‘Before she retired, she worked part-time at the museum in Silsford,’ said Upton. ‘Very part-time. That wasn’t where her money came from, though. That was from her father. An American.’ This was stated in a tone that suggested it explained everything. ‘Victor Taggart, his name was. He invested in a friend’s company in the 1940s – a company that turned diamond particles into the sharp edges of oil-drilling devices, I think. I’m not sure I ever quite followed the details. Thanks to him, Marianne inherited millions. She very much wanted to leave some of her wealth to Jemma and Paddy when they first got married, and she suggested £500,000 for Paddy and a million for Jemma.’
Sellers tried not to look as startled as he felt.
‘I thought it was extremely generous of her,’ said Upton. ‘The rest would be divided between me and a number of charities she supported. She’s always given a lot to charity.’
‘When and why did she decide to cut out Jemma and Paddy?’ asked Sellers.
‘She made her new will in December 2012. As for why … I’m afraid I can’t tell you.’
December 2012. That wasn’t even two months after someonehad tried to kill her by cutting her throat. There had to be a connection, surely. ‘Mr Upton, anything you know, I’m going to have to ask you to—’
‘I don’t know. Hence why I can’t tell you. I meant what I said: it’scan’t, not won’t. Marianne let me in on exactly as much as she wanted to and no more.’
‘You mentioned before that Marianne couldn’t risk Jemma seeing the photos in her study,’ Sellers said. ‘Why? Could I see those photos? You kept them, right?’
‘You’d be none the wiser.’ Upton smiled sadly. ‘They’re family photos, that’s all. But Marianne didn’t want Jemma to know that she … well, she played Happy Families in that room. She picked out photos that had us all smiling or laughing – Jemma especially. As if there was no resentment from Jemma towards Marianne and never had been.’
‘But … everyone picks the best, smiliest family photos to display,’ said Sellers. ‘Would Jemma have thought anything of it?’
After a few seconds, during which Sellers guessed he was wrestling with difficult thoughts, Upton said, ‘It would have been humiliating for Marianne. The photos were evidence that she cared, and wanted something that she saw Jemma as depriving her of. She never …’ He cleared his throat. ‘She didn’t ever like to give any power away. She always had to have all the power.’
Sellers eyed her portrait again. Yes, he could imagine it. ‘You’re sure Jemma and Paddy don’t know about the changed will?’ he asked.
Upton nodded. ‘As I said: they didn’t know about the first will, either. I don’t think inheriting money from Marianne has ever crossed either of their minds.’
Having not met Jemma and barely having spoken to Paddy,Sellers disagreed. How could you have an elderly relative worth millions and not be constantly wondering if you’d be quids in one day?
‘Please tell your colleagues: there’s nothing associated with the will that provides a motive,’ said Upton. ‘And … Ireallydon’t want Jemma and Paddy to find out they’ve been done out of something they never even knew they had, if you know what I mean. They’ll both have assumed everything of Marianne’s is coming to me, I’m sure.’
‘I don’t suppose you know who’s getting their million and a half instead?’ Sellers asked.
‘I don’t know for sure, but my guess would be a trust fund for Lottie. Or else the charities and I will each get a little more. Which they don’t know and I couldn’t care less about – and whatever the arrangement is, it’s been in place since December 2012. There’s no reason why someone upset by it or hoping to gain should have waited eleven years. The will is completely irrelevant, all right? It has nothing to do with any of this.’
And that’s why you’ve invited me in here for a special discussion about it, thought Sellers.Because it’s so completely irrelevant to everything.
6th June 2006
This morning, the Tyrant (MyTy – though that nickname is too contrived and I don’t think it’s going to stick) brought up ‘that ridiculous palaver on the way to the Cotswolds’ again. She ambushed me as I was walking up the stairs, and found a stupidly contrived way to drag it into the conversation. She’d obviously been fretting about my lack of response the first time she mentioned it: I didn’t roll my eyes or accept her invitation to criticise Ollie, and she wanted to give me another opportunity to do either or, ideally, both.
I had no intention of saying anything disloyal about lovely Ollie, so I tuned her out as she went on and on about why his behaviour had been ‘creepy’ and how we’d all had a narrow escape. Predictably, her version of the story was full of exaggerations and outright lies – that he’d gritted his teeth at one point, that his tone had been ‘frosty and weirdly detached’. What crap!
Here’s what really happened: we were driving to the Cotswolds, to a house with a heated indoor swimming pool that we’d rented for the Christmas holidays last year. Ollie had spent the last three Christmases with his dad but this year his dad was in Australia, staying with his sister and her family.
As a thank you for inviting him to join in with our Christmas holiday, Ollie had insisted on driving us to the rental house in his car. It was a black seven-seater – a hand-me-down from Ollie’s dad, Mark – that had 140,000 miles on the clock but was nevertheless smooth and comfortable and in far better condition than either of our rickety old bangers.
A couple of hours into the journey, we met some heavy-ish traffic on the M25 and had to slow down to around twenty miles an hour. Quite cheerfully (with absolutely no ‘weird detachedness’ or ‘gritted teeth’, and I should know because I was sitting next to him), Ollie said, ‘We should probably ring and let them know that we might not be there by four.’
‘What are you talking about?’ I laughed. ‘We don’t need to do that. Are you joking? Please tell me you’re joking.’
‘No.’ Ollie looked confused. He frowned as if to say, Why would I be?
‘We’re picking up the keys from a pub, Ollie – a very busy and popular one. They’ll be open until at least eleven o’clock, and we’ll be there by half past five at the latest.’
‘Oh.’ He sounded surprised and looked so reasonable, as if he wanted to do everything he could to persuade himself that I was right. ‘But … I thought you’d told them we’d pick up the keys for the rental house at four? Or did you say “around four”?’
‘I said four, but—’
‘Then shouldn’t we let them know it might not be four on the nose?’
