“It is only natural that you should. I confess, I can do little to remedy this. I can, however, assure you that I will fulfill my role as your legal advisor to the best of my ability. And, if you will permit me, I can do one more thing. I can offer the hope that you will someday look upon me as your friend.”
He lowered his eyes and added, “A somewhat antiquated friend, to be sure, but a friend with your interests at heart nonetheless.”
I bit my lip to keep my chin from trembling. It had been a long time since I had let anyone say that to me, and a much longer time since I had let myself believe it. It was weak, it was childish, and it went against my better judgment, but I thought I might risk believing it now. I needed a friend. I needed someone I could talk to, someone I could trust in this… unusual situation.
If Willis, Sr., noticed my distress, he had the decency to move smoothly on to other things. He gathered some papers from his desk and returned with them to the couch. “Here we are,” he said. “I trust you are prepared to proceed to the next step?”
“I’m ready when you are,” I said, grateful to him for the change of subject.
“Excellent. Please feel free to stop me at any point, Miss Shepherd. I greatly dislike haste in these matters. It so often leads to misunderstandings.” He straightened his waistcoat, then folded his hands atop the papers. “Shortly before her death, Miss Westwood collected the Aunt Dimity stories into a single volume, which she intended to publish posthumously.”
“She’s going to publish the Aunt Dimity stories?”
“That was her intent, Miss Shepherd. Arrangements have been made with a reputable publisher, and the illustrations are nearing completion.”
“You mean, other people have read them already?”
“A small number of people, yes. My dear, does this trouble you?”
The sound of my mother’s voice drifted through my mind. “I guess it does. Until yesterday evening I thought I was the only one who knew those stories. I guess I’ve always thought of them as mine.”
“That,” said Willis, Sr., “is undoubtedly why Miss Westwood wanted you and no one else to write an introductory essay for the volume.”
“She did?” I looked at him in surprise. “Is that the favor she mentions in her letter?”
“It is. She wished for you to write an introduction focusing on the origins of the stories, which, according to Miss Westwood, are to be found in the collection of private correspondence now housed in her residence in England, near the village of Finch. I believe she refers to the correspondence in her letter to you?”
I nodded.
“You are to read the letters written by your mother and Dimity Westwood, locate within them the situations or characters or events that inspired the Aunt Dimity stories, and write about what you find.” Willis, Sr., paused, then added softly, “I think I can understand your reluctance to have these stories published, Miss Shepherd. They must have been a treasured part of your childhood. But, my dear, you shall not lose the stories by sharing them.”
Willis, Sr., would have made a brilliant teacher. He had a way of showing you things you should have seen for yourself, without making you feel like a fool. I would lose nothing by the stories’ publication, and many children would gain a great deal. Aunt Dimity would come to life for them, too, and that was as it should be.
“You’re right, Mr. Willis,” I said sheepishly. “It’s a fine idea. And I suppose they couldn’t really publish the thing without me in it somewhere. I must be the world’s greatest authority on Aunt Dimity.”
“You are indeed,” said Willis, Sr., with a contented nod. He glanced down at the paper on top of the stack, then continued. “You shall have one month—that is, thirty days from the time of your arrival at the cottage—in which to do the necessary research and writing. I shall contact you periodically to confer with you and to ask certain questions Miss Westwood has prepared.”
“Questions? About what?”
“The questions concern the contents of both the letters and the stories, Miss Shepherd.”
“I should be able to answer questions about the stories right now.”
“Undoubtedly, but we shall follow Miss Westwood’s wishes nonetheless. At the end of the month, if you have answered those questions satisfactorily and completed the introduction in the manner described by Miss Westwood, you shall receive a commission of… let me see…” He ran his finger down the sheet. “Ah, here it is.” He looked up and smiled pleasantly. “You shall receive a commission of ten thousand dollars.”
“Ten thousand…” My voice cracked. “Isn’t that a bit much?” I added faintly.
“It is the value Miss Westwood placed on the task. It was, I understand, very close to her heart.”
“It must have been.” My mind flew to the stack of bills that was threatening to engulf my apartment at that very moment. I had expected to be paying them off with my Social Security checks, but now … ten thousand dollars. For one month’s work. I sank back on the couch and raised a hand to my forehead.