truly beloved guide.
Anon: nineteenth-century
American folk song
She read it twice, smiled, put the booklet into her bag and left the church.
5
Sister
Instead of following the other mourners to the hotel for the wake Kate went to the Green Parrot cafe and bar at the top of the square, where she was eyed without enthusiasm by a teenage waitress with two-tone hair and a stud punched through her lower lip. The place was almost empty. She sat down at a table in the window, ordered a brandy and a black coffee, tipped the first into the second and wondered about taking an earlier train back to London.
She watched the square blankly as though it were a scene between moments of action in a film, then without warning was struck by the scale of her loss. It was the verse at the end of the order of service that did it, the memory of when he called her Sister for the first time. Sometimes he reduced it to Sis, a joke referring to her past in SIS, but mostly he called her Sister, as though to underline the dangers of violation. He must have delighted in finding those verses. They had been put there for her - a final message, perhaps of true love. A tear had made its way down her cheek, which she hurriedly dispatched with one of the paper napkins held in the beak of a green plastic parrot on the table.
Her eyes moved to the window. A man was peering into the cafe, trying to see past the reflection, then a look of recognition lit his face and he mimed that he was coming in to join her.
A trim, eager person entered, flattening a tuft of sandy grey hair and brushing something from the jacket of a slate-blue suit that she had seen bobbing in the exodus from the church. When he reached the table he wiped his brow theatrically with the back of one hand and offered the other to her. ‘Miss Lockhart? I’m Hugh Russell of Russell, Spring & Co., David Eyam’s lawyer.’
She nodded. ‘Actually, it’s Mrs, but I have given up making the point. Call me Kate.’
‘Oh, you’re married - I hadn’t realised.’
‘Was - my husband has been dead for nearly a decade.’
‘Ah, I see.’ He looked embarrassed.
She asked him to sit and he began to explain that Russell, Spring & Co. had acted for Eyam since he’d purchased Dove Cottage.
‘I am so glad that I’ve managed to catch you before you left High Castle,’ he said, wrinkling his nose in an odd way. ‘I found your photo on the internet but then missed you at the funeral. Mrs Kidd said that she had seen you slip in here.’
‘Ah, yes, Mrs Kidd.’
‘Yes, there’s not much that escapes her notice,’ he said and cleared his throat. ‘You may prefer to do this in my offices at a more convenient time, but if it would be of help I can tell you now the substance of what I have to say.’
Kate opened her hands. ‘Please do.’
‘I don’t know much about your relationship with David Eyam, but I’m assuming you were close.’
‘We were, yes, but our jobs were on different continents and we saw little of each other over the last couple of years. Close but apart.’
‘You work for Calvert-Mayne in New York. That’s a famous outfit - you must be damned good at your job.’ His face assumed a professional cast. ‘All this must be very distressing for you - I mean the circumstances, Kate - if I may, losing such a close friend in that awful manner.’ He paused. ‘Now, this is going to be a shock to you. It certainly would be to me.’ He stopped again to give her time, and nodded to ask if it was all right to continue.
She revolved her hand and smiled. ‘Please go on.’
‘I have to tell you that you are the main beneficiary of David Eyam’s will. I could have informed you by letter but he wanted me to give you the news personally - he was most insistent on that point.’
She put down her cup. ‘Left me everything! Good Lord! You can’t be serious.’
‘I am. His estate comprises a house - Dove Cottage - a flat in London,
Anon: nineteenth-century
American folk song
She read it twice, smiled, put the booklet into her bag and left the church.
5
Sister
Instead of following the other mourners to the hotel for the wake Kate went to the Green Parrot cafe and bar at the top of the square, where she was eyed without enthusiasm by a teenage waitress with two-tone hair and a stud punched through her lower lip. The place was almost empty. She sat down at a table in the window, ordered a brandy and a black coffee, tipped the first into the second and wondered about taking an earlier train back to London.
She watched the square blankly as though it were a scene between moments of action in a film, then without warning was struck by the scale of her loss. It was the verse at the end of the order of service that did it, the memory of when he called her Sister for the first time. Sometimes he reduced it to Sis, a joke referring to her past in SIS, but mostly he called her Sister, as though to underline the dangers of violation. He must have delighted in finding those verses. They had been put there for her - a final message, perhaps of true love. A tear had made its way down her cheek, which she hurriedly dispatched with one of the paper napkins held in the beak of a green plastic parrot on the table.
Her eyes moved to the window. A man was peering into the cafe, trying to see past the reflection, then a look of recognition lit his face and he mimed that he was coming in to join her.
A trim, eager person entered, flattening a tuft of sandy grey hair and brushing something from the jacket of a slate-blue suit that she had seen bobbing in the exodus from the church. When he reached the table he wiped his brow theatrically with the back of one hand and offered the other to her. ‘Miss Lockhart? I’m Hugh Russell of Russell, Spring & Co., David Eyam’s lawyer.’
She nodded. ‘Actually, it’s Mrs, but I have given up making the point. Call me Kate.’
‘Oh, you’re married - I hadn’t realised.’
‘Was - my husband has been dead for nearly a decade.’
‘Ah, I see.’ He looked embarrassed.
She asked him to sit and he began to explain that Russell, Spring & Co. had acted for Eyam since he’d purchased Dove Cottage.
‘I am so glad that I’ve managed to catch you before you left High Castle,’ he said, wrinkling his nose in an odd way. ‘I found your photo on the internet but then missed you at the funeral. Mrs Kidd said that she had seen you slip in here.’
‘Ah, yes, Mrs Kidd.’
‘Yes, there’s not much that escapes her notice,’ he said and cleared his throat. ‘You may prefer to do this in my offices at a more convenient time, but if it would be of help I can tell you now the substance of what I have to say.’
Kate opened her hands. ‘Please do.’
‘I don’t know much about your relationship with David Eyam, but I’m assuming you were close.’
‘We were, yes, but our jobs were on different continents and we saw little of each other over the last couple of years. Close but apart.’
‘You work for Calvert-Mayne in New York. That’s a famous outfit - you must be damned good at your job.’ His face assumed a professional cast. ‘All this must be very distressing for you - I mean the circumstances, Kate - if I may, losing such a close friend in that awful manner.’ He paused. ‘Now, this is going to be a shock to you. It certainly would be to me.’ He stopped again to give her time, and nodded to ask if it was all right to continue.
She revolved her hand and smiled. ‘Please go on.’
‘I have to tell you that you are the main beneficiary of David Eyam’s will. I could have informed you by letter but he wanted me to give you the news personally - he was most insistent on that point.’
She put down her cup. ‘Left me everything! Good Lord! You can’t be serious.’
‘I am. His estate comprises a house - Dove Cottage - a flat in London,
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