‘It was a foreclosure and he had the inside track on it so he acted real quick. But he’s using his heart, not his head. He said he knew that you’d want this apartment.’
‘I can’t believe this,’ said Abbey. ‘He’s lost his mind, surely.’
‘Who has?’
Pete walked into the kitchen. He was wearing a grey leisure suit which didn’t entirely hide the few extra pounds he’d put on over the years, weight that Claudia was determined he should lose.
‘Claudia was telling me about the apartment,’ said Abbey. ‘Are you out of your mind?’
‘I agree it was a bit of a left-field move,’ said Pete. ‘But when I saw it, I couldn’t pass it up. And don’t look at me like that, Abbey Andersen. I know you’ll want it.’
‘Where is it?’ asked Abbey.
‘Dolores,’ said Pete.
‘Oh.’
‘The Torreblanca building.’
‘Oh,’ said Abbey again.
‘Apartment number 12.’
‘Pete!’
It was the apartment she’d lived in with her mom when they’d first come to San Francisco. At the time, the district had been a bit tired and rough around the edges, so they’d been able to afford the rental of the two-bedroom unit. Both the area and the building had undergone considerable gentrification over the past years, and it was now a very desirable place to live. She would never have been able to buy an apartment there because the prices were unaffordable on her pay – even the rentals were outside her budget. But now Pete had done this and he was telling her that she could live in the place where she’d felt the most secure in her whole life. And that she could buy it from him when she could afford it.
But she couldn’t. Not without accepting everything that Fred had left her. Possibly not even then. Pete was crazy. It was unworkable.
Except she desperately wanted to live in number 12 again. It was the one place she’d always considered home.
‘Oh, Pete … I’m not sure about this.’ She looked at him with worry in her eyes.
‘Abbey, sweetheart, it’s time you took the bull by the horns,’ said Pete. ‘You’ve got to do something with your life, make something of it. And you’re getting the opportunity now.’
‘Seems to me that you’re forcing me into it,’ said Abbey. ‘And forcing me to be part of the fight over Mr Fitzpatrick’s legacy, because you know I’d need every last cent for that apartment.’
‘You need forcing,’ said Pete. ‘You’re too nice and kind and … well, I hate to say it, but you’re passive, Abbey. You don’t go after something, you wait for it to come to you. You could set up your own nail bar, but you’re happy to stay at the Mariposa, letting Selina take a cut from your earnings. I’ve heard the girls in my office talking about you – they think you’re a genius.’
‘I don’t—’
‘Genius,’ repeated Pete firmly. ‘That you can do things with nails nobody else can. That you make them feel beyond fabulous. But you don’t sell yourself like that.’
‘I don’t want to sell myself at all,’ said Abbey. ‘It’s not who I am.’
‘I know,’ Pete told her. ‘That’s your mother in you. But you’ve got to change, Abbey. We live in a world where you have to make the most of yourself, otherwise people will trample all over you. And I’ve seen lesser talents do better than you.’
‘You keep an eye on the nail business?’ Abbey asked.
‘I keep an eye on every business,’ said Pete. ‘C’mon, honey. You need to ramp up your act a bit. And Fred Fitzpatrick is giving you the opportunity to do it.’
‘So you think I should take my share, buy an apartment I can’t really afford and set up in business for myself?’
‘Now you’ve got it,’ said Pete.
‘I can’t, Pete. I …’ She looked at him helplessly.
‘Yes you can. Abbey, you can shoot for the stars, make lots of money, live a great life. It’s the American way.’
‘My mom doesn’t live her life that way.’
‘Your mom is a whack-job,’ said Claudia.
Abbey stared at her.
‘I’m sorry, but it has to be said.’ Claudia tightened the belt of her robe around her waist. ‘How many women would abandon their own daughter to join a monastery, for heaven’s sake. It’s not natural.’
‘Claudia.’ Pete looked anxiously at his wife.
‘You’ve said it yourself,’ said Claudia. ‘She broke your heart and Abbey’s heart too. Only a fruitcake would do that.’
Abbey said nothing. She was wondering how many times Pete and Claudia had talked about her and her mother. And if Pete truly believed that Ellen was crazy.
‘Look, Abbey.’ Pete took her hands in his. ‘Maybe Claudia is being a bit … forthright … but she’s nailed one thing. Living the way your mom does, doing what your mom did by walking out on you – and me – isn’t … isn’t the usual way of getting on with life.’
‘Unless you’ve got a vocation,’ said Abbey. ‘Unless you believe that God has called you.’
‘But very few people have that belief or that calling.’ Pete was choosing his words carefully. ‘And just because you don’t have it doesn’t mean that you have to live the kind of life you seem to think your mom would want you to live.’
‘I’m not!’ she cried. ‘Far from it. You know what she thought about the beauty business.’
‘Yes, and I think that’s why you haven’t given it your best shot.’
‘That’s nonsense!’
‘Is it?’
Abbey’s shoulders slumped. She didn’t know. Pete and Claudia had completely confused her with their comments. In some ways, she wasn’t surprised at what Claudia thought. But Pete – she’d always believed that he was on her side. Only he wasn’t, was he? He thought that Ellen was mad and that she herself was a hopeless idiot.
‘Abbey.’ Pete’s voice was gentle as he released his hold on her. ‘Your mom would want you to grasp the opportunity. What was that Bible story – you know, the one about the man who buried his talents, which wasn’t what God wanted at all.’
‘I didn’t know you were into Bible study,’ said Abbey.
‘I remember some of it,’ Pete told her.
‘The talent you’re talking about now, though, is the talent for accepting money from someone I didn’t even know existed,’ protested Abbey.
‘To kick-start your own talents,’ said Pete. ‘And maybe to allow you some time to develop others.’
‘What others?’
‘Like your painting.’
‘Stop with the painting stuff,’ she said. ‘We already agree that I’m good but not brilliant. And you need to be brilliant.’
‘Who says? You set yourself impossible standards like that, you’re always going to fail.’
‘Oh Pete …’ She buried her head in her hands. ‘I’m so mixed up. I don’t know what’s right any more.’
‘Move into the apartment,’ said Pete. ‘We’ll work out a rental until you’ve got your inheritance. And don’t feel guilty about him having left it to you. Allow yourself to have some good things in your life.’
‘I do have good things,’ she protested.
‘Have fun,’ Pete told her. ‘Have fun and don’t worry.’
But that, thought Abbey, was a lot easier for him to say than for her to do.
Chapter 28
Lisette was in the living room of Furze Hill. Given that the house was going to be unoccupied for a considerable amount of time, she’d asked Alex if she could look after the maintenance. After all, she’d said, no point in it falling into disrepair. Alex had consulted the rest of the family, including Abbey Andersen, before agreeing that Lisette could call in once a week to make sure that everything was OK. It annoyed her considerably that she’d had to have everyone else’s permission to do something she’d done on a regular basis when Fred was alive. It annoyed her even more that she might be doing this on behalf of the hitherto unknown Americans. But Lisette still loved Furze Hill, and she couldn’t
bear to think of it damp and dusty and uncared for.
Her first task had been to check Fred’s den for any other wills. Gareth had come with her, but they hadn’t found anything, even though they’d opened literally every drawer in his desk. They had, however, found sheaves of the heavy parchment he’d used to draw up the one leaving the house to Abbey and Ellen. The following day, Don and Zoey had rummaged around the den too, but had also come up empty-handed. They had all had to reluctantly agree that Fred’s ridiculous will really was his last one, and that they had no option, therefore, but to contest it.
Now, having spent the last couple of weeks cleaning and tidying, Lisette walked through the rooms of the house, unable to clamp down on her usual dream of what she’d do to it if it were hers. Open it out, she thought. Replace the heavy drapes with something more modern. Change the kitchen. Let in the light. Only she’d never get the chance to do any of it, would she, because she’d never be the chatelaine of Furze Hill.
She stood at the patio windows and looked out over the garden. What Fred had done was wrong, she thought furiously. He must have known how much it would upset them. So why the hell had he done it? Of course he hadn’t expected to die so suddenly. Maybe he’d intended to show the stupid will to Donald or Gareth, use it to influence them in some way and then change it back. That would’ve been typical, in a way, of Fred. He liked to have his children exactly where he wanted them. Regardless of his ultimate intentions, however, he’d left behind a nuclear bomb.
She went over to the large display cabinet in the corner of the room where the majority of the silver pieces were kept. The silver pieces that were supposedly hers, although she couldn’t have them while everything was still up in the air. She took out a small snuff box and a set of six bishop’s spoons. Of all of the items, these were the only ones that she truly liked. The snuff box, oblong and carved with what seemed like unfurling leaves around a navy blue glass container, was distinctive and eye-catching and reminded her of a bygone age. She’d always liked the spoons, each with a carving of a bishop’s head on the handle, even though they probably weren’t worth anything. Fred’s personal legacy to her was a pittance as far as the overall estate was concerned. But it was her pittance and she wanted to bring it home. It annoyed her that she couldn’t, especially as nobody would actually miss the snuff box or the spoons. Lisette doubted that there was a single person in the family that knew they even existed. It wouldn’t matter if she took them.
The sudden shrill of the doorbell startled her so much that she dropped the snuff box on to the granite hearth. The lid immediately detached from the base and the glass container cracked.
‘Merde,’ she muttered as she picked it up and put it on the mantelpiece, before walking into the hall and pressing the intercom button.
‘Hello?’ she said.
‘It’s me,’ said Zoey. ‘Let me in.’
The idea to drive by her late father-in-law’s house had come to Zoey after having lunch with a friend in Howth village. Friend wasn’t the right word for it, she thought; Esther Canaletti was more of an acquaintance, someone who wanted her to become involved in a protest march about traffic-calming measures on their housing estate. Zoey had no intention of becoming involved, but she’d been bored and thought lunch was a good idea. It occurred to her, as she said goodbye to Esther, that it would do no harm to drive past Fred’s house while she was in the area, even though, unlike Lisette, she didn’t have keys and so couldn’t go inside. When she saw her sister-in-law’s car parked outside, however, she pulled to a halt immediately.
‘Cleaning?’ she asked when Lisette opened the door.
‘I said I’d keep an eye on the place.’ Lisette pushed her hair behind her ears. ‘You know that.’
Zoey walked into the hallway. Lisette followed her.
‘So what have you been doing?’ Zoey ran a finger along the console table and looked at the streak that it had left in the dust. She raised an eyebrow at Lisette.
‘Tidying up,’ said Lisette defensively. ‘Fred had loads of junk in the house.’
‘What have you done with it?’
‘Put it in the garage mostly. D’you want to see?’
Zoey recognised a challenge in Lisette’s voice. ‘Sure,’ she said.
The two of them went to the garage, where Lisette pointed out the multiple boxes of papers, gadgets and alarms that she’d taken from the living areas and stored away.
‘Honestly,’ said Zoey as she gazed at them. ‘What are men like?’
‘I’m sure Donald doesn’t hoard junk like this,’ said Lisette.
‘Are you having a laugh?’ Zoey led the way out of the garage and back into the house. ‘Not stuff like Fred’s, of course. But technological bits and pieces. CCTV cameras. Alarms. And all sorts of computer-related gizmos. I’ve no idea what most of them are and couldn’t care less. But I’m always having to move them out of my living room and outside into his den.’
‘I didn’t know Don had an outside den.’
‘Damn right he does,’ said Zoey. ‘It’s one of those wooden rooms like sheds that you can set up at the end of the garden. Men need somewhere they can sit in private and think manly thoughts.’
‘Manly thoughts?’ asked Lisette as they entered the kitchen.
‘Not porno thoughts, if that’s what you mean,’ said Zoey. ‘Though I suppose he has them too, even when he’s not with me. But you know what guys are like. They don’t talk to each other about things; they mull life’s injustices over in their heads instead.’
‘Is Donald doing much mulling lately?’ asked Lisette.
‘What d’you think?’ Zoey’s tone was dark. ‘Since we didn’t find another will, he’s done nothing but. Here, put the kettle on. Let’s have a cup of coffee. No chance that Fred has a proper coffee machine, I suppose?’
‘Are you joking?’
‘Green tea? Camomile?’
‘Lyons Green Label tea. And Nescafé.’
‘I’ll have the coffee.’ Zoey perched on a high stool beside the old-fashioned breakfast bar. ‘So how’s Gareth holding up?’
Lisette put the two cups sharply on the counter. ‘Stressed,’ she said shortly, her back to Zoey.
‘They’re both stressed. And we are too. Aren’t we?’
‘I’m tired of being stressed,’ said Lisette.
‘Me too,’ said Zoey. ‘It’s not the payday I was looking for.’
‘None of us was expecting this,’ agreed Lisette.
‘Was there an inventory done of the silver?’ asked Zoey suddenly. ‘Or of anything else in the house for that matter?’
Lisette turned to look at her. ‘What are you implying?’
‘Nothing,’ said Zoey. Her eyes were wide and innocent. ‘I was wondering, that’s all.’
‘Well I’m not sure I like the tone you’re wondering in,’ said Lisette.
‘All I’m saying is that it would be easy for the person who’s looking after things to … to accidentally take something home, that’s all.’
Lisette thought of the damaged snuff box and swallowed hard.
‘I ’aven’t taken anything from this ’ouse,’ she said, her accent deteriorating under pressure. ‘I wouldn’t.’
‘I would.’ Zoey was unfazed.
‘Well I didn’t.’
‘More fool you then,’ said Zoey. ‘If you ask me, we should try and secure as much as we can in case it all goes horribly wrong and that oh-so-innocent American and her barmy mother get their hands on everything.’
‘You mean take things? We can’t do that.’ Lisette’s voice was a mixture of horror and wistfulness.
‘Who’s to know?’ asked Zoey. ‘You’ve already gone through a heap of junk that nobody had a clue about. What else is here that we’ve never seen before?’
‘Nothing valuable,’ said Lisette.
‘You’ve looked?’
‘I’ve done a lot of clearing up,’ she replied. ‘I would have noticed.’
‘Pity,’ said Zoey.<
br />
‘If it comes to it, do you think we’ll win in court?’ asked Lisette.
‘Do you?’
‘If Alex says that Fred ignored the advice he gave him, I can’t see how we can prove otherwise,’ said Lisette. ‘I’ve said this to Gareth but he insists they can show that Fred was off his rocker. Only thing is, I don’t think he was. He might have been a bit doddery, but he knew exactly what he was doing.’
Zoey tapped her finger against the side of the breakfast bar. ‘Did you know that if this ends up in the High Court, the fees alone could cost fifty grand a day.’
‘What!’ Lisette was horrified.
‘For each side,’ Zoey added. ‘If we challenge and lose, we might have to pay their costs too.’
‘That can’t be right,’ said Lisette. ‘We don’t have that sort of money.’
‘Neither do we,’ said Zoey.
‘But … but … I’ll have to talk to Gareth,’ said Lisette. ‘He hasn’t said anything to me about this.’
‘Donald hasn’t opened his mouth either. He’s probably afraid to.’
‘How do you know, in that case?’ asked Lisette.
‘I thought somebody needed to take an analytical look at it,’ Zoey told her. ‘I did a bit of checking.’
Lisette looked surprised. She’d never thought of her glamorous sister-in-law as being the analytical type before.
‘We can’t let them do this,’ she said. ‘They could ruin us.’
‘Only if they have to take it to court,’ said Zoey. ‘Only if Abbey Andersen and her mother keep what they’ve been left and we fight it.’
‘But they will do that!’ cried Lisette. ‘You saw her. She pretended not to care, but she’s not a rich person and she wants the money. Who wouldn’t?’
‘Of course,’ agreed Zoey. ‘So you and I have to come up with a plan, don’t we?’
‘What sort of plan?’
‘We have to make it attractive for her to settle with us. And not with threats and bluster like the boys. By making her an offer she can’t refuse.’
‘But we have no leverage over her. She can refuse anything.’
Zoey made a face. ‘Our leverage is the fact that her mother is a nun. I know that we talked about the convent wanting the money, but the truth is that nuns are supposed to be charitable. And I got the impression that Abbey was … well, disposed towards being charitable too.’
Things We Never Say Page 27