A Set of Lies Read online

  After carefully laying out the photographs and the lock of hair on the bed Skye picked at some pieces of torn paper that she assumed was confetti until she looked more closely and could make out the writing, e Oliv and e Jon and ril 181 and lyn L. She looked in the box to see if there were more pieces and found some others on which she make out eone Bu and ivie and acci.

  As she wondered why these scraps of paper were treasures to be kept Skye was hit by the realisation that all her questions would remain unanswered now Audrey was gone.

  It was a few minutes before she could look back into the cigar box. She picked out a twist of paper which she opened to reveal a pendant on a gold chain. On the crumpled paper was written Rowan gave this to me at the end of her leave, May 5th 1943. Skye could not remember ever seeing her aunt wear it and wondered why that would be when it so obviously meant a lot to her.

  Gingerly pulling the chain over her head she resolved she would always wear it, as a tribute to her aunt.

  Turning the crumpled paper over she read Crem. No Godifying, just B’s 5th C slow. She recognised the reference to Audrey’s favourite music and was relieved to have some instructions for the funeral. The arrangements had been worrying her.

  *

  Two weeks later Skye received a phone call from Audrey’s solicitor.

  “The funeral was very Audrey,” David Green said without preamble. “Have you recovered?”

  There had only been the two of them in the crematorium the day before as the curtain had closed behind Audrey’s coffin, accompanied by a tinny recording of the slow movement of Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto.

  “She really didn’t want any more. She wrote it down on a piece of paper I found in her bedside table. I don’t know when she wrote it, she hasn’t been able to hold a pen for years.”

  “Very Audrey,” the elderly solicitor repeated before continuing in business-like fashion “I’m afraid I have to tell you that your father and his wife have been in the office all morning.”

  “He couldn’t make it to his sister’s funeral then?” She knew there could be no answer, so she continued. “I suppose they’re here to get me out of The Lodge?”

  “Sir Arthur and Lady Barbara are here for the reading of the will.”

  “And to see me out of The Lodge,” Skye persisted.

  “Well, yes, I have no doubt that that is what they are after. They are insisting on a formal reading of Audrey’s will at The Lodge tomorrow morning at ten.”

  “I don’t suppose I have any say in that?”

  “I’m afraid not. None whatsoever.”

  *

  Skye was ready at ten o’clock the next morning. Fresh coffee was in the percolator, and four cups and saucers were arranged carefully on the table in the library along with a plate of freshly opened biscuits.

  She grew increasingly angry as the minutes passed and there was no sign of a car on the drive. It was simple courtesy, Audrey would have said, to phone if they knew they were going to be late.

  At half past eleven Skye stopped staring out of the window and opened a bottle of wine. She poured a glass and drank it down in one.

  The clock in the hall was striking twelve when she heard the car on the gravel. She jumped up to open the door before the peace of the house could be disturbed by the ringing of the bell.

  “Come in. I thought we’d be more comfortable in the library.” She did not want them in her kitchen.

  As she ushered her father, his wife and David Green towards the library she could not help but notice how much attention Lady Barbara was paying to the house, peering in through doors and up the stairs.

  “I’m afraid the coffee is cold because I was expecting you at ten. Can I get you a drink of any kind?” she asked with elaborate formality, as if entertaining welcome visitors.

  “No, thank you, Skye. I don’t think we’ll be here too long,” David answered grimly.

  Sir Arthur took the seat at the head of the table in the centre of the large book-lined room. As David Green and Lady Barbara took their places Skye found herself facing them all as if in an inquisition.

  She looked from Sir Arthur to Lady Barbara and back to Sir Arthur but neither met her steady gaze.

  She had nothing in common with the man who was her biological father, who had already been middle-aged when he had made his young assistant pregnant, and who looked far less distinguished in the flesh than he did on television.

  “Sir Arthur, Lady Barbara.” She would never have dreamed of calling her father and his wife anything else. “It was such a shame you couldn’t make it to Audrey’s funeral.”

  “Sir Arthur is a busy man.” Lady Barbara answered for her husband, managing not to look at his daughter. “It is not easy coming over to the Isle of Wight.”

  After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence David Green began the business of the meeting. “I don’t think this should take too long. Audrey’s will is a simple one.”

  “So I should expect. My sister could have had very little that was her own. She has lived off the generosity of others all her life.” Sir Arthur spoke for the first time since entering the house and Skye was relieved she didn’t have to respond when David Green came to Audrey’s defence.

  “Your sister had much that was her own.” He paused as he looked down at the schedule in front of him. “Firstly she had the Lacey jewellery. Your grandmother, Lady Catherine, unfortunately sold much of the Victorian legacies but your mother acquired some nice pieces which, of course, she left to your sister and which Audrey leaves to her niece, Miss Skye Lacey.”

  The thought crossed Skye’s mind that at least she could not be accused of stealing the pendant that she now always wore around her neck.

  “That’s ridiculous. It should come to me.” Lady Barbara looked fiercely at her husband. “Some of it may be quite valuable.”

  “Sir Arthur,” David explained carefully, “it was made quite clear in the wills of both your mother and your father, which I have had sight of, that the family jewellery went to your sister and she quite clearly wished it to go to Skye. She has also left all her other personal possessions to Miss Lacey.”

  “What other personal possessions could she possibly have had?” Lady Barbara asked with what Skye could only think of as overbearing condescension.

  “There are a number of pictures and a small collection of silverware that she has acquired over the years from her own personal income. She was also the sole beneficiary of her uncle’s will.”

  “Henry? My uncle could have had nothing to leave. How could he have had anything? He went to war with nothing and then was a blind cripple for most of his life, living off my family’s charity,” Sir Arthur blustered.

  “I’m not saying there is anything of any great value but there is some fine china, and of course his medals and the rather fine collection of books he acquired through the local sale room. It is all itemised.”

  “What books? None of these.” Sir Arthur looked around the library. Shelving occupied all available wall space and every inch was occupied by books that showed no sign of having been touched for generations.

  “You are absolutely correct, none of these,” David Green continued smoothly. “Audrey was always scrupulous in keeping her own personal effects separate from the Lacey estate. I have a definitive inventory of what belongs with the house and since only I and my father have dealt with her affairs for all her adult life I am well aware what is hers and what is not.”

  “So all her little trinkets go to the girl but everything of any value is ours.” Lady Barbara wanted to move on.

  “There is nothing else,” David answered quickly, looking at Sir Arthur. “As you are aware under the terms of your father’s will The Lodge and its contents are yours. What you had to abide by was the covenant that your sister be allowed to live here for as long as she wished.”

  “And we have abided by that covenant,” Lady Barbara said, failing to hide the resentment in her voice. “But I have to say I am very disappointed t
hat she’s let it get so run down.” Lady Barbara was more used to modern London properties. “It obviously requires a great deal of work before it is fit to be sold.”

  Skye knew that that was what they would want to do but, hearing the plan voiced so blatantly stated made her look away for a few moments. She glimpsed the red cloth in the corner and wondered, for the first time in a while, why what lay under it had upset Audrey so much. She hurriedly turned back to concentrate on the conversation. She didn’t want anyone to question what lay under that cloth.

  “Audrey was not a rich woman and she certainly did not live extravagantly. I know she did what she could in maintaining such a large property. I understand, Sir Arthur, that you have made no contribution to the upkeep?”

  “Why would I? The covenant mentioned no obligation to do so and I have no wish to live here. I haven’t slept a night under its roof since I left for school in the winter of ’46. Nor, I may add, do I ever intend to. As Lady Barbara has indicated the place will be gutted and made habitable by the standards of this century, and then it will be sold.”

  “That’ll cost a fortune,” his wife whispered.

  Sir Arthur whispered something to his wife which neither Skye nor David could make out before adding, rather too loudly, “I will require the girl out by the end of this month.”

  “The end of the month?” Skye had been determined to accept whatever was said without comment but that was too much of a surprise. “I can’t possibly go in three weeks!”

  “And why not, may I ask?” Lady Barbara replied. “Sir Arthur is under no obligation to give you a home and his generosity has limits which have been reached.” Lady Barbara did not look at Skye as she spoke, instead focussing on the books on the shelves somewhere above Skye’s head.

  “There’s too much to do! I have to finish clearing Audrey’s things…”

  David intervened to save her before the enormity of what she was facing reduced her to tears.

  “That is too soon, Sir Arthur. Today is June the fourth. I suggest you give your daughter until Michaelmas quarter day.”

  “The end of September? That’s the best part of four months. That is far too long. No, she must be gone by the end of this month,” Lady Barbara answered, but David Green continued to address Sir Arthur.

  “Your daughter needs time to adjust to her new circumstances, to clear her beloved aunt’s belongings and put into sale everything she doesn’t want to keep. She will then have to find a job. She may even wish to resume her education, you will know that she gave up a great deal to look after your sister. She certainly has to find somewhere to live. I think it reasonable to allow four months.”

  Skye looked at David gratefully.

  “No, I repeat, four months is too long. We need to make a start on the house and I cannot lose the summer.” Lady Barbara again looked at a point above Skye’s head.

  “It wouldn’t look good though, would it?” Skye decided to fight.

  “What wouldn’t?”

  “If I went to the press.”

  “What?”

  “I could go to the press, explain my relationship to Sir Arthur. I could explain how he is kicking me out of the only home I’ve ever known with virtually nothing. It wouldn’t look good, would it? And the papers are already gearing up for the general election next May. Do you really want them and the phone-ins to be full of all that?” Skye knew she was on dangerous ground. She had no idea how to go about telling anyone, but she knew it was the sort of threat Audrey would have made.

  For the first time Sir Arthur looked his daughter in the eye and in that instant judged that she was in no position to make trouble for him.

  “The end of this month,” he said again, firmly, and looked away.

  “And what about the expenses investigations?” Skye continued to fight her corner. “I bet you’ve claimed for The Lodge and I know you never gave Audrey a penny. You’ve just admitted as much.”

  Sir Arthur had been made aware that the Committee on Members’ Expenses had reopened the investigation into accusations that he had been producing bogus invoices over a period of at least fifteen years. But men with influence on that committee were his allies and the delays they created meant that they would do nothing in this parliament. After the election in May 2015, his position would be even more powerful and no one would dare bring any accusations against him.

  “The end of June,” he repeated firmly.

  Skye looked to the David Green for help but her gaze was not met.

  She stood and, as calmly as she could, asked them all to leave. “We have obviously covered everything there is to talk about. I will be out by the end of June so please leave me in peace for what time I have left at The Lodge.”

  *

  Returning to the kitchen she opened her laptop, intending to create a spreadsheet of all that she had to do before leaving, but she stared at the blank screen unable to decide where to start.

  She reached for the half-empty bottle of wine and decided to allow herself a few hours to wallow in self-pity.

  Chapter 2

  Friday Evening and Saturday Morning

  When the phone rang the following day Skye was reluctant to answer it but, after it had rung at least fifteen times, she relented and picked up the receiver.

  “Hello.” She did not want to sound welcoming.

  “Skye? Skye Lacey?”

  “Yes.” She was not going to be helpful.

  “Hi. My name is Fergal Shepherd. You won’t know me. I work in your father’s office—”

  “Then I really don’t want to speak to you.” Her interruption did not sound as rude as Skye had intended it to be so she quickly added, “I won’t speak to anyone who has anything to do with my father.”

  “Don’t hang up. Please.”

  “Why not? What do you want?” Skye tried to make her animosity very clear.

  “Please hear me out. Sir Arthur has told me to visit you. I’m sorry. This really is difficult. The thing is, well, not to put too fine a point on it, he needs to know more about The Lodge.”

  Skye heard the man’s embarrassment and saw an opportunity.

  “Since you work for my father will you answer one question?” She gave him no opportunity to answer. “Has he been claiming The Lodge as his second home? For his expenses I mean? Because if he has he’s committing fraud. He hasn’t slept a night here for more than twenty years and I know for a fact he’s never paid a penny towards its upkeep.”

  She wondered if she had said too much to this stranger on the end of the telephone.

  “I can’t answer that. I would if I could but I honestly don’t know. I’ve only worked for him for a few days and anyway I don’t work in that office.”

  Skye was deflated. “Well what office do you work in then?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I work in his private office, not his political one, and he’s drawn up a list of questions he needs answers to. You know, about the property. Lady Barbara—”

  Skye interrupted. She was in no mood to be cooperative. “Lady Barbara?”

  “Lady Barbara wants to get things started.”

  “Things?”

  “Plans, schedules of contents to be dispersed, you know, that sort of thing.”

  “No I don’t know. And anyway, wouldn’t ‘that sort of thing’ be better done by an architect or a surveyor rather than the office dogsbody?”

  Fergal ignored the insult because he understood why it was being made. “I think your father thought I would be the least worst option.”

  “Why on earth would he think that?”

  “Perhaps he thinks that I might be less of an intrusion than architects and builders.”

  “Since I can’t imagine for one moment that he’s at all worried about my feelings I can only assume you are cheaper. Does he pay you anything? Or are you on a free internship?”

  “Ouch.”

  Skye changed tack, her confidence returning. “Anyway, he said I could stay until the end of the month.
He can’t do anything until then.”

  “Lady Barbara said you’d argue that. She told me to say that your father agreed for you to continue to live at The Lodge but not to anything else. She feels completely justified in getting all the preparation and planning done so the clearance and refurbishment can start on the first of July.”

  “I thought they meant that The Lodge would still be my home until then.” Skye’s self-assurance began to seep away.

  “Your father made the point that you are over twenty-one and he is under no obligation to keep a free roof over your head for a moment longer than is necessary.”

  “I don’t suppose he is, but I thought he’d leave me alone until the end of the month.”

  “Look, I’ve haven’t got much choice but I promise I’ll be out of your hair as quickly as possible.”

  Skye relented. None of her problems were the fault of this man, and she allowed herself to think that he had rather a nice voice. “What do they want you to do then?”

  “First he wants me to visit, to look over the house, make notes of the contents, take photographs, tick boxes on a schedule, you know, what needs replacing, what just needs repair.”

  “I don’t think it’s very nice to go into someone’s home and pull it to pieces.”

  “I agree with you. But you should know he’s going to get it done one way or another and I might be less of an intrusion. I’d certainly be a lot more sympathetic than an architect or a builder.”

  “No one could be less sympathetic than builders,” Skye admitted, remembering the winter and spring of 2010.

  “You don’t mind then? If I come over to the island?”

  “Of course I mind but I don’t suppose I’ve got much choice have I?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “How long will you be?”

  “I don’t know. Sir Arthur said it would only take a day or two.”