“I didn’t know my father had an attorney,” I say, frowning.
“Mr. Barriston has instructed me to tell you that the house where you lived in Reading was left to you by your father in his will, and is yours to do with as you see fit.”
I stare at him. “My father made a will?”
“Yes.”
It’s a struggle to understand. Why would Papa have made a will when he didn’t have anything to leave me? The word house penetrates my consciousness.
“There must be a mistake. My father can’t have left me the house. It wasn’t his, we only rented it.”
He draws a sheet of paper from the file. “I have the details here. It seems that he bought it with money left to him by his mother-in-law, your maternal grandmother. If I understand correctly, it took awhile for her estate to be settled after she died, but when the inheritance came through, your father arranged with the landlord to buy the property.”
My head spins. “I didn’t know, he didn’t tell me that he bought the house. Are you sure he did?”
“Quite sure.”
“And he left it to me?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t believe it. I mean, it’s … it’s wonderful, it means I have somewhere to go. But I still can’t believe it.”
“Will you go there after the funeral, do you think?”
“I don’t know—I mean, can I? Can I just go there?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Today?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“But if I promise to come back for the funeral on Friday?” I persist.
“I would advise against that course of action,” Paul says, watching me. “You’re very much in the media spotlight because of Ned’s unfortunate death. If you leave here, you’ll be besieged. I don’t know if you’re aware, but this house belongs to Mr. Hawthorpe Senior, and he’s agreed to let you stay until the funeral. Once the funeral is over, you’ll be able to go to Reading.” He pauses. “When you’re there, you should contact Mr. Barriston. I have his details here.” He hands me a card. “He asked if you have keys to the house.”
“Yes, I do, I kept them.”
“He also has a set, and he’s asked if you would like for him to arrange for a company to clean the house before your arrival. He’s concerned that it’s been empty for three years. I don’t know if you’re aware, but he and your father were friends, and when your father became ill, he asked Mr. Barriston to look out for you, be your unofficial guardian, so to speak. I think there was a boarding school involved. When nobody could find you after your father died, Mr. Barriston had you registered as missing. When you still couldn’t be found, he kept an eye on the house, hoping that one day you’d come back and claim it.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, stunned. “Why didn’t my father tell me this? He never spoke of Mr. Barriston, he never told me there was someone I could go to for help. When he died, I thought I had no one.”
“Perhaps he didn’t want to worry you by admitting he was dying. Mr. Barriston has always regretted that he was abroad when your father died, and that by the time he got back, you’d disappeared. He didn’t realize that you had nobody at all. He presumed there would be friends or neighbors looking after you, at least until he returned.”
Momentarily overwhelmed, I take a sip of coffee.
“Thank you for telling me this,” I say, cradling my mug. “It means a lot to know that my father provided for me.” I meet his eye. “Are you sure I can’t go to Reading and come back for the funeral on Friday? I’m not comfortable in this house. I’ve never been comfortable here,” I add, wishing I could tell him everything that had happened.
“Quite sure,” he says firmly. “The journalists would follow you, they’d be camping on your doorstep. Once the funeral is over, Mr. Hawthorpe will quickly become old news. It’s a sad truth, but there will soon be something else to make the headlines. We aren’t remembered for long after our deaths, only by those who carry us in their hearts.” He takes the file from the table and puts it in his bag. “Now, as your late husband’s attorney, it’s fitting that I should attend the funeral. May I suggest I pick you up at eleven on Friday, and we can go together?”
“I’d like that, thank you.”
“I’ll also arrange for a car to take you to Reading after the funeral.” He takes a card from his inside pocket and hands it to me. “In the meantime, if you need anything at all, just call.”