figures swam before my eyes. ‘Bottom right,’ he said kindly, pointing.
There, nestling in the column he indicated, was a figure so colossal I wondered for a moment if it had been translated into drachmas. If Phil, who after all had had a secret mistress, was also secretly Greek? But there was a pound sign before it.
‘Good grief. Have we always had that much?’
‘No, it falls in on his death. It’s insurance.’
‘And is it all mine?’
‘On an annual basis, yes.’
‘Annual. You mean … not a lump sum?’
‘No, that’s what you’ll receive every year.’
I looked up. Stared. He gave me a level gaze back.
‘Blimey,’ I said somewhat inadequately. ‘I had no idea.’
‘He provided for you very well.’
‘Yes. Gosh. Didn’t he?’ I said humbly. I realized I’d been less than complimentary about my late husband recently. ‘But you’re sure it’s all entailed on me?’
He retrieved the paper. Whisked it around to peruse it. ‘ “In the event of my death,” ’ he read out, ‘ “all my estate to be bestowed on my wife.” ’ He looked up. ‘That’s you, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Seems clear enough.’
‘No other dependants?’
‘Well, your children, obviously, if you die.’
‘Obviously.’
‘But no bequests to other relatives, no.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s not a detailed will, but then it wouldn’t be. People don’t expect to die at thirty-four.’ He started to shuffle it all back together.
‘You’ve read all of it, have you?’ I said nervously. He was a bit more on the ball today but he had struck me as slightly shambolic, previously.
He paused. Looked up. ‘Yes, I’ve read all of it. I passed my law exams too.’
‘Sorry. It’s just …’
‘There’s a mother?’
‘Well, yes, but –’
‘There often is.’ He glanced at the papers again. ‘No, not provided for.’
‘A sister too,’ I said, playing for time. ‘Cecilia Shilling?’
He ran his eyes over it again. ‘Nope.’
‘And, um, someone called … Emma Harding.’
‘Emma Harding.’ He frowned. ‘Why do I know that name?’ He read again. Took his time this time. When he’d finished, he looked at me more intently. ‘Not here.’
‘Sure?’
‘Positive.’
‘May I see?’
‘Be my guest.’
He passed the relevant page across and I scanned it quickly. Then I breathed out slowly. When I looked up, he had his head on one side. He was regarding me closely, brown eyes watchful.
‘Relieved?’
‘Very.’
‘Special friend?’ he said gently.
‘So … I was led to believe.’ I swallowed. Passed the will back. There was a poignant silence.
‘Mrs Shilling …’
‘Poppy.’
‘Poppy. Often people – well, men, in particular – promise all sorts of things, all kinds of – provision, and then never follow through. I’ve seen it before. Family, inevitably, comes first. Most people are careful about that.’
