Read Written in the Stars Online
Authors: Dilys Xavier
Written in the Stars
© Dilys Xavier 2015
Dilys Xavier has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
Published in 2015 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
I am indebted to my husband, Francis Xavier, for his contribution to this story. He also writes under the name of Donnie Hughes.
Suzi Lysle Spencer swung her Honda into the curb outside the red brick office building and stared hard at the gold letters on the front window: ‘Duncan and Associates, Solicitors’. She stepped out of the car, locked it, and took a few measured breaths to calm her racing pulse. Having composed herself, she walked into the cool interior of the solicitor’s outer office and gave her name to the receptionist at the desk. The woman used the intercom to say that Suzi had arrived, and nodded as she switched off the instrument.
‘Mr Duncan will see you now, Miss Spencer,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘Please come this way.’ She knocked on a door and pushed it open, at the same time giving Suzi’s name to the heavily jowled man sitting behind an enormous oak desk. He struggled to his feet, and held out a podgy hand.
‘Miss Spencer, aah...’ He stopped and gestured with a sweep of his arm at the vacant chair opposite his own. ‘Do sit down.’ He picked up a beige folder, and withdrew the contents. ‘Now, you are here for…’
‘About the estate of the late Bartholomew Armitage,’ Suzi said, as if he needed reminding of the purpose of her visit. ‘Uncle Bart died intestate.’ She paused, and for some reason suddenly felt intensely awkward.
The solicitor tapped on the document in front of him in silence, so she continued, hesitantly. ‘As Uncle Bart’s sole surviving descendant, I believe I have a claim to Caxton Manor Estate. He was my late mother’s uncle, but I always regarded him as my uncle too.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Mr Duncan peered at her from beneath his bushy eyebrows. ‘However, Miss Spencer, I have to inform you that you may not be the only surviving descendant. You see, I have received another claim to the estate.’
Suzi felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at the solicitor in disbelief. ‘But, mother always told me...’ She stopped as the man held up a restraining hand.
‘Whatever your mother told you, your connection to Mr Bartholomew Armitage is through cousins way back, some generations ago, Miss Spencer, but you are not closely related to each other.’ Mr Duncan gave a little cough before continuing. ‘Mr Armitage did not leave a will, so we were obliged by law to place a notice in the national newspapers here and abroad, so that anyone who might have reason to make a claim to the estate, could do so.’
‘Oh? I had no idea about this,’ Suzi said, almost whispering.
Mr Duncan went on. ‘It would appear that the deceased’s very much younger brother emigrated to New Zealand, where his wife gave birth to a child. Shortly afterwards, they were both killed in a road accident, but the baby survived.’
‘I see,’ Suzi said, quietly. ‘We were unaware that Uncle Bart had a younger brother, let alone that there was a child. None of us knew of this orphan.’
Mr Duncan stopped talking for a minute to assess whether Suzi was taking it all in. ‘Yes, it was a disaster, but the child was subsequently adopted.’ He looked over his glasses at her. ‘Are you following me? Now then… it is that orphaned child who is making the claim, but with a different surname through adoption.’ He stopped for a few moments to get his breath back. ‘It’s complicated, and of course, the person will have to prove eligibility to realise the claim. We will see what transpires.’
‘Exactly who is making the claim?’ Suzi asked, in a clipped voice, unwilling to allow the solicitor to side-track her.
‘I’m not at liberty to divulge that information, Miss Spencer.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘I’ll check the other person’s credentials, then I’ll know what to do.’ Mr Duncan shuffled the papers into a neat pile, and slid them back into the folder. ‘You must realise that this means you may have to share the inheritance if the other claim is proven; then selling Caxton Manor will probably be necessary.’
‘Sell Caxton Manor?’ Suzi looked taken aback. ‘I wouldn’t want to sell that lovely old house; it’s a piece of local history.’ Suzi ignored his outstretched hand as he climbed ponderously to his feet. ‘And you can tell this person that I’ll challenge any other claim to the estate.’ She glared at the solicitor as if he were responsible for the way things had turned out. Then, without giving him a chance to say more, she gave a curt, ‘Good morning, Mr Duncan,’ turned on her heel, and stalked out of the office.
Slipping in behind the wheel of her bright yellow Honda, she clenched the steering wheel tightly as she recalled the times she had visited the manor when Uncle Bart was alive; walked through its spacious rooms, traced her fingers over the fabric of the splendid old building and inhaled its essence. On the understanding that she was Uncle Bart’s only surviving relative, she had been convinced that it was only a matter of time before the manor was hers. But now it seemed she might have to share it with a stranger.
‘Damn and blast,’ she muttered, and switched on the ignition. Without making a conscious decision of where to go, she crunched the car into gear and accelerated down the road in the direction of Caxton Manor. Just as she was about to swing into the entrance, a large, white van burst out through the driveway of the old house and headed straight towards her. In a desperate effort to avoid a collision, she swung the wheel hard to the left and braked. It was too little, too late. The van hit the rear end of her car, pushing it sideways across the road into a ditch. She was uninjured, but by the time she clambered out of the Honda, the van had disappeared.
Suzi stared at the crushed mudguard of her car as she punched in the emergency number on her mobile, and while she waited, she noticed that the heavy chain and lock that normally secured the gates to the estate were lying on the ground across the road, concluding the place had been broken into.
Feeling quite shaken, and with her heart pounding, she crunched her way up the gravel drive, quickly spotting a blue Ford, nose down in a flower bed with the driver’s door wide open. A shaft of sunlight peeping through the overhanging trees highlighted shattered window glass that littered the driveway.
‘Oh my god,’ she muttered, as she reached the slightly open front door and peered inside. Her stomach knotted as she heard a groan, and with that, a man staggered towards her and reached out. Before she could react, he sank to the floor with blood trickling down his neck. Suzi called the emergency service again, quickly explained what had happened.
Within minutes the paramedics were there, sliding the man onto a stretcher, but as she watched the ambulance leave for the hospital, a police car pulled up and two officers climbed out. When she identified herself, and outlined her link to the manor, the policewoman offered to escort her around the property to see if anything was missing. After checking the ground floor, they made their way upstairs and searched each room, but it was only when they reached Uncle Bart’s bedroom that Suzi realised what the thieves had taken.
‘The four-poster’s gone,’ she cried, and spun around to face the policewoman. ‘Please find the thieves before they get rid of it.’
‘If we had a description of the man driving the van, or the registration number, it would help some,’ the policewoman said, ‘but I expect the van was stolen as well.’
When they returned to the ground floor the policeman turned to Suzi. ‘Nothing else missing?’ When she shook her head, he nodded. ‘Just as well; they must have made off quickly when they were disturbed.’
‘Can you describe the four-poster bed?’ his colleague asked.
‘Yes, it’s carved in oak. I know exactly where there’s a photo of it; I’ll fetch it.’ She returned in a few minutes clutching a sepia print. ‘The family crest is carved on the bed-head. Please circulate a photocopy of this around the auction houses.’
While they were talking, someone collected Suzi’s car for repair, and pointed out that the sticker on the rear window of the victim’s Ford Mondeo indicated it belonged to a car rental company, and suggested that it should be towed away as well. When all the formalities had been completed, the police officers put away their notebooks, and turned to Suzi.
‘You’re minus your vehicle now, so can we give you a lift somewhere?’
‘Oh, please. I need to get to town.’
It was late morning before a subdued Suzi arrived at The Stow Restaurant she operated with the aid of her business partner, Mark Brinstead. He stopped what he was doing immediately she walked into the kitchen.
‘Are you okay? You’ve been ages with that solicitor.’ He moved quickly to her side when she let out a sigh. ‘Hey, you look shattered. What’s up?’
‘Everything.’
‘What? Is there a problem with the solicitor?’
‘Yes,’ Suzi replied wearily, ‘and a whole lot more.’ She went on to relate what had happened, and sighed again. ‘I suppose I should be grateful that they didn’t clean the place out.’
‘It seems the man you found in the house interrupted them.’
‘No doubt about that.’ She snapped her fingers and then reached for the phone. ‘I should find out if he’s okay. I’m also curious to know why he was there.’
Suzi listened as the police officer explained they had identified the man as Steve Pardoe, apparently visiting this country and sightseeing places of interest. Finding the gate open, he had made his way in and discovered the house was unsecured, when he was attacked.
‘He’s given us a reasonable description of the men and the registration number of the van,’ the detective said. ‘Of course, as we suspected the vehicle had been stolen, but we’ve got something to go on, so maybe we can trace them and hopefully locate the stolen property.’ Then the line went dead.
‘What did they say?’ Mark inquired, as Suzi replaced the phone.
‘Oh, the usual spin, that they’ll do everything possible, and so on.’
‘And what about the man you found in the house?’
‘He’s in hospital. It seems he had stopped to take a look at the manor at the precise time that burglars were looting the house. I’ll look in to see how he is.’
‘Until you get a temp vehicle, you can borrow my car,’ Mark said, digging his keys out of his pocket. ‘I won’t need it until I’ve finished here tonight.’
Suzi was soon at the hospital and quickly found the ward Steve was in. He seemed to be asleep, but as she approached his bed, he opened his eyes and smiled wanly.
‘Hello,’ she said, quietly. ‘I’m Suzi Spencer. I found you in Caxton Manor this morning.’ She watched his eyes focus on her face. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Oh, you’re the little angel who rescued me,’ he said. ‘Thank you for being there.’ He gave a weak laugh. ‘I’m okay, apart from a whopping headache.’ Steve struggled to a sitting position. ‘They said I have a hairline fracture, but apparently it’s not serious. I should be out soon.’ He grasped her hand. ‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Suzi Lysle Spencer.’
‘Well, Suzi Lysle Spencer, thank you for coming along at the right time.’ Steve grimaced as pushed himself further up in the bed. ‘If you hadn’t come by, I could have lain there for hours, bleeding; they damaged my vehicle. Anyway, what made you turn in to look at an old empty house?’
Without answering, Suzi tried to imagine what he would look like without the white swathe around his head. He seemed all right to her; able to think clearly, and quickly gave the impression he was impatient at having to stay there. Suzi continued to study his face and felt surprised at the feelings he generated in her, for not only was there a natural concern for his well-being, there was an underlying attraction as well. When he peered expectantly at her, Suzi jerked her mind back to answer him.
She shrugged. ‘Oh, it’s special; historical,’ she replied, hastily. ‘But I wondered why you were there too.’
‘Just having a sticky beak.’
‘A what?’
‘A nosey around. I’m looking at everything of interest in this old country of yours.’ Steve laughed and went on to explain that he had driven past the property the day before and had noticed the beautiful wrought iron gates. ‘They were secured with a huge chain and padlock. Next time I passed, the gates were open, and the chain was lying on the ground. That made me suspicious, so I thought I’d go into the grounds and look around, y’know, just investigate. I knew something was up the minute I saw the van with the motor still running.’
‘You should have called the police.’
‘I just didn’t stop to think; you don’t do you? Then everything happened so quickly,’ Steve said. ‘As I walked into the hall I saw two men hauling a bed down the staircase. Next thing, someone hit me on the head.’ He gave a small laugh. ‘Serves me right for not minding my own business.’
‘But the police said you were able to describe the men.’
‘Well, it was hazy, but I wrote the van’s registration number in the dust on my car roof before I went into the house, so I got that right.’
‘That was clever.’ Suzi’s remark brought a smile to his face. She gave him a quizzical look. ‘I’m trying to place your accent, but I’m reluctant to ask if you’re Australian.’
‘I’m a Kiwi. Born and bred in New Zealand; the land of the long white cloud.’
‘A Kiwi. I’ll remember that.’ Suzi reached out and touched his hand. ‘Well, Steve, I must go now. I’ve a restaurant to run, you see.’ She paused and then smiled warmly. ‘You’re welcome to be my guest for dinner at our place while you’re in the area. Here’s the phone number’ she said, handing him a business card.
‘I’d like that, and thanks for taking the trouble to look in on me.’ He laid his hand over hers. ‘I’ll give you a bell when I’m out of here.’
