‘No, it’s not that, Miss Fairbrother, it’s not about client confidentiality or anything like that,’ interrupted Watkins. ‘You see, I don’t have anything at all archived for your father here. He took away all the papers I did have almost a year ago, and I haven’t seen them, or your father since.’
‘Did he go to another solicitor?’
‘I couldn’t say, Miss Fairbrother. Although I have a feeling your father employed a number of solicitors over the years — in different parts of the United Kingdom, and probably overseas, and that he deliberately limited what each of us dealt with so that none of us knew the full picture concerning either his business or personal affairs.’
William Watkins paused. ‘Or am I being far too Machiavellian?’ he asked.
‘It is not possible to be too Machiavellian concerning my father,’ replied Bella, who was thinking that this was pretty much the way Sir John had run the whole of his life. ‘He was a remarkable man, of course. He had been ill for some time, but I always believed he would make it possible, before he died, for those who would have to take over his affairs to do so. The fire and his sudden death have changed all that, and I am left, quite bluntly, with trying to clear up a fearful mess. Have you really no idea what he did with the papers he took from you?’
‘Oh yes, he made that clear enough. He told me he wanted to store everything in the storeroom he had built at Blackdown Manor, which he reckoned was safe in any eventuality, including nuclear warfare.’
Bella never wanted to hear that description again, and would certainly never repeat it again, not now that she had seen the ruins of Blackdown. So, he’d moved everything to the storeroom — which meant, if the contents of that storeroom had been destroyed, or even substantially destroyed, the complex financial riddle she was about to try to unravel was going to be even more difficult.
She said none of that, of course, only responding mildly with a smile that was more of a grimace: ‘Yes, he always said that.’
‘Well, the one thing I do know is that your father’s affairs were very complicated,’ Watkins continued. ‘So, I hope for your sake, and for the sake of all of his family and his business, that the storeroom has proved to be as safe as he considered it to be.’
Bella didn’t bother to answer that. Clearly the man didn’t know the half.
‘Could I ask you, without asking you to divulge the content at all, did the work you undertook for my father involve the making of a will?’ she asked.
Watkins appeared to ponder for a moment. ‘Not exactly,’ he said at last.
‘I’m sorry?’ queried Bella. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘He asked me to write an addendum to his will,’ replied Watkins. ‘I never saw the will itself.’
‘Isn’t that unusual?’
‘It is indeed. Then again, your father was a most unusual man, wasn’t he? But there was no real reason why it shouldn’t be done, so I complied with him. It is an effective legal document, I can assure you.’
‘But, of course, you are not at liberty to tell me what this addendum was?’
‘To be frank, it referred throughout to trust funds, overseas accounts and investments, insurance policies, and so on, and meant little without access to the original will. Or, certainly, it meant little to me. Which I assume was your father’s intention. Of course, if references had been made to specific beneficiaries...’ William Watkins paused again, looking down at the table. ‘To specific family members, for example,’ he continued, looking up once more and meeting Bella’s eye, ‘I couldn’t possibly tell you. Primarily, it seemed to be a matter of ensuring that, after his death, certain of his funds and assets would be distributed throughout his business empire in the way he wished, and similarly concerning the management of his personal wealth, the details of which he did not confide in me.’
‘I see,’ said Bella, thinking just how typical of her father that was.
She thanked the man and left.
She glanced at her watch. It was just gone four p.m. She thought that she might pay another visit to Blackdown Manor a little later. She wondered for how long a police presence would be maintained there after the initial fire investigation and CSI work had been completed. She suspected not for long, considering the police cuts enforced in the UK over recent years by successive governments. It could just be possible that she might be able to sneak into the remains of the ruined manor and see for herself the condition of the storeroom which offered the only hope, it seemed, of anything surviving the fire. After all, if health and safety and all the rest of them held back for much longer, any remotely retrievable contents would be destroyed by the elements.
Bella glanced up at a dull heavy sky. It might be only early October but this was more like a November day. The weather was horrible. Vast quantities of water had already been poured onto the manor by the fire service. Now it looked as if the heavens were about to drop another load over the poor old place at any moment. Almost certainly before the night was out.
As she climbed into her car she began to formulate a plan. It had to be carefully worked out. Her wardrobe needed some attention too. She was wearing suede fashion boots with heels, tiger print leggings and a fitted leather jacket over a lightweight sweater.
She needed work boots and warm protective clothing. She also needed a powerful torch, and a crow bar. Maybe other tools. A hammer perhaps. And she knew just the place to go to fulfil her needs.
She was more than familiar with the market town of Wellington. It was, and always had been, a proper country town and she was confident that she would acquire all that she wanted there. She parked in the car park off Fore Street.
Her first stop, right on the corner, was Perry’s, an old-fashioned ironmongery store which she had been brought up to believe sold everything in its field. Or maybe just everything!
‘If Perry’s ’aven’t got it, it doesn’t exist,’ Jack Kivel used to say.
Visits to Perry’s with Kivel were amongst Bella’s foremost childhood memories. She remembered standing alongside Jack while old Mr Perry, who had even seemed old to her then and yet was still about the place, had rifled through drawers and tins looking for exactly the right screw, clip, or whatever obscure gizmo might be required.
All the memories came flooding back as she stepped through the doors. The shop had changed shape a little since she’d last visited. The counter was longer, the layout not quite the same. But it was still Perry’s, and she suspected that there weren’t many shops like it left anywhere in the world.
Not for the first time in the past couple of days, she had to make an effort to shake herself out of her reverie. This would never do. Life had moved on. The task ahead of her was not going to be a pleasant one. And nobody, it seemed, was going to come to her rescue. She just had to get on with it alone.
‘Why, hello Miss Fairbrother,’ said a familiar voice. It was Guy. Also still there, then.
A thought occurred to her. A bit late, she admonished herself. She was still well known in Wellington. Purchase of the items she had on her mental shopping list was bound to attract attention. If she wanted to go ahead, she would have to explain herself — or at least appear to.
‘Hello Guy, nice to see you again,’ she said, smiling brightly.
‘Indeed, Miss Fairbrother, but under such terrible circumstances. We are all so sorry, about your father, and the old manor.’
‘Thank you, Guy.’ Bella adjusted her smile.
She told him the things she wanted to buy and watched the surprise flit across his eyes.