“Tolly. I don’t think this can wait till New Year’s.”
“What is it?”
“Remember, all of the ideas I had for the family estate?”
“Yes. They were brilliant. Do you need help with them?”
“No. Father ignored me, and the HMRC has threatened to seize Sandringham.”
Sandringham is my family’s estate in West Shropshire, the one kept in trust for me until after my father passes. At least I’m pretty sure how that works. Either way, I’ll be handing the estate over to my sister at the earliest possible moment.
I should probably tell her that at some point.
“What are you saying? They would do that? Seize our ancestral home on the eve of Christmas?”
Her silence ratchets up my anxiety.
“I… The letter I discovered has a July date.” She snuffles, and my heart breaks for my sister. “He hasn’t paid taxes in ten years, Tolly.”
“Ten years?” I practically shout.
Gael’s eyes widen and I mouth a quicksorryto him.
“Ten years?” I repeat, softer this time. “But he’s always said that the accounts are fine. I saw them myself—there’s plenty of money in there.”
“I suppose they would look good since he wasn’t paying for anything. His accounts have already been seized. It appears that some of the money came from a bank in Saudi Arabia, and ever since the crackdown a few years ago…”
“Oh, dear Lord. Is our father involved in some sort of scheme?”
“I… I don’t think so. I think he thought he’d be given consideration because of his title.”
“Yeah, but not for ten years. God, this must be all over the news back home.”
“Not yet, but if the estate goes, it absolutely will be.”
“Jesus, Bea. He should have listened to you.”
“Maybe he will now.”
We both go quiet because that’s about as likely as someone setting up a snow cone stand in hell.
My phone goes off again; this time it’s my father on the line. “Beatrice, it’s him.”
“Take the call,” she says gravely.
I switch to his line, entirely too aware of the sticky state of my sheets and pubic hair. “Father?”
“Ptolemy. You need to come home. We’ve much to discuss.”
“Father, I’m in Texas.”
“You have the plane, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Good. I expect you by tonight,” he says, ending the call before I can utter a response.
“What’s wrong?” Gael asks, touching my face.
