“That depends,” I replied, “on whether you can tell me where my father-in-law went after he left here. I need to speak with him, but I don’t know how to get hold of him.”
“I’m sorry,” said Lucy, “but he didn’t tell us where he was going next. Isn’t his Mercedes equipped with a telephone?”
“Not yet,” I said, making a mental note to have one installed the moment I caught up with Willis, Sr. “I guess we’re all yours, Lucy.”
“Splendid.” Lucy motioned toward the hearth. “Make yourselves comfortable and I’ll ring for tea.”
Nell hefted her white shoulder bag and moved to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace, while I took a place on the settee, wondering what Gerald had done to earn Lucy’s disdain. It was easy to see that she’d neither forgotten nor forgiven his mistakes, and though she must have felt duty-bound to ask after him, it seemed unlikely that she lay awake nights fretting over the state of his health.
“Lucy,” I said when she’d taken the chair opposite Nell‘s, “I wish I could say that this was a purely social visit, but actually I have a favor to ask of you.”
Lucy crossed her legs and regarded me steadily. “What would that be?”
“It’s about this plan my father-in-law has to set up shop here in England,” I said.
Lucy’s eyebrows rose. “Cousin William said nothing to me about moving to England.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, and when Lucy nodded firmly, my heart sank. I should have known that Willis, Sr., would ask Lucy to keep his proposal confidential, just as he’d asked Gerald. “Okay,” I said reasonably, “but if he ever mentions the subject, I’d appreciate it if you’d quash it.”
“Why?” Lucy asked, mystified.
“Because ... he’s needed at home,” I said.“Would you tell him that, if he ever says anything about moving? Remind him that he’s needed at home?”
“I will,” Lucy promised. She seemed puzzled but sympathetic as she went on. “But I promise you, all we talked about was family history. Are you familiar with the long-running feud?”
“I know that it existed,” I said, “but I don’t know what started it.”
“There are competing theories,” Lucy said. “William wants to discover which one is correct.”
“Does it really matter?” I asked. “After all of this time, what could possibly be at stake?”
Lucy lifted her hand and drew it slowly through the air. “Everything you see around you,” she replied. “If William’s theory is valid, it could be argued that number three, Anne Elizabeth Court, belongs to your branch of the family.”
I blinked at the gilt ceiling, the exquisite carpet, the magnificent fireplace, and heard the distant yapping of no-longer-sleeping dogs. Here was a prize worth fighting for. “You don’t seem to be worried.”
“I’m not,” Lucy agreed. “I’m convinced that our version of history is the correct one. Shall I explain why?”
“I’m all ears,” I said.
Lucy pointed at the portrait hanging above the fireplace. “Allow me to introduce Julia Louise Willis. She’s the link between our two families.”
I turned to look at the portrait. My eyes had been drawn to the woman’s glorious silver-blue gown when I’d first entered the room, but now I studied her face as well, and saw in it a reflection of Lucy’s. Both women had full lips, high foreheads, brown eyes, and dark-brown hair, though Julia Louise’s was poufed to an astonishing height and draped with a lacy square kerchief, contrasting with Lucy’s flattering and modem bob. Arthur had no doubt inherited his bulk from his plump ancestress, and so, too, I realized with a queer jolt of recognition, had my brown-eyed and formerly brown-haired husband. More unsettling still was the thought that, if Arthur ever tamed his hair and trimmed his beard, he might be taken for Bill’s younger, plumper brother. Number three, Anne Elizabeth Court, was beginning to feel like a Willis-filled hall of mirrors.
“Gerald mentioned Julia Louise,” I said, “but he acted as though he knew nothing about her.”
Lucy’s lips tightened. “My cousin has felt the need to distance himself from the rest of us recently, but I can assure you that he knows all about Julia Louise. I’ve seen to it that everyone in the family knows of her contributions to the firm. William was particularly interested in Julia Louise,” she went on, in a less peevish tone of voice. “And who wouldn’t be? She was a brilliant, powerful woman. After her husband died, she moved the firm from Bath to Anne Elizabeth Court, confident that her sons would outshine every other solicitor in London.”
“Did they?” Nell asked.
“One of them did,” Lucy answered. “The elder son, Sir Williston Willis—”