‘What guilty secret are you hiding?’ mocked Emma, as they walked on towards the village.
‘All I’m willing to admit is that I intend to go on writing until I drop, and frankly there are enough politicians in this family already. In any case, like a typical politician, you haven’t answered my question. How’s your speech coming on?’
‘Well enough, but I’m worried it’s a bit dull and workmanlike at the moment. I think I’ve dealt with most of my colleagues’ reservations, even if one or two of them still remain unresolved. Frankly the speech needs a big idea that will keep Giles in his place, and I’ve been hoping you might find the time to read it and give me your honest opinion.’
‘Of course I will. Though I suspect Giles is every bit as anxious as you are and would like nothing better than to get his hands on a copy of your speech. So I wouldn’t be too worried.’
‘Can I ask another favour?’
‘Anything, my darling.’
‘Promise me you’ll go and see a specialist, otherwise I’ll worry,’ said Emma as they linked arms.
‘I promise,’ said Harry, as they passed the parish church and turned down a public footpath that would lead them back across the meadows to the Manor House. ‘But in return, I expect something from you.’
‘That sounds rather ominous.’
‘It’s just that I’d sleep more easily if we both updated our wills.’
‘What’s brought this on?’
‘The realization that I’ll be seventy next year and will have fulfilled the Maker’s contract, not to mention the birth of a great-granddaughter. It would be irresponsible of us not to make sure our affairs are in order.’
‘How morbid, Harry.’
‘Possibly, but it shouldn’t be avoided. It isn’t my will that’s the problem because, other than a few gifts to charities and old friends, I’ve left everything to you, which, according to Seb, is both sensible and at the same time tax advantageous. But both of us should start giving gifts to the children, and as long as we live for another seven years, they won’t be liable for any tax. However, the real problem, he tells me, is your will.’
‘Unless I die before you, darling, then all your best-laid plans . . .’
‘That’s unlikely, because I think you’ll find that actuaries, like bookies, usually get the odds right. It’s how they make their living. Insurance companies currently work on the assumption that women will outlive their husbands by seven years. The average man will live to the age of seventy-four, while their wives will carry on to eighty-one.’
‘There’s nothing average about you, Harry Clifton, and in any case, I’ve already planned to die about a fortnight after you.’
‘Why a fortnight?’
‘I wouldn’t want the vicar to find the house untidy.’
Harry couldn’t stop grinning. ‘Be serious for a moment, my darling. Let’s assume we’re typical. As I’m a year older than you, you should survive me by eight years.’
‘Bloody statistics.’
‘Nevertheless, I think it’s time for you to update your will, with a view to minimizing the children’s inheritance tax liability, which is still at forty per cent, despite Mrs Thatcher’s promises.’
‘You’ve thought very seriously about this, haven’t you, Harry?’
‘The thought of cancer is a wake-up call that shouldn’t be ignored. In any case, I read the small print in the Prudential’s life policy and couldn’t find any reference to immortality.’
‘I hope we’re not going to have this conversation too often.’
‘Once a year should suffice. But I’ll feel happier when I know your will is in order.’
‘I’ve already left the Manor House to Sebastian and most of my jewellery to Samantha, Jessica and Lucy.’
‘What about Jake?’
‘I don’t think he’d look good in a pearl necklace. In any case, I have a feeling he has inherited all his father’s worst traits and will end up a multimillionaire.’
Harry took her hand as they headed back to the house.
‘On to more pleasant matters,’ he said. ‘Where would you like to spend your summer holidays this year?’
‘On a small island in the Indian Ocean where none of my colleagues will be able to find me.’
‘We haven’t seen Harry and Emma for weeks,’ said Karin. ‘Why don’t we invite them over for lunch on Sunday?’
‘I have no intention of fraternizing with the enemy,’ said Giles, tugging at the lapels of his dressing gown, ‘until the final vote has been cast and the Tories have been defeated.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Giles. She’s your sister.’
‘We only have my parents’ word for that.’
‘So when can I expect to see them again?’
‘Not until the captains and the kings have departed.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Do you think, for one moment, that Wellington would have considered dining with Napoleon the night before Waterloo?’
‘It might have been a damned sight better for everyone concerned if he had,’ said Karin.