He took it over to the light of the window and opened it. I followed, looking around his shoulder. It was dated 14th December 2015. The first paragraph read:
This is the last will and testament of Cuthbert James Christopher Faulkner written to negate and supersede any other previous wills and testaments in my name, or any lodged with my solicitor, Piers Hamilton of Hamilton & Simpson Associates.
Paddy glanced at me. ‘Couldn’t be clearer.’
It was short. Written on only one page. Much shorter than I’d imagined a will to be. And it was to the point.
I hereby leave my estate, in its entirety, and in perpetuity, to my partner, Robert Angus Carrington, to be inherited on his death by my nearest relative, Molly Victoria Faulkner, wife of my deceased nephew, David Sinclair Faulkner. On no account is any part of my estate to be inherited by Robert Carrington’s son, Felix Carrington.
‘Oh!’ I glanced up. ‘But that’s almost exactly …’
‘What you had in mind,’ finished Paddy.
‘That Robert could live here until his death?’ asked Daniel.
‘Yes, she’d already told him that,’ said Camilla. She looked at me gratefully. ‘Which was very good of you. And Cuthbert hadn’t anticipated that. Part of the leverage on me was obviously the fact that Robert wouldn’t be entitled to live here. He knew I’d hate that, the cunning old bugger, and was forcing my hand, but you let me off that particular hook by being so magnanimous. I could have just let it go, much more easily.’ She turned back to Paddy. ‘Read the next bit.’
Paddy went on:
‘ “On no account is Felix Carrington to inherit any antiques, paintings or furnishings in any sort of bequest from his father, on the latter’s death.” ’
A silence prevailed. I couldn’t look at Daniel.
‘That’s it,’ Paddy told us. ‘Apart from a note to his solicitor at the bottom, directing him to one of his files.’ He folded it up again.
Camilla cleared her throat. ‘Right. Well, in fact I am going to read you part of the letter he wrote to me. The end of it, anyway.’ She took a clearly much handled envelope from the bottom of the same manila envelope and removed the pages. She turned to the last one, gazed. Then she took a deep breath.
Finally, my dear Camilla, along with a great deal of doubtless irritating advice from an interfering old man – but please accept it in the spirit in which it’s offered, with the best of intentions and the greatest affection – you will see that I’ve left you something else. Another copy of my will. The first, Felix will have already destroyed. I left it prominently in the top right-hand drawer of my bureau with the passports and it will not have been to his liking. It has therefore been turned to dust and ashes in the fireplace. He will have found it within hours of my death whilst dear Robert was perhaps consumed with something other than money. This, therefore, is a second. Why didn’t I lodge it with my solicitor, you might ask? To be found in the conventional manner? Like the one it overrides? Because I wanted you to find it. And to deliver it to Mr Piers Hamilton of Hamilton & Simpson. Or not, as the case may be. The decision rests with you. Camilla, I have every faith that you will step up to the plate and do what is right, and in so doing, rid yourself of this pernicious man for ever. Forgive me, for testing you thus, but you have been like a daughter to me and I see no alternative.
Your loving friend,
Cuthbert
A silence prevailed. Her face was pale and empty and very sad. So was Daniel’s.
‘Cuthbert knew Felix would never forgive you,’ Paddy said gently.
‘Yes.’
‘And if we hadn’t got involved … if events hadn’t unfolded the way they did, would you have delivered it to the solicitor?’
‘I … don’t know. I like to think I would.’ She shrugged miserably. She looked tiny and lost in her enormous dungarees. ‘Yes. Eventually. But it breaks my heart.’
‘Mine too,’ said Daniel bitterly. He reached for her hand and she clutched it. ‘I’m gonna miss you so much, Cam.’ They held on tight.
At that moment we heard the sound of the front door opening, and then Robert’s voice, mid-flow, in the middle of a story. ‘She’s priceless, I can’t tell you! Always lurking like that, talk about a curtain twitcher. Did you see her face? She monitors everyone who comes in and out of here, thinks I’m some kind of merry widower and is longing for me to come back in the small hours with a toy boy, which will thrill her beyond measure!’
Robert appeared in the sitting room, in the midst of the hushed gathering. He stopped short at the sight of us. He was wearing a biscuit-coloured linen jacket, a pink shirt and an MCC tie. His face was flushed – almost matching his shirt – and still wreathed in delighted smiles. He did a mock recoil, rocking backwards on his heels.
‘Hello, hello, what’s this, a party?’ he asked. He grinned amiably, glancing from face to face. Then he jerked his head backwards and cupped his mouth. ‘Hey, we’ve busted a break-in!’ he threw jokingly over his shoulder. After a moment, we heard the front door shut. Then, emerging into the room beside his father, with an equally flushed, post-lunch face, and wearing a dazzling peacock-blue shirt, came Felix.
27
Felix looked stunned. He kept his cool but it was very much surface deep. ‘What’s this?’ he said faux affably, but I could tell he was startled to see me. ‘A house party?’
Suddenly he registered Paddy and looked completely taken aback, having last glimpsed this Arabian client in his own house not five hours ago, albeit in dark glasses. Felix blinked rapidly then came to.
‘Mr Karimi, how lovely to see you again,’ he murmured, stretching out his hand, his eyes wide with wonder.
Paddy gave him a long, speculative look and returned the handshake but not the greeting. The look spoke volumes: it told Felix, most eloquently, that Paddy was not Mr Karimi at all. You could see it register in Felix’s lovely sea-green eyes; it ticked over in the tigerish depths. One by one, a few pennies began to drop into place. Amongst the rest of us, some other quick comprehension flickered, like a sparking element: a tacit agreement that this should not play out within Robert’s earshot. The old man was still looking from face to face, his own a picture of amiable bafflement, awaiting enlightenment. Daniel was the most alive to the situation.
‘Grandpa!’ He kissed him. ‘How lovely to see you. Listen, can I borrow you for a moment? There’s a painting I want to show you in Rathbone’s down the road, that’s why I popped by. But I’ve been here ages and I badly need to get back to the studio.’
‘My dear boy, of course! So sweet of you to wait. I’m afraid your father and I had a little digestif in the Garrick after lunch. What a treat, though, I’d love to see it. Funnily enough I was in there the other day and thought their latest show was right up your street. But tell me,’ he broke off to glance around again, ‘what are the rest of you doing here?’ He blinked a bit.
‘Thing is, I’ve got to show you now because I said I’d meet Pascal at four with a client. I’ve got literally five minutes.’
Robert turned back to his grandson. ‘Hm? Oh, right you are, darling. Lead on. You can tell me about this little party on the way.’
Daniel put a guiding hand on his grandfather’s elbow and propelled him door-wards. ‘It’s by a young Scottish artist I haven’t come across before, Cuthbert would have loved him.’
‘Excellent, splendid! How kind, Dan. Such a treat to see my grandson, I don’t see nearly enough of you.’
We heard the front door open and then shut behind them. A silence fell on the remaining assembly. Felix looked from me to Paddy to Camilla, his face unattractively flushed from drink and anger now.
‘What’s this all about? Who the hell are you, anyway? Who is he, Camilla?’
‘My name’s Paddy Campbell and I’m a vet and Camilla knew nothing about this until just now.’
‘Well, you’re a bloody impostor, that’s all I know, and a fraud. A complete fraud.’ His eyes were bloodshot and furious. ‘I’ll ge
t the police on to you.’
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ said Paddy smoothly. ‘They might have more questions for you than they do for me.’
‘Oh really, such as? Camilla, what the hell’s going on – and what the hell are you doing here?’ He glared at me, then realized he was terribly fond of me and forced his face to soften into a smile. ‘Molly?’ he finished lamely.
‘Oh, I just wondered if I could have my driving licence back. I left it at your house. Or to be more precise, you took it.’
Felix’s mouth opened.
‘Felix, it’s over,’ Camilla said softly. ‘I’ve told them everything.’
He stared at her for a long while. ‘You don’t know anything,’ he said finally.
‘Oh, I do. I know a great deal more than you imagine.’ Her eyes told him that she did. They communed silently: years of lies and broken promises and manipulative games and so much damaging detritus seemed to be littered there. She went on quietly. ‘I know, for instance, that you destroyed Cuthbert’s will. But Felix, he left another one. For me to deliver to the solicitor, and then to Molly. I’ve short-circuited that process and given it to her.’
Felix stared some more. Eventually, he moved as if on automatic pilot towards the nearest sofa and sat down heavily. He bent his head and gazed between his knees: massaged his brow savagely with his fingertips. ‘You wouldn’t.’
‘I have.’
‘You’re bluffing. There is no other will.’
Paddy produced it. He bent and displayed it briefly in front of Felix’s nose then folded it up again. Felix looked up at us. His gaze rested on Camilla. He swallowed.
‘You know what this means.’
‘That it’s the end of us, yes.’
‘I didn’t mean that. But yes, it is. More pertinently, though, you’ve ruined me, Camilla.’
‘Ah yes, I see, more pertinently. So more importantly. But no, I didn’t do that, Felix. You ruined yourself.’
There was a silence. His eyes travelled from her to Paddy. His face hardened. ‘I knew there was something dodgy about you,’ he said savagely. ‘You didn’t know enough about art, not a bloody thing. I’m not a complete fool.’
Paddy shrugged amiably, accepting this with equanimity.
‘And you.’ His lip curled as he regarded me.
I widened my eyes in mock disbelief. ‘Me? But you were so enamoured of me. So attracted.’
‘Don’t kid yourself.’
I gave him a steady look. ‘None taken, Felix.’
‘Camilla, if you think for one moment I slept with her – you know me better than that,’ he pleaded.
‘Oh, I do,’ she agreed. She turned to me. ‘You’re too old for him. Felix doesn’t like women of his own age, or even ten years younger. These days, even twenty,’ she said bitterly. ‘I knew he wouldn’t have slept with you.’
‘Of course I bloody didn’t!’
‘Well, that’s a relief all round then, isn’t it?’ I said lightly. ‘But I’m grateful to be enlightened because my own memory, what with everything you gave me,’ I said pointedly, ‘is a bit shaky.’
Paddy cleared his throat. ‘We’re done here, aren’t we?’ He looked at me, eyebrows raised. I nodded. ‘Camilla,’ he went on, ‘we’ll lodge this with Hamilton and Simpson, so they’ve got a copy. Best if we do it, though, don’t you think?’ Camilla nodded miserably, knowing what he meant by that. That she could still be coerced. ‘I expect you’d like to be left alone,’ Paddy went on gently. ‘Unless …’ he hesitated, glancing at Felix, who had his head in his hands now and was tugging at his hair.
‘Yes. Please go. I’m fine. Really. I can be left alone with Felix. He’s not a threat. Not a danger. Except to himself. He’s just a bloody idiot.’
She sat down beside him on the sofa and put an arm around his shoulders. To my horror, I could see that his face was twisted with pain and that he was crying. I looked away.
‘Not a word of this to Dad,’ he managed to whisper, wiping his face with his sleeve. Camilla squeezed his shoulders in assent. ‘Does Dan know?’
‘Yes.’
Felix’s face contorted again and a strangled sob escaped. Camilla put both arms around him and held him close. I could see her love for this complicated, failed, deeply flawed man was not going to disappear overnight. I saw the sorrow in her eyes. As we turned away and left them, I also realized that this could conceivably be just another episode in their tangled story. I hoped not. I hoped, somehow, that it could be the making of them. For all my horror at what Felix had done, I knew too he’d been a desperate man, and desperation sometimes makes us do extraordinary things. Sometimes good, brave, heroic things; sometimes bad, small, corrupt things. It’s all a question of temperament. Felix had seen his career and his limited talent, which he’d been frantically pushing uphill to preserve, disappearing down the plughole, and he’d panicked. He’d lunged the wrong way: done the wrong thing. He’d lit a match and thrown that will in the grate. In a matter of moments, he’d taken a road that he’d been building up to for years: one littered with plenty of indiscretions and tiny lies, but nothing on this scale. Having taken that road, his soul had shrivelled and he’d plunged inexorably into a terrible web of deceit which had got just deeper and deeper.
I was reasonably certain Felix was not out-and-out bad, and that he woke in the small hours and considered what he’d done in a cold sweat. I certainly don’t think his conscience remained untroubled; you could see that from his crumpled face just now. But having finally hit rock-bottom, as Felix surely had, and given that the game was up, might he decide to play it straight? Since there was no alternative? Might this be the catalyst the two of them needed to stay together, patch things up and live more realistically, within Felix’s means and talent? Start a new life? I voiced this to Paddy, breaking the silence as we walked down the cobbled mews together.
He shrugged. ‘I doubt it, somehow. That’s a nice fairy story, but it doesn’t ring true. What – buy a country cottage somewhere, grow roses round the door and paint watercolours in the garden while Camilla cooks and sings in the kitchen?’
‘Well, I—’
‘No. I have a nasty feeling if she stuck by him and helped him back on his feet again he’d take advantage of some other situation. Take over her cleaning business or something. Run it into the ground. Employ illegal immigrants on the basis that they were much cheaper. Ruin her. I hope she leaves him. She’s a nice girl.’
‘Oh. Yes. I see. My, how your mind runs, Paddy. On such cynical lines. I hadn’t thought of that.’ I swallowed, realizing my motives for the fairy story were slightly disingenuous too, in that it would restore some faith in my own terrible judgement. ‘On the other hand,’ I went on as we passed under the arch at the end of the mews, ‘I think she still loves him. And if he does forgive her for exposing the new will—’
‘Because he’s destitute and has no choice – incidentally, he’s about to lose his house and studio, according to Willem. It’s all mortgaged up to the hilt.’
‘Right. Well, if he does, then, through expediency, forgive her, all Cuthbert’s efforts will have been in vain. Because she’s not over him, Paddy, you can see it in her eyes. The way she holds him. She knows exactly what he is and she’ll have him anyway. Warts and all. I can tell.’
‘Well, she’s a fool,’ said Paddy shortly.
I shrugged. ‘Love is rather like that, though, isn’t it?’ I said as we crossed the main road.
‘What?’
‘Blind.’
‘Look out!’ He held my arm as a car whizzed past, missing us by inches. Paddy blinked. ‘Well, you certainly are.’
As we sat, some time later, having a much-needed drink outside a wine bar at the other end of Kensington, I realized he was on his phone a lot, which was unlike Paddy. I looked at him across the table from me, his beer hardly touched, unlike my gin and tonic. He was still dressed in the smart chinos, crisp blue shirt and suede loafers, and he had the effortless, urbane l
ook of a man about town which he could clearly become in an instant. Not a chameleon, though, the genuine article. He was leaning back in his chair, his ankle resting on his knee as he tapped away, smiling slightly. Not work, I felt. Not with that smile. He was totally oblivious to me. Rude, actually.
‘Claudia?’ I enquired at last.
He glanced up. Raised his eyebrows. Then he registered. ‘Oh. Sorry.’ He put his phone away sheepishly and pulled his chair in politely. He smiled at me as one would a maiden aunt. ‘What were you saying?’
I made myself smile. ‘I just asked if that was Claudia. You seemed very intent.’
‘Oh, yes. Well, you know.’ He looked embarrassed, which again was unusual. He sipped his beer then turned and took the manila envelope from the pocket of his jacket, which was hanging on the back of his chair. ‘D’you want to pop this round to the solicitor’s now, Molly, before they shut?’
I blanched. ‘Me?’
‘Yes. And explain, within reason, what’s happened? I mean, basically that another will has been found which is in accordance with your wishes anyway and gives Robert the right to live there for his lifetime.’
‘Oh. Yes. Right. Sure.’
My heart plummeted right down to my boots. I’d thought he might come with me. After our drink. Thought we were in this together. Bonnie and Clyde. Thelma and Louise. Or Louis. Also, my mind wasn’t on the house at all any more. Or Robert. Or sodding money, or anything else like that.
‘I wonder if Felix will end up living there anyway. In the spare room,’ Paddy mused. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me.’
‘Me neither,’ I managed, staring at him. God, what a fool I’d been. He’d been there. Right there. Under my nose. All those years.
‘After all, he is his son.’
‘Yup.’
‘And although ownership eventually passes to you, whilst Robert’s living there, it’s no business of yours who he shares it with.’
About Last Night . . . Page 31