“Oh, Harding, that’s absurd—”
“I should have seen it coming,” Harding said, and Hal had the feeling he was no longer even really listening to his wife. “She wrote to me, d’you know that? About a month ago. No word of her illness, of course, that would have been too simple, too straightforward. Oh no. She wrote her usual letter, full of complaints, but her sign-off was different—that’s what should have told me.”
“Different, how?”
“She signed off, always, your mother. Always. Even when I was at boarding school, crying my eyes out every night. All the other boys’ mothers signed off with love and kisses, and ever your adoring mummy, and a thousand hugs. All that sort of tripe. But Mother—no. Your mother. That was it. No love. No kisses. Just a cold statement of fact. A perfect metaphor, in fact, for her life.”
“And the last time? Did she add something?”
“Yes,” Harding said. And he paused, a brooding silence that made Hal hold her breath, wondering what was coming. Not the love that Harding had waited all his life for, surely? The silence stretched, until Hal thought she must have missed whatever Harding was about to say, or that he had thought better of it, and she raised her hand, ready to knock and announce her presence, but finally Harding spoke.
“She finished, après moi, le déluge. That was all. No name. No sign-off. Just those four words.”
“Après what?” Mitzi sounded completely nonplussed. “After the . . . the rain? What on earth does it mean?”
But before Hal could hear Harding’s answer, she heard a voice at her back.
“Eavesdropping?”
Hal spun round, her heart thumping.
It was Harding’s daughter, what was her name? Kitty. She was standing in the corridor, twirling her long blond hair around one finger, and chewing something. When Hal didn’t speak, she held out a packet in one hand.
“Tangfastic?”
“I—” Hal swallowed. She spoke low, not wanting Harding and Mitzi to hear from inside the room. “I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t mean to—I was about to go into the room, but they seemed—”
“Hey, no shade from me.” The girl threw up her free hand, the charm bracelet on her wrist jangling. “It’s the only way I ever find out anything around here.” She pulled out a jelly shape from the packet, examined it critically, and then popped it in her mouth. “Look, I kept meaning to ask, what are you?”
“I—I, what?” Hal swallowed again. Her mouth felt dry, and she flexed her cold fingers inside her pockets, digging her nails into her palms, trying to anchor herself. She was uncomfortably aware that the Pandora bracelet Kitty was wearing on her left wrist probably cost more than her own entire outfit, possibly more than her whole wardrobe. “What am I? I’m not sure what you—”
“I mean, like, I know you’re some kind of relation, but Dad hasn’t really explained the connection. Are you the missing aunt? No, wait, you’re too young, right?”
“Oh! Right. No—” She blinked, trying to remember what exactly she was supposed to be doing here. The photograph of her mother lounging on the lawn outside the drawing room flashed through her mind, and she screwed her eyes shut for a moment against the image, rubbing her forehead as if to vanquish her mother’s face.
She must not think about her mother. She had to remember who she was supposed to be—not who she was. Maud was Harding’s sister, which meant . . .
“I guess I’m . . . your cousin?”
“Oh, right, so your mum was the one who ran away?”
“I—I suppose so, yes. She—she didn’t really talk about it.”
“So cool,” the girl said enviously. She pushed another Haribo into her mouth, and spoke around it. “Not gonna lie, there’s been points where I’ve seriously considered it, but I reckon you need to be at least eighteen to pull it off, otherwise you’re pretty much guaranteed to end up on the streets, and there’s no way I’m turning tricks for some pedo pimp.”
“Um—” Hal found herself completely at a loss. This girl was self-assured in a way that Hal had never been. “I— How old are you?”
“Fourteen. Rich is nearly sixteen. Freddie’s twelve. He’s a total dickwad, so I wouldn’t bother with him. Rich is okay if you can get him to take his headphones off. And hey, I’m at a girls’ school, I need to keep on his good side, right? He’s my shortcut to hot older boys.”
“I never really thought about it like that,” Hal said faintly.
“Have you got a boyfriend?” Kitty asked. Hal shook her head.
“Girlfriend?”
“No, I—I’ve not really been in the right place for dating for the last couple of years.”
“Gotcha,” Kitty said wisely. She nodded and put another Haribo in her mouth. “You should try a dating app. They can match you up by location.”
“That wasn’t really what I—” Hal began, but then the drawing room door opened and both their heads turned, to see Mitzi standing there.
“Oh, girls. I thought I heard voices. Kitty, if you want to come into Penzance, you need to get your shoes on, and tell Richard to hurry up. Harriet, if you have a moment, your uncle would like to speak with you.”
Hal nodded, and looked past Mitzi to where Harding was standing in the drawing room, his back to the door, looking out to the cloud-dark sky and rain-soaked lawns. The sea in the distance was invisible in the mist.
Mitzi stood back, ushering Hal inside, and then closed the door, and Hal heard her trotting purposefully away up the corridor, lecturing Kitty as she went.
Hal stood waiting nervously for Harding to turn around, but he did not. Instead he spoke, still facing the view in front of him.
“Harriet, thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
For a moment, Hal could not think what to say in reply. The incongruity of the phrase struck her—as though they were both businessmen discussing a merger, rather than—rather than what?
“I—you’re welcome,” she managed at last, and took a hesitant step forwards into the room.
But Harding was speaking over her, as if he were determined to get through his piece and would not be derailed from his course.
“As you may have gathered from Mr. Treswick last night, there is quite a lot of paperwork we need to go through before he can start to move forward on the process of obtaining probate.”
“I, well, yes,” Hal said. She felt her stomach twist at the mention of paperwork. What could she do? Could she delay the meeting? Or would it be better to go and find out what they needed from her, and then claim she had forgotten it? “Although I didn’t know, I mean, I didn’t bring—”
“There is a great deal we need to discuss,” Harding said. “All this”—he waved his hand at the expanse of green lawns falling away in front of the windows—“all this is a great responsibility, and there are a lot of decisions you will need to make, Harriet, and fairly quickly. But that will come later—in the meantime, we have an appointment with Mr. Treswick in Penzance in”—he glanced at his watch—“just under forty minutes, and it will be fairly tight to get there. You don’t have a car here?”
Forty minutes? Hal felt her mouth drop open in horror. This was all moving much too fast. She needed time to research—to work out what Mr. Treswick was likely to ask. What if they wanted her to complete forms, and she tripped up over some minor detail? Then she realized that Harding was waiting for an answer to his question, and swallowed.
“I—no—” she managed faintly.
“No matter. We’ll squeeze you in. There’s a fold-down seat in the boot.”
“But, Unc—” She stumbled over the word, unable to make herself articulate it, and began again: “Look, there’s something I must—”