“But it wasn’t your fault! You were hoodwinked. That scoundrel!”
“I let him in when I should have known better. But I felt sorry for him. He’s not violent or anything, he’s just troubled and addicted and it makes him do bad things. Anyway, you know the rest because you’ve seen. He doesn’t seem to understand that we’re over. It’s like he thought we were on a hiatus while he was in prison and now that he’s out he thinks we’ll get back together.”
Stu’s tearful drunken wailing in the communal hallways, not to mention his relentless banging on her door the last two months, had resulted in numerous police calls and her current eviction.
Star had always been attracted to troubled souls, unable to resist sad puppy eyes, even when they were attached to a manipulative scoundrel. But even she had her limits.
Mr. Cavell was wringing his hands. The furrowed crease above his nose was in danger of consuming his eyebrows. “Where will you go?” he asked.
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ve got friends who will put me up for a while.”
She didn’t know where yet, but she’d figure it out. She always did. As she went to stand, she remembered the letter. She tore it open and smiled. Now she had a destination.
“Are you sure you have somewhere to go?” he asked, pulling nervously at his knitted sweater-vest.
“Absolutely.” She smiled at him. “You don’t need to worry about me. The universe has provided.”
By which she meant her big sister Maggie would put her up for a few days while she got her shit together and they dealt with the will. Suddenly the day had gotten a lot brighter. Mr. Cavell waved her off as she dragged her possessions up the street toward the train station. Rowan Thorp had been on her mind ever since the funeral and now she had an excuse to go back.
6
Rowan Thorp was a pretty village in the southeast of England surrounded by rolling hills, fields, forests, and other pretty villages that dotted the countryside like they’d been dropped fully formed into the landscape.
Once a bustling village with its close proximity to the river, farms, and orchards, Rowan Thorp had been a destination for traders and travelers alike. Over time it became less of a hub for merchants to sell their wares and more of an afternoon escape for city folk in need of a slower pace, some window shopping, and a cream tea.
The high street was a harmonious muddle of Georgian, Tudor, and Victorian architecture—stout, bent, tall, gabled, thatched, stone, and beam—a visual history giving voice to the ghosts of the past. Most of the houses and all of the shops were already decorated for Christmas even though it was only December third. Voluptuous wreaths of holly, ivy, and eucalyptus hung from front doors; candles stood in windows; and twinkle lights flickered from beneath frosty thatched roofs.
The Stag and Hound had erected a huge fir tree in their front courtyard, which was mirrored by the Rowan Tree Inn. Both trees were festooned in matching multicolored fairy lights of blue, red, amber, and green, hues so happy that just looking at them could warm the chilliest of cockles.
Set back a little between the two pubs, the spire of St. Swithun’s—the tip of the Holy Trinity Green triangle—punctured the forget-me-not-blue sky. The sun was impossibly bright, and the ice crystals on the paths and grass verges glittered beneath its dazzling gaze.
* * *
The offices of Steele & Brannigan Solicitors were a mixture of generic workplace carpeting and gray filing cabinets mixed in with some rather nice dark wood antique furniture. Behind her leather-topped mahogany desk, Vanessa Steele regarded the three sisters above her tented fingers.
Though she naturally saw more of Maggie these days than the other two, they had all spent their childhood summers getting into trouble and had been generally regarded by the villagers as a nightmare. She had known what to expect this morning—she had cleared her schedule in anticipation—and they didn’t disappoint. Vanessa sat quietly, waiting for the sisters to finish bickering.
“I only asked why, if you arrived last night, you didn’t come and see me?” Maggie asked. “I could have made you dinner.”
“I needed time to prepare. Mentally. You know I don’t function well in off-the-cuff situations. I don’t like having things sprung upon me and by the same token I don’t spring myself on other people,” said Simone. “Most people would appreciate that courtesy.”
“I’m not other people. I’m your sister.”
“Why are you making a big deal out of this? I had a long journey and I simply wanted to get settled in at the cottage and acclimatize myself to this”—she flapped her hands to encompass the room and everyone in it—“situation.”
“Maggie’s right, it wouldn’t have hurt you to pop in and say hello,” Star butted in.
“Yes, well, I had a feeling you might be there, and I wasn’t in the mood for playing ‘happy families.’?”
“When do you ever play ‘happy families’?” Star retorted.
Maggie was seated between Simone and Star in her usual capacity as the bland filling in the sister sandwich, caught between slices of sourdough Simone and brioche Star. In this analogy Maggie imagined herself to be something neutral, poached chicken breast or mild cheddar maybe.
Already she was getting a tension headache. She’d left Joe and Patrick to run the grocer’s, but there were still at least twenty things that needed doing today rolling around in her head. Hovering on the periphery of every conscious and unconscious thought was her eviction notice, squatting in her mind like a spider in the corner of a room. She looked up and saw her friend’s expression. She nudged Star and Simone, nodding toward Vanessa, and the three fell silent.
Vanessa smiled calmly and began. “First of all, I know we spoke at Augustus’s funeral, but I would like to offer my condolences to you in my official capacity as your father’s solicitor. Secondly, thank you for attending this meeting.”
“Did we have a choice?” Simone asked.
“There is always a choice.” Vanessa smiled. “And your decision to be here will make this process easier and faster.”
“What process are we talking about exactly?” Maggie asked.
“Have any of you been into your father’s shop recently?” Vanessa inquired.
“I stayed at the flat last night, but I didn’t venture into the shop,” said Star. “Wasn’t quite brave enough to go in by myself; all that taxidermy gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“You slept at Dad’s?” Simone asked with something like surprise on her face. “I thought you would have stayed at Maggie’s.”
“I offered, but she would have had to share a room with Verity.”
“I didn’t mind that. But if I’m going to be staying for a while, it makes sense for me to not be under your feet.”
“By that, I take it you’re unemployed and homeless again?” Simone drawled.
“It’s really quite something how you manage to sound both weary and scathing,” snapped Star.