‘And what did Mrs Orton say?’
‘I can’t remember exactly,’ said Tessa. ‘I got the impression that she felt abandoned by her family. I think this man had taken their place.’
‘What was Poole saying during the meeting?’
‘Not much. He was like an attentive son, in the background, supportive.’
‘So what was the problem?’ said Frieda.
Yvette frowned at her.
‘What?’ Tessa seemed puzzled.
‘You’re a solicitor,’ said Frieda. ‘If someone wants to change a will and comes to you, isn’t your job just to draw it up for them?’
Tessa smiled, then looked thoughtful. ‘I’m a family solicitor,’ she said. ‘I do conveyancing, wills and divorces. Buying houses and getting married and dying. I remember being told when I was a student that if you like law as a kind of theatre you should become a barrister. But if you want to discover people’s secrets, their deepest feelings and passions, you should become a solicitor.’
‘Or a psychotherapist,’ said Yvette.
‘No,’ said Tessa. ‘I can really help people.’
Yvette glanced at Frieda with a secret smile. Tessa noticed it. ‘Oh, God, you’re not …’ she began.
‘Yes, she is,’ said Yvette.
‘Sorry, it was a cheap thing to say. I didn’t mean anything.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Frieda. ‘You were talking about helping people.’
‘Yes. I see couples who are divorcing and sometimes they talk to me in a way they can’t talk to anyone else. Not even each other.’
‘So why didn’t you just draw up the will for Mary Orton?’ said Frieda.
‘I don’t “just do” things for people,’ said Tessa. ‘I always talk to them and find out what it is that they really need.’
‘And what did Mary Orton really need?’ asked Frieda.
‘She was lonely, that was clear, and in need of support. I suppose what she really needed was her family. And I suspected that this man had come into the vacuum and was taking advantage of her.’
‘Why didn’t you call the police?’
‘She didn’t call the police,’ said Yvette, ‘because changing your will is not a crime.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Tessa. ‘I tried to talk to Mrs Orton about why she wanted to do this. She seemed to find it embarrassing, distressing, even. I felt sorry for her.’
‘What did Robert Poole say?’ asked Yvette.
‘He said it wasn’t his idea, that it was something Mrs Orton wanted to do and that it was important to her.’
‘He had a bloody nerve,’ said Yvette, abruptly, then bit her lower lip. ‘What else did you say?’ she asked more calmly.
‘I told Mrs Orton that she was taking a large step and that it was something she ought to think about. I probably also said that if she left everything away from her family, then the will might be subject to legal challenge.’
‘And?’
‘That was all,’ said Tessa. ‘They left and I didn’t hear anything more.’
‘Were you shocked?’ said Yvette.
Tessa pulled a face and shook her head. ‘I used to be. The first few years of hearing what husbands say about wives and wives say about husbands and what people do to their own families, I lost every illusion I had. Sometimes I feel like I’m faced with huge, dangerous engines that are falling apart, and all I can do is put little pieces of sticky tape on them and hope they hold for a while.’
‘What did you make of Robert Poole?’ asked Yvette.
‘I told you. Although he was very polite, and Mary Orton obviously trusted him, I felt there was something wrong about him. I did what I could but, of course, I knew it was possible he’d find someone else to do the will, or even that they’d just draw it up between themselves and find a stray witness. There’s a limit to what you can do for people.’
‘What did you think when you heard he’d been killed?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Tessa. ‘I’m shocked, of course. I can’t believe it.’
‘Why do you think it happened?’
‘God, I don’t know. I don’t know anything about his life.’
‘But you saw him in action,’ Yvette said. ‘What if he did something like that to the wrong person?’
‘Maybe,’ said Tessa. ‘But I had one brief encounter with him and then I forgot all about him until now. I can’t throw any light on his murder, if that’s what you’re looking for. What did Mary Orton’s family think?’
‘They weren’t pleased,’ said Frieda. ‘They weren’t pleased at all.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘Most people seem to have found him charming,’ said Frieda. ‘Were you charmed by him?’
Tessa gave another faint smile. ‘No. I probably met him in the wrong context to be charmed by him.’
Yvette stood up. ‘Thank you, Ms Welles,’ she said. ‘I think that’s everything for the time being.’
Frieda remained seated. ‘I want to ask Tessa something,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing to do with the inquiry. Is it all right if I join you outside?’ Yvette glared at Frieda, who added mildly, ‘I’ll only be a minute.’
Yvette turned and walked out. Frieda heard her thumping down the stairs. Tessa looked at her with concern. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘A bit of friction. I’ve only just been appointed.’
‘Appointed to what?’
‘That’s a good question. But I wanted to ask you something completely different. I was interested when you talked about the way you worked. About knowing people’s secrets and counselling them …’
‘I didn’t exactly say “counselling”.’
‘Well, anyway, my sister-in-law is on very bad terms with her ex-husband, my brother, and she needs to get some advice about dealing with the situation.’
Tessa leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. ‘Whose side are you on in this dispute?’
‘I’m not sure I’m exactly taking sides,’ said Frieda. ‘But if I was in a balloon with both of them and I had to throw one of them out, it would be my brother.’
Tessa smiled. ‘I’ve got a brother. I think I know what you mean.’
‘But is this the sort of thing you do?’
‘It’s exactly the sort of thing I do.’
‘No favours,’ said Frieda. ‘We’d pay, just like any other client, but you could talk to her?’
‘I could talk to her.’
Back on the pavement, Frieda found Yvette and the other officer leaning on the car in conversation. Yvette looked round at Frieda, who could almost feel hostility steaming off her. ‘You did well,’ she said, through gritted teeth. ‘But leave the detective work to us, OK?’
Twenty-eight
‘I know what you’re thinking.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You’re thinking he must have had some ulterior motive, right?’
‘What makes you say so?’
‘Look, I’m no fool. I know what I look like to you – an ageing has-been, with a string of failed relationships behind me, now alone, surrounded by mementoes of her not-so-glorious past. I can see myself through your eyes: my dyed hair, my pathetic attempts to hold on to my youth. Am I right?’
‘No, you’re not right.’
‘What, then?’
‘Try: a successful woman, who’s managed to hold her own in a difficult profession and who’s hung on to her dignity and self-respect.’
Jasmine Shreeve’s face softened. She sat down opposite Frieda and leaned forward. ‘Sorry. I get defensive.’
‘That’s all right.’
‘Do you really think that?’
‘I don’t know enough about your life, but it’s another way of looking at it.’
‘So you don’t just assume that Robbie was out to exploit me?’
‘He seems to have specialized in inserting himself into vulnerable people’s lives,’ said Frieda, thinking of Mary Orton as she’d last seen her – a small, shrunken figure with her two tall sons on either side.