The Amber Keeper (17 page)

He visibly relaxed, his smile widening which for some reason caused her to warm to him even more. ‘I wondered if perhaps I might offer you lunch, or maybe dinner, as compensation for the distress I caused you.’

Slightly startled by the offer but nonetheless curious to know more about this man, she gave a little shrug. ‘Okay, why not? Lunch would be lovely.’

They agreed to one o’clock at the Ring of Bells, and as Linda overheard these arrangements being made as he left, she gave a wry smile and a flicker of her eyebrows.

‘Don’t start,’ Abbie warned. ‘Or read anything into it. It’s just lunch, okay?’

‘Okay,’ Linda repeated with a giggle, then after a slight pause. ‘But he’s still gorgeous.’

Abbie walked back into her office and closed the door, choosing not to answer. Men, gorgeous or otherwise, were definitely not on her wanted list right now.

‘So what can I do for you, Miss Myers?’ the solicitor politely enquired, after having offered his condolences over the loss of her mother, and enquired after her young daughter. ‘She’s in the same class as my son. Gary is quite taken with her, and has been showing off his new-found knowledge of a few French words.’

Abbie laughed. ‘Aren’t kids wonderful the way they soak everything up? Just like sponges.’
Including the unhappiness between their parents
, Abbie thought. Aimée spoke regularly to her father on the phone but did appear to be settling as she’d been much happier recently. The important task now was to provide her child with a secure future here in Lakeland.

Taking a breath, she launched into an explanation of the improvements she’d already made at the shop. ‘I’ve spoken to the bank manager, managed to wangle an extension on the overdraft, but this season is make or break. If I manage to pay that off, or at least get it well down, then I think the business would have a good chance of surviving. Sadly, I don’t have the support of my family in this enterprise. My father, urged by my brother, I believe, has put the property on the market without my agreement. So I’m in need of some advice regarding my mother’s estate. I’m wondering if I have any rights at all in the matter, if there’s anything I can do to persuade them not to sell. I really love the shop, and need to build a good future for my daughter.’

While she’d been talking, John Kirkby had been sifting through papers in a folder on his desk. Now he appeared to be skimming through a rather important looking document. ‘Haven’t you seen your mother’s will?’ he asked, looking up, a slight frown puckering his brow. ‘She made it some years ago, but it is no less valid for that. I have it here.’

Abbie shook her head. ‘My father was very much against
sharing
it with us. But he did say that she’d left everything to him.’

‘That is correct, barring one or two legacies. It was my late father, John Kirkby senior, who drew it up for her, and no doubt advised her at the time. One of those legacies concerns the jewellery business. I shall read you what it says. ‘. . .
I leave my company Precious Dreams in its entirety, including the property on Carndale Road, to my daughter Abigail Myers in the hope that she will eventually make a success of something in her life and properly provide for my granddaughter.
’

Abbie sat in a state of stunned disbelief. Had she heard
correctly
?
Could this possibly be true? ‘Are you saying that the business, and the shop property itself, are
mine
, Mr Kirkby?’

‘John, please, and yes, I am indeed.’

She nodded, grateful for his friendship, of which she felt in sore need right now, but was completely at a loss for words.

He gave a wry smile. ‘Not set down in the kindest terms, maybe, but nonetheless your mother obviously wanted to do the decent thing by ensuring that your future would be secure.’

‘Why didn’t my father tell me this?’

He looked a little discomfited by the question. ‘At one time the family solicitor would be expected to read the will at the funeral, or soon after. That rarely happens nowadays, and the family is assumed to all have access to it. It is the role of the executors to see that all legatees are properly informed.’

‘Which he failed to do.’

‘Apparently so. I do apologise. Had I known . . .’

‘It’s not your fault. I believe we can put the blame upon my brother’s influence here. Dad is in a real mess, not thinking clearly right now. He doted on my mother, absolutely adored her, and never disagreed with anything she said or did. Not even when she threw me out of the house in my rebellious teenage years.’

‘Perhaps she wished to make up for that mistake,’ the solicitor softly remarked.

Abbie gave a small sigh as a single tear rolled down her cheek. ‘It would be good to think so, although she didn’t sound too convinced I could succeed, did she? I will, though. I’ll prove whatever small amount of faith she had in me was justified. And no one will stand in my way.’

An hour later over a ploughman’s lunch of cheese and crusty rolls at the Ring of Bells, Abbie found herself relating much of this information to Andrew Baxter. Why she was being so open and honest with a complete stranger she really couldn’t say. Maybe she simply needed to pour out all her frustration and he was a good listener. He certainly hadn’t interrupted, or said much at all beyond repeating his apology for his bad manners yesterday.

Finally she stopped her rant to take a breath and slice off a piece of cheese. ‘Sorry, I really shouldn’t be troubling you with family squabbles. It’s just that it came as a shock to find that I do actually own Precious Dreams, which was deliberately kept from me.’

‘I’m not surprised you’re annoyed. Whoever should have informed you of this inheritance is the one at fault. No doubt you’ll have some strong words to say to him, or her, on the subject.’

Abbie thought again of her father still grieving for her mother, the pain no doubt worsened by learning he might have no right to remain in the house he’d believed to be his home for their entire marriage, and all the anger drained out of her. How could she possibly go on blaming him when he was suffering enough already? Her brother, however, was another matter, and she might well have further words with him on the subject. In fact, she rather looked forward to seeing his reaction when she told him that he had no rights over the business at all, that it was hers entirely to do with as she wished. At the same time, thinking of Fay, her heart quailed at the thought. She really had no desire to create yet another row. Why couldn’t the matter be resolved in a civilised fashion?

Letting out a sigh, she said, ‘I shall probably say very little, and hope that it all blows over. The family is still in shock following my mother’s death.’

‘I see. Was it unexpected?’

‘I’d really rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.’ How could she when she had no understanding of why Kate would take her own life? Abbie took a bite of cheddar instead, realising she was surprisingly hungry.

Andrew Baxter was nodding, his face etched in sympathy. ‘Then we’ll talk of other things, shall we? Shoes and ships and sealing wax . . .’

‘. . . cabbages and kings.’ Abbie laughed. ‘Actually, it’s talk of
many
things. Okay, so tell me what you would have done with my shop, had it been for sale?’

Setting down his glass, he leaned towards her, his voice taking on a note of enthusiasm that seemed to lift her own spirits along with his. ‘I run a small chain of fashion accessory shops in the
borders
, and I’m looking to expand into the Lake District.’

‘Fashion accessories?’ She paused, the bread halfway to her mouth. ‘You mean jewellery and handbags, the kind I’m
selling
now?’

He grinned at her. ‘Haven’t tried jewellery yet but I sell luggage, vanity cases and handbags, scarves and hair accessories etc. I didn’t see any bags in your shop, beyond those rather charming evening purses.’

Abbie felt herself blushing as if he’d paid her a compliment ‒ perhaps he had, unknowingly. Then she was frowning as she thought about exactly what he had said. ‘Presumably you’ll be looking for alternative premises now, since mine aren’t available?’

‘As a matter of fact I’ve put in an offer on the shop next door,’ he calmly informed her, slicing a piece of pickle to add to his bread and cheese.

‘
What
? The old gifts and greeting card shop?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘So if your offer is accepted would that mean you’ll be selling bags and fashion accessories right next door? And you might well sell jewellery?’

He slanted her a wry smile. ‘I’ll admit that was partly the attraction of buying your business.’

‘So you intend to set up in competition to me?’ she snapped. Abbie was beginning to steam quietly inside, her ire heating up all over again. She wished she could bite off her own stupid tongue for having been so open and friendly when this man seemed hell-bent on putting her out of business.

‘Were that to happen, and I’m not saying it will, I doubt we’d step on each other’s toes too much,’ he was saying. ‘We’d stock
different
styles of jewellery, different ranges, so we’d complement each other, in a way. But actually, what I had in mind . . .’

Abbie was on her feet in a second. ‘Sorry, I’m far too distressed to talk about this right now, but it rather looks as if I have another fight on my hands. So be it,’ and she walked out of the pub without even finishing her lunch.

Abbie found her brother down by the lake fishing, as he’d so loved to do as a boy. ‘We need to talk.’

‘I’m sure we do, but this isn’t the moment. If you make too much noise you’ll scare away the fish.’

Abbie bit her lip to still whatever she’d been about to say,
having
heard this admonition many times in the past. She’d been so sure that she wanted to confront her brother, tell him that
Precious
Dreams was hers and that he had no right to try and sell it, but being here with him now she felt torn. He’d been so hurtful to her recently that telling him the truth would be so satisfying, but underneath all that, she just wanted to get along with her brother again, to try and preserve some sort of family harmony. Much as she felt the need to stand up for her rights, there was something about the way Robert sat hunched over the rod, as he had done so often as a boy, but now with his face all pinched and pale, that gave her pause over choosing the first option. Maybe his financial problems were a real worry to him; she’d no wish to cause further upset, to Fay in particular.
Pulling
her jacket close against a chill wind, Abbie propped herself against a jutting rock to gaze out across the lake, watching the occasional ripples form where trout or char swam. ‘Never took to the sport myself.’

‘That’s because you don’t have the patience.’

‘True. I’d much rather be busy doing something than sitting still for even five minutes.’

He cast her a sideways glance, a half-smile on his face. ‘You always did have itchy feet, but you were much better at climbing trees than I was. I never had a head for heights.’