The Secret Life of Evie Hamilton - Catherine Alliott [169]
‘And so are you,’ said Tim, quietly.
It was the first time he'd spoken. Caro's eyed darted to him. She opened her mouth to object, but his face silenced her. He limped into the room.
‘How much money did he leave? I forget.’
‘Almost two hundred thousand,’ said Felicity. ‘Which I put down as a deposit on the house.’
‘Not a great deal.’
‘Not a great deal!’ squealed Caro. ‘Believe you me, my darling, two hundred thousand pounds would go an awfully long way to—’
‘Not a great deal in the scheme of things,’ he interrupted, deliberately using her words. She closed her mouth.
‘But still, quite a lot for Dad to have?’ I suggested. I remembered at the time being surprised it was there. But pleased for Felicity. ‘Considering how broke we always were?’
‘It was his sinking fund,’ said Tim. ‘I knew about it. Grandpa made most of it in the good days, but Dad never touched it. He lived pretty much hand to mouth, the idea being that one day, hopefully, he'd buy more land with it, make the farm viable. It was his contingency fund.’ He turned back to Felicity. ‘Did you ever consider showing us the note?’
‘Many times. I often picked up the phone and thought – I must tell them, I must. I was in agonies. I knew it was deceitful, but as every day went by and I hadn't told you, as weeks, months… well, the awful thing was, it got easier. I still had to live with myself, of course—’
‘But you had your charity works to salve your conscience,’ Caro said bitterly. ‘To make you feel better about yourself.’
‘Perhaps,’ Felicity agreed, miserably. ‘Trying to be the person I knew I wasn't.’
‘But not a bad person, Felicity,’ I said quickly. She shot me a grateful look. ‘I'm not saying I'd have done the same,’ I said, as Caro shot me a venomous one. ‘But – who knows? All I'm saying is I can see how it happened, how Felicity got herself into the pickle. No one knew about it, she was the only one who had the letter—’
‘Apart from Maroulla, as you discovered when you went to see her in the hospice, which must have given you a really nasty shock,’ interjected Caro. ‘But then again, Maroulla was dying, wasn't she, Felicity? So soon, no one would know. Marvellous.’ She folded her arms grimly.
There was a silence as we digested this. But I could feel my blood rising.
‘OK, Caro, tell me something.’ I turned to her. ‘If you found a letter – not even a proper letter, a scrap of paper – in the study, tucked, ooh, I don't know, behind a picture maybe, that one of Grandpa Milligan over the fireplace, written in Dad's hand, saying that actually, he wanted to leave the whole shooting match to Felicity, that there was no point struggling on with the farm any more, that Tim would be flogging a dead horse, what would you have done? How quick would you have been to call a family pow-wow? Hand your house back to Felicity and move back to the leaky little bungalow in Rutlers Lane with the fungus on the kitchen ceiling? And let's, just for the sake of argument, say that as you stood in front of Grandpa Milligan at the fireplace reading the letter, the fire was alight? In the grate? What would you have done, Caro?’
I fixed her with my eyes. She looked back defiantly, but nevertheless, her gaze was guarded. I knew Caro. Knew she'd protect, not just her own interests, but her family's interests, her children's, at all costs. I knew about the indomitable strength women have in that department, their intractability, their tenacity when it comes to family. Had felt it myself very recently. If she saw something precious begin to slip from where she'd hung it so carefully, boy, would she hook it back up again.
‘Well, I'd like to think—’ she began disingenuously.
‘Bollocks!’ I roared.
There was a silence. Caro and I glared knowingly at each other. She looked away first.
‘I'll give it back, of course,’ said Felicity quietly. ‘I'll sell up, and then you'll have your money, Caro. Every penny.’
Tim cleared his throat. ‘Felicity—’
‘No,’