‘And do you know …?’ Carole began tentatively.
‘Do I know what the provisions of the will were? That’s what you want to know, I suppose.’ There was an edge of bitterness in her voice as she said, ‘That, no doubt, is what all Fethering wants to know.’
‘There has been a lot of speculation,’ Carole admitted.
‘I can put an end to that right now,’ said Malee. ‘It was something that Bill had discussed with me. His plan was that I should inherit this house, some savings he had – not a lot – a small amount he had in a pension pot and the proceeds of a life insurance policy.’ She paused. ‘And Billy would inherit the premises and the business of Shefford’s Garage.’
‘Were you happy with that arrangement?’
‘More than happy. I had no desire to deprive Billy and Shannon of their rightful inheritance.’
‘Did you tell Shannon that?’
‘She didn’t ask me. She just asked if she could come to the house to search for a will. When I said no, she rang off.’
‘So, what are you going to do now, Malee?’
‘In the absence of a will, Bill technically died intestate. That means I will inherit everything. I will then transfer Shefford’s Garage to Billy. It will take a long time and a lot of lawyers’ fees.’
‘But if you were to tell Shannon and Billy that, it would set their minds at rest.’
‘I have tried to tell them. But it is a difficult thing to do when they slam the phone down as soon as they hear my voice. Anyway, I am not sure they would believe me. They distrust me, you see. And Shannon’s mother hates me.’
What she’d heard from Jude made Carole unable to argue with that. ‘Very odd,’ she mused. ‘I wonder what happened to the will.’ Malee shrugged glumly. ‘I wonder if Bill got as far as signing it and getting it witnessed …?’
‘I do not know.’ Suddenly the widow looked exhausted. The rigid control she had been exercising over her emotions was under threat.
‘And if he did,’ said Carole, ‘who were the witnesses?’
Another weary ‘I do not know.’
‘What would you feel,’ asked Carole, as a new thought came to her, ‘if someone else were to tell Billy and Shannon what you’ve just told me? About the provisions Bill intended to put into his will? It might reassure them and get them off your back.’
Malee shrugged. ‘Why would they believe someone else? Are you suggesting you should tell them? Why should they believe you?’
‘I wasn’t thinking of myself, but I have a friend who’s a … healer.’ She tried very hard to drain the last drop of scepticism from the word. Long habit made that hard. ‘She’s treating Shannon’s mother. I could ask her to … sort of mediate.’
‘Do what you want,’ said Malee listlessly.
‘So … a missing will,’ said Carole. ‘Anything else missing?’
‘Yes,’ said the widow with sudden energy.
‘What?’
‘Bill’s appointments diary. A green book he always had with him. And I haven’t seen it since the day he died.’
EIGHTEEN
Gulliver was lucky. He got a second walk that Sunday morning, a beneficiary of the confidence his owner’s encounter with Malee Shefford had engendered. Carole already had so much to reveal to Jude on her return from Leeds, that she wondered if she could gild the lily with one more revelation.
The name ‘Fethering Marina’ raised expectations that were never going to be fulfilled. Adjacent to the yacht club, where rows of neat pontoons provided moorings for the wealthy boat-owners of West Sussex, the marina had once been the home of Fethering’s thriving fishing fleet. But the decline of that industry, hastened, if you believed the sages of the Crown and Anchor, by increasingly adverse EU regulations, had decimated the number of locals who made a living from it. As a result, the manmade inlet off the River Fether where the boats sheltered, had suffered from lack of maintenance which would soon make the facility unusable. The twice-a-day sweep of the tides had silted up the entrance and the wood of the old pontoons was eroded and sagging.
The paucity of boats moored there, however, was a bonus for Carole. There were only three. Two were battened down, their tarpaulins streaked with gull droppings, and looked as if they had been that way for a long time. On the deck of the third, mending his nets, sat a septuagenarian with walnut-shell skin.
‘Excuse me,’ Carole called out, still emboldened by her success with Malee. ‘Are you Red?’
His eyes, buried deep in wrinkles, flashed venomously at her. ‘What if I am?’
‘My name’s Carole Seddon.’
‘So?’
‘And I believe you were a friend of Bill Shefford …?’
This caught his attention. ‘I was, yes,’ he said cautiously.
‘You’ve heard, presumably …?’
‘Of course I’ve heard. I live in Fethering. Anyone dies in Fethering, it’s impossible not to hear about it.’
‘Yes. I gather Bill Shefford used to go fishing with you …’
‘What if he did?’
‘But then Malee stopped him from going …’
‘Is that what you heard?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who are you, by the way?’
‘I told you. My name’s Carole Seddon and I—’
‘You told me your name. I meant: who are you who has the right to ask me all these questions?’
‘I just—’
‘I know your type. Far too many like you around Fethering. With your Labrador and your fancy raincoat. Another middle-class snooper. This place was a lot better before all you lot moved in.’
‘I have actually lived here for—’
‘I’m not interested in how long you’ve lived here! All I want is a bit of peace on my own boat on a Sunday morning.’
‘I’m sorry. I just—’
Red put down the net he was working on and stood up. He was a lot taller than she’d expected and his stance was combative.
‘Sorry. One question,’ Carole pleaded.
‘What?’
‘Was it Bill’s marriage to Malee that stopped the two of you going fishing together?’
‘Yes. I only saw him once after that.’
‘And was that because …?’
But Red had moved quickly down into the interior of the boat. To emphasize that their conversation was at an end, he had pulled the hatches closed after him.
Carole looked around. Fortunately, there was no one in sight. No one to witness the embarrassing encounter.
As she walked Gulliver back to High Tor, she decided she wouldn’t tell Jude about her visit to Red. No need to trouble her with that. After all, she came much better out of the visit she’d paid to Malee.
To defuse the urgency she felt to ring Jude’s mobile, Carole spent the Sunday evening teaching herself how to use the camera facility on her new mobile. She had been dreading the process but found it surprisingly easy. She was soon competent to produce a full still and video record of her granddaughters’ visit to Fethering in a few weeks’ time.
Carole managed to restrain herself until the Monday morning. She took Gulliver for his usual tramp on Fethering Beach and rang Woodside Cottage as soon as they returned to High Tor. It was not yet half past seven. The bleariness in Jude’s voice expressed her opinion that this was far too early for someone to be woken, particularly someone who’d arrived back after midnight from a tiring weekend in Leeds.
‘I’m sorry,’ Carole lied – she wasn’t sorry at all – ‘but there’s something I really have to tell you. You won’t believe what I found out over the weekend.’