by Tammy Cohen
She resumes her place on the sofa, only this time her back is straight, and she perches on the very edge of the cushion with her feet firmly on the floor.
Silly, she scolds herself. To get excited about a letter.
She slits open the envelope to find a satisfyingly thick sheet of manila folded in three. She takes her time about opening it up and notes first the letterhead printed in bold at the very top of the page.
Pearson & Wilkes
Solicitors
Commissioners for Oaths
The print is slightly embossed and she runs her fingertip over the raised letters.
She takes a deep breath, and reads on.
‘Are you certain there has been no mistake?’
Clifford is looking at her in a way that clearly suggests a mistake has indeed been made and that it will turn out to be hers.
‘The letter is definitely addressed to me. And there can be no confusion about what it says. I am requested to present myself at the firm’s offices in London next Tuesday to hear something to my advantage. Isn’t that deliciou sly mysterious?’
‘It’s deuced inconvenient, is what it is. I have an important meeting next Tuesday.’
‘So you intend to come?’
Clifford blinks at her as if she has begun, for reasons quite her own, to talk in Swahili.
‘Of course I must come. This whole business sounds fishy. We have no idea who these Pearson and Wilkes are or whom they represent. For all we know this could turn out to be some sort of racket and I’m afraid you, my dear, are a sitting duck. Don’t forget, Eve, that you moved here straight from your mother’s house. You have very little experience of looking out for yourself.’
Clifford is in the middle of eating and a white crumb of potato is lodged in his moustache. Eve watches the crumb move up and down as he speaks. Already she feels the excitement of earlier trickling away.
In the end, then, it is to turn out to be a mistake. A racket, as Clifford says. They will come back from London and everything will be just the same as it ever was.
‘But they are offering to cover all travel costs,’ she remembers now. ‘Would they do such a thing if there was something underhand about the whole affair?’
Clifford, who has paused with his fork halfway to his lips, now resumes his original intention, delivering a brown lump of liver into his mouth. It seems to take for ever to chew. Mrs Jenkins, who comes in two mornings a week to cook and clean, does not believe in lightness of touch when it comes to preparing meat dishes. ‘Who knows what germs they could be harbouring,’ she said the one time Eve dared ask if they might have their precious chops, still rationed even three years after the war, just a little less well done. Clifford swallows and Eve follows the progress of the lump down her husband’s throat. Finally he speaks.
‘The first rule of business is that you never trust anyone until they have proved themselves deserving of your trust, and that is a good rule to apply in life, Eve. Otherwise you will be taken advantage of. I will do my best to rearrange my meeting so that I may accompany you.’
He dabs the corners of his mouth with his napkin, dislodging the crumb. As usual, his blue eyes, so close together that at times they almost seem to cross over, remain fixed on a point just past Eve’s shoulder, so she feels she is always ceding attention to someone just behind her.
‘Thank you,’ she says.
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First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Black Swan
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
Copyright © Tammy Cohen 2019
Extract from A Fatal Inheritance copyright © Rachel Rhys 2018
Cover Design by Jo Thomson/TW
Cover photo by Reilika Landen/Arcangel Images
Tammy Cohen has asserted her right under the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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ISBN 9781473542655
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