Ursula's Secret

by Mairi Wilson

  Because now that she was alone, really alone, Lexy’s certainties had abandoned her. She was in limbo, drifting, waiting, poised between one version of herself and another. Between child and adult. Between daughter and orphan, fiancée and single woman.

  As if on cue, her mobile started beeping again. She pulled it from her bag. Incoming call this time. Danny’s name lit up the screen. Guilt and avoidance tussled, but guilt got the upper hand.

  “Lexy? Where the heck are you? I’ve been round to the flat and you weren’t there. Mrs B said you’d gone out early yesterday but hadn’t come back. When you didn’t show up at the crematorium, I was really worried.”

  “I’m fine, Danny. I’m in Edinburgh.”

  “Edinburgh? What the blazes are you doing there? And why didn’t you answer my calls if you’re fine?”

  “Sorry, Danny. I didn’t want to talk.”

  “But we were going to collect the ashes for heaven’s sake. Your mother’s—”

  “Yes. I know.” The righteous indignation in his voice was irritating, but she deserved it. “I’m sorry. I … was just …” She gave up. There was no excuse so no point in pretending there was. “Did you get them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Here. On my desk – and I’ve got a tutorial starting in ten minutes.”

  Despite the circumstances, Lexy had to smile at that. At the thought of Danny, junior lecturer with professorial pretensions, conducting a tutorial with his might-have-been mother-in-law’s ashes standing watch.

  “Sorry, Dan. Can you keep them for me? I’ll be back at the weekend and we can—”

  “No. No, okay? We can’t anything. I’ve got plans. We were supposed to do this yesterday. I’d cleared my diary for the afternoon to do this with you. For you. The least you could have done is show up.”

  “I know, Danny. I’m sorry.”

  “Stop saying sorry, will you? Or at least try to sound as if you mean it.” Huffy, now, that note of childish petulance she hated. But, again, she deserved it.

  “Dan, I don’t know why I didn’t call you, or answer your calls, or … I … Look, something came up.”

  “Something came up?” Lexy was no musician, but Danny’s voice rose what sounded like a full octave. “What could possibly come up that would be more important than your mother’s ashes? Oh, you know what? Don’t answer that. I’m done. I’ve tried to support you through this, Lexy, I really have. I know you’ve got no one else really, and you’re useless at asking for help anyway. But we’re not engaged any more. I’ve got Fizz to think about now and she’s been great about me spending all this time with you, but I won’t let her down by cancelling this weekend. It’s important. We’re going to her parents’.”

  “Oh my, meeting the parents? She’s taking you seriously, then.” Lexy’s attempt at light-heartedness sounded snide, even to her.

  “It’s complicated. She’s … I mean … we’re …” Danny cleared his throat, and something in his awkwardness told Lexy what he couldn’t.

  “She’s pregnant.” It was a statement, not a question. “Wow, that was quick.”

  “Yes.” She heard him sigh, knew he’d be frowning. “I was going to tell you before, but then with your mother and everything …”

  “Of course. I understand. I mean, great … Congratulations. I mean, it is, isn’t it? Congratulations? You always said you wanted kids.”

  “I … well … I suppose so, yes. Yes, of course. But look, that’s not the point. The point is, Lexy, I can’t come with you to do the ashes thing, and I don’t really want them in my office. It’s a bit gruesome, frankly, and I can’t take them to Fizz’s. So what do you want me to do with them?”

  Lexy could picture him there in his office, on the phone, looking awkward and earnest. He was a good man. Kind. But kindness wouldn’t have sustained a relationship, a marriage, even if he hadn’t been sleeping with one of the department’s postgrads. But they’d been beyond salvaging even before—

  “Lexy, come on! What do you want me to do with her? It. Them. Lexy!” His exasperation had developed an edge of panic. Students gathering in the corridor, no doubt.

  “Could you drop them round to the flat for me?”

  “I don’t have a key, remember? You made me—”

  “No, I mean could you leave them with Mrs B?”

  “Lexy, she’ll freak. You know what she’s like. Or that malodorous cat of hers’ll knock the urn over or pee in it or something.” Lexy tried to stifle a giggle, but Danny heard. “Lexy! I’m serious.” Didn’t she know it. He always was. But that wasn’t for her to say any more.

  “Sorry. It’s all just a bit surreal. Look, I really appreciate what you’ve done for me. You’ve been great. I couldn’t have got through all this without you. I mean it. Thanks, Danny.”

  “Lexy …” Danny paused and she steeled herself. “Look, Lexy, it’s probably not the time and I know things haven’t always worked between us, but—”

  “Don’t, please.” Lexy knew where this line of conversation would go if she let it. When he’d turned up at the hospital he’d said no strings, but she’d been on her guard all the same. And she wasn’t sure a pregnant Fizz really changed anything. “Danny, thanks. You’ve been such a good friend to me through all this,” she said, picking her words but wincing at the pain she knew they’d cause.

  “Not sure I can keep doing that, Lexy.” She heard the crack in his voice. “Being your friend.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, Dan.” And she was. Really sorry. She’d miss him. She couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so alone.

  “Lexy …” She could hear him breathing unevenly in the distance between them. Couldn’t bear it.

  “Look, Danny, how about you put the whole thing in a box? Tape it up to deter smelly cats and nervous neighbours? Tell Mrs B it’s just books or something. Could you do that?”

  “Sure,” he said after a pause, coughing sharply as he cleared his throat. “Fine. Matter of fact, I do still have one or two books and bits of yours. I’ll stick those in too and drop it all round later this evening.”

  “Great. Thanks, Danny.” Now was the time for one of them to say goodbye, but the silence still held them together.

  “So,” Lexy said gently to break it. “A baby, eh?”

  “Yeah.” She could hear a tiny flicker of excitement creep into his voice. “Yeah. A baby.”

  She slowly pressed the disconnect button, laid the phone down on the table and stood staring out over the Meadows, arms hugging her chest, not moving until it was finally time to leave.

  2

  Edinburgh, June 4th

  Two deaths, two inheritances and two solicitor’s offices in as many weeks, although this city firm was very different to the dusty suburban practice Lexy’s mother had chosen to use. Lexy perched on the edge of a low-slung leather and steel sofa and looked around her, seeing nothing to lighten her mood. There was none of the comforting chaos of a small family partnership here. Bland Scandinavian-style office furniture which even Lexy knew wasn’t IKEA conspired with the burr of discreet phones to create a sense of detachment and distance from the messy business of real life. Behind a desk that looked like it had been designed at NASA, a blonde receptionist with frosty-pink lipstick, a dentally enhanced smile and narrowed green eyes kept vigil. Her sleek perfection made Lexy reach up a hand to smooth her own tumble of curls, though she knew it would make very little difference.

  A triptych of commissioned art dominated the wall opposite and Lexy squinted to read the small white panel beside it. It was by an artist she’d never heard of, although no doubt the unpronounceable name was at the leading edge, the very vanguard, of the Next Big Thing. The Vigilance of Justice, Humanity and Integrity. Impressive title, but it did nothing to improve Lexy’s opinion of the artwork. Childlike naivety was the kindest she could come up with. On balance, she preferred the National Farmers’ Union calendar and the Turner prints randomly displayed on the scuffed walls at
her mother’s Smith & Littlejohn.

  “Miss Shaw?” Frosty lips were moving. “She’ll see you now.”

  She. That was different too.

  The receptionist indicated a glass wall to the right of her flight deck. As Lexy approached it, a buzzer sounded and one of the panels swung open.

  “Straight through please, Miss Shaw, and the conference room is the first on your left. Ms Hamilton will join you there. I’ve ordered coffee for you.”

  Lexy was tempted to point out that, like their erstwhile client Ursula, she was not a coffee drinker unless it was guaranteed to be fair trade, but knew that would just sound petty. There was something about this place, though, that brought out the rebel in her. That made her feel more uncomfortable than the high-heeled shoes she’d thought she should wear or the confines of the crumpled suit that hadn’t travelled well from London and had responded with indifference to Ursula’s iron.

  Ms Hamilton, when she finally arrived nearly twenty minutes later, did nothing to improve Lexy’s mood. She was crisply dressed, perfectly coiffed and, of course, poised and attractive. A classier and more expensive version of Frosty Lips. The lawyer sat, deftly adjusted her chair to a preferred height and placed a folder on the cherrywood in front of her. Lexy tried to sit straighter in her chair, wishing she’d thought to adjust her own seat height so her feet could touch the floor and give her some leverage. Ground her. But she’d missed her moment. Chances were she’d come off badly if she tried it now, so she’d just have to dangle.

  “Sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss Shaw. I was on the phone to our people in Malawi.”

  “Malawi?”

  “Yes, we’d hoped to have all that documented for you, too, for today, but sadly that’s proved impossible. Coffee?” A manicured hand waved in the general direction of a sideboard, where the contents of the receptionist’s coffee pot would be little better than tepid by now. Unless the coffee pots had been designed by NASA too.

  Lexy shook her head, wondering what Malawi had to do with anything.

  “Right, let’s get to business then, shall we?” Ms Hamilton opened the thin Manila folder and Lexy caught a glimpse of a photo of herself paper-clipped to the inside cover. Ms Hamilton glanced at it and back at Lexy as if to confirm that she was indeed in the right meeting and then extracted a single page, closed the folder again and began to speak.

  “Aside from a few small legacies and a recently added codicil leaving a small bequest to her cleaner, Jenny Kennedy, Miss Reid has left her entire estate to you. Well, to your mother initially – my condolences, by the way – but as you are sole beneficiary of Mrs Shaw’s estate, Miss Reid’s will also pass on to you. We would be happy to continue to handle matters on your behalf just as we handled everything for Miss Reid, should you wish to instruct us to do so, and I know I speak for our associates in Malawi in assuring you that they too would be happy to offer you their services – and absolute discretion – in continuing to manage the interests there and, of course, the financial arrangements between Miss Reid and her son.”

  Lexy wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “Miss Reid and her son?”

  “Yes. Now unfortunately, as I’ve already indicated, I’m not in a position to give you up-to-date detail on the Malawi situation, but I hope to have a full and consolidated report shortly. In the meantime, we can discuss the Scottish portion of her estate and what you would like to do with that. That is indeed much more straightforward …”

  Ms Hamilton’s voice faded as Lexy grappled with this new information. Ursula had a son. Alive and in Malawi, it would seem. So why had Ursula left everything to Isobel, her one-time ward, and not to her own son?

  Enough. This was all too much. Lexy was exhausted. She couldn’t deal with any more surprises. She was still reeling from her mother’s death, that pointless, stupid hit-and-run that had set all this in motion and just kept raising question after question. She didn’t want secrets and mysteries. She wanted to cling to the certainties of her life before the horror started and find some kind of peace or solace in a familiar world.

  “Ms Hamilton, please stop.”

  The solicitor looked up in surprise.

  “I’m struggling to cope with all this, I’m afraid. It’s a lot to take in and I’m not sure I’m quite ready to … make any decisions or even listen any more. Perhaps we could meet again in a couple of days or so, when I’m feeling a little clearer?”

  “Of course, Miss Shaw.” The lawyer didn’t skip a beat. “I quite understand. You’ve been through a lot.” Lexy was surprised at the note of sympathy in the other woman’s voice. “I’ll have my PA find us another time. Or why don’t you ring when you’re ready? I’ll do my best to make myself available to suit you.” Now that, Lexy was sure, was a real concession on the part of this high-flying, and no doubt high-charging, lawyer.

  “I appreciate it, Ms Hamilton. Thank you.” Lexy had been too shocked, too numb to cry at her mother’s funeral, yet this small kindness was in danger of reducing her to tears. She swallowed hard and looked down at her hands. It was always there, beneath the surface, her grief, that overwhelming sea of sadness, ready to drown her at the most inappropriate and unpredictable moments.

  “Not at all. I should have thought.” Lexy’s head jerked up again at the squeal of Ms Hamilton’s chair being pushed back. The lawyer walked round the table, then touched Lexy briefly on the shoulder before stepping back. Legalese for a consolatory hug.

  “We always try to act swiftly in these matters, Miss Shaw. For the sake of continuity. But perhaps that’s not always appropriate. Look, why don’t you take this with you?” The Manila folder was placed in front of Lexy and she stretched her fingers out to touch its nearest edge.

  “You don’t need me to read it to you, I’m sure,” Ms Hamilton continued as she walked over and opened the conference room door. “You can go through it at your leisure. It might be easier to review it in your own time, think things through and then ask me any questions you need to when next we meet. I’ll have the Malawi side compiled by then, too; you have my word.”

  Still fending off tears, Lexy slipped the folder into her bag and followed the solicitor down the corridor towards the reception area.

  French-manicured fingernails tapped a code into a panel set on a short pillar in front of the glass door. “You’ll find details of the property in Ross-shire in the folder, too. Should you wish to visit it, our receptionist can give you keys and details of how to reach it.” There was a buzz and Ms Hamilton held the door back with one arm and extended her other to shake Lexy’s hand. “Well, Miss Shaw, I look forward to hearing from you when you’re ready.”

  The door had swung shut again, leaving Lexy on its far side before she could ask what property in Ross-shire that might be, although she knew she should be getting used to the surprises by now.

  The late afternoon sun was warm on her face as she stepped out into the quiet heart of Edinburgh’s New Town. She walked slowly along the cobbled street before turning left and up the hill towards George Street. She’d seen some pavement cafes there and decided she’d have a glass of wine in the sunshine. There was nothing to rush back to the flat for, and she needed to stop and take stock. There was so much to take in. So much that wasn’t as she’d thought it would be, so many questions she couldn’t answer – and she didn’t know who, if anyone, could. Her mother had let her believe Ursula was dead but had been in touch with her for, it would seem, some time, keeping her up to date with Lexy’s own development. And Isobel, so Jenny said, had even been planning a visit to the old woman. A visit she’d not told Lexy about. Would she have, if she’d lived, or would she have kept it secret somehow?

  Lexy felt a chill run over her arms. She pulled her jacket off the back of the chair and draped it over her shoulders, shrugged it off again almost immediately. They’d been so close, the two of them, so in tune. She’d been so young when her father died that it seemed it had always just been Izzie and Lexy united against the world. There’d been
no one else, no cousins, no distant relatives sending occasional birthday cards, no big family gatherings at Christmas. But it hadn’t mattered. They’d had each other. She’d never doubted her mother’s absolute love, and she’d never imagined how bereft she would be without her.

  The chill returned, and with it a flicker of doubt. Izzie could have tried to make sure Lexy wasn’t left alone, that there would be someone else to love her, somewhere else for her to belong should anything happen to Izzie herself. But she hadn’t. She’d kept Lexy from Ursula, denied her a grandmother figure in her life. And if she’d done that, what else had she kept from her?

  Lexy finished her wine, signalled to the waiter for another one, tried to suppress her growing disquiet. Nothing seemed certain any more, and even the life of a retired hospital matron now looked as if it had been far from straightforward. Ursula, too, had had secrets, it seemed. She had a property in the Highlands and interests in Malawi that had never been mentioned, as far as Lexy could remember, although that was less surprising. Perhaps they were recent acquisitions. She doubted that, though. Malawi was in the past. It was where her parents had met, in the same hospital where Ursula had once worked. That much was part of familiar family lore.

  But all of that paled into insignificance in the face of the big one. Ursula had a son. Had Isobel known? With Ursula as Isobel’s legal guardian, he would, in effect, have been a kind of brother to Isobel. An uncle to Lexy. Family of sorts, when she’d thought there was no one left. Not a blood tie, true. But the next best thing. Why hadn’t anyone told her about him? She felt a flutter of excitement. Hope, really. Hope that there might be someone, some sort of family, that she might still have somewhere to belong.

  The second glass of wine didn’t make the answers any clearer. Lexy’s cheeks were growing warm, and not from the fading sun. Food. She should eat. After an initial burst of hunger that morning when she’d devoured almost half of Jenny’s biscuits, she’d had nothing, and wanted nothing, her appetite long gone. No wonder she felt light-headed. Fuel required.