The Shell Seekers (86 page)

"Perhaps I shall buy another flat."

"It will have to have a dining room."

"It will," he told her shortly. "Please go on, Mr. Enderby."

But Nancy was not finished. "Is that
all
?"

"I don't understand, Mrs. Chamberlain."

"I mean . . . what about her jewellery?"

Here we go, thought Olivia. "Mumma didn't have any jewellery, Nancy. She sold her rings years ago to pay our father's debts."

Nancy bridled as she always did when Olivia spoke in that hard voice about dear, dead Daddy. There was no reason to be so blunt, to say such things in front of Mr. Enderby.

"What about Aunt Ethel's earrings? The ones Aunt Ethel left her? They must be worth at least four or five thousand pounds. Is there no mention of them?"

"She's already given them away," Olivia told her. "To Anto-nia."

A silence followed this pronouncement. It was broken by Noel, who put his elbow on the table and ran his fingers, in despairing fashion, through his hair. He said, "Oh, dear God." Across the green baize Olivia met her sister's eyes. Very blue, staring, bright with outrage. A flush crept into Nancy's cheeks. She spoke at last. "That cannot be true?"

"I'm afraid"—Mr. Enderby's tones were measured— "that it is true. Mrs. Keeling gave the earrings to Antonia while they were on holiday together in Cornwall. She told me about the gift the day she came to see me in London, the day before she died. She was adamant that there should be no argument about these, nor question of rightful possession."

"How did
you
know?" Nancy asked Olivia, "that Mother had done such a thing?"

"Because she wrote and told me."

"They should have gone to Melanie."

"Nancy, Antonia was very good to Mumma, and Mumma was very fond of her. Antonia made the last few weeks of her life intensely happy. And she went to Cornwall with her, and kept her company, which none of us could be bothered to do."

"You mean, we should be grateful for
that
? If you ask me, the boot's on the other foot. ..."

"Antonia is
grateful
. . ."

The argument, which might have gone on for ever, was brought to an end by Mr. Enderby, once more discreetly clearing his throat. Nancy subsided into outraged silence, and Olivia breathed a sigh of relief. For the moment it was over, but she was fairly certain that the matter would never rest, and the fate of Aunt Ethel's earrings would be brought up and worried over far into the future.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Enderby. We're holding you up. Please carry on."

He sent her a grateful look, and resumed business. "Now, we come to the residue of the estate. When Mrs. Keeling drew up this will, she made it very clear to me that she wished there to be no disagreement among the three of you as to the disposal of her property. Accordingly, we decided that everything should be sold, and the sum realized divided among you all. In order to do this, it was necessary to appoint trustees of her estate, and it was agreed that the executors, Enderby, Looseby and Thring, should take this on. Is that quite clear, and quite acceptable? Good. In that case . . ." He began to read. "I devise and bequeath all my estate, both real and personal, unto my trustees upon trust to sell, call in, and convert the same into money. Yes, Mrs. Chamberlain?"

"I don't know what that means."

"It means the residue of Mrs. Reeling's estate, which in-cludes this house and its contents, her portfolio of stocks and shares, and her current bank account."

"All sold, and then added together, and then divided into three?"

"Exactly so. After, of course, outstanding debts, taxes and stamp duties, and funeral expenses have been paid."

"It sounds dreadfully complicated."

Noel reached into a pocket and produced his diary. He pressed it open at a blank page, removed the cap from his pen. "Perhaps, Mr. Enderby, you could elucidate, and we can make some sort of a rough calculation."

"Very well. We'll start with the house. Podmore's Thatch, with its outbuildings and mature garden, is worth, I imagine, no less than two hundred and fifty thousand. Your mother paid a hundred and twenty thousand for it, but that was five years ago, and the value of property has risen considerably since then. As well, it is a highly desirable piece of real estate, and within easy commuting reach of London. The contents of the house I canno* be so certain of. Maybe ten thousand pounds? Then, at the moment, Mrs. Reeling's share portfolio stands at roughly twenty thousand."

Noel whistled. "As much as that? I had no idea."

"Nor me," said Nancy. "Where did all that money come from?"

"It was the residue from the sale of the house in Oakley Street. Carefully invested, after your mother had bought Podmore's Thatch."

"I see."

"And her current account?" Noel had listed all these figures in his diary, and was obviously itching to add them up and get a final grand total.

"Her current account, at the moment, stands high, with the injection of the hundred thousand pounds she received from the sale of the two panels painted by her father, Lawrence Stern, and which were sold to a private buyer by Boothby's. All of this, of course, will be subject to duties and tax."

"Even so . . ." Noel did his swift calculation. "That works out at over three hundred and fifty thousand." Nobody remarked upon this staggering sum. In silence, he screwed the cap back onto his pen, placed it on the table, and leaned back in his chair. "All things considered, girls, not a bad score."

"I am pleased," said Mr. Enderby drily, "that you are satisfied."

"So that's it." Noel stretched hugely, and made as if to rise from his chair. "What do you say that I go and get us all a drink? You'd like a whisky, Mr. Enderby?"

"Very much. But not at this moment. I'm afraid our business is not quite finished."

Noel frowned. "But what else is there to discuss?"

"There is a codicil to your mother's will, dated the thirtieth of April, nineteen-eighty-four. This, of course, re-dates the former will, but as it changes nothing which has already been stated, this is irrelevant."

Olivia thought back. "The thirtieth of April. That was the day she came to London. The day before she died."

"Exactly so."

"She came expressly to see you, Mr. Enderby?"

"I believe so."

"To draw up this codicil?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps you had better read it to us."

"I am about to, Miss Keeling. But before I do so I think I should mention that it is written in Mrs. Keeling's handwriting, and signed by her in the presence of my secretary and my clerk." He commenced to read aloud. "To Danus Muirfield, Tractonnan's Cottage, Sawcombe's Farm, Pudley, Gloucestershire, I leave fourteen rough oil sketches of major works painted by my father, Lawrence Stern, between the years eighteen-ninety and nineteen-ten. These are titled as follows:
The Terrazzo Garden, The Lover's Approach, Boatman's Courtship, Pandora . . .
"

The oil sketches. Noel had suspected their existence, confided these suspicions to Olivia; had searched his mother's house for them, but drawn a blank. Now, she turned her head and looked, across the table, at her brother. He sat there, frozen to stillness, and intensely pale. A nervous tic jerked the angle of his jaw-bone. She wondered how long he would remain silent before exploding into furious protest.

". . . The Water Carriers, A Market in Tunis, The Love Let-ter . . ."

Where had they been, all these years? Who had possessed them? Where had they come from?

". . . The Spirit of Spring, Shepherd's Morning, Amoretta's Garden ..."

Noel could last out no longer. "Where were they?" His voice was harsh with outrage. Mr. Enderby, so rudely interrupted, re-mained admirably calm. He had probably anticipated just such an outburst. He glanced up at Noel over the top of his spectacles. "Perhaps you will allow me to finish, Mr. Keeling, and then I will explain."

There was an uncomfortable pause. "Go on, then."

Mr. Enderby, without hurry, continued. "
The Sea-God, The Souvenir, The White Roses,
and
The Hiding Place
. These works are at present in the possession of Mr. Roy Brookner, of Booth-by's, Fine Art Dealers, New Bond Street, London Wl, but are scheduled for sale in New York at the first possible opportunity. If I should die before this sale takes place, then they are for Danus Muirfield either to keep or to sell, according to his personal wishes." Mr. Enderby sat back in his chair and waited for comment.

"Where were they?"

Nobody said anything. The atmosphere had become uncom-fortably tense. And then Noel repeated his question. "Where were they?"

"For a number of years, your mother kept them hidden at the back of the wardrobe in her bedroom. She placed them there herself, and wallpapered them into position, so that they should not be found."

"She didn't want us to know about them?"

"I don't think her children really came into it. She was hiding them from her husband. She found the sketches in her father's old studio at Oakley Street. At that time, there were certain financial difficulties, and she didn't want the sketches to be sold in order, simply, to raise some cash."

"When did they finally come to light?"

"She asked Mr. Brookner to come to Podmore's Thatch, to appraise and possibly buy two other works painted by your grandfather. It was then that she showed him the portfolio of sketches."

"And when did you first hear of their existence?"

"Mrs. Keeling told me the whole story the day that she drew up the codicil. The day before she died. Mrs. Chamberlain, did you want to say something . . . ?"

"Yes. I haven't understood a word of what you're saying. I don't know what you're talking about. Nobody's ever mentioned these sketches to me, and this is the very first I've ever heard of them. And what is all the fuss about? Why does Noel seem to think they're so important?"

"They're important," Noel told her with weary patience, "because they're valuable."

"Rough sketches? I thought those would be things you threw away."

"Not if you had any sense."

"Well, how much are they worth?"

"Four, five thousand each. And there are fourteen of them.
Fourteen
," he repeated, shouting the word at Nancy as though she were deaf. "So work that sum out, if you're capable of such advanced arithmetic, which I doubt."

Olivia, in her head, had already worked it out. Seventy thousand. Despite Noel's appalling behaviour, she knew a pang of sympathy for him. He had been so certain that they were there, somewhere, at Podmore's Thatch. Had even spent one long, dis-mally wet Saturday incarcerated in the loft, on the pretence of clearing out his mother's rubbish, but, actually, searching for them. She wondered if Penelope had known the true reason for his industry and, if so, what had prompted her to keep silent. The answer was probably that Noel was his father all over again, and Penelope did not completely trust him. And so she had said nothing, but given them into the custody of Mr. Brookner, and finally, the day before she died, decided to leave them to Danus.

But
why
? For what reason?

"Mr. Enderby . . ." It was the first time she had spoken out since the subject of the codicil was raised, and Mr. Enderby appeared relieved to hear her quiet voice, and gave her his full attention. ". . . did she give any reason for leaving the sketches to Danus Muirfield? I mean"—she chose her words carefully, not wishing to appear resentful or greedy—"they were obviously very special and personal possessions . . . and she's only known him for a short time."

"I can't, of course, answer that question because I don't know what the answer is. But she was obviously very fond of the young man, and I think wished to help him. I believe he wants to start some small business, and will be grateful for the capital."

"Can we contest it?" Noel asked.

Olivia turned on him. "We're not contesting anything," she told him flatly. "Even if it were legally possible, I would have nothing to do with it."

Nancy, who had been struggling with mental arithmetic, now re-entered the discussion. "But five fourteens are seventy. Do you mean that young man gets seventy thousand pounds?"

"If he sells the sketches, Mrs. Chamberlain, yes."

"But surely, that's dreadfully wrong. She hardly knew him. He was her
gardener
." It took Nancy only moments to work herself up into a state of high agitation. "It's outrageous. I was right about him all along. I always said he had some sinister hold over Mother. I said that to you, didn't I, Noel, over the telephone, when I told you about her giving
The Shell Seekers
away? And Aunt Ethel's earrings . . . given away. And now this. It's the last straw. Everything. Just given away. She can't have been in her right mind. She'd been ill, and her judgement was affected. There's no other possible explanation. There must be some action we can take."

Noel, for once, was on Nancy's side. "I, for one, am not about to sit back and let this all wash over me ..."

". . . she obviously wasn't in her right mind . . ."