Innocent Sins

by Anne Mather

  ‘Of course not.’ Oliver groaned. ‘I just don’t know how you think I can help.’

  His mother dabbed her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. ‘The will,’ she said, as he’d known she would. ‘Do you think it’s legal?’

  Oliver was resigned. ‘I don’t think that’s in question, do you?’

  ‘But I’m—I mean, I was—his wife. I thought when a husband died a wife automatically inherited his estate.’

  ‘Only if he hasn’t left a will,’ amended Oliver flatly. ‘And even then things aren’t always cut and dried.’

  Stella made a sound of distress. ‘I didn’t even know Griff had made a will,’ she protested, shredding the tissue she’d taken from her sleeve between agitated fingers. ‘He didn’t tell me. Don’t you think he should have?’

  ‘Well, it would have been more charitable,’ Oliver agreed. ‘But, for reasons best known to himself, he decided to keep it from you. Perhaps he thought you wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘He got that right.’ There was little compassion in Stella’s voice at that moment. ‘It was a rotten thing to do. Making that little bitch his heir!’

  ‘This house was in Laura’s family before her mother married Griff,’ pointed out Oliver evenly. ‘He probably thought he owed her the chance of deciding what happens to it.’

  ‘But it’s my home!’

  ‘It was hers,’ Oliver reminded her mildly. ‘And Maggie Tenby’s before that.’

  ‘So you are on her side. You don’t care what happens to me.’

  ‘I’m not on anybody’s side,’ retorted Oliver, unmoved by his mother’s ready tears. He knew Stella could produce tears at the drop of a hat. But he had to give her the benefit of the doubt. ‘I just think you should try to be practical about this.’

  ‘Practical!’ His mother’s voice was shrill now. ‘When I’m going to be driven out of my home at any minute.’

  Oliver blew out a weary breath. ‘As I said before, you don’t know that.’

  ‘Don’t I?’ Stella snorted.

  ‘Well, if you hadn’t found the will, you wouldn’t be worrying about it. Not yet, at any rate. If there’s anything illegal about this, it’s the fact that you opened an envelope that wasn’t addressed to you. If you’d waited—’

  ‘Until after the funeral, you mean?’ His mother sneered. ‘I suppose you think I should have let that prig, Marcus Venning, tell me that Griff had done the dirty on me. Oh, yes, he’d have enjoyed that’

  Oliver shook his head. ‘You’re exaggerating.’ He paused. ‘How did you find the will, anyway? Was it in Griff’s desk?’

  ‘As if Stella gave him a sulky look. ‘Griff always kept anything of importance in the safe.’

  ‘The safe!’ Oliver stared at her aghast. ‘I didn’t know Griff had given you a key to the safe.’

  ‘He didn’t.’ Stella shrugged. ‘He kept it in his desk drawer.’

  Oliver was appalled. ‘You mean you riffled his desk before calling the ambulance services?’

  ‘No.’ Stella was defensive. ‘I’ve known where it was for ages. I—just thought I ought to know. For—well, for emergencies.’

  ‘Like his sudden death, you mean?’ Oliver was scathing.

  ‘Don’t be horrid, darling.’ Stella pursed her lips. ‘I didn’t know he was going to have a heart attack, for heaven’s sake. He seemed perfectly all right when he left the house on Wednesday morning.’

  ‘You saw him before he left?’

  ‘Well—no.’ She sighed at her son’s expression. ‘You know how early the hunt goes out and what with the weather threatening snow...’ She sighed. ‘I assume he left about half-past-eight.’

  ‘So how do you know—?’

  ‘How do I know he was all right? Nell said so, of course. She’s always up at the crack of dawn.’

  Oliver frowned. ‘And he hadn’t said anything about feeling ill? The night before, for instance?’

  ‘No.’ Stella pouted. ‘Oh, you might as well know, Griff and I haven’t shared a room for the last couple of years. You know what old men are like. They snore, and it was getting me down. I thought it would be easier for both of us if we had separate rooms.’

  Oliver shook his head. ‘Griff wasn’t that ancient.’

  ‘I know that, darling. But lots of couples have separate rooms these days. Besides, it suited Griff as well as me.’

  ‘Did it?’

  ‘What do you mean? You don’t think that was why Griff decided to make his will?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ As his mother told him the will had been made quite recently, it was always possible. ‘You never know, he might have begun to wonder if you still cared for him.’

  ‘Oliver! How can you say such a thing? I loved Griff.’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘You guess so?’

  Stella was indignant now, but Oliver couldn’t help recalling what she’d said when Griff had first asked her out. The fact that he’d owned Penmadoc and had a thriving veterinary practice besides in Rhosmawr must have dazzled Stella, who had been struggling, as a single mother, to support herself and her son. Stella didn’t belong in Rhosmawr. Oliver had been born in London, but soon afterwards Stella had taken up with a Norwegian who had been working on the oil rigs, and followed him to Cardiff. Oliver had never known his own father, and his mother’s relationship with the Norwegian hadn’t lasted long. When Griff Williams had come on the scene, she’d been working as a waitress, and Oliver guessed she’d seen him as her last chance to make something of herself.

  There hadn’t been much talk of love in those days, Oliver remembered. He and his mother had been living in a poky one-bedroomed flat, and he’d had to make do with a shakedown on the couch. Which had been something of a handicap to Stella when she’d wanted to bring someone home. And there had been one or two boyfriends before Griff came on the scene, Oliver mused bitterly. Stella had been dangerously close to burn-out before the wealthy widower fell under her spell.

  Chance was a strange thing, he acknowledged drily. If Stella hadn’t offered to take old Mrs Weaver’s cat to the vet, she’d probably never have met Griff. Or realised his potential, Oliver conceded. Stella had always been ambitious. She’d just never had the chance to do anything about it until then.

  ‘Oh, Oliver, what am I going to do?’ she groaned, distracting him from his thoughts. She slid off the bed and dropped the mangled tissue into the waste basket that stood just inside the adjoining bathroom door. ‘You’ve got to help me.’

  ‘I’ll try.’ Oliver sighed. ‘But first of all you’ve got to promise me that you’ll forget you ever saw the will.’

  ‘How can I?’

  ‘Just do it,’ advised Oliver grimly. ‘Remember, this is going to be a shock for Laura, too. And, as she’s made a life for herself in New York, what makes you think she’ll want to come back here to live?’

  Stella’s eyes widened. ‘Do you think—?’

  ‘I don’t think anything,’ said Oliver heavily. ‘I’m just trying to make you see that it might be in your own best interests to behave as if you’re in the dark. Laura isn’t a monster. She’s hurting, too. And she may be prepared to be charitable.’

  ‘Charitable!’ It was obvious the word stuck in his mother’s throat. ‘I don’t want her charity. This is my house.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ said Oliver levelly. ‘You might as well accept it. It isn’t as if you’re going to be destitute. You’re going to be very nicely provided for.’

  ‘Forty thousand a year!’ Stella was dismissive. ‘How the hell does he think I’m going to manage on forty thousand a year?’

  ‘Forty thousand a year is enough for anyone to live on,’ Oliver declared. ‘Dammit, most people exist on a hell of a lot less.’ He paused. ‘We did.’

  ‘That was then; this is now. I’m not used to having to scrape and save for every little thing I want. You know that, Oliver. I thought you of all people would understand.’

  ‘I do understand,’ retorted Oliver sharply. �
��I understand that you’ve lived beyond your means for years.’

  Stella caught her breath. ‘I’ll contest it. That’s what I’ll do,’ she declared, ignoring him. ‘He won’t get away with this.’

  ‘Ma!’ Oliver was disgusted. ‘You can’t do that. You don’t have any grounds.’

  ‘I know my rights.’

  ‘No, you don’t. A judge, magistrate, whatever, will probably consider you’ve been more than adequately provided for.’

  ‘With that pittance!’

  ‘Do you know how much money Griff actually left?’

  Stella held up her head. ‘Not pounds and pence, no. But there’s this house, for one thing. It must be worth—I don’t know—half a million. And then he had insurances and things.’

  Oliver sighed. He was tired of speculating about something his mother had no right to know about. Yet. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I suggest we leave it for the present. Until the will’s been read—’

  ‘But you’ll be there for me, won’t you?’ Stella changed tack now, crossing the room, tucking her hand into his arm and resting her head against his shoulder. ‘I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you.’

  Oliver tried not to reject her, but he could feel himself withdrawing, wanting to move away from her, to put some space between them even so. It had always been this way with his mother. She was perfectly willing to forget his existence for months on end, then something would happen, some imagined emergency, and she’d send for him, expecting him to behave as if they had a normal relationship when, in fact, they had never had that.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘We can’t do anything until after the funeral’s over. Why don’t you go and get dressed and then we’ll discuss what arrangements still have to be made?’

  ‘I can’t think about things like that now,’ protested his mother. ‘Speak to Nell. She’ll discuss things with you. She’ll tell you what there’s still to do.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Ma.’

  ‘And don’t call me that. You know I don’t like it.’

  Oliver shrugged. ‘Whatever. I’ll be in the study when you’re ready to talk.’

  ‘Not the study.’

  Stella shivered, and Oliver realised he had spoken unthinkingly. ‘The library, then,’ he amended. And then, as she moved towards the door, he asked, ‘Where were you when Griff had his attack, by the way?’

  ‘Where was I?’ Stella paused with her hand on the handle, gazing at him with wary eyes. ‘What do you mean, where was I? You know where I was. I told you. I was here, of course.’

  ‘In the house, yes. But actually where?’

  She looked offended. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Humour me.’

  She frowned. ‘I was upstairs, if you must know. Lying down. I was—tired.’

  ‘After your shopping trip?’

  ‘What—? Oh, yes.’ She swallowed quickly. ‘Yes, after my shopping trip.’

  ‘So you didn’t hear him come in?’

  ‘I—may have done.’

  ‘But you didn’t come down to see how he was, anything like that?’

  ‘What is this? Some kind of inquisition?’ Stella was angry now. ‘Do you think I haven’t tortured myself with the knowledge that if I had come down I might have been able to do something to help? It was terrible, Oliver! Terrible! I never want to go through anything like that again.’

  Oliver hesitated. ‘And—you were alone when you found his—I mean, him?’

  ‘Of course I was alone. What else?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘What has Nell Tenby been saying?’

  ‘What could she say?’

  Oliver turned the question back on her and with an exasperated toss of her head Stella jerked the door open. ‘I suggest you apply that agile mind of yours to finding a solution to my situation instead of interrogating me about events that are immutable,’ she declared coldly. ‘Just remember where your loyalties should belong.’

  The door slammed behind her and Oliver expelled a tired breath. That was all he needed: for his mother to think he had turned against her. Knowing how much Nell disliked his mother, could he really give any credence to anything she said?

  Just the same...

  He turned back to the window. The snow had stopped again, but the sky was heavy with the threat of more. He wondered if it would delay the burial, and then remembered that the Tenbys had their own vault in the churchyard here in the village. Griff would be laid to rest there beside his first wife. His worries were over, but Oliver had the unpleasant feeling that his own were just beginning.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Marcus Venning arrived on Monday morning.

  Laura had spent the weekend trying to avoid both Oliver and his mother and she was surprised when Aunt Nell came to find her in the drawing room to tell her that the solicitor was waiting in the library.

  ‘I thought you’d prefer to see him in there rather than in your father’s study,’ the older woman said gently, squeezing her shoulder. ‘I think he wants to discuss the arrangements for after the funeral with you.’

  Laura gave her a puzzled look. ‘With me?’ she said. ‘Are you sure he doesn’t want to speak to Stella?’ After all, as her father’s widow, she was his next of kin. And, as far as she knew, Oliver had spent most of the weekend dealing with the funeral arrangements. Surely he was better equipped to deal with the situation than she was.

  ‘He wants to speak to you,’ insisted Aunt Nell firmly. ‘Are you up to it?’

  ‘Oh—well, yes. I’m up to it.’ Laura put the newspaper she had been scanning without interest aside and got to her feet. ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘She’s still in her room,’ declared Aunt Nell disparagingly, and Laura knew exactly who she meant. ‘As for Oliver—I think he went out after breakfast.’

  Laura was tempted to ask where he’d gone, but Oliver’s actions were nothing to do with her. Apart from an occasional comment at meals, they hadn’t spoken to one another since Saturday morning, and she told herself that that was how she liked it.

  She followed Aunt Nell out of the room and then left her to cross the hall to the library. This used to be one of her favourite rooms, with its tall bookshelves and squashy armchairs, and she paused in the doorway, half expecting to see her father warming himself before the open fire.

  But this thought Was quickly suppressed. Thankfully, she had had no more hallucinatory experiences, and she’d managed to convince herself that she must have imagined the whole thing. Now the sight of Marcus Venning sitting at the table in the window, studying some documents he’d taken from his briefcase as he waited, restored her equilibrium, and she smiled as she walked towards him, holding out her hand.

  ‘Mr Venning.’

  ‘My dear.’ Marcus Venning rose to his feet at her entrance and came to take her hand between both of his. ‘I’m so sorry about your father. He was a good man. He’ll be sadly missed.’

  ‘Yes, he will.’ Laura managed to blink back the tears that had flooded her eyes at this greeting. ‘It’s good to see you again, Mr Venning. It must be—eight years since we last saw one another.’

  ‘And in much happier circumstances,’ he agreed, releasing her hand to put both of his behind his back. ‘Your wedding,’ he added, as if she needed the reminder. ‘Is your husband with you?’

  ‘Um—no.’ Laura indicated that he should resume his seat and took the chair opposite. ‘Didn’t Daddy tell you? Conor and I were divorced three years ago.’

  ‘Oh...’ He was clearly embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I’d known.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Really.’ That was so true. She hated to admit it, but since seeing Oliver again she’d realised just how specious her marriage to Conor had been.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure...’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Then I’m glad.’ He grimaced. ‘Not that you’re divorced, of course. But that you’ve obviously found happiness with someone else.’

  Laura coloured now. ‘I—wouldn�
��t say that.’

  ‘Oh, but I thought—’ He was evidently finding this confusing. ‘Aren’t you still living in New York?’

  ‘Yes. But that’s because my work is there,’ she explained, glad that Oliver wasn’t around to eavesdrop on this conversation. ‘Er—how can I help you?’

  ‘Ah...’ The elderly solicitor shuffled the documents he had been looking at earlier into some semblance of order and stuffed them back into his briefcase. ‘Well, now, I know this must be very painful for you, my dear, but I just want you to know that—that when the time comes you can rely on my support.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Laura gave a small smile, and acknowledged that it was good of him to come all the way from Rhosmawr to tell her that. And in such conditions. Although the snow had stopped and the thaw had set in, the roads were still treacherous.

  ‘You’ll know, of course, that I had a phone call from your stepmother yesterday evening?’ he went on after a moment, however, and Laura had to revise her opinion about his reasons for coming.

  ‘I—no,’ she admitted, realising she couldn’t lie about it. She hesitated. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘Well, yes.’ Venning sighed. ‘If Mrs Williams is confined to her bed—’

  ‘Confined to her bed?’ Laura couldn’t let that go unchallenged. ‘I didn’t know she was confined to her bed.’ She tried to think. When had she last seen Stella downstairs? Saturday evening? Yes, that was it: Saturday evening.

  ‘Well, according to Mrs Williams, the doctor is of the opinion that this has all been too much for her,’ continued the solicitor ruefully. ‘I fear she may not even be well enough to attend the funeral—’

  ‘No!’ Laura was incensed. ‘No, that’s not true.’

  ‘Well, if your stepmother is prostrate with grief—’

  ‘Prostrate with grief?’ Laura hadn’t noticed that Stella was prostrate with grief. On the contrary, she’d observed at dinner on Saturday evening that although the rest of them had only picked at their food Stella had eaten everything that was put before her.

  ‘I know you’ve never been particularly fond of your stepmother, Laura,’ the old man put in gently, and she felt a surge of indignation at the thought that so far as the solicitor was concerned it was she who was being unfeeling. ‘But in the circumstances, my dear...’