They exchange an emotional glance.
“And you’re in love?” Audrey asks.
Kate nods. “It’s…”
“On a cellular level?” Audrey’s broken fingers come up to rest on Ruth’s necklace, the photo of Ilse. Kate lent it to her back in January, so she could keep Ilse close.
“Yes,” Kate says, filled with warmth. “Do you need anything else right now?”
“Yes, could you pass me the telephone, please?” Audrey indicates the landline on her bedside table, an old gold-plated relic of a thing that looks like it was pulled straight from a 1940s film set.
Kate moves the dozen orange plastic prescription bottles, sets the glass of water aside, and places the phone in Audrey’s lap. Then she lifts the breakfast tray, heads downstairs and allows herself to cry as she does the washing up, her salty tears sinking into the sudsy water.
A while later, the sound of the piano drifts into her ears. Ian must be back inside now. She dries her hands, wiping her face on the tea cloth, too, and pushes through the swinging kitchen door, the music growing louder with each step. Leaning in the doorway of the library, she watches Ian’s brow pinch in concentration, his neck stooped just a little over the keys. Ozzie is splayed out on the floor beside the piano. He’s so attached to Ian.
When Kate walks over, Ian looks up, smiles a little crookedly as he continues to play. She runs her hand over his back, then lifts his chin to her, kissing him.
“Thanks,” he says. “How’s she doing?”
“Okay. You know.”
When he finishes the piece, Ian goes to stoke the sitting room fire, and Kate’s about to get them each a coffee when there’s a knock at the door.
They both pause, glance at one another.
“Sue maybe?” Ian says, turning back to the fire.
Kate opens the door onto the cool spring air. There’s an official-looking man standing on the porch in an expensive suit.
“Hi,” she says. “Can I help you?”
“Ms. Mercer?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“My name is John MacGregor. I am Audrey James’s estate solicitor.” She recalls his name from the office plaque when she took Audrey to see him back in December. “I need to have a word with you, if I may. Mr. Smythe, too,” he says.
“Er, sure.” She leads him into the sitting room, curious. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes. But I do need to have a word with you both.” He glances suggestively at the chairs and couch.
“Okay,” Kate says, looking at Ian.
Mr. MacGregor sits down in what is usually Audrey’s chair, and Kate and Ian take seats on the long couch.
“I appreciate that this is a little unorthodox, though having known Audrey for years, I find that hardly surprising.” A grin plays around his mouth, and he continues. “Audrey just rang and asked me to come speak to you both now, as opposed to after her passing. Her estate settlement is fairly straightforward. As I’m sure you know, Audrey will pass without issue—without children”—he clarifies for their blank stares—“and she has left her considerable estate of inherited family fortune and the Oakwood Inn to the pair of you, jointly.”
His words filter through the buzzing in Kate’s ears. “Excuse me?” She glances sideways at Ian, who looks as confused as she feels.
The lawyer cocks his head to the side and a small grin twitches at the corner of his mouth. “She has bequeathed her estate to both of you. It would appear that this comes as a surprise.”
“I think there’s been some kind of mistake,” Ian says.
“There is no mistake, Mr. Smythe. You are to inherit jointly. Audrey has been very clear on this matter.”
Both Kate and Ian continue to stare at him, dumbfounded.
“There will be a significant amount of paperwork for you to fill out, but the thrust is, you both stand to inherit substantially. I am here to assist you with the process, when the time comes.”
“What do you mean by estate?” Ian asks. “That’s the hotel?”
“No, no, Mr. Smythe. The Oakwood is a separate bequest. Audrey’s estate is her family fortune. Approximately two million pounds.”
“E—excuse me?” Kate asks.
Mr. MacGregor smiles at them as though they’re in on some kind of joke. Surely they must be. “Audrey inherited a considerable sum when her father passed prematurely. I believe it was around thirty thousand pounds at the time. But that was 1938, and Audrey has invested much of that inheritance since the midforties, with a robust return.”
Kate opens and closes her mouth. Ian’s face has turned beet red. The flecks of grey in his temples stand out sharper against the blush.
“Well, I believe that’s all for now,” Mr. MacGregor says. “I will be in touch about the paperwork upon Audrey’s passing.”
Several long moments after the door shuts behind the solicitor, Ian finally speaks. “What the bloody hell just happened?”
Kate’s mind is reeling. “I don’t know. We need to go talk to her.”
They stop outside her room. Kate leans her head in and knocks on the door frame, but she can see Audrey is still sitting up in bed, glass of water in hand, as though she expected the visit.
“Audrey?”
