She shook her head regretfully, watching him draw the paper from its envelope.
‘The drawer isn’t deep enough for a book. I can’t imagine where that can be. My real fear is that Emma will find it. You can imagine the shock if she should come across it and those death certificates are still where Honor,’ – she shook her head irritably, reminding herself – ‘sorry, where Mutt first hid them.’
‘Mmm.’ He was only partially listening to her, reading swiftly over the paper. ‘This is better than I feared. She’s left The Lookout and the boatyard to me and Paradise to Emma. It was witnessed by the vicar and his wife. I wonder why she didn’t get Richard Prior to draw it up properly for her.’
‘She missed old Michael Veryan terribly when he died,’ said Mousie, ‘and she never got on with either of the younger partners. Perhaps she was nervous; afraid that she might trip herself up if she went to see them.’
‘It’s clear that the question of Inheritance Tax never occurred to her. Or maybe she hoped that Brer Fox and I might pay it between us out of our own savings so that the estate shouldn’t be sold up.’
Mousie snorted. ‘Not even Honor would think Raymond could be that philanthropic. Can you imagine him putting his hand in his pocket whilst the boatyard remains undeveloped? He’ll bring all his power to bear on you.’ She gave a rather sad little shrug. ‘I suppose, given one didn’t know the truth, that development is the obvious way to go.’
‘Not if I can help it.’ Bruno folded the will and pushed it back into the envelope. ‘I think we sit on this until after the funeral.’
Mousie looked at him. ‘You agree, though, that Emma should be told then?’
He hesitated, putting the will into the bag with the letters, folding them together.
‘Yes,’ he said at last, almost reluctantly. ‘For Joss’s sake, if nothing else. I agree with you that she would never be able to be open and natural with the family again and I’m hoping that you’re right and that we are underestimating Emma’s reaction.’
‘She must read the letters,’ said Mousie firmly. ‘The letters will do the trick.’
Bruno’s eyes narrowed into a smile. ‘Did they really have that much of an impact on you, Mousie?’
She nodded, smiling a little ruefully as she remembered her conflicting reactions. ‘In the end, they did,’ she admitted. ‘They touched me deeply. I could remember so much of it, you know. She was so lovely and yet, with me, always slightly remote and holding me at arm’s length. I could see the effect she had on Simon – and on Rafe, too – although I was angry with Rafe for succumbing to it, exactly as she wrote.’ A little silence. ‘Can you imagine what it must have cost to refuse Simon and to cut herself off from her sister with such finality? Thank goodness she had you, Bruno. How lonely she would have been, bearing it all alone.’
‘I can’t remember as much as you can. I remember the picnics and the blackberrying parties and Pipsqueak and Wilfrid. And I was reminded of Jessie Poltrue when I came in just now. I haven’t thought of her for years.’ Bruno sat down at the table in one of the Windsor chairs. ‘What will happen now, Mousie?’
‘If the truth can be proved I can’t see why everything shouldn’t turn out well.’ She glanced at him sharply. ‘What does Zoë want at this particular moment?’
‘She wants shelter until she moves into a new flat next week … Why? What did you imagine she wants?’
Mousie shrugged. ‘It’s just rather neat timing, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, come on.’ Bruno stared at her disbelievingly. ‘You don’t think she’d heard about Mutt? Good God! Where? How?’
‘I’ve no idea. I’m just pointing out that her visit coincides neatly with the fact that by this time next week you’ll be better off than you are now.’
‘No.’ Bruno shook his head. ‘I really don’t think that’s why she’s here. After all, why should she come all this way? I might be land-rich but she’ll realize that there won’t be much cash in it,’ he grinned, ‘especially after the way I described the problems to her earlier. Zoë knows that I shan’t abandon her as long as she’s reasonable. She’s not really devious or grasping, you know. I’m sure her turning up now is just a coincidence.’
Mousie’s expression indicated a doubtful acceptance. ‘Fair enough. Forget Zoë and concentrate on Raymond. You’ve got to be prepared that he won’t believe those letters. Or, at any rate, he’ll try to contest their validity.’
‘But how can he? I’m here to tell everyone it’s the truth.’
Mousie laughed. ‘It’s clear that you’re no detective writer,’ she observed. ‘Who stands to gain from the letters? You do. Of course you’re going to endorse them. I’ve no idea whether they’d stand up in a court of law but you’ll have a fight on your hands. You need those death certificates.’
‘Damn,’ he said softly. ‘I hadn’t thought about it like that. I’d come round to seeing that Emma must be told, and that the original will made by my grandfather must be re-proved or whatever the legal term is, but I’d assumed that the letters would be more than enough proof. Good grief, Mousie, is it likely that I’m going to sit down and write all those letters – apart from the fact that we all know Mutt’s handwriting – in an attempt to gain the estate for myself?’
Mousie dropped a hand on his shoulder. ‘Trust me,’ she said grimly. ‘Raymond simply won’t give in that easily and it could get very messy and upsetting for Emma and Joss. This is the sort of thing that would come between us all and do much more damage than the truth, simply told. We must find the book and the certificates to back up the letters.’
‘That’s all very well,’ he answered impatiently, ‘but where do you suggest we start whilst Emma and Brer Fox are up at Paradise? You were damned lucky to lay your hand on the will so easily, Mousie. It could take days to go through the house in an attempt to find the book. What do we say that we’re looking for and how do we discourage them from joining in the search?’
‘I know. I know.’ Mousie held up a placating hand. ‘Of course, Joss will be keeping her eyes open for it.’ She paused for a moment. ‘If it all goes according to plan, what will you do with Paradise?’
‘You mean will Joss live there?’ He smiled at her association of ideas. ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. The real obstacle would probably be Joss herself. She’d find it difficult now to look upon it as her home when there’s Rafe’s brood with a more legitimate claim.’
‘Unless, of course, she’s living there with one of the brood?’
He looked at her quickly. ‘Do you know about Joss and George?’
She chuckled. ‘My dear fellow, I’ve known about Joss and George since they were children. It was a pity that he ever married Penny but now, so Rafe and Pamela tell me, it’s all over and she’s gone back to New Zealand. I don’t think it will be too long before Joss and George do what they should have done five years ago. Why shouldn’t they live at Paradise? If the old back drive were to be opened up, then her patients could drive out here without upsetting the peace of the valley. There’s plenty of room, after all, to run her practice from Paradise.’
‘But even if Joss agreed to it, how could I square it with Olivia and Joe? It would smack of favouritism even if nobody knew the truth. Of course, I could rent it to them …’ He brooded on it for a moment. ‘I’ve been thinking quite a lot, Mousie, this last day or two. What would happen to the estate if I were to die? I’m beginning to believe that I should make over your cottages to you and Rafe and leave all the rest to George and Joss. What do you think?’
‘I agree that Joss and George are the natural inheritors,’ she answered. ‘They are the children you never had; you’ve always loved them most and it’s exactly what Mutt would have wanted. Why not? If Rafe and Pamela then decide to leave their cottage to Olivia and Joe they might sell it on when they inherit it but at least they can’t spoil the estate. Think it all through very carefully and don’t do anything hastily. There’s no reason why George and Joss shouldn’t
rent Paradise for the time being. That at least is the right solution, I’m certain of it.’
‘As long as we can persuade Joss that she still belongs here.’
‘I think George will do that for us,’ promised Mousie. ‘After all, if she marries him she’ll be a part of the family, won’t she?’
Bruno stood up and pushed the parcel towards her.
‘Will you look after this for me?’ he asked. ‘Keep it safe until it’s needed.’
For answer, she unlocked the big cupboard beneath the glass-fronted bookcase built into the recess beside the fireplace and put the package inside.
‘Quite safe there,’ she said, locking the door again. ‘Now all we need is Goblin Market and the rest of the puzzle. I wonder where it can be.’
‘I live in fear of Emma coming across it and rushing down to confront me,’ admitted Bruno. ‘Just at this moment it would be difficult to handle with Zoë around. I really don’t think for a moment that she’d heard about Mutt, you know, but I knocked any possible pretensions on the head by hinting that I’d probably have to sell Paradise for Inheritance Tax and that Brer Fox was all set to develop the boatyard.’
‘And how did she react to that?’
Bruno grinned. ‘She was very sympathetic – for Zoë. But, to be honest, she’s much more interested in her own problems than in mine.’
‘You amaze me,’ said Mousie drily. ‘Does Emma know she’s here?’
He nodded. ‘I telephoned to say that I wouldn’t be going up this afternoon. I needed some excuse, anyway. I don’t want to see Brer Fox just yet if I can avoid it. He’s dashing back to London tomorrow for a meeting, apparently, so I’ve said we’ll meet up after he’s gone. Emma was very happy about that – she can’t stand confrontations at the best of times – but I have to admit that she wasn’t very thrilled about Zoë being here.’
‘She’s always resented her,’ said Mousie. ‘And with some cause. Zoë hasn’t done you many favours, has she?’
‘We both needed different things,’ he answered quickly, ‘and I’m not the easiest person to live with, you know.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Her smile was warm. ‘I don’t intend to interfere at this late date, but you have to accept that some of us are not so tolerant as you are.’
He smiled back at her but his expression was abstracted. ‘Emma will be all right, won’t she, Mousie?’
She was suddenly reminded of the small boy who had so often come to her for reassurance.
‘Emma will realize that none of us could love her more, even if she’d been Hubert’s child. I feel quite certain of it. We’ve known Emma for fifty years and our feelings for her are not going to change now. Why should they? She belongs here as much as any of us and she will continue to come here as she’s always done, staying with you or with Joss. Once she’s read the letters I think that she’ll accept the truth and even find it rather romantic. Trust me, Bruno. Emma will be fine.’
He nodded, accepting her wisdom. ‘It’s just … she’s rather special to me,’ he said.
‘To me too,’ said Mousie. ‘She and Joss, and Mutt.’
‘I’m afraid that she won’t understand how I could have deceived her all these years, you see.’ He was still anxious. ‘Keeping such a secret from her when we’ve been so close.’
‘You had no choice,’ answered Mousie quickly. ‘She’ll see that’s the case once she’s read the letters. Her mother tied you into the secret and you could not have betrayed her. To begin with you were too young to understand and by the time you could grasp what had happened it was too late.’ She made a sudden impatient gesture. ‘Oh, how I wish that you and Joss would agree to tell Emma the truth now. I have a real fear that we shall be precipitated into it. Much better we choose our own time and the sooner the better.’
Bruno looked at her, perplexed by the unexpected burst of irritation. ‘You think she’s going to find Goblin Market and the documents?’
‘I don’t know. Something like that, I suppose.’
‘I agreed with Joss that Mutt would be buried in peace but I’ll talk to her again,’ he promised. ‘And thanks, Mousie.’
They exchanged affectionate embraces but, as Mousie let him out into the gathering twilight, both were preoccupied with the same question: where had Mutt hidden Goblin Market?
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Raymond drove away early the next morning, shortly after Joss had left for her practice in Wadebridge. Emma waved the car down the drive and then pottered round the mossy pathways, pausing with delight before the camellias, which were already flowering in the shelter of the garden wall. Here grew pretty, pink Lady Clare and the darker red Adolphe Audusson whilst round their feet clustered white and purple crocus. The gale had blown itself out overnight and the day was still and cool; a soft grey canopy of cloud obscured the sun, wrapping the garden in a gentle silence disturbed only by birdsong. A robin accompanied her: he fluttered along the top of the high stone wall, his cheerful stave of song lifting her spirits.
Emma straightened her shoulders, enjoying a familiar relief now that Ray was gone. She pulled a strand of encroaching ivy away from the wall, smiling with pleasure at a patch of primulas almost hidden in the longer grass, her confidence growing, reassuring herself that it was quite right to keep the parcel hidden. She’d stuck with her theory that Mousie had seen it and carried it off to Bruno, and had managed to talk Ray round to her own point of view: that the parcel had been wrapped up too long ago to contain the will and that it was much more likely to be something that had belonged to their father, Hubert, which Mutt had decided should be passed on to his son after her death. Ray had very reluctantly accepted this reasoning but then had insisted on another search – including Mutt’s own room, which had made Emma feel rather miserable – but which had produced nothing. Finding a card she’d sent recently to Mutt she’d suddenly been so overcome by grief that Ray had insisted she sit down by the fire while he’d made a pot of tea.
Emma crouched down, pulling away some of the longer grass so that the primulas should get more light, remembering how kind he’d been. He could be kind, dear old Ray, and that was what most people didn’t understand about him: they simply didn’t see the side of him that he showed only to her and occasionally to Joss. He was irritating: pompous and self-seeking. In the beginning, she’d hated it when he’d behaved like this in front of their family and friends. She’d been humiliated, identifying herself with his behaviour, trying to explain it away whilst excusing him and making light of it. Nevertheless, she’d learned to take aspects of it for her own use, which probably wasn’t very admirable. Emma grimaced ruefully as she threw the long grass aside into a heap on the path and then wiped her damp hands on a piece of tissue. There had been many moments in their marriage when they’d been quietly happy together. Yesterday afternoon had been one of those. He’d brought her tea, made just how she liked it, and comforted her in his own kindly way as they’d sat there before the fire. And then Joss had returned.
Emma stepped back onto the path, her hands clasped in a kind of unconscious prayer of thanksgiving, remembering her child’s face. Joss had come into the drawing-room, hesitating in the doorway, and her expression had been one of such joyous exultation that she, Emma, had automatically risen to her feet.
‘Darling,’ she’d cried. ‘Here you are.’
She’d gone towards her, unable to think of anything else to say, almost dazzled by that look of happiness. Joss had looked from one to the other, as if not knowing quite where she was.
‘Hello,’ she’d said uncertainly.
Unaware of anything unusual, Ray had simply grunted a greeting and picked up his newspaper, but Emma had taken Joss by the arm and led her – as if she were a sleepwalker – into the kitchen where she’d pushed her down into a chair.
‘Now,’ she’d prompted her, refilling the kettle. ‘You’ve had a lovely time with George and the donkeys …’
‘Yes,’ agreed Joss happily. ‘Oh, Mum, I have.’ She�
�d stared about her, as if she’d never seen the kitchen before. ‘I love him. I’ve always loved him and now it’s all right.’
Remembering those words, Emma began to understand how bad it must have been for someone of Joss’s open, truthful temperament to be in love with a married man: how hard to keep her love hidden and under control whilst continuing to nourish the friendship that had been so important to them both since childhood. Now, it need be a secret no longer, she was free to show her love, and that new freedom had had a startling effect on her. Again and again, Emma’s eyes had been drawn back to that glowing face, to share the joy that shone in her child’s eyes. Then, quite suddenly, the light had been quenched.
‘If only Mutt had known,’ Emma had been saying. ‘Oh, she’d have been so thrilled for you, darling. She loved George so much …’ And she’d seen Joss’s expression change, as if she’d remembered something, and the familiar, slightly wary look had come down like a mask.
As she stamped the mud from her shoes at the front door, Emma guessed that it had been the remembrance of grief that had been the cause of that change. For the rest of the evening, though, the happiness had shone out intermittently from behind the sadness, rather like a faulty electric connection or sun glimpsed between clouds.
In the hall, Emma paused. She’d planned to go down to The Lookout and had even considered taking Bruno his parcel, providing that he promised that – whatever it contained – he should not discuss it with Ray. As soon as she’d heard that Zoë was with him, however, she’d been seized with her usual irritation and now had no intention of allowing Bruno to open the package beneath Zoë’s ironical black-eyed gaze. No, it could remain where it was, but she would go down and have coffee with them and be as polite as was possible. Suddenly she was seized again with the joyful thought of Joss’s happiness that even the prospect of Zoë couldn’t tarnish.
The Golden Cup Page 33
