‘You have to send a postcard from each of the places specified.’ Ron pointed to a map of Europe behind him; a blue highlighter had been used to outline a route from Calais to Italy. ‘Fifteen in total. One from each town, which I’ve marked with a red drawing pin.’ He grinned happily like an overgrown house elf and Cam wanted to weep. House elves came in books you read to your shiny-eyed innocent nephews.
Furious, Cam gave a disparaging look towards the map and its meandering route through France and the mountains of Switzerland and Italy. ‘So what the hell am I here for?’
Ron grinned at him. ‘Miles felt Laurie might need a co-driver.’
Might need? Bloody hell! What was that supposed to mean? He was just supposed to accompany Miles’ niece out of the sheer goodness of his heart. In a car that Miles had damn well promised him. Except now he thought about it, what exactly had Miles promised? He recalled the exact words. A guaranteed price for the car once it went on sale. The wily bastard.
Ron pushed another one of the white envelopes towards him.
‘You’ll be recompensed, of course.’
‘I don’t want his money,’ growled Cam. Money was no bloody good. How was that going to help him? Fuck. He almost put his head in his hands. How could Miles do this to him? A leaden lump settled in his stomach at the thought of phoning Nick and the way the conversation would pan out.
‘Hi, Mate. You know that Ferrari I promised as the highlight of our classic car festival. Well I lied; it’s not mine after all. And all that sponsorship money we’ve secured to make the festival happen, is all going to vanish in smoke, leaving you with huge debts because you’ve underwritten everything against a loan on your home. Both of our reputations are going to be down the pan.’ Nick would go ape. Cam closed his eyes; his mother would kill him.
What was Miles thinking?
The white envelope mocked him. It felt like an insult. Miles knew damned well Cam would honour his promise to look after his niece, even if the conniving old coot had conned him somewhat by deliberately letting him think that Laurie was a small boy.
Truth was, he would have done just about anything for Miles. Despite the age difference, friendship had blossomed the day they met over the bonnet of a rather neat little Aston Martin. Cam had been the winner in that skirmish, outbidding Miles by several thousand to acquire the car for one of his clients. Miles had promptly taken the client and Cam out to lunch and done a deal to sell the client an E-type Jag for twice as much.
Ron’s eyes narrowed and for a moment Cam saw the steely determination that made the solicitor a worthy representative of Miles. He picked up the envelope and pocketed it with a glare at Ron. The solicitor simply smiled.
Her hands shook so hard the key barely hit the lock. Tears filled her eyes … again. The brass letterbox had done it.
Over the years how many postcards often starting with the imperative, Niece, you must see this place, dropped through the door? Miles loved his postcards.
Although they wound her dad up, each one made her smile. Even in the last few years when Miles was supposedly slowing down, the postcards had never let up. Random in their frequency, there was never a place too small or insignificant for him to stop and pick one up. She’d had cards from the Empire State Building in New York, the Bellagio in Las Vegas, the Great Orme in Llandudno and Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh. Today Miles’ familiar, impatient scrawl, addressing her in his usual bossy fashion, brought piercing regret. No more postcards. Ever.
No more anything. She wouldn’t even argue against the terms of the will. Miles knew her too well. Knew that she wouldn’t deny him his last wish. Frowning hard, she gritted her jaw. Duty. She’d always been good at that. She’d stuck by her dad’s side, despite Miles’ repeated invitations to visit. Dad liked to blame Miles for the break-up of his marriage, not wanting to admit that it was probably inevitable that Celeste would leave him. He never really got over it. For him it had been a grand passion, love at first sight. At least on his part. With ten years apart, he had tried to be the sensible one, holding her at arm’s length, which had made the spoiled, wilful eighteen year old Celeste all the more determined to marry him.
Damn. The note. She’d leave it in the plastic bag in the hall along with the envelope that Ron had handed over. It felt too raw to share with anyone. Anyone? She meant Robert. Who else was there? And what would he say?
His car was already in the drive. Squaring her shoulders, she went inside.
And there he was already, twitching with anticipation.
‘So? Did he leave you anything?’
She nodded. Well that was the truth. He had definitely left her something.
‘What?’
She bit her lip. ‘It’s complicated.’
Robert frowned, ‘How so?’
Shrugging out of her coat, she took her time hanging it up. ‘Let me get us a cup of tea.’
‘So you got nothing then?’ Robert sounded sulky.
She faced him. ‘Like I said, it’s complicated. Come in the kitchen, sit down and I’ll tell you.’
Holding the mug of steaming tea as if it were some kind of talisman, she decided it was best just to spit it out and see where the conversation went.
‘Uncle Miles has left me one of his cars.’
‘Oh,’ Robert looked crestfallen. ‘Is that all?’ Then he rounded on her, irritation lining his face. ‘But that’s ridiculous? You don’t drive.’
Her fingers strayed to her eyebrow, and she rubbed the bone there back and forth.
‘I know,’ she sighed thinking of the provisional driving licence still tucked in her drawer. Renewed faithfully for the last six years but yet to be upgraded. Booking a proper driving test was still … she couldn’t do it. She would get round to it … one day, when the memories of her dad’s first massive heart attack on the driveway of the test centre faded.
‘So why leave you a bloody car?’
For a moment she stared bemused at him, but then he hadn’t had much to do with Miles and had only been to the house on the day of the funeral.
She wanted to smile but worried Robert would take it the wrong way. The whole will was so typical of Miles and if she were totally honest, deep down inside, a tiny almost invisible speck of her was ever so slightly amused and intrigued by the idea of driving a high performance sports car as recognisable as a Ferrari across Europe. Something most people would never expect dull old Laurie Browne to do.
His shoulders sagged and his face twisted in disgust. ‘Bummer. Thought you might get something decent … with you being a blood relative …
‘So who gets the house?’ he demanded, a trace of belligerence tinging his voice. ‘That must be worth a fortune … at least 4 mill current market value. Especially with that amount of land.’
What amount of land? Laurie stared at him.
‘Forty acres! Can you imagine? You could flog half of it and still have loads. And it’s all prime development land.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Don’t tell me, all the ex-wives cleaned him out. Bet he was in debt up to his eyeballs. All flash no cash. I suspected as much. I should have known it was too good to be true when you got the letter. Good job we aren’t planning a fancy wedding.’
Laurie gripped her tea mug wondering if it might shatter if she held it any harder. She felt as fragile as the china under her fingers. Grief warred with anger but all she could summon was utter weariness. No wonder he’d been so understanding