Hannah would have driven her over to collect it, but until she’d seen the solicitor and had found out what it was all about, Bridie didn’t want to tell her parents. Instead, she’d got the bus from Aldeburgh.
She slipped the letter back into her bag. She’d read the dry legal wording so many times, yet none of it had prepared her for this strange, unexpected summons.
The office was in an old Georgian townhouse overlooking a square of winter-bare trees. Inside, it smelled faintly of polishand old books. The receptionist led her into a wood-panelled room where a man in his sixties rose from behind an oak desk.
‘Ms Hart,’ he said warmly. ‘I’m Mr Carter. Please, sit.’
She did, clutching her handbag as though it might steady her.
‘I imagine you have many questions,’ he said, settling into his chair.
‘I do,’ Bridie admitted. ‘I was hoping you could tell me who left me the theatre.’
The solicitor gave an apologetic wince. ‘Ah. Yes. That is the question I cannot answer.’
Bridie blinked. ‘You … can’t?’
‘No. Your benefactor insisted on anonymity.’ He offered a sympathetic shrug. ‘I’m afraid I agreed to their terms.’
Benefactor. The word felt grand and ridiculous all at once.
‘But what I can tell you,’ he continued, ‘is that the theatre comes with certain … conditions.’
Her pulse spiked. ‘Conditions?’
‘Yes. One in particular.’ He folded his hands neatly. ‘The previous owner wished for you to bring the theatre back to life. Just for one play. After that, if you wish to sell the property, you may do so.’
Bridie stared at him. Her mouth dropped open. ‘I – I’m sorry. You mean I can’t just sell it?’
‘It is legally yours to sell,’ he clarified, ‘but the benefactor hoped you might honour their wishes.’
There it was again – the wordbenefactor. Bridie frowned. ‘Hang on, you just said I had to—’
‘Oh, no,’ he interrupted, smiling gently. ‘You don’t have to do anything. I’m only advising you, as your representative, that it would be wise to carry out the request of the person who gifted you the property.’
Her confusion deepened. ‘Wait. Did you just saygiftedme the property? Are you saying the owner isn’t dead?’
‘You are the owner,’ he said simply.
‘No, I meant thepreviousowner,’ she said, her voice thin. ‘Are they alive?’
Mr Carter hesitated. ‘Oh dear.’ He gestured toward the envelope peeking from her bag. ‘I didn’t mentioninheritancein the letter, did I?’
Bridie snatched the letter out of her bag and reread it. He was right. The word inheritance wasn’t there. Not even implied. Bridie realised she’d made an assumption – or rather Oliver had when he’d read her the letter.
‘I don’t understand.’ She looked up, bewildered. ‘Who … who would do this? Who would give me their property? Nobody in town knows who owns the place.’
‘I’m afraid I cannot reveal your benefactor. They have insisted on anonymity. But they assure me they have your best interests at heart. Otherwise, I would not have agreed to act for them.’
‘They?’ Bridie repeated sharply.
‘It is not more than one person,’ he said hastily. ‘But I am not at liberty to divulge their name or even …’
‘Their pronoun?’ she said dryly.
‘Exactly.’ He offered a sheepish smile. He reached into a drawer and withdrew a new envelope – thick, heavy. ‘Here are the keys,’ he said, sliding it across the desk, ‘and the deeds to the theatre.’
Bridie stared at it. ‘Don’t I have to pay tax or something on a gift?’ The last thing Bridie needed was to discover she owed money after all this.
