In the Brazilian's Debt(73)

                She grew increasingly anxious as the morning progressed, having drawn a disappointing blank everywhere. Most of the institutions that she had hoped to approach with a view to them bailing out the estate, short-term at least, had already closed for the holidays.

                By the morning of the third day, Lizzie was in despair. There was no sign of any movement on the financial front, and, worse, no sign of Chico.

                She couldn’t allow him to distract her, she determined, firming her resolve, and she would not give up. Rottingdean was a far bigger cause than her own hopes and dreams.

                That thought took her through almost to the end of that working day, when, swallowing her pride, she called him.

                ‘Senhor Fernandez is locked in conference with his lawyers and cannot be disturbed.’

                ‘Have you any idea when he’ll be free?’

                ‘None, I’m afraid.’

                The voice at the other end of the line was cool and impartial. Why should she expect it to be any different?

                Just when she thought bad couldn’t get any worse, it got worse. Her mother called.

                ‘There’s no point in you coming all this way for the reading of the will. It’s irrelevant now,’ Lizzie tried to explain. ‘There’s nothing left—not for you, not for me, and, more importantly, not for any of the tenants.’

                ‘Never mind the tenants,’ her mother blazed back. ‘What about your grandmother’s jewellery? She had some valuable pieces. Surely you had enough sense to squirrel some of them away?’

                ‘All gone,’ Lizzie intoned, staring at the sparkling diamonds in her hand.

                She’d seen the will and had cried when she’d read it. Her grandmother had left her everything, no doubt hoping Lizzie would continue with the work of breeding horses and rebuilding the estate that her grandmother had so bravely and so optimistically begun so late in her long life. The first person Lizzie had contacted was her grandmother’s solicitor to check that the will she had in her hand was a true copy of the one he had on file. She also wanted to know if there was any money, any assets, or anything at all that could be sold off to save the estate.

                ‘You can’t sell any of the livestock, the pictures, or the silver and ornaments, as they go with the house,’ the solicitor said, confirming what Lizzie believed to be the case, ‘but any personal effects handed to you by your grandmother as a gift are yours to keep.’

                ‘I have some pieces of jewellery I can sell. I will split the proceeds between the tenants.’

                She held the jewellery to her face for a moment, imagining she could smell her grandmother’s familiar lavender scent lingering on the sparkling stones. It wasn’t the value, but the memories each piece held that she would miss. But practicality demanded that she sell them, Lizzie reminded herself as she packed each item neatly in a box.

                There was always a darkest part of the night, Lizzie reflected as the courier arrived to take her grandmother’s jewellery away. She didn’t just feel a failure; she was a failure who had to sell her grandmother’s precious jewellery. But far worse than that, all her brave words about saving the estate had come to nothing. It was hard to believe the staff had stayed on. They were supposed to have gone by now, as the sale of the house and contents was tomorrow and there was nothing more for them to do. But they were still here, giving Lizzie all their support, which she didn’t feel she’d earned. This level of loyalty and kindness in the face of disaster was typical of everyone on the estate.