Apportionment of Blame (30 page)

“I don't know.”

“Think about it. I've got to know Helen's family quite well. Although it's true they were confused and, OK, angry when they discovered the inheritance came to you, now they know who you are, that you are Annie's daughter, they are not going to want all the money for themselves.”

“This is so difficult.”

“I know and I understand.”

We ate on for a while and I asked if she would like to return to the buffet.

“Oh, no. I couldn't eat any more.”

“Do you mind if I do?”

“No.”

Call it lack of self control, call it greed, I don't care. When faced with a buffet - eat as much as you can - lunch, one plateful just doesn't seem to do the offer justice. I could see she was thinking when I returned to the table.

“I should like to meet them,” she said suddenly.

I smiled.

“And I am sure they would love to meet you. Would you like me to ask them?”

“If you would.”

No time like the present, I thought, as I fished out my mobile phone.

“Joyce, hi, it's me.”

“What a lovely surprise. I was just thinking about you.”

“Good thoughts, I hope.”

“What do you think?”

“Listen. Ilse would like to meet you all.”

“Really?”

“She has something to ask, and I gather she would rather do it to your faces.”

“Oh. I see. This sounds very mysterious.”

“Yes, well, I don't want to say anything. In a way it's not for me to say. I'm just the go-between, as it were.”

“When does she want to meet us?”

“I think the sooner the better.”

“Can I call you back? Dad's out and I don't know where Mum is. I shall need to ask them both.”

“Of course. I'll look forward to your call.”

I put the phone away, aware that Ilse was watching me. She looked her question at me.

“They will call back. But I've no doubt they will meet you. They'll be too intrigued not to want to meet Annie's daughter.”

We chose our dessert and soon left the restaurant. In the street I wasn't too sure what to do for the best.

“Are you on your way home now?”

“Yes.”

“I'll call you there, later on. Will that be all right?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

She held out her hand to shake mine, and I took it. It was soft, but a little firmer than I remembered.

“I'm grateful for what you have done.”

I could see that saying it had taken some effort.

“This has all been very difficult,” I said. “As much for you as for anyone else. I hope something can be sorted out that makes everyone happy.”

“Yes,” she said, and turned and walked away. I returned to the office, convinced now that Ilse had nothing to do with Helen's death.

My phone rang before I could begin anymore work.

“Hi Greg. Listen, Mum says she would love to meet Annie's daughter. Can you bring her round?”

“When would be a good time?”

“How about this evening? Mum and Dad say they are not doing anything else.”

“I'll call Ilse later, when she has had time to get home, and let you know.”

We rattled on a bit longer. Personal stuff - you wouldn't be interested.

At half past seven I found myself, once again, at Ilse's door. When she opened it I could see she had dressed exactly as she had for our pub lunch. I remembered complimenting her, and wondered if that was part of the reason.

I didn't have to say anything. She smiled, locked the door and followed me along the pathway.

There were several ways to get from Ilse's cottage to Joyce's. I favoured the rural route and it took us about twenty-five minutes, but very few words were exchanged during the journey.

As I turned into the drive I thought, as I had thought before, that there was little need for a burglar alarm with a gravel approach like theirs.

I walked round the car and opened Ilse's door as if I was her official chauffeur. She looked up at the house, and then at me, and I realised it was far beyond anything she had ever lived in.

“They don't need any money,” she said suddenly.

“Things are not quite as they seem,” I replied carefully. “Oliver, Helen's father, lost a very good job about a year ago. They've been struggling ever since.”

“I see. I didn't know.”

We walked up to the door and Joyce got there first. I must have been right about the gravel.

“Hello,” I said with a certain amount of restraint. “This is Ilse.”

“Ilse. This is Joyce - Helen's sister.”

“I'm delighted to meet you,” Joyce came forward to greet her, which rather took Ilse by surprise.

“And you,” Joyce said, turning to me and kissing me on the cheek.

“Come inside, please.”

We stepped into the hall and Joyce's mother came out of the living room to greet us. “You must be Ilse. I'm so glad to meet you. Oh my, you have your mother's eyes.”

Why is it that women can always tell these things, when men never notice? She shook her hand.

Ilse seemed likely to retract into her embarrassed shell.

“Come on in,” Joyce's mother went on, “and make yourself at home. Hello, Greg,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

Joyce had taken my hand and we were hanging back together. Oliver was standing with his back to the fire. A very masculine pose, I thought.

“Oliver, come and meet Ilse.”

He did so with great courtesy.

“I am delighted to meet you,” he said.

“Now,” said Joyce's mother, in full hostess mode, “shall I make some tea, or shall we get to know each other first?”

“I suspect,” I said, “that Ilse would rather say what she's come to say first. Wouldn't you?”

I turned to her and was met with a grateful nod.

“All right then. Let's all sit down.”

We did so and it suddenly went quiet. I was getting used to the need to prompt by now.

“Ilse? It's up to you now.”

“Oh dear,” she began. “This is so difficult.”

Everyone had their eyes on her, which can't have made it any easier.

“Can I say first how sorry I am about your daughter. It was a terrible thing to happen.”

I saw Joyce's mother's head fall forward a little, but she recovered graciously and quickly.

“Then I want to tell you that I never wanted my mother's inheritance. You might think I got to know her so she would leave me all her money. But I just wanted to find my real mother. I never knew she had money. I never wanted any money, I just wanted to find my mother.”

She was looking straight at Joyce's mother, as if it helped her concentrate and maintain her nerve.

“Now, because of me, you've lost your daughter and the inheritance I think you should have had. Well that's not fair and it's not right. It's bad enough losing your daughter. I want you to have the money.”

“What, all of it?” This from Oliver.

“Just a minute,” Joyce's mother said. “This is incredibly generous, and more than we ever expected, but we can't let you do that.”

“But I want to. I think my brother might have something to do with your daughter. The least I can do is make amends.”

Everyone looked at me and I nodded.

“He may be your brother in a way,” Joyce's mother said, “but he's not your flesh and blood, as I understand it. I suppose we're not really, but I feel as if I was Annie's daughter too. So in a way, we are like sisters, or at least sisters in law.”

I could see from her face that Ilse didn't know what to do with this comment.

“Anyway,” she resumed, “I would never know what to do with all the money my mother left me.”

It went quiet again, and I felt it might be my turn.

“Ilse. Would you agree to sharing the money, rather than giving it all away?”

She looked at me, a lack of certainty in her expression.

“I suppose I could.”

“Oliver. Would you be prepared to advise Ilse on her best course of action in relation to Inheritance Tax, trusts or anything else that might be relevant?”

“Of course.”

Then I looked at Joyce's mother and played my final card.

“Was Annie's house ever sold?”

“I don't think so.”

“So that will form part of the inheritance.”

“The solicitor told me there was a house,” Ilse added.

“OK. Ilse you have a flat in London, and no immediate family who needs it. Why not rent out your flat or sell it, and move into Annie's house? As I understand, it's in Ipswich, which is a very convenient place to live. You could get to know Joyce's parents a little better. You are virtually in-laws, after all, as she said.”

She was still looking at me with that wondering expression of hers.

“If you want to, you could give some of the inheritance money to Oliver to help him set up a new business, and keep the rest for yourself. That way you will have a bigger place to live in, Oliver could advise on how to save your money so you would have plenty to look after the house, have nice holidays, nice clothes and whatever else you want. What do you think?”

Ilse was now looking round at everyone. Oliver was controlling his excitement very well. His wife's face radiated a mixture of love and hope and Joyce was holding my hand so hard her nails were digging in.

“All right. I'll do that.”

“Excellent. You can make that tea now,” I said to Joyce's mother, “and kill any fatted calf you may come across in the kitchen. We need to celebrate.”

It turned into a long evening, and I don't think anyone wanted it to end. Oliver promised to visit Ilse the following day to begin making plans. Pam, as I had been told I should call her, agreed to visit Mr Swindle with Ilse, to talk through what had been decided. Joyce and I receded into the distance onto the sofa, and discussed our own future together.

In the end, everything related to the inheritance sorted itself out. It was such a pity about Helen, but I couldn't help thinking that Ilse and Annie had lost so many people between them, in a way it put the loss of one into perspective.

I took Ilse home and as we approached her house I could see the black truck parked outside. She saw it at the same moment.

“Oh no!”

“What's the matter?”

“It's Doug. He'll cause trouble when he sees you.”

“I don't think so,” I said, with more confidence than I felt.

Doug got out of his truck and was waiting when we reached Ilse's gate.

“What's he doing here?” he asked his sister.

“He took me out.”

“He what?”

“We've been to see friends. Now don't get angry again.”

“What friends? What have you told him?”

“Nothing.”

“I don't believe you,” he shouted and grabbed her by the arm.

“Hey! None of that.”

I tried to pull off his arm, but he had a very tight grip and Ilse was trying to push him away.

“And you can mind your own business.”

I took out my mobile phone and held it towards him.

“Let her go, or I call the police.”

No reaction.

“We had a deal,” I added more loudly. “Do you want me to tell them what happened in London?”

“Bloody hell!” he shouted and threw off Ilse's arm as if it was stinging him. “Have you told him anything?”

“I told you,” she said pleadingly.

He came up to me and stood very close.

“Stay out of my life. Or you'll get what's coming to you.”

“Like Helen?” I said back into his face.

“What do you mean?”

“As if you don't know.”

“What is he talking about?” he asked Ilse.

“The girl who died.”

“Oh, her.”

He took a step back and looked from me to Ilse.

“Doug. What did you do?”

“Nothing!”

“Can we go inside and talk about this before an audience gathers?” I suggested.

Ilse silently led the way, and I ushered Doug ahead of me.

“Let's go in here,” Ilse said, leading the way into the living room. It was still persisting with its impersonation of an ice box.