Murder at the Laurels by Lesley Cookman Page A

will was in the bureau.’
    â€˜Ah. Fairly important, then.’
    Charles shrugged and spread pate onto a corner of toast. ‘I expect there’s a copy at her solicitors’ office – whoever they are.’
    â€˜Don’t you know?’
    â€˜No, I don’t, although I ought to. The solicitors wrote to me when she told me years ago she’d made me her executor. I think she was old-fashioned enough not to trust Barbara because she was a woman and at the time, Paul was too young.’
    Fran pushed away her soup plate and rested her chin on her hands. ‘Is there much to leave?’
    â€˜The Mountville Road house.’ Charles looked up at her and grinned. ‘Where you grew up.’
    Fran raised her eyebrows. ‘Did it still belong to Uncle Frank, then? Old bugger. Must be worth a fortune now.’
    â€˜A three-storey Victorian semi in a sought after inner London suburb? I should say so.’ Charles was crumbling his last slice of toast. Fran gave him a shrewd look.
    â€˜So that’s why you’re anxious about the will? To see what she’s left you?’
    Faint colour appeared along Charles’s cheekbones. ‘Not entirely.’ He sat back in his chair and picked up his wineglass. ‘I’m the executor. I need to know what I’ve got to execute.’
    â€˜So, do this Barbara and Paul get anything?’
    â€˜I would imagine so. Eleanor always treated Barbara and me equally. She spoilt Paul, though.’
    â€˜You sound bitter.’ Fran topped up her own wine glass.
    â€˜She didn’t do anything for my daughter. I suppose I am.’
    Fran was surprised. ‘I didn’t know you had a daughter.’
    He looked up with a smile. ‘Kate.’
    â€˜Goodness.’ She chuckled. ‘What a lot I don’t know.’
    â€˜Have you any children?’
    Fran nodded. ‘Jeremy’s in New York being terribly high-powered and Chrissie’s married. Lucy was married, and has two children, Rachel and Tom.’
    â€˜Lucky you.’ He looked up as a waiter appeared with an armful of vegetable dishes. Their empty starter plates were whisked away and Fran was soon inhaling the fragrant beef bourguignon in the rustic marmite before her.
    â€˜Do you know Nethergate well?’ Fran speared a piece of meat and closed her eyes as she put it into her mouth. Delicious.
    â€˜Very well. That’s where our side of the family come from. I lived in Steeple Mount when I was a child and went to school in Nethergate until I was eleven.’
    â€˜Steeple Mount? Near Steeple Martin?’ Fran’s eyes were wide. ‘I don’t believe it.’
    He grinned and Fran noticed how his blue eyes seemed to grow warmer. Ridiculous. She’d always scoffed at the idea of the eyes containing expression. It was merely the arrangement of the skin around them.
    â€˜It’s the Nether valley. The river Wytch runs through the valley from Steeple Martin to Steeple Mount, then on past Up Nethergate at the top of the cliffs and comes out at Nethergate at the bottom.’
    â€˜That’s where I met my friend Libby yesterday. I didn’t see much of it, though.’
    â€˜It’s lovely.’ He grinned at her. ‘Pure storybook stuff. Sand and tea shops and caves. Just the place for the grandchildren.’
    â€˜I didn’t think children were into that sort of stuff these days.’ Fran helped herself to more broccoli. ‘I thought they just wanted theme parks and computer games.’
    â€˜You’d be surprised. Anyway, the adults love the nostalgia of it all. The whole place is in a bit of a time warp – you must have noticed.’
    â€˜I know. Libby lives in Steeple Martin. That’s where I stayed last night. I was only saying to her that she lives in a Golden Age detective story.’
    Charles looked slightly puzzled.
    â€˜Anyway, that’s why you put her down there instead of London, is