“Are you expecting me to contest it?” Antoinette asked.
“Absolutely.”
“On what grounds? He was hardly insane or coerced into changing it.”
“There must be something you can do.”
“Well, if there is, I’m afraid I won’t do it. George was in perfectly sound mind when he changed his will. I never dreamed of going against his wishes when he was alive, and I most certainly won’t now that he is dead.” Antoinette’s chin began to wobble, but she clenched her jaw, determined not to cry again in front of her mother-in-law.
Margaret’s face had folded into a discontented ball like a walnut, and her thin lips were clamped together as if she were struggling to hold her tongue. She was not used to being defied. She sniffed irately and disappeared into the hall.
“Basil! Basil!” A thunderous clamor could be heard in the upstairs corridor, then the three dogs exploded onto the stairs in an avalanche of fur. “Bertie, Wooster! Enough! Come on, Basil, we’re going home.” A few moments later another gust of wind swept in from the hall as Harris opened the front door. The house seemed to shudder as the Dowager Lady Frampton stepped outside, followed by all three dogs. Then a peaceful silence descended as the door closed behind them.
“So, it’s war,” said Rosamunde, barely able to conceal the relish in her voice. Her life at home was so dreadfully dull, but here at Fairfield Park there was something new going on every minute.
Antoinette sighed and looked less pleased. “Yes, I suppose one could say that it’s come to that. Though in all honesty, it’s been a cold war for years!”
The following day Julius Beecher’s car drew up on the gravel at midday. He was a man who took pride in arriving on time. He also took pride in his appearance: the navy-blue Savile Row suit, the black lace-up shoes from Churchill’s, the brown leather briefcase from Swaine Adeney Brigg in St. James’s, the Montblanc pen set that he still kept in its velvet-lined box. His black BMW was as polished as the Franck Muller watch that hung loosely on his wrist. He deplored people who didn’t take care of their belongings. Everything attached to Julius Beecher was shiny, clean, and new. Working for Lord Frampton had afforded him great luxuries. One thing he didn’t have, however, was a wife; he wasn’t quite ready to share those hard-earned luxuries, unless his wife came with a fortune of her own.
Lady Frampton was waiting for him in the dining room. She was sitting at the long walnut table with her three sons, her daughter-in-law, and her sister, Rosamunde. They were drinking tea and coffee, but no one had touched the shortbread biscuits arranged in a spiral on a plate in the middle.
The rich red velvet curtains were tied back to let in the light, but it was still dim due to the old-fashioned decoration and heavy upholstery. It didn’t look as if the room had been changed for hundreds of years. The walls were papered in a deep crimson-and-gold pattern of exotic birds; a large gilt mirror hung above the marble fireplace, its glass stained with black spots caused by damp; and gloomy faces of the Frampton family ancestors stared down from oil-coated canvases. The ceiling was high, surrounded by a heavy, elaborate cornice, and in the center a crystal chandelier dominated and glittered like diamonds. Julius Beecher found the atmosphere in the room as heavy as the upholstered chairs and carpeting.
“Good morning, Lady Frampton,” he said. He noticed her face cloud with anxiety as she realized he had come on his own, and was quick to explain. “I’m afraid Miss Chancellor is unable to be with us today. I will act on her behalf.”
Antoinette was surprised by the depth of her disappointment. “Did she say why?”
Julius took the chair left for him at the head of the table: the chair where George always used to sit. “She was very grateful for your invitation, but she didn’t feel it necessary to come down personally.” He opened his briefcase. “To be frank, Lady Frampton, I think she’s embarrassed.”
Roberta smirked and caught her husband’s eye. David felt as disappointed as his mother did. He glanced at Tom, who simply pulled a face and shrugged. It didn’t matter to his younger brother one way or the other. To David, however, it mattered very much. He could safely assume that she wouldn’t accept the invitation to stay the weekend, either. He wondered despondently whether he’d ever see her again.
“So, shall we proceed?” said Julius, pulling out the folder and placing it neatly in front of him.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Antoinette offered.
“Yes, please. Black, no sugar.” He opened the velvet-lined box and lifted out one of two Montblanc pens, then, closing it carefully, moved it to one side so that it lay exactly parallel to the folder. Julius Beecher liked everything to be orderly. As Antoinette pushed the cup and saucer across the table, he turned to the first page of the document. “Dated March 5, 2012,” he read. “This is Lord Frampton’s last will and testament, witnessed by Mr. Richard Headley of No. 8 Chester Square, London.” Julius raised his eyes and swept them over the expectant faces. “He states he has a wife, Antoinette, and three children: David, Joshua, and Thomas.” Antoinette nodded; Roberta frowned. Why hadn’t he mentioned his daughter? “And one granddaughter, Amber Rose Elizabeth,” Julius continued. He inhaled through dilated nostrils and paused a moment while he ran his eyes over the words that were already familiar to him.