“What I don’t understand,” Connor said to me, “is what happened between my father and your mother. Was she blackmailing him? Or were you?” His eyes bored into mine.
“Of course not!” I replied. “I never spoke to him once in my life!”
“Then how are we supposed to accept this?” Connor asked. “We never heard of a woman he knocked up thirty years ago. What was her name?”
“Lillian Bell,” Mr.Wainwright said.
Connor turned to Maria for clarification. “She wasn’t a part of his life, was she?”
Maria shrugged. “Not that I’m aware of.”
The lawyer spoke matter-of-factly. “According to your father, there were letters.”
Connor frowned. “Letters? What are you talking about? Love letters?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t say,” Mr.Wainwright replied.
With a sudden burst of anger, Connor flung himself out of his chair, knocking it over, and strode to the window, where he stood with his hands on his hips, looking out. Everyone sat in silence, except for Sloane.
“He didn’t give the letters to you for safekeeping?” she asked. “As evidence or something?”
“Evidence concerning one’s final wishes isn’t required for the writing of a will,” Mr.Wainwright explained, doing his best, I thought, not to sound condescending.
“But he kept everything,” Sloane replied. “Didn’t he, Maria? I don’t want to use the wordhoarder, but he had trouble throwing things away. Obviously, these letters must have been important to him. They must be here somewhere.”
Connor turned to face Mr.Wainwright. “What if this woman, Lillian Bell,wasblackmailing him? That would be grounds for us to contest the will, wouldn’t it?”
Mr.Wainwright turned in his chair. “Yes, it would be if that were the case. But you would have to prove it.”
Connor strode forward. “If it’s not blackmail, what other grounds would be necessary to overturn it? Undue influence? Duress? Fraud?”
“Yes, to all of those,” Mr.Wainwright replied, “but your father gave no indication that he was being manipulated.”
“Maybe he didn’t realize it. Or if it was blackmail, he would have wanted to keep it under wraps for whatever reason.”
Mr.Wainwright faced him squarely. “Connor, you can’t contest a will with allegations like these simply because you feel it’s unfair. There must be a valid legal reason, and to suggest what you are suggesting ... you would need evidence to prove it. Compelling evidence.”
“But you just said there were letters,” Connor replied as he turned to everyone at the table. “I can tell all of you right now—I’m going to start asking some tough questions around here. Someone must know something.” He pointed at me. “She probably does.”
“I don’t,” I replied.
He chuckled bitterly. “Even if you did, you wouldn’t tell us, not when you stand to inherit all of this.” He gave me a seething look before he headed for the door. “I’m calling my lawyer.”
Sloane stood up too. “That sounds like something I should be doing as well.” She followed him out of the room.
Maria let out a breath. “Here we go.” She sat forward and turned to the lawyers. “May I ask, Mr.Wainwright, if this will is overturned ... is there an earlier will that would take its place?”
“Yes, there is,” he replied. “It was filed about ten years ago.”
“And did the children get the winery in that will?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” She paused and fiddled with an earring. “Please forgive me. I don’t know how to ask this question without sounding self-serving, but in that version of the will, was the little villa left to me? And the money?”
He paused. “I’m afraid it was not. That was a recent addition made in the current will.”
Her shoulders slumped a little, and in that moment, I suspected I had an ally, because Maria would not wish to lose what Anton had bequeathed to her. For the first time since my arrival in Tuscany, I didn’t feel quite so alone.
