‘Ian’s going to look at the barn. I don’t think he was that thrilled about us having been exploring, but he agreed it was worth looking into.’
‘And no news on the other end of things?’
‘None. And I don’t see what we can do about it.’
‘Tell you what we could do. We could go and see Jane tomorrow morning and go and have lunch at The Golden Spice.’
‘The-? Oh, yes. You met the owner. Why would we do that?’
‘Because we want to see the baby?’
‘I meant have lunch at an Indian restaurant.’
‘Because he said to mention his name.’
‘And you think we’ll get a discount?’
‘No, of course not,’ said Libby, who had.
‘We’ll go and see Jane,’ said Fran, and rang off.
‘If you’re going to an Indian restaurant, why can’t I come?’ said Ben, who had finished dishing up and was now tucking in.
‘You can,’ said Libby. ‘Fran doesn’t want to go, so perhaps you and I should go one evening. There’s one in Canterbury, too.’
‘Be nice to get away somewhere, just the two of us.’ Ben reached over and patted her hand. She smiled at him.
‘It would. And not just for an evening, either.’
‘Are you actually suggesting we go away for a dirty weekend?’ Ben raised his eyebrows in mock horror. ‘To somewhere nobody knows us?’
‘Well,’ said Libby, forking up rice, ‘we do always seem to go to places where we know the owners or the other customers. Which reminds me, we haven’t been to the pub for ages.’
Ben laughed. ‘Which I take it means you’d like to go this evening? OK, as long as we go to that restaurant tomorrow.’
Peter joined them at the pub, and demanded an update on the progress of the investigation, only parts of which he’d heard from Harry. Libby told him the whole story from the beginning.
‘So Harry was wrong?’ he said when she’d finished. ‘She wasn’t just using you?’
‘In a way she was, but not in the way he thought. And she’s genuinely shocked about Paul Findon.’
‘You know,’ said Peter slowly, leaning back on his settle and stretching long legs out sideways, ‘he could still be partly right.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Maybe she does own it.’
Libby stared at him.
‘He’s right,’ said Ben. ‘Suppose he left it to her?’
‘She’d have known before this,’ said Libby. ‘He died when she was a child.’
‘I was thinking more of her mother. If, when he died, he left it to his sister, which would be logical if he had no wife or children, when she died it would presumably go to her child or children. Didn’t you say the agents said it was a complicated probate sale?’
Libby groaned. ‘Oh, not that again. Remember the trouble Fran had over her legacy?’
‘And she didn’t know about it, either,’ said Peter.
‘She didn’t know she was entitled to it, you mean?
‘Well, it only came to light after her old auntie died, didn’t it. Strange that this has only just emerged. I wonder when Rosie’s mother died?’
‘You’re getting as bad as she is,’ said Ben. ‘Another pint?’
‘He’s right, though,’ Libby said later, as they walked home. ‘But surely she’d have known if it belonged to her mother?’
‘Well, that’s something else to ask her, isn’t it? She’ll be sorry she asked you in at this rate.’ Ben tucked his arm through hers. ‘Now where are we going for this dirty weekend?’
Chapter Eighteen
LIBBY PARKED AS NEAR to Coastguard Cottage as she could the following morning.
‘So what do you think of Pete’s idea?’ she asked when Fran had been told of last night’s conversation.
‘It’s a possibility, but why wouldn’t her mother have known she owned it?’
‘I thought about it this morning. It’s like those programmes on TV, where companies search for missing heirs. Lots of people don’t know they’re legatees.’
‘But they do that just after someone’s died, surely? Not years later? Anyway, no one appears to be looking for Rosie. The agents were very shifty about who owned the property.’
‘Well, whoever it is, they must have the deeds and be able to prove title.’ Libby looked sideways at her friend. ‘Remember all your trouble with your legacy?’
Fran shuddered. ‘Don’t remind me.’
‘Let’s have a look online after we’ve seen Jane. I expect we’ll find out how to trace missing heirs.’
Terry let them into Peel House and led them to the front room, where Jane sat, looking slightly smug, a Moses basket by her side.
‘Meet Imogen,’ she said.
Libby and Fran duly cooed over the grumpy pink face, almost hidden under a beautiful light, lacy shawl.
‘That’s gorgeous,’ said Libby. ‘Was it a present?’
‘Yes,’ said Jane, ‘my mother knitted it. I’m still faintly surprised.’
‘My, my! Coming round, is she?’
‘She’s actually being quite helpful and sensitive. Staying out of the way but there if we need her.’ Jane shook her head. ‘Can’t quite believe it.’
‘She’s all right,’ said Terry, a man of few words. ‘Tea?’
The conversation turned naturally to Jane’s labour and Imogen’s birth, and when Terry reappeared with mugs, he rolled his eyes and disappeared again.
‘So how are you getting on with your investigation?’ asked Jane.
Libby and Fran told her.
‘And we’ve you to thank for the children,’ said Libby. ‘Sorry if it upsets you.’
Jane made an involuntary movement towards the Moses basket.
‘But after you mentioned it, we managed to find out about it, and we’ve found so much since,’ said Fran gently. ‘And the children don’t come into it.’
‘Good.’ Jane smiled her relief.
‘One thing, though,’ said Libby, ‘you remember you looked to see how back your archives went for me last year?’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, I thought, what about Colindale? Does it still exist?’
‘Colindale?’ asked Fran.
‘The Colindale newspaper library. Part of the British Library. They have copies of everything back to about 1700, don’t they, Jane?’
Jane nodded. ‘Although it’s being digitised, and it was going to be moved to a storage facility somewhere in Yorkshire, I think, but that was under the last government. I think you can order digitised copies at the Library proper.’
‘But you have to be a member, don’t you?’
‘You have to have a pass to use the reading rooms,’ said Jane, ‘but there’s a lot you can do online.’
‘But what for?’ asked Fran.
‘Don’t they have to post details of people who died intestate?’
