, I will leave these papers with you, if I may, and perhaps you would like to visit me in my office to discuss the transfer of assets—say, next week?”

I nodded, my mind still racing.

“Why was she at Sunnymead?” I asked. “I mean, if she was rich—couldn’t she have had a team of doctors and nurses at her estate or something?”

The lawyer looked thoughtful for a moment. “She was lonely,” he said, eventually. “Grace always liked to be around people. And after her husband died, she wanted to leave the estate. She said that the house felt too empty, felt too full of memories.”

“And she really left it all to me?”

“She said that you were like the daughter she never had. Or the granddaughter. I know that it was very important to her that you inherit the house, in particular. She said that otherwise it would go to the government and get demolished by developers. Or turned into an ugly conference center.”

He was smiling again, wryly this time, and I smiled back. That was exactly the sort of thing Grace would say.

“As I was saying,” Mr. Taylor continued, “you’ll want to come to my office, I should think, to sort out the paperwork. I can go through the details of the estate and financial arrangements then.”

“Paperwork,” I said, nodding vaguely.

“Nothing too onerous. Just need your proof of identity, signatures, that sort of thing,” he said, smiling. “There is one rather strange but significant clause to the will, which is that the inheritance must be claimed within fifty days or it will be forfeit.”

I frowned. “Forfeit?”

Mr. Taylor nodded. “It’s a Hampton peculiarity—all the family wills have the same clause. It was introduced to avoid family wrangles—if anyone disputes a will beyond the fifty-day limit, the entire inheritance is lost. It’s rather an effective mechanism, actually.”

“Fifty days.” I nodded again; words were suddenly a bit of a struggle. “That sounds…okay.”

“It’s rather a lot to take in, isn’t it?” Mr. Taylor said kindly, and I kind of nodded and gulped both together, and shot him a smile so he wouldn’t think I was rude.

“I can’t quite believe it,” I heard myself saying. It was like an out-of-body experience.

“Well, you should. Mrs. Milton, you are going to be a very wealthy woman.”

Mr. Taylor stood up then and held out his hand. “I look forward to hearing from you. Thank you for your time. I’ll be in touch shortly about the funeral—it will be in London. Kensington. Sometime next week. Perhaps you’d like to bring your husband.”

“My husband?” I looked at him strangely, then remembered. “Oh, yes, my husband, of course. Well, yes. I mean, if he’s free. He’s very busy, you see.”

Mr. Taylor nodded, and I shook his hand, using all my strength to keep calm, to not yelp, to act like inheriting four million pounds was no big deal at all. Inside, I was screaming, though, screaming and dancing and shaking my head in utter bewilderment. I was going to be rich. Rich beyond my wildest dreams. I couldn’t believe Grace had never said anything, never even given me a clue.

And then, suddenly I thought of something. Something that made my stomach turn upside down rather violently.

“Um, so, the will,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual. “Grace left everything to Jessica Milton, did she? I mean, you know, to me. In my married name?”

“The papers cite a Mrs. Jessica Milton, that’s right.”

I nodded, managing somehow to keep a fixed smile on my face, and suddenly needing desperately to sit down again. “It’s just that…” I paused, my mind racing. “Well, I didn’t actually change my name. So, I’m still Jessica Wild. Officially, at least. Is that…is that okay?”

“That’s perfectly all right,” Mr. Taylor said, and I felt relief rush through me. “I’ll need proof of identification in your maiden name—a passport or birth certificate, and then you just need to provide me with a copy of your marriage certificate so I can adjust the paperwork.”

“Marriage certificate?”

“That’s right. Anytime next week, Mrs. Milton. Just call this number and my secretary can arrange a time. Again, I’m so sorry to disturb you and your…” He looked vaguely back toward the kitchen. “Your cook?” he suggested, and I found myself nodding.

“Well, I’m sorry to disturb you on a Sunday evening. I just thought you should know. Please, do send my regards to your husband, who is more than welcome to join us in my office. Thank you again. I’ll see myself out. Oh, and do you have some contact details? A telephone number?”

I looked at him blankly. “Yes. It’s…oh-two-oh seven-six-oh…” I frowned. Oh-two-oh seven-six-oh-three. No, four. Seven-six-oh-four…” I smiled, weakly. I couldn’t even remember my own phone number. I could barely remember my own name. Sweating slightly, I reached for my bag and pulled out a business card. “Here,” I said. “My number’s on the card.”

“Thank you.” He took the card, stood up, and left; two seconds later Helen appeared at the sitting room door.

“So?” she demanded. “What did that man want? And why did he say he wished he had someone at home like me?”

I smiled nervously, unsure I trusted myself to speak right now. Then I shook myself.

“Nothing,” I said eventually. “He just…He just came to tell me Grace had died.”

“Grace? Oh, poor you. Oh, Jess, I’m so sorry,” Helen said, rushing over to give me a hug. “Oh that’s really sad news.”

“Sad?” I said, hardly trusting myself to speak. “Sad doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Chapter 4

PROJECT: MARRIAGE DAY 1