with a button-down preppy collar and a dark blue tie. A good combination. No social peck on the cheek, but perhaps later, when we said goodbye. And Poppy was a very good start, not Mrs Shilling.
‘And I’m sorry if my message alarmed you in any way.’
‘It didn’t at all,’ I said, surprised.
His face, as he sat, was serious; devoid of laughter lines. I suddenly realized I should be alarmed. Very alarmed.
‘Why? Is something wrong?’
‘I’m afraid Emma Harding has crawled out of the woodwork. She’s making a claim on your husband’s estate.’
My heart plummeted. All the skippy excitement of the morning went with it. It seemed to me it seeped out of my boots and right through the creamy carpet and the spongy new underlay to the floorboards below. I felt old. Tired again. And not because of the claim. Not because of the money. But because suddenly I was plunged into a world where my late husband had been sleeping with another woman for years. A world I thought I’d left behind; one I didn’t want to return to. Not when I’d been happily choosing between Sam’s broad shoulders and Luke’s hair-tucking technique.
‘I see,’ I said miserably. I remembered Emma Harding’s scrubbed, anxious little face in my sitting room, saying she didn’t want a bean. Yeah, right. I crossed my legs, noticing a tiny ladder on the inside of my knee.
‘How much does she want?’
‘She wants half.’
‘Half!’
‘Well, she claims she’d been his partner – in the domestic sense – for four years, and in the professional sense for longer. Nine, in fact. Four at Lehman’s, and five at the new firm. She claims they left to set it up together, albeit under his name, and that during those years any wealth he accumulated was due largely to her, because she was responsible for new investment. Apparently she gathered most of the clients. She says your husband was only a success because of their partnership, ergo she’s entitled to half his estate.’
‘But that’s outrageous. She wasn’t married to him, hasn’t got children by him. God – I hope not!’
‘No, no children,’ he said quickly.
‘And if she was so instrumental in the business, how come I’d never even heard of her? She certainly wasn’t one of the directors. I knew them. And OK I knew her name but, honestly, that was about it!’
‘Well, that’s … hardly surprising, really, is it? Under the circumstances.’ It was said kindly. And he was looking at me in a detached, speculative way, rather as a doctor would a patient. If he’d had half-moons he’d have been peering over them.
‘No. No, I suppose not.’
A silence ensued. He shuffled some papers awkwardly. ‘She was only on a basic salary because she’d been promised a share in the business when it was sold later this year. If that had happened, incidentally, it would have made millions. It won’t now. Not without your husband at the helm and his Midas touch. Investors have lost confidence, it seems. It won’t affect your inheritance but it’s not in such good shape. It’s still trading, but Miss Harding has been eased out.’
‘She’s lost her job?’
‘So it seems. And of course she’s lost your husband’s protection. The other directors were jealous of what they felt to be her elevated position. It appears she also sailed close to the wind trading-wise, which worried them. She was a bit of a chancer.’
‘Right. Good.’ I clenched my fists. That nice Robert Shaw, who Phil had also taken with him from Lehman’s. Ted Barker too, with whom we’d been to dinner. Classy men; old school tie. Too right she was a chancer.
He cleared his throat. ‘Her claim, however, has the backing of your late husband’s mother and sister. They both support it.’
I stared at him. Could feel my mouth opening and hanging. ‘Marjorie and Cecilia?’
‘Yes.’
‘They knew her?’
‘It appears so.’
‘How come?’ But I knew how come.
‘They met her. Originally, they’re keen to stress, in a business context. As a colleague of Phil’s, and in order to discuss their own personal finances. But later, under more friendly circumstances. They had lunch together after various meetings in London, apparently. And she was a visitor to their house in Kent.’
My heart began to hammer. Sam looked deeply uncomfortable.
‘But … why? Why would they do that, support her?’ The walls of my throat were closing in, but I got the words out.
‘The letters I have from both parties state that Mr Shilling was, ah, miserable at home, and only stayed for the sake