“How did it go with Simon Crewe?” I asked, plopping my handbag on the kitchen table.
“He was trying hard to impress me.” Lucy rolled her eyes. “He kept saying what a terrific job Waltham & Crewe had done for my mother and how ready he was to help me ‘navigate the rough waters’”—she put air quotes around the words—“of probate and taxes.”
“Did you make any decisions?” I leaned against the sink.
“Not yet.” Lucy opened the refrigerator and frowned at the sour smell. “Mr. Crewe is lining up a few estate agents. In the meantime, he needs your inventory to complete the papers for the courts.”
“I’m about two-thirds of the way through your father’s records, although setting valuations will take a bit more time. Do you mind if I come back myself to finish up?”
“Of course not.” She hopped up on the counter and sat swinging her legs. “I should say I’d be glad to help, but it wouldn’t be true. I was never interested in my father’s art collection. That disappointed him. The more time and money he spent on his art collection, the less important Mother and I became to him.
“That can’t be true, Lucy. You were important to him. He may not have been right, separating you and Colin, but I’m sure he thought he was protecting you.”
She made a face. “He said he was saving me from the worst mistake of my life. He was absolutely beside himself when he caught us that night. Snobbery. That’s what killed him.”
“I thought he liked Colin.”
“I know—he did. Dad always stood up for Colin—no matter what mother said about him. He refused to listen at first when she accused him of theft.”
“So why didn’t you and Colin talk to your father before eloping?”
“Dad had plans for me. I was meant to be studying for my A levels so I could get a place at uni. Not Oxbridge—we all knew I wasn’t up to that—but maybe Birmingham or Leeds. He wanted me to have a career in finance.” She gave me a rueful smile. “Maths was never my thing.”
We began in Lucy’s bedroom.
“There’s nothing left,” she said, opening the closet and staring at the empty space.
“Your teddy bear’s still here—and the dolls.”
Lucy reached for a doll with dark curls. She was dressed in a colorful striped skirt and lace petticoat with a black shawl and a straw hat. “This one’s from Spain.” Lucy smiled, running a finger along the felt shawl. “Dad bought me a straw hat just like this one—and he bought Mother a pair of diamond and ruby earrings. I remember her putting them on, admiring herself in the mirror.”
“How old were you?”
“Nine or ten.” Lucy put the Spanish doll back on the shelf. “That one’s from Bavaria.” She pointed out a doll wearing the traditional dirndl skirt and puffed sleeve blouse with a sueded leather bodice. “And this one’s from Japan. I thought the red silk obi was so beautiful.”
“I think your father loved you very much, Lucy. Maybe he just didn’t know how to show it.”
Her dark eyes shone. “Maybe I didn’t either.”
“Vivian sent a few empty boxes from Rose Cottage,” I said. “They’re in the car. Should I get them? You can wrap the dolls in tea towels.”
“Yes, please. I’ll put them on the bed for now.”
I carried the boxes in from the car and pushed the door shut with my foot. Choosing one I thought would hold all the dolls, I filled it with tea towels from the kitchen.
“Lucy?”
I found her in her parents’ bedroom, sitting in one of the peach silk chairs, staring at the cold fireplace.
“What is it?” I asked, taking the other chair.
“I thought I’d search for the albums. Mother kept some of the older ones in her wardrobe. Do you know I have no photos of my parents or myself as a child?” She opened her hand. “I found this.” Lying in her palm was a tiny gold triangle, one of the self-adhesive photo corners people used years ago.
“Where do you think the albums are?” I asked.
“Thrown out? Burned? I have no idea.”
“Why would your mother burn old photos?”
“Getting rid of memories, I guess.” Lucy laughed, a small angry sound. “Ironic, isn’t it? All those valuable paintings and antiques, and all I care about are the photographs.”
“What will you do once the estate is settled?”
“Return to Belfast. I have friends there—good friends.”
“Have you thought about how your life will change?”
“I won’t have to worry about money for one thing—that’ll be a new experience.” She grinned. “Now when I have my annual two-week holiday, I can actually go somewhere warm.”
“Will you keep working?”
“Not sure. I’ll do something. Maybe invest in a business. That’s what my mother should have done. Mr. Crewe said she could have taken money out of the trust any time—it was hers to use during her lifetime. She never did anything except pay the bills.”
“Tell me about your mother, Lucy.”
She shook her head regretfully. “I wish I could. I can describe her to you, but that’s just the outside.”
“Start there then.”
Lucy took a deep breath. “She was about my height—a little taller. Kept herself slim so she could wear the pretty clothes she liked.” Lucy laughed and lifted her jeans-clad legs. “I didn’t take after her in that department, did I?”
“How did you take after her?”
“Her coloring, I suppose. Maybe her sense of insecurity. No one else would have thought so, but she was always trying to prove herself, wearing expensive clothes, jewelry. Like those dolls. They’re all the same—identical faces and bodies. The only thing that makes them distinctive is the clothing.”
“What was her family like? Your grandparents?”
“I never knew Grandma and Grandpa Shipton. They died when I was a baby. Mother was their only child, so there weren’t any aunts or uncles or cousins. That’s why I loved Ertha’s stories. I always dreamed of having a brother or sister—a big family with lots of laughter and teasing.” She blushed. “I’m
