Kissed a sad goodbye - Deborah Crombie [73]
Frowning, he sipped at his pint, wondering if he and Gemma had miscommunicated about the time or place. Her tardiness had not improved his temper, already frayed by an interview with his guv’nor. Chief Superintendent Childs had expressed himself as not at all happy with their progress on the case, notwithstanding Kincaid’s reminder that it had only been two days and they’d had very little to go on.
He’d just about made up his mind to place his order, hoping a meal would improve his perspective, when he spotted Gemma standing in the doorway. She saw him and smiled, then threaded her way through the tables to him.
“Guv.” She looked flushed from the sun, and a damp tendril of hair clung to her cheek.
“What’ll you have?” he asked as she sat down.
“Mmmm … a lemonade would be nice. Something with a bit of ice.”
“Shall I order the food as well? Fish and chips?”
“Make it two, then,” she said, fanning herself with the menu.
When he returned with her drink, he said, “Did you get Toby settled? How is he?”
“I just rang Hazel from the car. She says he’s fine now, just a bit of the sniffles.” Gemma drained half her glass, then sat back, looking much restored. Touching his arm, she said, “Duncan, about Kit … Hazel said you told him—”
He shook his head. After a night spent tossing and turning, just the thought of talking about it made him feel drained. “It’s a proper cock-up. I wasn’t naive enough to expect to be welcomed with open arms. But I hadn’t thought he’d take it so hard.” He shrugged, making light of it. He couldn’t tell her the worst part.
“He’s been through such a lot, poor little beggar. I don’t imagine he knows what he feels. What are you going to do now?”
The barmaid arrived at the table and plopped loaded plates down in front of them, followed by serviette-wrapped cutlery and plastic packets of tartar sauce. Without a word, she went back to her tête-à-tête over the bar with a shirtless young man sporting a large and very well-endowed, naked lady tattooed on his arm.
Kincaid poked at his fish with the tip of his fork. “Give him more time, I suppose. Try to behave as ordinarily as possible. And have a talk with Laura Miller—see how she feels about having him through some of the summer hols.”
“Why didn’t you wait last night?” Gemma speared a chip. “We missed you by minutes.”
“I’m sorry. I suddenly realized that I was too knackered to think.”
Gemma gave him a swift glance but didn’t pursue it. “Tell me about Annabelle’s solicitor.”
“A very high-powered lady with an office in Canary Wharf. But she was persuaded to give me the time of day,” he answered, feeling relieved. “It seems Annabelle hadn’t much to leave in the way of material things.” Downing the last of his pint of Tetley’s, he thought for a moment of ordering another, but decided it would only make him groggy in the heat. “Her flat was mortgaged, and bought recently, so there’s very little equity. Her car was leased. Some debts, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
“No assets at all, then?”
“I didn’t quite say that. She had her shares in the company, and she left those to Harry and Sarah Lowell. She designated their father, Martin Lowell, as trustee.”
Gemma looked up in surprise. “Not her sister?”
“The solicitor says that since Jo’s divorce, Annabelle had discussed making a change, but hadn’t actually done anything about it.”
“Could Lowell benefit directly from the share income?”
“I imagine that would depend on how tightly the trust is structured. The question is, did Lowell know about the bequest?”
“Annabelle’s death could have been convenient for him, in that case,” said Gemma. Finishing her lemonade, she added, “But we’ve not had the impression so far that Hammond’s Teas was a financial gold mine.”
“Annabelle seemed to live comfortably on her income, but I’d assume she was also paid a salary.”
Gemma pushed her plate aside. “I’d like to know if Jo Lowell was aware of the bequest.”
“Then I suggest we ask her before we interview