She nodded and pulled them out of her shoulder bag.
‘And you got my name from Edgar Gower?’
Joss nodded again.
Cornish shook his head. ‘I must say, I have always wondered if you would get in touch. There were only two years to go, you know.’
‘Two years?’ Joss sat tensely on the edge of the chair, her fingers knotted into the soft leather of her bag.
He nodded. ‘It’s a strange story. May I give you some coffee before I start?’ He gestured towards a tray already standing on the table by the wall.
‘Please.’ She needed coffee. Her mouth was very dry.
When they were both served John Cornish resumed his seat and sat back in his chair. He did not touch either the file on his desk or the envelope of certificates she had given him.
‘Your mother, Laura Catherine Duncan died on 15th February 1989. She moved to France from Belheddon Hall in Essex in the spring of 1984 and since then the house has remained empty. Her husband, your father, Philip Duncan, died in November 1963, his mother, who lived in the village of Belheddon, died three years ago and the two sons of Laura and Philip, your brothers, died in 1953 and 1962 respectively. I am afraid to my knowledge there is no close family extant.’
Joss bit her lip. Dragging her eyes away from his face she stared down into her cup.
‘Your mother left two letters for you,’ Cornish went on. ‘One, I understand, was written at the time of your adoption. The other was entrusted to me before she left the country. It had some rather strange conditions attached to it.’
‘Conditions?’ Joss cleared her throat nervously.
He smiled. ‘I was instructed to give it to you only if you appeared within seven years of her death. I was not to seek you out in any way. It had to be your decision to look for your roots.’
‘And if I hadn’t contacted you?’
‘Then you would not have inherited Belheddon Hall.’
Joss’s mouth fell open. ‘What did you say?’ Her hands had started to shake.
He smiled at her, clearly delighted at the effect of his words. ‘The house and its grounds which I believe extend to about ten acres, are yours, my dear. It has been waiting for you. I understand a lot of the contents are still there as well, although some things were sold before Laura left England.’
‘What would have happened to it if I hadn’t contacted you?’ Stunned, Joss frowned. She was still trying to make sense of his words.
‘Then the house was to be sold at auction with its contents and the proceeds were to go to charity.’ He paused. ‘My dear, I should warn you that although enough provision was made for the payment of any inheritance taxes there is no money to go with the bequest. It is possible that you have been left an appallingly large white elephant, and there are conditions and covenants attached to the bequest. You may not turn it down, even though of course you cannot be forced to live there, and, you may not sell the property for a period of seven years starting from the first day you set foot inside the house.’ He turned to the file before him and stood up. ‘I shall give you her letters and leave you alone for a moment while you read them.’ He handed her two envelopes with a smile. ‘I shall be in my secretary’s office if you need me.’
She sat looking down at the two envelopes for several minutes without moving. One was addressed: To my daughter, Lydia. The other had her name – the name she had taken from her step parents, Jocelyn Davies – and the date April 1984.
She picked up the one addressed to Lydia and slowly ran her finger under the flap. The single page was embossed with the address: Belheddon Hall, Belheddon, Essex.
My darling Lydia, One day, I hope you will understand why I have done as I have done. I had no choice. I love you. I shall always love you. Please God you will be happy and safe with your new mother and father. My blessings go with you, my darling baby. God bless you always.
There was no signature. Joss felt her eyes flood with tears. She sniffed frantically, dropping the letter onto the desk. It was several seconds before she tore open the second envelope. It too was headed Belheddon Hall. This letter was longer.
My dearest Jocelyn. I am not supposed to know your name but there are people who find out these things and once in a while I have had news of you. I hope you have been happy. I have been so proud of you, my darling. Forgive me, Jocelyn, but I can no longer fight your father’s wishes, I have no strength left. I am leaving Belheddon with all its blessings and its curses, but he will only let me escape if I give in. He wants Belheddon to be yours and I have to obey. If you read this letter, he will have got his way. God bless you, Jocelyn, and keep you safe.
Laura Duncan.
Joss read the letter again, puzzled. So, it was her father’s wish that she inherit the house. She thought of the lone grave beneath the oak tree and shook her head slowly.
It was five minutes later that John Cornish put his head around the door. ‘All right?’
She nodded numbly. ‘I’m finding it hard to assimilate all this.’
He resumed his chair and gave her a kind smile. ‘I can imagine.’
‘What happens now?’
He shrugged eloquently. ‘I give you a box of keys and you go away and, as our American cousins say, enjoy.’
‘And that is all?’
‘Bar a few small formalities – papers to sign and so forth – that is all.’
She hesitated. ‘My husband’s engineering company has just folded. He’s been swindled by his partner. There is a chance he is going to be made bankrupt. We’ve lost our house – I won’t lose Belheddon?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m so sorry. But this house is yours, not your husband’s. Unless you yourself are being made bankrupt, it is safe.’
‘And we could go and live there?’
He laughed. ‘Indeed you can. Though you should remember it has been closed up a long time. I have no idea what condition it is in.’
‘I don’t care what condition it’s in. It is going to save our lives!’ Joss could hardly contain herself. ‘Mr Cornish, I don’t know how to thank you!’
He beamed at her. ‘It is your mother you should thank, Mrs Grant, not I.’
‘And my father.’ Joss bit her lip. ‘I gather it was my father who wanted me to have the house.’
It was several minutes before John Cornish’s secretary, on his instructions, appeared in his office carrying a small tin box which she laid reverently on the desk.
‘The keys, if I remember, are all neatly labelled.’ John Cornish pushed it towards Joss. ‘If you have any problems, let me know.’
She stared down at it. ‘You mean, that’s it?’
He smiled happily. ‘That’s it.’
‘It’s my house?’
‘It’s your house, to do with as you wish, provided you abide by the conditions.’ He stood up again, and extended his hand. ‘Congratulations, Mrs Grant. I wish you and your husband every happiness with your inheritance.’
4
‘I don’t believe it. Things like that don’t happen in real life.’ Lyn Davies was sitting opposite her adoptive sister at the small kitchen table, her eyes round with envy.
Joss reached down to Tom, sitting playing by her feet and hoisted him onto her knee. ‘I can’t believe it’s true either. I have to keep pinching myself. It makes up for losing this.’ She glanced round her at the little kitchen.
‘I’ll say. Talk about falling on your feet!’ Lyn scowled. ‘Have you told Mum and Dad about all this?’ Two years younger than Joss, she had been conceived after Joss’s adoption, five years after Alice had been told she could never have a child of her own. Totally unlike Joss to look at – she was squarely built, had short, curly blond hair and deep grey eyes. Nobody ever had taken them for sisters.
Joss nodded. ‘I rang last night. They think it’s like a fairy story. You know, Mum was so worried I’d be disappointed when I wanted to look for my real parents; but she was so good about it.’ She glanced at Lyn. ‘She didn’t mind.??
?
‘Of course she minded!’ Lyn reached for the pot and poured herself another mug of thick black coffee. ‘She was desperately unhappy about it. She was frightened you might find another family and forget her and Dad.’
Joss was shocked. ‘She wasn’t! She can’t have believed that.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘She didn’t feel that at all. You’re stirring again, Lyn. I wish you wouldn’t.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Look, are you sure you want Tom tomorrow?’ She hugged the little boy close. ‘Luke and I can take him with us – ’
Lyn shook her head. ‘No. I’ll have him. He’ll only get in your way while you’re measuring for curtains or whatever.’ Catching sight of Joss’s face she scowled again. ‘All right, sorry. I didn’t mean it. I know you can’t afford curtains. Go on, you and Luke go and enjoy your day out. It will do him good to get away from all this mess with H & G. Mum and I will love having Tom!’
Luke drove, his handsome square face haggard with worry and loss of sleep. For a second Joss reached over and touched his hand. ‘Cheer up. You’re going to love it.’
‘Am I?’ He turned to her and finally he grinned. ‘Yes, you’re right, I am. If the roof keeps most of the rain out and there is a garden big enough to grow vegetables in, I’m going to love it. I don’t care what it looks like.’
The last week had been a nightmare of solicitors, bank managers and police investigators. Meetings with them and with creditors and accountants had filled Luke’s every waking hour as he watched the small engineering company which had been his whole life being taken apart and put under the microscope. They were not to be bankrupted at least. But it was no comfort to know that Barry Henderson was being sought by Interpol. The sour taste Barry’s betrayal had left in his mouth and the inevitable loss of the mews cottage had detracted badly from his pleasure in Joss’s windfall. And from the relief he felt when he realised that for the time at least they would have a roof, however leaky, over their heads whilst they decided what to do with the rest of their lives.
They pulled up at last outside the village shop. ‘Are you going to introduce yourself?’ Luke smiled at her. ‘The new lady of the manor.’
Joss shrugged. ‘What do I say?’
‘Tell them the truth. You’ve got to tell them, Joss. They are the post office. They’ll be delivering mail pretty soon. Go on. Give the village something to gossip about.’ He swung himself out of the car.
The wind was icy, worrying the branches of the ash tree which grew at the road junction opposite like an angry dog, tearing off the remaining leaves. Joss followed him, turning up the collar of her jacket with a shudder as the wind tore at her hair and whipped it into her eyes.
The shop was empty. They stood looking round, savouring the mixed smells of cheese and ham and exotic smoked sausages and the silence after the wind. Moments later the post mistress appeared from a doorway at the back of the counter. She was carrying a cup of coffee. ‘Hello, my dears. How can I help you?’ She set the cup down. Then she peered at Joss. ‘Of course, you were in here the other day, asking about the Hall. Did you manage to find Mary Sutton?’
Joss shook her head. ‘There was no one there when I knocked but I met the vicar up at the church and he gave me the address of his predecessor who knew the Duncans.’
‘I see.’ The woman put her head on one side. ‘You’ve some special interest in the Hall, have you?’ Her eyes were bright with curiosity.
Joss heard Luke chuckle. She trod heavily on his toe. Smiling, she held out her hand. ‘Perhaps I should introduce myself. I am Joss Grant – this is my husband, Luke. It looks as though we are going to be living there, at least for a while. Laura and Philip Duncan were my parents. They gave me up for adoption when I was a baby, but it appears that they left the house to me.’
The woman’s mouth dropped open. ‘Well I never! Oh, my dear! That great place!’ Far from being pleased as Joss expected, she appeared to be horrified. ‘You’re never going to live there! You couldn’t possibly.’
Taken aback, Joss frowned. ‘Why on earth not? It didn’t look to me as though it was in too bad condition.’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean that.’ The woman was immediately embarrassed. ‘Take no notice of me! It’s a lovely place. You are very lucky. The village will be pleased. The Hall has been empty too long. Much too long.’ She shook her head. ‘There’s me forgetting my manners. I’m Sally Fairchild. My husband Alan is the post master here; I’m the deli counter.’ She laughed. ‘Alan retired from his accountancy five years back and we thought we’d take over a village shop in our declining years. Thought it would be a nice restful job. Haven’t had time to sit down since …’
Luke looked across at Joss as they settled themselves back into the car. On the back seat there was a box of supplies – enough for an army for three days at least, Luke had said with a smile, as they selected a picnic for themselves from Sally Fairchild’s luxurious counter. ‘So. What do you make of all that?’
Joss reached for her seatbelt. ‘Nice woman. I had the feeling though, that whatever she said about the village being pleased, they wouldn’t be.’
Glancing into the mirror Luke pulled the car away from the kerb. ‘Up here? She certainly had reservations, didn’t she. Do you still want to stop off and see this Mary Sutton?’
Joss shook her head. ‘Let’s go to the house first. I can’t wait to see what it’s like inside.’ She reached into the glove compartment and brought out the box of keys, hugging it against her chest. ‘We can’t expect the locals to accept us just like that. When I rang David Tregarron to tell him our plans he said it would take twenty years for anyone round here to accept a stranger. As I was a blood relation, probably nineteen years eight months.’
Luke laughed.
‘Up there now, round the green,’ Joss went on. ‘I think the drive must lead off the lane beyond the church. He said he would come and see us.’ David had been more than just her boss. Confidant, friend, sparring partner, his warmth and genuine regret when she had phoned him a couple of days earlier had touched her deeply. ‘There. That must be it.’
The wrought iron gate, standing between two stone gate posts, topped with moss-covered pineapples, was standing half open in the tall hedge. Luke drew the car to a halt. Climbing out he peered up the drive as he tried to force the gate back over the muddy gravel. There was no notice to say this was Belheddon Hall, no sign of the house as the overgrown driveway curved out of sight between the high laurel hedges.
He climbed back into the car. ‘OK?’ Her excitement was tangible. He reached across and squeezed her hand. ‘The return of the prodigal daughter. Let’s go.’
The drive was not very long. One sweep past the hedges and they were there, drawing up on the grassy gravel in front of the house. Luke pulled up and cut the engine.
‘Joss!’ It was all he said. For several seconds they sat in silence, staring through the windscreen.
It was Joss who moved first, opening the door and stepping out into the freezing wind. Silently she stood staring up at the house. It was her birthplace. Her inheritance. Her home.
Behind her Luke stood for a moment watching her. He was intensely proud of his wife; she was beautiful, intelligent, hard working, sexy – sternly he cut short that train of thought – and now an heiress as well! Silently he stepped up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘So, how does it feel to be home?’ he said softly. He had read her thoughts exactly.
She smiled, brushing her cheek against his hand. ‘Strange. A little frightening.’
‘It’s a big house, Joss.’
‘And we have no money.’ She turned and looked up at him. ‘You have always liked challenges.’ Her eyes were sparkling.
‘If we’re seriously going to live here for any length of time, we’ll need cash from somewhere for taxes, heat, electricity and food. On top of that there will be endless ongoing repairs. Shouldn’t be a problem.’ He grinned. ‘Your mother did leave you a magic lamp, a bag of gold coins and six live-in servants?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then, as I said, no problem. Come on. Where’s the key? Let’s go in.’
The keyhole in the front door was two inches high. Joss already knew the contents of the key box by heart; there was nothing in there which would fit. She reached for a couple of yale keys. Both were labelled ‘Back door’.
They walked along the front of the house, passing the shuttered lower windows and turned through the stone archway. There a square range of coach houses, garages and stables surrounded a cobbled courtyard one side of which was the east wall of the house. By the back door stood a black iron pump.
‘Joss!’ Luke stared round. ‘You realise what I could do here, don’t you! I’ve had the most brilliant idea! Looking for jobs in London will probably be a dead loss, but I could work here!’ In three steps he had reached one of the doors. Pulling it open he peered into an empty garage. ‘Cars! I can restore cars. I can start again. My God, there would be room to do it, too. It would give us a living of sorts.’ Excitedly he peered into the stable and outbuildings.
Behind him Joss was smiling. The house was working its spell. She could see his depression lifting as she watched. She stood there for a few minutes more, then, unable to resist it any longer she turned alone to the back door.
It was swollen with damp and grated against the York stone flags of a narrow dark hallway. ‘Wait for me!’ Coming up behind her, Luke caught her hand. ‘I think this is somewhere I should carry you over the threshold, don’t you?’
Giggling, Joss clung to his neck as he swept her off her feet and he walked with her into the darkness of the first room down the passage. There he set her down, panting. ‘My God, woman. What have you been eating? Bricks?’
They stared round in silence. The huge room was shadowy, a pale, reluctant light filtering around the edge of the shutters. ‘It’s the kitchen,’ Joss whispered. A huge fireplace took up the whole of one wall. In it a double size cooking range slumbered like some great black engine. On it stood an iron kettle. In the centre of the room stood a scrubbed oak table with round it six bentwood chairs. One was pulled out, as though the person seated on it had only a moment before stood up and left the room. To the left a glass-fronted dresser, dusty and hung with spiders’ webs, showed the gleam of china.