Cecilia pictures the bath she could have drawn in a peacefully empty house, how long she could spend reading in hot water until it felt as though her whole body slipped off her like meat from the bone.
But Leo is here – they are in private – and she will use the opportunity that has presented itself.
‘Were you there when Lydia’s will was read?’ she asks, leaning against the doorframe.
Leo twists to look at her. ‘What a bizarre question. Why do you want to know?’
‘I’m curious. Neither Odette nor I were here, so I wondered about it.’
‘What’s there to wonder about? It’s a will. Entirely typical, run-of-the-mill stuff.’
‘There wasn’t—’ Cecilia catches herself.
‘Wasn’t what?’
‘I don’t suppose Aunt Lydia made any unexpected gifts in her will?’
Leo snorts. ‘Hoping to have snagged something? Sorry, Cessy – you weren’t mentioned once. Everything goes to Uncle George as her husband.’
‘Nothing to Odette?’
‘Bits and pieces, but it’s all held in trust until she reaches twenty-one.’
Cecilia considers. ‘How does it work if, say, Lydia was in the process of selling some of her work when she died? What would happen to the money?’
Leo begins to pack away his papers. ‘That would be a matter for the estate. Once you get a grant of probate from the courts, the will usually names an executor who will sort out the estate of whoever snuffed their glim, so to speak. That means totting up all debts and assets and settling the bill. Then they’re in charge of distributing what’s left as per the will. So I suppose in that case, the executor would finalise the sale and add the money to the estate’s assets.’
‘And if the money had been verbally promised?’
Leo fastens his briefcase and sits back. ‘Then you’re out ofluck, Cessy. I don’t know what Aunt Lydia promised you, but everything reverts to her estate, and that’s that.’
‘Oh.’ Cecilia sits down in an armchair, staring at the spread of her skirts over her knees. ‘She didn’t promise me anything. It’s Odette I’m asking for.’
Leo winds his scarf around his neck and fetches his walking stick and top hat. ‘Then there’s no problem, is there? Everything has gone to Uncle George, and he’ll give her any money she needs, surely.’
Cecilia turns the problem over in her mind. It makes sense, and yet it doesn’t. ‘Is Uncle George the executor?’
‘Oh, no, it had been their old family solicitor, but when Aunt Lydia fell ill she updated her will – standard stuff, but Claudine asked me to take a look, to help her sister with the more onerous odds and ends, that sort of thing. And, as part of that, Lydia named Claudine the new executor.’
‘Claudine,’ echoes Cecilia, numb.
‘She’s been very efficient about it all. Uncle George would hardly have had the time what with all the demands of Parliament.’ Leo puts his hat and coat on and pats her on the shoulder. ‘Stop fretting. Mother is doing what she does best and ingratiating herself with old Claudine. It’s all in hand.’
Cecilia looks at the cotton of her skirt, the weave of the fabric and the places where the print has been poorly applied, smudging an acanthus leaf into a blur. There is an anxious tightness to her chest that she cannot place. Everything feels fragile, like the world is made of tissue-thin china and she is tied into hobnail boots. There is no way for her to move without breaking something.
It is so clever a ploy that she does not know what to think. As Lydia’s executor, Claudine has control of everything – and yet it’s a role that casts so little suspicion on herself. If Claudine had encouraged Lydia to change her will to benefit her, it would havebeen so obviously mercenary. And if she was already planning to marry George, the money would all go to him anyway. As executor, she can tidy up any loose ends and cut Odette out entirely.
She wins whatever happens.
How neatly Claudine has plotted it all.
Because Claudine always intended to marry George. Cecilia is certain of that now.
‘And I haven’t forgotten the so-called blackmail business, if that’s what you’re worked up about. Of course, I need to know what’s going on, so I appreciate you telling me about that, but it’s dealt with. Mother and I will manage the money situation, and Claudine, and you will work on behaving like a normal girl. How about that?’
‘I hate you,’ she says miserably and sinks into the chair.
‘And I you, Mousy.’ He pauses and pats her shoulder. ‘Itwillbe all right. I promise. Just hold your nerve.’
