They certainly seem to know their way around.
“Excuse me.” I clear my throat. “How did you know my brother?”
“Oh, we met you at the funeral. You probably don’t remember us.” She stops and her face turns very emotional. “Oh, you poor love, I’m sure, it was a difficult day.”
“We all work at Du Montfort Hall. Liam was like family.” The other woman – Mrs. B? – adds.
Aha. Yes. Du Montfort Hall. That’s where Lord Du Montfort lives. Liam’s Facebook posts had been full of pictures of a beautiful stately home, gardens, and food in a magnificent country kitchen full of copper pots.
“I’ve known him since he first came to the island and moved in with us.” Mrs. B comes to wipe the counter behind me. Without thinking, I move to give her room. She’s that kind of woman.
“What do you mean moved in with you?”
“At the Hall, most of the senior staff live there.”
I’m confused. “Why would my brother live at the hall when he had a big house here?”
Mrs B looks about to cry. “He had to wait until this cottage was free. Some property developers nearly bought it from under him, but he…” She finally stops cleaning and looks at me; there’s a shine in her eyes. “It’s a bit too big for him, but he was very excited about it. We thought he was planning to get married and start a family.”
“We never knew he was sick.” Cook pauses in the middle of cleaning the fridge. “He never told us until the very end when he called Master George to ask…” She hesitates. “He asked to be buried on the island. And that was two days before the end.” She swallows the sob on the last word.
“None of us knew.” Mrs B repeats.
“No, it came as a surprise to us, too.” I say shortly and walk out of the kitchen.
Liam had kept it from everyone it seems. Mum and I only found out the day he…the day it was all over. No warning.
Liam’s letter is still on the coffee table, but before I can reach for it – Ding, dong. The doorbell again. Surely not someone else coming to clean.
It isn’t. It’s the butcher with a small package.
“You must be Mr Brandon Hazelwood, Liam’s brother. I thought you bein’ new here you wouldn’t know where the shops are, and this is just to tide you over.” He hands me the package which contains four pork chops and a dozen herb sausages.
I thank him and promise that if I need anything, anything at all, more sausages, chops, bacon, or chicken with four arms and a trilby hat, then yes, I will be sure to call on him any time, except Sundays.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, saving me from further conversation. I apologise to the butcher and close the door as politely and firmly as possible before answering the phone.
“Brandon Hazelwood,” exclaims a happy voice. “As I live and breathe.”
Janey. The last time I saw or heard from Janey, was…two months ago? Early morning. My phone had rung and rung and gone on ringing until I unwound my arm from around a sleeping Janey and got up. After searching everywhere, I finally located the phone somewhere in the scattered clothes I’d dropped on the floor the night before in the urgency of passion.
“Yes?” I answered, my voice sharp with impatience, my eyes on the naked woman yawning and watching me.
“It’s Liam.” My mother sobbed.
And my life changed.
“Where have you been, you gorgeous man?” Janey asks now. “I’ve been trying you all morning, but your phone was unavailable.”
I drag my mind back to the sparsely furnished sitting room in Liam’s cottage, the pork chops and sausages in their wrapping on the table, and the sun pouring in through the bay window.
“Uh…I was on the ferry.”
“What’s this I hear you resigned from the QEC? Why? What happened?”
I scrub a hand over my face, my jaw is scratchy with stubble. “I just felt it was time for a change.”
The only person who knew the real reason for my resignation was the head of the orchestra and he promised to keep the information private. In the shock of it all, the last thing I wanted was a deluge of condolences and hugs from everyone in the classical music industry. They didn’t know Liam, so none of it would mean anything.
