Ernest continued smoothly, as if they were discussing something mundane, like guttering or car insurance. ‘We need to raise some cash.’
‘What kind of care are you considering?’ Percy asked, ever the practical solicitor.
‘A private home,’ Ernest said. ‘The best.’
‘No.’ said Hamish. ‘Thisis her home; I won’t have Ma sent away. If she needs care, it will take place here.’
‘Either way, we must raise money,’ said Ernest.
Christina glanced at Hamish, ‘We could buy Chase Lodge ...’
Ernest shook his head. ‘Helpful, but too slow, could take you months – surveys, mortgages ...’
‘What about selling some land?’ Amy suggested, dabbing her lips with a napkin. ‘That field by the river is not really being used.’
‘I considered that, but it’s part of the original estate boundary,’ Ernest replied smoothly. ‘And it’s also part of the listed park, might not get a decent price given the restrictions. Can’t alter that without years of paperwork and planning permission. Bureaucratic nightmare.’
Hugo suddenly swivelled, nearly toppling from his chair. ‘Paperwork! Dreadful stuff. Totally agree old chap.’ He drained his glass.
‘Exactly, Hugo. I did wonder, could we liquidate a few antiques?’ Ernest suggested this as if the thought had just occurred to him.
Her heart thumping, Christina glanced around the room, her expert eye automatically cataloguing the objects on display. How many of these glittering pieces were genuine? And how many were the careful replacements she’d helped produce over the lasttwo years?
Amy shifted uncomfortably. ‘Isn’t that rather drastic? Some pieces have been in the family for generations.’
Hugo proffered his empty wineglass towards Ernest who topped it up generously. ‘Sounds like Ernest’s given this a lot of thought, so I say we let the old boy tell us his plan.’
‘Well,’ Percy cleared his throat, shooting Hugo a warning look, ‘some assets are protected. They can’t be sold, or mortgaged, without permission from the primary beneficiary.’
‘Ma, obviously,’ said Hamish.
‘I’ll need to investigate the exact terms.’ Percy added carefully.
‘Which pieces?’ demanded Ernest.
‘A few valuable paintings, some of the older silver pieces, and then of course there’s the Pemberton Tiara and the Highland Pact Torque.’
‘I thought the torque was a family myth,’ Ernest said carefully.
‘I did too,’ Percy replied. ‘Until I found a reference in the estate papers a few years ago – “a neck-ring of iron and silver, bearing the green stone and the mark of unity”.’
Christina’s breath caught. Hamish had mentioned the torque countless times – she’d never thought to ask about it. ‘Iron and silver braided together. That’s a serious skill. I’d love to see it,’ she said.
Hugo let out a low whistle. ‘The clasp emerald. Worn at the oath-taking in the Highlands before the last Jacobite gathering. I wonder where it is?’
‘Let’s keep on track, Hugo,’ Ernest continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone. ‘We need to raise money. Fast. Auctioning off some antiques would be our best option. Quick, efficient. I think we should make the decision today, while Percy is here to advise on the legalities. Then we can free up some money. You can see that she’s fading fast.’
Hamish’s knuckles went white around his glass. ‘You’re talkingabout selling off family history.’
‘I’m talking about looking after your mother,’ Ernest replied. ‘Sometimes we have to make difficult choices.’
The debate continued. Hamish proposed taking it in turns to look after Flora – an idea which earned him a dismayed look from Amy. Then he suggested a bank loan. As Ernest continued to deflect their ideas with increasingly creative excuses – Christina studied his face.
She’d seen that expression before, when he had coaxed her into doing more than she wanted. Patient, reasonable, persuasive. He’d already won the argument; the others just didn’t know it yet. This was why he’d staged the first evening – to soften them up, force them to notice Flora’s lapses before tonight.
As the meal ended and the diners dispersed, Christina helped Ernest clear. Hugo had finally succumbed to the wine and was snoring softly in his chair, his head tilted back at an angle that would guarantee a spectacular crick in his neck.
‘You know,’ she said lightly, ‘I really do think a live-in carer might be more humane than a home. Keep Flora in familiar surroundings—’
