by Faith Martin
‘And she’d have been the one in the best position to know what attitude her father had taken to his wife’s illness?’ Clement mused, almost to himself, then nodded. Yes, that would explain why, of all the Hughes siblings, she was the one who hated her father with the greatest degree of intensity.
‘I agree,’ Caroline’s aunt said sadly. ‘I’ve no doubt she saw and heard a lot that upset her. And seventeen is such a hard age to learn one of life’s more harsher lessons, isn’t it? Not still a child, exactly, but hardly grown-up either. I felt sorry for her, to be frank. But being abroad so much …’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘There was little of use that I could actually do for her.’
‘Did you believe her when she claimed that her father wouldn’t finance her mother’s medical treatment in America?’ Clement asked, watching her closely.
‘Oh yes,’ Mary said, without hesitation. ‘I’m afraid it would be just the sort of thing that Thomas would do, you see. Refuse to spend money on a lost cause, I mean. I can almost hear him saying it. “Just throwing away good money after bad.”’
She paused, aware of the simultaneous looks of shock that had crossed the faces of both of her visitors. ‘Sorry, but I’ve never believed in shirking the hard facts,’ Mary Everly stated. ‘My brother, you see, always enjoyed rude good health himself, and like so many people who’ve never had to experience and deal with illness, he tended to pooh-pooh the extent and awfulness of it. Which would only have made matters even worse. When Milly became all but bed-bound, he simply refused to acknowledge what was happening and retreated into his own world – and his world was, and always had been, about making money.’
‘I pity his poor wife,’ Clement said heavily, which was a sentiment that Trudy heartily shared.
‘So did I,’ Mary responded. ‘So did we all – not just Caroline. But my brother had a calculator where his heart should be, and his children – all his children – knew this better than most. And it wasn’t just that he had to succeed in business – he needed to succeed more than anybody else.’ Mary sighed. ‘There was a sort of … of … glee about him whenever he pulled off a really big coup. Do you know what I mean?’
‘I think so,’ Clement said. ‘He was the sort of man who enjoyed power.’
‘Yes. Money, acquisitions, power, influence, being seen as the big man … all of these things were meat and drink to him.’
‘And he wouldn’t have had much patience to spare for a suddenly ill, needy and ailing wife. Or with a frightened and grieving daughter.’ Clement nodded. ‘No wonder Caroline married so young and left home the moment she could.’
Mary again made her what-can-you-do gesture of helplessly spread hands. ‘I have to say, I was rather relieved when I heard she’d married so young and left the family home,’ the older woman said. ‘I think it was almost certainly the best thing that could have happened – for both of them. I can only imagine the horrible atmosphere which must have existed in that house after Mildred died!’
‘Such a man must have fallen out with almost every member of his family at some point or other I imagine,’ Clement mused craftily, and Trudy, busily scribbling down her notes, was careful to hide her smile of approval at this neat little bit of fishing.
‘Oh yes. He was especially scornful of Godfrey, of course.’ Mary sighed, then seeing Clement’s questioningly raised eyebrow, hastened to explain. ‘He was the oldest son, you see. Alice was the first-born, but as a girl, didn’t really count with Thomas, I’m afraid. But he never married, for a start, and so failed to produce the much longed-for offspring. As well as that, Godfrey I’m afraid … well, let’s just say that he’s not the most forceful of men. He’s an academic and a bookworm – the sort of person just suited to life in Oxford. Not at all the get-up-and-go chip off the old block that Thomas had always wanted in a son. So I suppose it was inevitable that he and my brother never saw eye to eye. Matthew was probably his favourite – if you could say he had a favourite.’ Mary paused to give another of her bitter, amused, smiles. ‘Mind you, after Caroline turned on him – which is no doubt how he saw it – I rather think I saw signs that Alice became more of a favoured child, as a result.’
‘But he quarrelled with her too?’ Clement asked.
‘Oh yes. As you said, he fell out with everyone eventually.’
‘And with you too, I imagine?’ the coroner slipped in deftly. But if he expected her to get suddenly defensive or disconcerted, he was disappointed, for yet again Mary Everly merely flashed another of her wry smiles.
‘Oh yes, me too,’ she admitted.
‘In fact, you and your brother had quarrelled fairly recently I gather,’ Clement said, careful to keep his voice as matter-of-fact as her own had been.
‘My, my, you have been poking your noses into the Hughes family business, haven’t you?’ the older woman said, her tone understandably a little more waspish now. ‘Who have you been talking to, I wonder? Not that it matters unduly, I suppose. But yes, we had words recently.’
‘May I ask what about?’
‘You may ask,’ Mary said, ‘but I have no intention of answering you. It was of a strictly personal nature and had nothing whatsoever to do with my brother’s tragic accident, of that I can assure you.’
‘I see.’ Clement made no move to press her and Trudy reluctantly agreed that it would serve no purpose for her to try to either. Mary Everly was clearly a lady who meant what she said, and once she’d said it, wouldn’t be moved.
‘Can you tell me where you were when you first became aware that the shed was on fire?’ Trudy asked, taking control of the interview once again.
‘I was … Yes, I was talking to one of Matthew’s children, I think. The eldest, Benny. I was being pestered to provide him with some sparklers, which of course, I didn’t have. I heard someone shout something like, “look out – the shed’s going up in flames” or something along those lines. I turned to look, and sure enough, I saw the shed was on fire. I just remember feeling very annoyed, more than anything else,’ Mary shrugged. ‘I had remarked earlier on how unwise it was to have a big bonfire alight when there was such a high wind. And to be proved right so quickly … but of course, at that point I had no idea that Thomas was inside.’ Her voice became a little hushed now with remembered horror. ‘It wasn’t until we realised that he didn’t seem to be present amongst us, and we couldn’t find him that we began to wonder … and by then, of course, it was too late. Somebody – not Godfrey, but either Matthew or Kenneth I think – tried to get closer to the shed door, but the heat was too much.’
Her voice subsided with a harsh sigh. ‘In spite of all his faults, I’m rather sorry my brother’s dead,’ Mary Everly said then.
She sounded, Trudy thought, slightly surprised by her own words.
Chapter 12
‘Where to next?’ Trudy asked a few minutes later, as, after taking their leave from Mary Everly, they walked back down the garden path and towards the Rover.
Clement thought about it. ‘I think we need to speak to the family solicitor, don’t we? When a rich man dies, it always pays to know who benefits from his last will and testament.’
Trudy nodded. It had been on her to-do list as well, and she already had all the particulars to hand. ‘They’re an outfit called Bowen, Bough and Bowen. They have offices in Summertown. I checked on the map, and I think the address puts them on the same street as the library.’
On the way back into town, Clement stopped at a telephone box to put a call through to a colleague of his and arrange to meet him for lunch the following day. He’d already been asking around, and knew that this colleague had been on the team that had treated Mildred Hughes in her terminal illness.
As he’d expected, Dr Raymond Willoughby had no objections to having his brains picked in return for being treated to lunch at The Mitre – especially if Clement was willing to throw in a bottle of fine claret.
Back in the car, it took Clement and Trudy only ten minutes to make their way to the leafy and g
entrified suburb of Summertown. There they found the Hughes family solicitor’s office, midway down an avenue lined with cherry trees and tucked discreetly amongst a nest of Victorian and Edwardian terraced houses.
Just as they were getting out, Clement remembered his mental note to ask her about the driving lessons, and looking across the roof of his Rover, said, ‘By the way, have you applied for a driving licence yet?’
Trudy shook her head. ‘No, but I’ve almost got the money saved. I could have one by the new year.’ Hope clearly flared in her eyes, and he smiled wryly.
‘Did you think I’d forgotten my offer to teach you? Shall we begin in January then?’
Trudy caught her breath and grinned from ear to ear. But then she tensed. Would she really be able to learn to drive? Anxiety nibbled at her, and she glanced down at the Rover thoughtfully. It was such a responsibility, to be in charge of a vehicle. What if she was no good at it? It would be so embarrassing. But then her backbone stiffened. If PC Rodney Broadstairs could learn how to do it, she was damned sure she could as well! It would be such a massive achievement, and would give her a huge amount of freedom and independence. Well, if she could ever afford to buy a car of her own, at any rate.
‘All right then,’ she said boldly, before she could change her mind. Clement grinned at her.
‘That’s the spirit,’ he said. As they walked across the small car park, she was almost skipping beside him with anticipation.
The middle-aged lady seated in the small foyer did not look impressed by casual callers who came in without a proper appointment, and not even Trudy’s uniform seemed to mollify her.
After a sniff or two, she deigned to see if ‘one of the younger partners’ was free to see them, disappeared somewhere for quite some time, then finally returned and stiffly informed them that young Mr Bough could fit them in for a few minutes.
Trudy bit back the urge to giggle as the stiff-backed woman escorted them up a set of narrow stairs and showed them through to an office. She announced them abruptly and snapped the door closed behind her.
The room bore a large sash window, numerous rows of filing cabinets, an almighty aspidistra in a large blue-glazed pot, and an intrigued-looking young man, just rising to his feet behind a desk overflowing with ‘briefs’.
Behind a sea of beige folders, peppered with the red and pink ribbon bindings peculiar to his calling, young Mr Bough regarded them with interest. At around thirty years of age, Trudy wouldn’t have thought of him as being particularly young – but then, with another suppressed giggle, she supposed that all the other partners might well be in their dotage, which would make him the baby of the firm.
‘Thank you for seeing us, Mr Bough,’ Trudy said, introducing herself and Clement. ‘It’s concerning the last will and testament of Mr Thomas Hughes. We were hoping that you could help us.’
‘Please, take a seat,’ the solicitor said. He had an ugly but pleasant face, surrounded by abundant dark brown hair that had been ruthlessly tamed by a rather fierce haircut. Large, round, horn-rimmed glasses covered deeply set dark brown eyes. ‘Mr Hughes … oh yes,’ he began, with a vague air that instilled little confidence in either of his callers. ‘The er … unfortunate gentlemen who died in a fire on Bonfire Night, is that right? As a matter of fact, I’m due to read the will to the family first thing tomorrow morning.’ He paused and regarded them thoughtfully, a frown beginning to pull down his bushy dark eyebrows. ‘Er … it’s not quite the done thing to … er, jump the gun, as it were.’
He looked curiously from one to the other, as if seeking reassurance of some kind.
‘I take it you don’t read the Tribune sir?’ Trudy said.
‘That rag! Not on your life! An Oxford Times man, that’s me,’ he said firmly.
Trudy nodded, and then briefly explained the situation, her remit and her request. ‘So, you see, if you could just give us the main points on the distribution of Mr Hughes’s fortune, it would help the police enormously in our inquiries,’ she finished.
‘Hmm. I’m not so sure that the partners would agree to it,’ he said, making her heart sink a little. But then he seemed to rally. ‘But I can’t see that there would be much harm done. So long as I have your word that you’ll be discreet,’ he added. ‘No blabbing to the family that you got first dibs, so to speak?’
‘I can promise you, nobody will know that you’ve been so helpful, Mr Bough,’ Trudy said, watching with both satisfaction and a touch of impatience as the rather mercurial solicitor got up and began to hunt feverishly through the filing cabinets for the document he wanted.
It took him a long two or three minutes to find it, accompanied by much muttering under his breath. Trudy supposed that it would usually be his secretary’s job to accomplish such a simple but vital task.
With his prize eventually in hand, he returned to his chair and perused the document.
‘Ah yes, here we are. Hughes, Mr Thomas. Hmmm, a fairly hefty document, but then Mr Hughes was a man of some means. I believe it was Mr Reginald Bowen who drew up the original document, and he’d have been most particular … let me see, nearly five years ago now, was it? Hmm. All right, let me just have a quick look through …’
He broke off his muttering to suddenly look up at her, and gave her an unexpectedly sweet smile. ‘As luck would have it, I was going to look it out and spend some time acquainting myself with the basic provisions and contents anyway. As I said, I’m seeing the family tomorrow and I like to know the major points … Unfortunately, Mr Reginald is no longer with us, so he can’t …’ He looked back down at the document. ‘Hmm. Yes, it doesn’t seem to be that complicated for such a wealthy man, not when it comes right down to it. Oh dear me, no charitable bequests at all,’ he muttered under his breath, sucking in a shocked whistle as he did so. ‘The partners would find that most upsetting. One expects men of means to be charitable, don’t you? Noblesse oblige and all that. But then, Mr Hughes seems to have been a rather … Hmm.’ He peered closer at the pages, making Trudy wonder if he needed a stronger prescription in his eyeglasses.
Eventually he looked up at them and blinked, as if in surprise to find them still there. ‘Oh, yes. Right. What did you want to know exactly? I can’t read out the whole thing, naturally – that would be much too irregular. But I don’t see that answering one or two really pertinent questions would be that unforgivable.’
Trudy kept her – by now rather fixed – smile firmly in place. ‘Thank you, Mr Bough. I really just want to know who the main beneficiaries are, and to what extent. I know, for instance, Mr Hughes had four children – Godfrey, Matthew, Alice and Caroline.’
‘Ah yes. Right, let’s see …’ He pursed his lips, turned a few pages, nodded, muttered some more, then suddenly fixed her with a surprisingly keen eye.
‘Well, unfortunately, his youngest child, Caroline, is not mentioned at all.’
Trudy shot Clement a quick look then turned her attention back to the man of law. ‘I see.’ It shouldn’t really surprise her, but it did. She’d have thought that, no matter what the family troubles, a father would, at the very end, want to make some sort of provision for all his offspring.
‘The eldest daughter Alice, gets the house in Headington, but again, does not inherit any of the deceased’s capital or other assets.’
‘No money at all?’ Trudy asked, surprised, and scribbling down the details hastily in her notebook.
‘Afraid not. He does … er … make some comment about how women have husbands to take care of them, and that includes financially. But I couldn’t possibly read out such a … er … private message, not here or now. Naturally, tomorrow, at the official reading and with the family present, it’s my duty to relay all of the deceased’s er … comments. But some of them are quite extraordinarily … well, blunt.’
He shook his head over one particular page, shuddered and quickly turned it over. ‘The things some people do say …’ He shook his head regretfully. ‘Let me see … His sons … Yes, the eldest,
Godfrey gets an adequate pension for his lifetime, but not access to the lump sum. Oh dear … Yes, the deceased has made some particularly disparaging comments about the likelihood of his spending it on … Good grief.’
The ‘young’ Mr Bough’s eyes widened a little behind his glasses. ‘How extraordinary. Can’t say as I fancy that myself but then …’ He broke off, turned a shade of red and once more turned the page abruptly. ‘Let’s see, the bulk of the estate goes to … ah yes, here it is, Matthew Hughes.’
Trudy shot Clement another quick glance. ‘The youngest son gets the most money, sir? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Hmm? Oh yes, that’s so.’ The loquacious solicitor dragged his eyes from the pages and regarded her once more. ‘The bulk of the estate consists mostly of investments, savings and a significant amount of stocks and shares. There are other beneficiaries within the family …’ He read these out, then fell silent.
‘Can you give me an idea of how much money we’re talking about, Mr Bough?’ Trudy appealed.
‘Oh well, that’s not so easy to say. It depends on the price of gold at the time of selling for a start. Mr Hughes kept around twenty per cent of his savings in the form of gold. And of course, stocks and shares rise and fall every day on the open market. But when they’re sold … er … and the sales of some real estate … but then there’s tax and … Oh my, my mental calculations never were … I should say Mr Matthew Hughes would inherit getting on for three quarters of a million pounds, to perhaps, just over a million.’ He shot out the last sentence abruptly.
Trudy sat there, stunned. She couldn’t imagine having that much money. ‘Oh,’ she heard herself say blankly.
Once more out on the street, Trudy watched as Clement unlocked the car, aware of a growing sense of excitement. Once she’d slipped into the passenger seat, she waited impatiently for her friend to start the car. As he did so, he nudged the little lever that worked the indicator and with a ‘tcha!’ of annoyance, he quickly flicked it back into place. His hands, Trudy noticed, shook a little as he reached into his jacket pocket for a packet of mints. He popped one in his mouth and sucked thoughtfully.
