Into Temptation (Spoils of Time 03) (62 page)

CHAPTER 33

It was the small, unexpected things which hurt the most, Jenna had discovered. You could grit your teeth each day, say yes, your mother had died, that it was terrible, dreadful, but you could survive, you had to survive. You got up in the morning, went through the motions, you got dressed, went to classes, talked to your friends, ate your lunch, even occasionally found something funny, or interesting or both, even more occasionally found yourself actually wanting to do something, like play in a match, read the latest
Seventeen
magazine, try a new hairstyle. And then you’d go into your dressing-table drawer and find a bracelet your mother had lent you, that you’d forgotten to give her back, that you’d sworn you had given back, that there’d been an argument over, and you’d sit there, hearing her voice, hearing her say, ‘Jenna, you did not give me that bracelet back. Now go and look for it, please’, and you’d sit staring at the bracelet, seeing it most vividly on your mother’s wrist, her thin wrist, vividly at first, and then less so because the picture would be blurred by your tears.

Or there’d be a letter for her, lying on the mat, probably just a circular of some kind, or letters about shares or something, and you’d realise that to the people who’d addressed the envelope, typed her name, she was still alive, still able to pick letters up and open them and act on them, or throw them in the waste-paper basket, that she was not dead, not lying at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, out of reach for ever.

Or you’d be sitting in the dentist’s waiting room, flicking the pages of some old society magazine, and there she’d be at a party, laughing, talking, holding a glass, her hair as always drifting slightly untidily around her face. ‘Miss Barty Miller,’ it would say, ‘Chief Executive of the Lyttons publishing company with—’ and you’d sit there shocked, looking at her there, quite alive, perfectly happy, about to leave the party and come home again, come home for supper and chat and arguments, instead of being gone for ever, removed from the magazines and the parties and the Lytton publishing company, never coming home any more.

Those were the worst things.

And all the first times, those were difficult: the first back-to-school, the first exeat, the first family birthday – Cathy’s, it had been, early in April, and they’d all tried very hard, but Barty had always been so good at birthdays, she had not only given lovely presents, but had arranged fun outings or parties, found new games to play, that, try as they might, they all found themselves sinking suddenly into a dreadful aching silence, which had sent Jenna fleeing to her room in an agony of tears while Cathy and Charlie visited her one at a time to try to comfort her and failed absolutely.

And the first trip to South Lodge, their special place, hers and her mother’s where, ever since she was the tiniest little girl, she had been taken, where she had spent her happiest times, where, in the house that he had built, she had felt somehow closer to the father she had never known, that had been awful: to go there without her mother, to walk on the shore without her, stand on the verandah and look down at the ocean, hear the wind in the grasses, taste the salt in the wind, all without her, it was like a long, dreadful dream from which there was no awakening.

Cathy had been great; Jenna forgave her everything in those first few weeks: her silliness, her vanity, her nonsensical flirtatiousness with Fergal and indeed anyone else. She was genuinely grief-stricken herself, they cried together, and she told Jenna how much she had loved Barty, how much she would miss her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said to her, the very first night, ‘so sorry I said mean things about your mother sometimes. I didn’t mean them, she was so great.’

‘I said mean things too,’ said Jenna, touched by this confession, ‘mostly to her. I’d give anything in the world to have her back so I could say sorry. All those fights we had. But – ’ her lip trembled ‘ – but the last thing I said to her was that I loved her. That kind of – helps a tiny bit.’

‘You see, I just can’t remember my mother,’ said Cathy. ‘I was so small. I can remember what she looked like, and I can remember her being ill, having to go away quite a lot—’

‘Away? What, to the hospital?’

‘Yes. Like when she fell downstairs.’

‘She fell downstairs?’

‘Yeah, quite often.’

‘Oh,’ said Jenna, ‘maybe she was just terribly weak.’

‘Maybe. And I can just about remember sitting on her knee, and being hugged. But that’s all. So – there’s not so much to miss, I guess. And I did have my dad,’ she added.

‘Yes,’ said Jenna, ‘yes, you’re so lucky, Cathy, in your dad.’

‘Well – you get to share him,’ said Cathy. ‘I hope it helps a bit.’

‘It does. Thanks, Cathy.’

It did help, of course: more than a bit. Charlie was great, not just kind, not just concerned, but wonderfully sympathetic. He seemed to know when one of the unexpected things had happened, he was extremely worried when they first went to South Lodge, even asked Jenna if she’d rather be there alone; he spent hours talking to her, listening to her – and when she wanted it, rather than when it suited him. He never minded if she told him to go away when she was crying, rather than asking for a cuddle, never took it personally, and was genuinely grieving himself. She found that comforting too: that he missed and longed for her mother so much. It seemed to her dreadful that they should have been separated for those last few weeks and she said so; ‘It was so good of you, staying behind to take care of Mrs Norton. We all thought so. Did you speak to Mother before – before she left England that day?’

‘No,’ he said and sighed, ‘no, I didn’t. But I was all set to go and meet her at the airport and I was so excited, like a kid out of school. And then – ’ he stopped, his face working.

Jenna looked up at him and slipped her hand into his, gave him a kiss.

‘It’s so horrible isn’t it?’ she said.

He actually cried sometimes; she had heard him, alone in his study, late at night, a dreadful, painful sound, and he wept with her too, occasionally, holding her in his arms. She sometimes thought she could not have got through it at all without him, without knowing how much he shared her grief. Poor Charlie; life had been very cruel to him. Sally Norton had died; she had a second stroke very suddenly. Charlie went alone to the funeral; he said it would be more than the girls could bear. He came back looking rather pale and was very quiet, and they made a great fuss of him, cooked him his favourite supper, and then tactfully left him alone. Jenna thought she heard him on the phone later, arguing with someone; but she wasn’t sure. In any case, she felt it best not to interfere.

Everyone tried to help, of course; some more successfully than others. A lot of people said too much, pouring sympathy all over her like treacle. Tory and Venetia, for example: she liked them both, but she just didn’t need to be hugged and kissed and cried over. Izzie was wonderful, just quietly
there
. So was Noni, which was odd, seeing as how gushy she normally was, even more so than her aunt. Sebastian had been very untreacly, had asked if she’d like to come and see him, given her a giant hug on the doorstep and said he couldn’t think of anything to say, but if she wanted to talk, he’d listen.

‘Otherwise, we’ll just try and get through it together, shall we? I need some help sorting out some old manuscripts, want to help?’

Back home, Mr and Mrs Mills had been a bit treacly, but clearly so upset themselves that she’d forgiven them. Maria had cried endlessly, but Jenna had expected that; on the other hand, she talked about her mother for hours, and that seemed to help, it was all so warm and loving and realistic, somehow. She’d talk about the bad things too, well not the bad ones, but how Barty had been so fussy with them both, got so cross when they were untidy, how badly she used to cook but would still insist on doing it. It meant sometimes they even ended up laughing.

Lucas astonished her by writing the most amazing letter: so warm and funny and kind, telling her stories about what her mother was like when she was young, how he’d loved her tales about being in the ATS during the war, when she’d worked on the big guns, how she’d let someone into the barracks one night when she was on guard duty, not demanded the password, and he’d turned out to be some colonel person. And how he’d tried to teach her to do conjuring tricks but she was absolutely hopeless, and how she tried to teach him to climb trees, but he was too frightened.

‘She was so brave, always right at the top, and I’d be whimpering at the bottom, like the little weed I was.’

He’d been lovely after the funeral as well, came up to her and gave her a kiss and said he couldn’t think of a single thing to say except how sorry he was and how much he’d loved Barty. When she’d burst into tears later on, while everyone was leaving and he and Noni were saying goodbye, he hadn’t tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed, and hurried away, he’d hugged her and just stood there, holding her, not saying anything at all because it clearly wouldn’t work. He was a bit like Joe, she thought, in his own way; very quiet, but underneath the quiet, full of ideas and thoughts. Most of the family seemed to think he was awful; she really liked him.

And her uncle Jamie, he’d been absolutely lovely, so warm and unfussy and kind. She was always asking him if her father had been like him, and he said not in the least, he’d been much cleverer and more successful for a start, but she felt they must have had quite a lot in common, and it made her feel less alone, knowing he, at least, was there.

She now realised that she was, potentially at least, rather rich; Jamie had very gently gone through what her mother’s death meant to her in practical terms, had assured her that her immediate arrangements would not change, there would be funds available to supply everything that she needed.

‘But you don’t know exactly what – well, what her will – ’ she stopped, her lip trembling ‘ – what her will said.’

‘No, I don’t. Not yet. As soon as I do, of course, I’ll tell you.’

‘What about the houses, who will they belong to? Number Seven, and South Lodge?’

‘I don’t know. I’m sorry. But we’ll get an idea very soon. I have to say I would be very surprised if they didn’t stay with you.’

‘Yes, I see.’ She looked at him. ‘So we don’t have to move, or anything?’

‘Of course not. Not the slightest chance. Unless you want to, that is.’ He smiled at her, his warm, lovely smile.

‘Of course I don’t. And – what about Lyttons?’

‘Well, as you know, your mother owned Lyttons personally. Fifty per cent is in trust for you, and the Lytton family have a thirty-two-per-cent share in Lyttons London. Now, that might change. The Lyttons have an option to buy the remaining sixty-eight per cent of those shares. That means that they have the right to buy those shares at a special price, to be agreed between their lawyers and ours and the trustees.’

‘I see. Well – I expect they will. I hope so, anyway. There seems to be rather a lot to sort out.’

‘There is quite a lot,’ he said, smiling at her gently again, ‘but you don’t have to worry about any of it. Kyle and I and Martin Gilroy, we are still the trustees of your estate, as we have been for most of your life, and we’ll look after it for you. We have a legal duty to act in your best interests, and to make sure that any decisions we take meet that test. And nothing is going to change for the time being, as I told you. You have plenty of money in your own trust fund, apart from what’s in the will. Any questions?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘except why did it have to happen, I guess. And – will Charlie get anything?’

‘Once again, I’m afraid I don’t know.’

‘I hope he does. He ought to. I often thought it was kind of hard for him, having to accept everything from Mother.’

‘Maybe,’ said Jamie. He looked a bit odd as he said it, she thought. ‘And of course he has his company now, his classic car company, which is his, to run as he likes.’

‘Might he get something of Lyttons? That would be so nice. Could I do that anyway, give him some of my shares? I’d rather like him to be part of it.’

‘Only if I and the other trustees feel it’s in your best interests,’ said Jamie.

‘But they belong to me. Not the trustees.’

‘They are yours. But you’re a minor. Until you’re twenty-one, we have to decide all that sort of thing for you.’

‘But – why should you decide against it? Mother loved Charlie, they were really happy, I love him, he’s helped me so much. If I want him to have some shares, why can’t he, what harm could it do?’

‘I – don’t think it would do any harm,’ said Jamie, ‘I wasn’t suggesting that, it was just that the trustees have to take all these decisions for you.’

‘I see. Well, I can’t see why you should refuse. Can I make a formal request for that, please?’

‘Not yet,’ said Jamie, ‘we’re waiting for something called probate. That means the will being effective, indeed legal. It could take some time.’

‘How much time?’

‘Oh – many months. At least nine months, I’d say, possibly even a year.’

‘How could it, what’s so complicated?’

He explained some of the intricacies: she listened carefully.

‘OK. You know, I think I might be a lawyer, it quite intrigues me.

Anyway, the minute it’s granted, probate I mean, I want Charlie to have some Lytton shares. OK?’

‘OK, we’ll consider it very carefully.’

‘Jamie,’ she said, and suddenly he saw Laurence in her, in the set of the neat little jaw, the hardening in the blue-green eyes, ‘Jamie, it’s not a lot to ask. I want that. If it’s going to be my company, I want Charlie to have some of it. All right?’

‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’ll make a note, look, put it in the file ready for when we get probate. Then it can be discussed. I can’t do more than that, Jenna, it’s the law.’

‘Oh for God’s sake,’ she said, and stood up, walked out, and slammed the door. He watched her. Sometimes it was hard to believe she was so young.

The Lyttons sat in the boardroom with Harold Charteris, the company secretary; he had had a call from Dean Harmsworth, the company secretary in New York, with whom he was on very good terms.