But I’d put my foot down. And at the time I’d thought it the greatest expression of my fiancé’s love for me. The greatest capitulation, probably. One he’d immediately regretted.
‘Jesus,’ I muttered, only half to myself.
‘It certainly is a very unusual situation, I must say,’ Sam said uncomfortably.
I glanced up. Yes, of course it was. And as suddenly as the door to my fury had flown open, it slammed shut and another door gaped. Embarrassment. In it roared. This man, this lawyer, Sam Hetherington, didn’t know me. Not really. He didn’t know Marjorie or Cecilia, either. They could be quite delightful. They certainly had delightfully old-fashioned-sounding names. They could be sweet, gentle souls, sending anxious letters from Rose Cottage, the house on the letterhead. And I could be simply ghastly. With my powdered face and laddered tights. My overdone scent. My flirtatious manner. It seemed to me yet another door closed too. Softly, but firmly. Eyes glittering, I turned and stared out of the window at the day. It was still warm and clement, lovely for October, but the breeze through the open window seemed languid and heavy, whereas this morning it had been sweet with possibility.
‘And I’m afraid mother and daughter are also intending to make a claim. Join the ugly rush.’
I turned back to him. Nothing surprised me now. ‘Oh? On what basis?’ My voice came from elsewhere, detached.
‘On the basis that apparently your husband said he would provide for them in their dotage.’
‘They’re not in their dotage.’
‘No, but neither of them works, living as they do off your late father-in-law’s pension. But it wasn’t index-linked and is running out. Your husband knew that, and to that end intended to make a will which would be inclusive of them. That was why he’d gathered so much life insurance before he was killed.’
I regarded him steadily for a moment. This rang true. The only thing so far. Phil had gathered an unusual amount of life insurance. For a reason. I cleared my throat. ‘Do they have a case?’
‘In my opinion, no. You, as the wife and mother of his children, have rightly inherited his sole estate, as, I might add, most wives do.’
‘But they’ll fight it? I mean, if I refuse?’
‘Oh, they’ll fight it.’
‘Then we’ll fight back.’ Yesterday I’d have willingly given them some. But not now. Not when they’d so publicly humiliated me. ‘Write back and tell them so immediately. Tell them I won’t part with a penny.’
He made a quiescent face. ‘Could do, but that’s a fairly aggressive step. And you want to avoid slugging it out, particularly in court, which is heinously expensive. Although it might, eventually, be inevitable.’
Court. A vision of me trembling in the dock of an oak-panelled Old Bailey sprang to mind. Twelve stony-faced men and women staring accusingly at me. Cecilia and Marjorie in the gallery, weirdly wearing the hats they’d worn at my wedding, complete with quivering bird on Marjorie’s, except it was no longer a peacock, but a bird of prey. Their barrister, a hatchet-faced man, was cross-examining me: ‘Were you a good wife, Mrs Shilling? Were you?’ Silence. The judge reached for his black cap.
‘Right,’ I said miserably. ‘So … what would you advise?’
The fight had gone out of me and I felt like writing out a cheque. Three, actually. One to each of them. Emma, Marjorie and Cecilia. Oh no, four. I probably owed Sam too. Just leave me alone.
‘I would advise doing nothing at this stage and see whether they proceed. They haven’t actually issued proceedings, just written a couple of letters. Let’s see if it’s all hot air.’
‘Yes. Fine,’ I agreed.
I liked doing nothing. I was a big wait-and-see girl. My entire married life, it occurred to me, had been like that. Wait and see what happens. It might not be so bad. It was. Always. Why did divorce get such a bad name? Surely what I’d done was as bad? This ghastly acceptance? Surely it would have been braver to leave? Something small and hard and angry formed within me. I needed it to grow. I needed to take a steer on my life, that much was clear. I couldn’t let these Shillings walk all over me. I had to see them off, not just pathetically scramble clear of them occasionally, as I had done for years, dodging their blows.
‘Cup of tea?’ Sam asked quietly. I obviously looked very shocked.