The Twisted Way

by Jean Hill

  Whilst chatting with her aunt the previous evening Felicity had discovered that Janet’s old friend Peter’s son Jeremy Mace was now her solicitor as his father had been before him. If he did not interfere too much, she could perhaps get away with a lot. The credit card and pin numbers were all she needed. Jeremy had offered to pay bills for Janet and it seemed that he did so on occasions when Janet seemed more confused than usual. She understood he had set up a direct debit so that the credit card bills were paid automatically at the end of each month. She vowed to deal with Jeremy and his so-called good intentions as soon as possible.

  The first thing she needed to do when she got back to Primrose House was to find out if Auntie had an up-to-date will and what was in it. That would be her next task. Her mind started to wander, as it so often did, and she imagined what her life could be like if she owned Primrose House and her pockets were full of money. No more scrimping and scrounging, that would be wonderful. She had already endured years of living on the breadline. The lure of a better life was sweet and a mounting excitement threatened to overcome her. This was one opportunity she did not intend to let slip through her fingers. The morning’s shopping had whetted her appetite.

  The goods purchased in Mrs Bumble’s shop were packed in large paper holdalls topped with elegant pink string handles. Robbie was startled when he arrived outside the shop to collect Felicity and looked with surprise at the number of bags on the pavement.

  ‘Put my shopping in the boot,’ Felicity said in an imperious tone and waved her hand with a gesture that would have done credit to the Queen in order to indicate where her goods were stacked, though the pile was obvious, and with uncharacteristic swiftness settled herself in the back of the car whilst Robbie struggled to load her purchases into the car boot. She observed that his face turned a deep pink with annoyance and his hazel eyes glittered but she did not care.

  ‘Hurry up man,’ Felicity shouted and smirked with satisfaction as he stumbled under the weight of her goods.

  Mrs Bumble hovered anxiously and struggled to hide the smug smile that threatened to contort her thin lips.

  ‘Do come again soon Mrs Brown,’ she croaked as she twisted and rubbed her bony hands together. What a good morning’s sales, she told herself. With any luck that niece will be staying for some time.

  Several days passed and Felicity was feeling more comfortable. She was enjoying herself. Joyce disliked her more each day and showed it rather too openly.

  ‘How long is that woman staying?’ Joyce asked her employer several times.

  Janet took very little notice and Joyce’s veiled and somewhat derisive mutterings behind Felicity’s back made little impact upon her. Felicity, however, quietly vowed to remove the insolent Joyce as soon as she was able. She would have to put up with her for some time yet but her day of retribution would come. She would make sure of that.

  She did not like the gardener and general help, Robbie, either though she conceded that he was quite useful. She felt he was watching her too often for comfort. Robbie did indeed keep a beady eye on the usurper. Felicity wondered why he was showing so much interest in her, after all he was only an employee.

  ‘How long are you staying, miss?’ he asked politely when he drove her to Brinton once again to do her shopping a few days after she had arrived.

  ‘Oh, I am not sure yet. I will probably stay a week or two longer.’

  The conversation lapsed and apart from the arrangements for the return journey they did not say another word to each other, a silence maintained when he struggled to stow her mountain of parcels in the boot, which took him a good five minutes. Robbie had an uneasy memory of an unpleasant little girl who had attended Janet’s wedding years before when he was a page boy. Time had not improved her manners.

  ‘Strange fellow, Robbie,’ Felicity said to her aunt later that evening. ‘Have you known him long?’

  Her aunt smiled and thought for some time before replying. ‘I’m not sure. He has been here a while I think,’ she responded in a quiet voice, almost a whisper. She seemed slightly bewildered and the subject was dropped.

  Old girl does not seem to know, Felicity thought. That man is far too inquisitive but he is quite useful. It was a conclusion she had an uncomfortable feeling that she may regret later.

  Janet had an afternoon nap, usually for about two hours, each day and Felicity would sit in the lounge and attempt to read though her concentration would only allow her to peruse a chapter or two at a time. To her chagrin Joyce Skillet kept a beady eye upon her but on Thursday afternoons Joyce usually went home early and Lily from the vicarage came to help. Dopey looking creature, Felicity thought, but I will have to tolerate her I suppose.

  On the second Thursday of Felicity’s visit Lily was sick. ‘Lily has a really bad cold,’ her mother had telephoned and informed Joyce Skillet that morning. ‘She cannot possibly come. Really streaming, I would not like her to pass the cold to Mrs Lacey. It would be very unfair.’

  ‘I wanted to get away early,’ Joyce moaned. ‘Always the way …’ ‘Don’t worry,’ Felicity said in a patronizing voice. ‘I can look after Auntie.’

  Joyce looked doubtful but Felicity insisted. ‘We really do not need that girl anyway now that I’m here. Daft creature anyway.’

  ‘Well ...’ Joyce agreed dubiously, ‘I’ll leave the supper ready and you can help Mrs Lacey to get into bed I’m sure.’ The slightly sarcastic edge to her voice was not lost upon Felicity.

  Felicity had been looking forward to the chance to rummage for the will and an opportunity had at last presented itself. She had found out from her friend that Auntie was worth a couple of million at least. She must make sure that some, or preferably most of it, came her way. Felicity’s eyes shone and her body tingled with anticipation. It should not take her long to go through a few drawers. She would start on that likely-looking oak bureau in the lounge where she had earlier considered that important documents might be kept. Felicity was expert at undoing locks if she could not find the keys. It was something she had learned from a boyfriend she had lived with for a while after leaving her husband. He had been a cat burglar and fairly successful for a while. He had shown her how to pick locks and had been amazed at her aptitude. Unfortunately for him he been caught stealing from a warehouse about a year after they had met and had been sentenced to five years in prison. Felicity had thought that a good point in time to move on and until she met Roberto she lived with several petty thieves and sometimes violent criminals. When she found out they did not have any money stashed away she moved on quickly, until she met Roberto who was simple but honest. Roberto had been a convenient prop just when she needed one. She liked and to some extent admired the man but never loved him. He was in her opinion too weak and that was something she did not respect. In any case, what real love for a man entailed was a complete mystery to her. Men had satisfied her lust and provided her with some security when she needed it but that was all. She took but did not give.

  When supper was over and Janet soundly asleep with the aid of a couple of sleeping pills Felicity began her eagerly awaited search for the will.

  The old oak bureau indeed proved to be the hiding place for a number of documents including a copy of the last will and testament of Janet Lacey which had been made shortly after her husband John died in 1980. The will was, after a few very small bequests and £5000 to Thomas Hands, divided into three parts: one part to Janet’s trusted friend the solicitor Peter Mace or if he did not survive her, his children; the second part to herself Felicity Griffiths, her married name; and the third to her brother Ronald.

  It was better than she had expected. She beamed and sank her ample bottom into the large plush lounge sofa to dream about a luxurious future when Auntie had gone. It would be even better if she could eliminate some of the other beneficiaries before Auntie popped it. If she was a sole beneficiary she could also be mistress of Primrose House. She started to plan and scheme how that might be achieved and in w
hat colours she would redecorate the rooms. Ronald she was not too concerned about, after all he was her own flesh and blood and she convinced herself that he would not wish to leave Australia. He was too far away to do anything about anyway. She had a small lingering feeling of affection for her little brother. He surely would not want to turn her out of Primrose House, although it might have to be sold if he wanted his share of the estate immediately. That solicitor, Peter Mace, and his family, hmm, she would check how many of them were still alive. Who on earth was Thomas Hands? The name was familiar. She needed to do some research. She ached with excitement. She told herself that she would have no hesitation in disposing of any of them if the opportunity arose. She had knifed one difficult and bullying boyfriend who had threatened to kill her when she first moved to Vancouver and disposed of his body in a lake with little compunction. She had decided he was of little value and her conscience was in no way troubled. After all, she was entitled to defend herself. The local police had not suspected her as far as she knew, though they had questioned her and taken her fingerprints. Her ego had been boosted by the fact that she had, as she thought of it, got away with murder. Not many women are capable of that, she reminisced with considerable pride.

  Huh ... she looked more closely at the small bequests: one thousand pounds to her financial adviser. She would see about that: the FSA Ethics Committee would find that interesting. That would be fun, she would like that.

  Her thoughts turned back to Primrose House. It would be dreadful if it had to be sold but she realized that would most likely be the case; it was after all part of the estate. She wondered once again if there was some way round that. Her turbulent restless mind flitted from one idea to another. She was anxious to use any means available to her in order to increase her share of her aunt’s fortune. The way may prove to be twisted, but Felicity was determined to overcome any obstacles in order to achieve her all-important goal, money.

  It was imperative to check first of all if the will was the last one her aunt had written. She could perhaps pretend that she needed to write a will and discuss the pros and cons with her aunt. That at least could be a starting point and so she did this at the next opportunity when they were having their afternoon tea alone in the lounge.

  ‘Do you think it is a good idea Auntie if I make a will? I have not much to leave to anybody except perhaps my brother Ronald’s daughter in Australia, but it could save a lot of trouble, couldn’t it?’

  Felicity did not look as though she had much to leave anyone but Janet remembered vaguely that she had made a will herself in the past and Jeremy had said it was a good idea.

  ‘It’s certainly a good thing to do, Felicity,’ she said after a few minutes of struggling to gather her thoughts together. ‘I’ll give you the address of my solicitor; Jeremy will help you, though you could possibly ask him when he visits Primrose House next. I made a will, think it was in the nineteen eighties but I’m not really sure. I can’t really remember what was in it but I know one should always make one, it does save others a lot of trouble.’

  Janet wondered for a brief moment what was in her will, but she couldn’t remember, so she stretched her hand out for one of Joyce’s newly iced fairy cakes, her mouth watering slightly. It no longer seemed important. She was tired and looked forward to a nap. Her eyes felt heavy and she sighed audibly. The saliva dribbled with invidious determination from the corners of her mouth and ran down her chin. Cake crumbs tumbled on to the floor to be snapped up with rapacious eagerness by the odious Jack.

  Felicity made a strenuous effort to hide her repugnance. Ugh, revolting old woman, passed through her mind, but I won’t have to put up with her too long, or that fleabag dog. Auntie is not going to live much longer, she looks so frail. It would be easy to doctor Jack’s supper with a little poison but she could wait until a more appropriate time to do that. A feeling of pleasure rushed over her when she thought about it. She considered him to be a horrid stinking animal. It would give her great pleasure to see the back of him.

  Felicity shifted in her chair and Jack growled with ominous intensity. He would have enjoyed savaging her ankles but was smart enough to know it would not be in his best interest. She had already given him a swift kick when she thought his mistress was not looking. He could wait, his time would come. His eyes glittered with animosity.

  Felicity was reasonably satisfied that the will was the latest, but she would try and check again later if the will was the last one Janet had signed. She did not want any nasty surprises when her aunt had been buried in the local churchyard. In the meantime she would make some further enquiries about the other beneficiaries and think carefully about removing a few of them if practicable. She thought it would be, indeed she would enjoy the challenge and she experienced a welcome rush of adrenalin. She found herself daydreaming for a few moments about the possibilities. The will and Janet’s money filled her thoughts on most days and she often dreamt at night about a life of pleasure and comfort in a beautifully decorated and transformed Primrose House; a house decorated in the way she admired and not a beastly blue wall to be seen.

  Felicity was enjoying the luxury her aunt afforded her more each day. Janet had foolishly arranged for Felicity to have the joint use of a credit card and given her some signed cheques in order that she could buy goods for the household and any other small items of clothing or make-up that she needed when she went into Brinton to shop. Janet’s current account balance was substantial and she had stubbornly ignored suggestions from her bank and financial adviser that she should transfer excess funds to more lucrative accounts. She had a good pension and income from her large fortune which was paid into the account on a regular basis.

  ‘Never know when I might like to spend some of it,’ she had responded to their sensible suggestions and now she could indulge her poverty-stricken niece, though she was unaware of the full extent of her generosity.

  Whenever she went into the lounge Felicity took pleasure from patting her newly trimmed hair and glancing quickly at her reflection in the expensive-looking bronze-edged mirror that dominated the old, but elaborate blue-and-white tiled Dutch fireplace. It became a habit. She delighted in her new image. She made a point of wearing pretty mohair cardigans under which matching silk blouse collars peeped out. She had bought several cardigans and blouses in various soft colours though green was her favourite. Her woollen trousers were the best the old woman in the shop in Brinton could produce. The cut of these trousers was better than any others Felicity had owned before and her figure, she decided, really looked quite trim, or at least her slightly dumpy waist did not seem so prominent. Her attractive soft leather Italian shoes moulded themselves to her feet and complemented the trousers. They fitted perfectly and she no longer needed to hobble. She had been stupid in the past to buy shoes that were too small just because they had been reduced. She hoped auntie would not mind too much, that is if she ever found out how expensive the purchases were. She did not appear to mind, indeed she had noticed that her aunt sometimes looked at her smart image with approval and had a satisfied smile that would linger around her mouth for a while when Felicity appeared in one of her new outfits. It had been wonderful to treat herself to some good French make-up, Janet had given her enough spare cash for that, and had obtained some excellent advice from some of the staff in the one rather up-market chemist’s shop. Quite a find that shop she decided; she had not expected to come upon such good products in a tip like Brinton.

  Janet was not concerned. It was only money and her niece looked happier. She was not sure now what arrangement they had come to about paying for the goods, she could not remember, but it did not really matter. It had been interesting to watch her emerge from a cheap-looking tart into a smart woman who now dressed with good taste.

  Joyce Skillet however had noticed with some disquiet that Felicity looked so much more presentable. She was suspicious and resentful of this usurper who seemed to be creeping and grovelling around her aunt. She did no
t like her any better as the days passed and wondered who she could ask for advice about the unwelcome newcomer to Primrose House. She decided eventually to talk to Robbie. He seemed to her to be a genuine man who cared in his way for Mrs Lacey. In that assumption she was right but he didn’t have any idea what they could do about the unwelcome visitor; their only option was to commiserate and wait.

  Chapter 11

  Peter Mace 2004

  Peter felt his age. His back often felt stiff and his knees ached. Pains radiated down his arms from his shoulders and settled in his wrists, making many every-day tasks uncomfortable and difficult. He was born in the same year as Janet and had been her solicitor and closest adviser for many years. He’d sympathised with her when James Anderson had departed so abruptly although he had been glad to see the back of the man, and comforted her when her second husband John Lacey died from cancer in his early sixties. Janet was devastated and he had been there to give her as much support as he could, which he was more than happy to do. Peter had promised John Lacey that he would look after Janet, something he agreed to with alacrity; he did not find that prospect onerous. Janet had always held a corner of his heart and he had loved her since they were pupils in the local primary school, far more than any other woman he had known, including his wife.

  ‘Don’t worry, John,’ he had said. ‘I’ll help Janet,’ and he did. It was not an arduous task and he took pleasure in it. He was intrigued to discover that John had left Janet a very wealthy widow. He helped her to obtain a financial adviser, a friend he strongly recommended. He was anxious to make himself indispensable and, with luck, persuade her to leave a little something to his family. She could afford to do that. He had no conscience about encouraging her to leave a legacy to his son and grandson.