Jane shook her head. ‘Not any more. They do in cases of bankruptcy still, but I think it’s probably only the national broadsheets that print intestacy notices, if even they do.’
‘Oh, I see what you’re getting at,’ said Fran. ‘To see if someone other than Rosie’s mother claimed the estate?’
‘What?’ Jane looked puzzled, and Libby explained. ‘Of course, he might have actually left it to Rosie’s mother, but in that case, why was Rosie never told? And why isn’t Rosie the owner now?’
‘She might be,’ said Jane.
‘Harry thought that, too, but I swear she was shocked to find out about Paul Findon.’
Fran nodded. ‘She was, that was genuine. No, I think we’ll have to try and find a way to get hold of his will. If there isn’t one, then he died intestate.’
‘But Ian should have found out by now who owns the building,’ said Libby. ‘He was going to the records office on Monday.’
‘So we’ve been talking about heirs and intestacy for nothing?’ Fran threw back her head and laughed, stopping suddenly with her hand over her mouth and an anxious look at the Moses basket. Jane peered in, but smiled and shook her head.
‘A slight twitch,’ she said, ‘nothing more. So what will you do now?’
‘Oh, nothing, I suppose,’ said Libby. ‘I think I just come up with these ideas to keep myself busy. I’d forgotten about Ian asking for the records.’
‘Even if we find out who owns the property now, it would be interesting to know who it went to when Findon died,’ said Fran. ‘We could still try and find that out.’
Libby cheered up. ‘You never know, Rosie could have a claim on the estate.’
‘After all this time? I doubt it,’ said Jane.
‘Well, it must happen,’ said Libby, ‘because I remember a case in the paper where someone had claimed an estate and the solicitors made them take out this special insurance in case someone closer to the deceased turned up, and they did. The – oh, I don’t know – brother or something had emigrated to Australia and knew nothing about it. Must happen all the time.’
‘Keep me posted,’ said Jane. ‘It sounds fascinating.’
Libby and Fran left shortly after that.
‘Shall we go to the cafe on Marine Parade?’ said Libby. ‘I never go there these days.’
‘What for? Do you want an ice cream? I’ve got to get back to the shop. Guy’s going out buying at lunchtime, so I couldn’t have gone to the Golden Spice with you, anyway.’
‘It’s all right, Ben and I are going tonight.’ Libby sighed. ‘OK, no ice cream, but if I come back to the shop with you, will you try and get hold of Ian about the owner?’
‘No, I won’t Libby. Poor bloke’s already had us pestering him -’
‘Giving him information,’ corrected Libby.
‘I know, but I still think we ought to let him tell us in his own time.’ Fran smiled at her friend. ‘You can come and keep me company, though. Sophie’s gone off somewhere with Adam, so I’ll be on my own.’
‘Funny about those two, isn’t it?’ said Libby. ‘My son and your daughter.’
‘She’s not my daughter,’ said Fran.
‘Step-daughter, then. Still funny.’
Libby went home when Guy got back to the shop and called Ben to remind him they were going out that night.
‘I know. I’ve even booked a table.’
‘Really? I say, do you remember where we went on our first date? That Thai restaurant in Canterbury.’
‘I do. I even remember what you wore,’ said Ben.
‘You old romantic, you,’ said Libby.
They reached the Golden Spice just before eight o’clock and were shown to their table by a beautifully suited young man with a heavy moustache.
‘Are you one of Mr Vindari’s sons?’ asked Libby, as he held her chair for her.
‘Libby!’ hissed Ben, but the young man stepped aside and smiled widely, white teeth gleaming in the forest of black.
‘I am.’ He bowed at Libby, then at Ben. ‘You know my father?’
‘Not know him, really,’ said Libby. ‘I’ve met him, though. He told me to mention his name when I came here.’
‘But of course,’ said the young man. ‘In that case you must have a drink as my guest. What would you like?’
‘There, see?’ whispered Libby, when the young man had departed barwards. ‘Free drink!’
‘You are shameless,’ said Ben, as another young man of solemn aspect presented them with menus.
The food was wonderful. As she finished off the last of the sauce with a piece of naan, Libby leant back and sighed.
‘Whoof. That was without doubt the best Indian meal I have ever eaten. I shall never go anywhere else.’
‘Thank you.’
The younger Mr Vindari had silently appeared at their table.
‘Oh!’ Libby sat up and felt heat creeping up her neck.
‘It was delightful to hear such a spontaneous compliment,’ he said. ‘Please, may I tempt you to a dessert?’
Libby shook her head.
‘I think we’re just too full,’ said Ben. ‘It really was delicious.’
Mr Vindari bowed. ‘I am delighted. I shall tell my father – but I am sorry, I don’t know your names?’
‘I’m Libby Sarjeant.’ Libby held out her hand. ‘And this is Ben Wilde.’
Mr Vindari shook hands with both of them. ‘May I ask where you met my father?’
‘Um,’ said Libby, feeling the heat creep back up. ‘At Cherry Ashton.’
‘Oh?’ Mr Vindari looked inquiring, but Libby chose to ignore it, flicking a pleading glance at Ben, who, without a beat, said ‘Perhaps we could have the bill?’
‘Of course.’ Mr Vindari flicked a finger and the solemn young waiter appeared magically with a leather bill folder.
Ben looked briefly at the bill and placed his credit card in the folder, which was immediately whisked away. When the payment procedure had been concluded, Mr Vindari and his acolyte returned to see them off the premises with much bowing and promises to return.
‘Why were you so anxious to get away all of a sudden?’ said Ben as they walked back to the car park.
‘I didn’t want to explain that I’d been poking around a derelict building and he’d come to see if I was trespassing,’ said Libby. ‘How embarrassing.’
‘I didn’t think you could be embarrassed by something like that,’ said Ben. ‘You do things like that all the time.’
‘I don’t trespass.’
‘You poke about. You nearly got yourself into trouble at Creekmarsh that way, didn’t you?’
‘All right, all right.’ Libby squeezed his arm. ‘That was a lovely dinner, thank you.’
‘It was, wasn’t it? Shall we try the Nethergate one next time? Perhaps Fran and Guy could join us. And Harry, he said he’d like to.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Libby, as he held the car door open for her. ‘Had enough of me on my own, now, have you?’
Ben laughed. ‘I’ve got you on your own now, haven’t I?’ He slid in beside her and patted her knee.
The answerphone button winked that there was a message when they got in. Libby pressed play while Ben fetched them both a nightcap.
‘Libby, it’s Fran. I’ve just had a rather surprising message from Ian. If you get in before ten, give me a ring, otherwise I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Your mobile’s switched off, by the way.’
‘Oh, damn, it’s half past ten,’ said Libby. ‘I didn’t realise we’d spent that much time over dinner.’
‘Relax,’ said Ben, guiding her to the sofa. ‘If it was urgent she’d have told you to ring whatever time you got in. A message from Ian doesn’t mean life and death.’
