Amy feels a horrible jab of jealousy. Had Seymour been sleeping with Lynn as well as her? She remembered their relationship as being passionate. She’s more than slightly miffed.
‘Shall I continue?’ Miriam asks. ‘The codicil requests that every effort is made to find the man. He was born sometime in 1974 and, according to his grandmother whom Seymour met, was given away for adoption in the first week of life. That being the case, Seymour instructed that Bramble Cottage and half the royalties from his book, Portraits, should be inherited by the second son.’
‘What?’ Everyone is shocked.
‘To reiterate, I took the letter to the lawyer that same day. I expect you’ll hear from Sunil Rao formally to explain what has happened. However, off the record, my enquiries suggest this change will be upheld if the son can be found. He will inherit Bramble Cottage and some money. As it’s only been a few months since the distributions were made, it’s unlikely a challenge would hold. If any of you were thinking about that.’ Miriam glances around the room. ‘I’m sorry to be harbinger of bad news.’ She does not look sorry.
She takes a bundle of photographs out from a leather tote. ‘I thought you might like to see these. Pictures of you all when you lived at Wyld Farm. They were in a drawer in the studio. Seymour had labelled it – Wyld Dreamers.’
She puts some photographs on a table and holds out the rest to Simon.
‘Oh dear, p-p-pictures of us? N-N-Not sure I’m up for any more s-s-shocks t-t-today.’
Amy takes them instead. There are of scenes and people she has forgotten but loves to see. Parties and meals and walks, a picnic by a stream, some faces she does not recognise. How young we were. How hairy and trim and dreamy and really rather luscious.
‘Mummy, I’m hungry,’ Peter says.
‘Of course you are, Peter. Daddy and I will take you back for some food.’
The Strattons leave for the farmhouse. Amber says that four of them must have ‘stuff to discuss’ so she’ll go for a walk. She gives David the thumbs-up sign as she leaves the cottage.
‘I need alcohol,’ he says. ‘This is all rather unexpected.’
‘Easy come, easy go,’ says Maggie which irritates everyone for different reasons.
‘Only one can of beer left in the f-f-fridge. Rest was finished last n-n-night, sorry m-m-ate. And my name’s on it.’
‘So our inheritance has been rescinded. Is that the right phrase?’ David says.
‘What about the pub?’ says Maggie. ‘Someone said they sell quite nice wine there.’
‘God, this is a blow,’ says Amy. ‘Not owning the cottage. I think I’m devastated.’
‘There’s always F-F-France, darling, a cottage in N-N-Normandy like we d-d-discussed…’ Simon says.
‘Dirty old Seymour,’ says Maggie. ‘Never liked him.’
‘It was proving to be a bit of a hassle,’ says David. ‘What was?’ Amy says.
‘The cottage. Expensive for a start.’
‘You always were tight, David,’ Amy replies. ‘I’ve always wanted to come back here again…’
‘Well, I’m off to India,’ says Maggie. ‘Can’t wait actually. Just got to find a home for Merry. I was wondering, Amy, if…’
‘I’m skint. I don’t have enough to buy anything else,’ David sounds wounded.
‘We d-d-don’t want a d-d-dog, Maggie, and that’s f-f-final.’
‘Simon, are you quite sure? A dog would get you out of the
house each day and Chloe will be off to university soon. Empty nest and all that.’
‘I guess I can go on tour with Amber now,’ David says.
‘The boy has to be found before he can inherit the cottage,’ says Maggie, ‘I mean, he might be dead.’
‘Maggie, that’s a bit…’
‘We should tell them, Simon.’
‘Tell us what?’ David and Maggie say in unison.
‘We know where he is.’
‘Who?’
‘The boy.’
‘What boy?’
‘Seymour’s second son.’
‘You do? Why didn’t you say? Where is he then?’
‘Shall we go to the pub?’ says Amy.
Amy told Julian and Miriam she would leave the church promptly after the funeral and return to Wyld Farm to get things ready for the guests. Mrs Morle had outlived the few friends she made in her life but there are others who will want to celebrate her life: Andrew Bishop and his wife, the care home manager and Sunil Rao.
They will join Mrs Morle’s family, people she reconnected with only in the last years of her life. Because of her dementia, Mrs Morle was never entirely sure who Lynn was. But she liked the friendly lady who brought a delightful little girl to visit her in the care home. Mrs Morle looked forward to her husband’s visits, too. She did not realise it was Aubrey, her grandson, who escorted her around the garden. It made her happy to think it was Harry, so Harry he was.
Amy feels at home in the farmhouse kitchen. Her heels click on the flagstones as she fetches plates and chooses cutlery, arranges slices of the tarte tartin she brought from France on the Minton platter that was Seymour’s favourite. She can’t help it. She listens for his voice as though her former lover might burst into the room at any minute, all ebullient fizz and energy. If she ever felt anger towards him, it has dissipated. Now she wishes to thank him. In the maelstrom of life at Wyld Farm, Seymour had, in his own way, given her stability at time when she needed it most. It ripped her apart when he sent her away from her Arcadian dream in the Somerset hills. But now she sees it was the best that could have happened. From him, she gleaned what she needed from love. His rejection released her to go and find it.
The kettle boils quickly on the sleek new Aga. In the past three years the farmhouse has been modernised. Stone floors glisten, doors close with a snap, thick carpets and curtains keep the place cosy. The wild murals are gone, painted over in stylish taupe and vivid terracotta to set off big prints of Seymour’s black-and-white photographs. Two of Julian’s paintings are also hanging, abstract
