The Family Secret. Terry Lynn Thomas
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of red. Out of the corner of Phillip’s eye, he saw Beth open her mouth and close it again. As if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.
Phillip felt the room spin. This couldn’t be happening. This was a joke, some sort of a sick joke.
‘I didn’t expect – she never said anything.’ Beth turned to her cousin. ‘I’m so sorry, Phillip. I had no idea.’
White hot fury flashed before Phillip’s eyes as his rage boiled over. He didn’t dare look at his cousin, for fear he would put his hands around her lily-white throat and choke the life out of her. She had ruined everything, ruined him. He should have known the lay of the land when he arrived home. He took a deep breath and wheeled around to face Beth. ‘Really? No idea? You’ve been angling to inherit ever since you moved in. I have to give it to you, Beth, for being a quick worker. Well done.’
Beth’s face – already pale – blanched. She wobbled on her chair as though she were about to faint.
‘Mum,’ Edythe cried out. She moved to her mother’s side. ‘How dare you speak to her that way?’
‘Shut up, you little bitch. You should be ashamed of yourselves, taking what is rightfully mine.’
‘Phillip, that’s enough. Sit down right now,’ David Broadbent said. ‘Don’t make me call the police.’
Phillip hadn’t realized that he had sprung to his feet and was now towering over his cousin. Edythe rose too, and stood so close to Phillip their noses nearly touched.
‘Keep away from her,’ Edythe hissed.
‘Or what? What will you do?’
Edythe didn’t flinch. Phillip sat and plucked at a non-existent piece of lint on his trouser leg. He gave David Broadbent a forced smile. ‘She needs discipline. And I apologize. I just wasn’t expecting—’
‘Never mind that,’ Broadbent said. ‘Phillip, you’re to get a lump sum payment of one hundred pounds, along with a life income from a trust your father set up when you were born. With careful investing, you should be able to live quite well on that for the rest of your life. Your mother transferred the cottage off the high street into your name months ago. She’s been collecting the rent on your behalf, and those funds will be made available to you immediately. The tenants moved out last week – death in the family, I’m told – and the cottage is available now.’ He held up a set of keys.
‘The cottage? The bloody cottage?’ Phillip Billings grabbed the keys from David Broadbent’s hand. ‘She gets to live in my family home, and I get the rundown house that isn’t fit for a gentleman?’ He bit back his fury, doing his best not to rampage through Broadbent’s office and break everything in sight. He stood and grabbed his hat.
‘I am putting you on notice. I’ll be hiring my own solicitor to look into my mother’s estate.’ He turned to Beth. ‘I’d like to come to the house and go through my mother’s desk, if you don’t mind. Surely you have no objection to that? There are photographs of my father and other family papers that I would like to retrieve. Unless you’ve something to hide …’ He let the accusation hang heavy in the air.
‘Of course not,’ Beth said.
‘I don’t recommend that,’ David Broadbent cautioned.
‘You’d better hope your file is in order, Mr Broadbent.’ Phillip nodded at Beth and Edythe. ‘Good day.’ He burst out of the office.
Emmeline Hinch waited for Phillip in the foyer, a worried expression on her face. ‘Are you all right? I’m so sorry. He wouldn’t let me see the new will.’
‘Not your fault.’ He pushed out the door and stepped onto the high street. Emmeline kept speaking. Phillip ignored her.
* * *
Some said the Dirty Duck had been around since Henry VIII’s reign. Low ceilings crossed with thick dark beams, a fireplace large enough to roast a cow, and a bar made of ancient wood, gave credence to this. During the day, the Duck served a hearty lunch, drawing a crowd of pensioners and men without someone to cook for them, grateful for an affordable meal. Jemmy, who took pride in the ale he made and the food his wife cooked, could always be counted on to stand a pint to those short of funds. As a young man, Phillip had spent many a happy hour at the Duck, drinking with his mates, boasting about his future plans for fortune and fame. Now, as he downed one pint and ordered another, he longed for the type of clubs that he and Lady Blythedale would frequent, the places of high ceilings, Aubusson rugs, and the lush quiet that comes with unfettered opulence. They had travelled all over Scotland and England, under the name of Mr and Mrs Cyril Hammond, staying in posh hotels, ordering room service, and spending hours in bed. It didn’t take long for Phillip to become accustomed to the lifestyle. It took even less time for him to feel entitled to it.
Phillip tucked himself into a quiet table in the back and gazed out the window at the high street. The table afforded a perfect view to the path that led to the tiny cottage that would now be his home. He would live in a three-room shack while Edythe and Beth would live in his childhood home. The injustice of it all made him want to scream. Instead he sipped at his pint, and let his anger towards his mother, Lady Blythedale, Beth, Edythe, and all the women of the world flow freely. Truth be told, all of Phillip’s problems lay on Lady Blythedale’s shoulders. If she hadn’t been such a prude, he would not be in this position. How dare she bring him into her life, treat him as an equal, and then kick him out with nothing. She could have at the very least let him pack a trunk and take the suits that were custom-made for him. What was she going to do with them? And why had she told the police he had stolen her bloody diamonds? Hell hath no fury.
He sipped his beer, longing for the fine Scotch served in the heavy crystal glasses that he kept at his gatehouse. It wasn’t his fault that in the throes of his despondency he turned to a gentlemanly game of cards. It wasn’t his fault that he bet money that he didn’t have, was it? Wasn’t he used to having money? Wasn’t he used to asking for anything he bloody wanted and getting it in spades? It wasn’t his fault that the truth of what he possessed in his everyday life and what actually belonged to him could become blurred, was it?
And then there was Emmeline Hinch. Dear Emmeline and her unconditional love. He sighed. Love didn’t pay the bills – or the gambling debts – and love certainly didn’t put food on the table. Emmeline would be no help. Eventually the men would come for their money. It was just a matter of when. What Phillip needed was a miracle. Through the old warped glass Phillip watched Beth and Edythe as they stepped out of Broadbent’s office and headed down the high street, arm in arm. Beth huddled over as though she were in pain. Edythe, tall and willowy, had her arm around her mum, as though holding her up. He bit back his rage. Once it was tucked away, the answer presented itself. The perfect solution to all of his troubles. He downed the rest of his pint and hurried after them.
‘Beth, Edythe,’ he called out. They stopped and turned to face him. Edythe stepped closer to her mother, in a protective stance. Phillip didn’t let his emotion show on his face. Instead, he forced a smile and approached them with the charm that he had perfected over the years. ‘I want to apologize for my outburst. It was horribly boorish of me. I’m grateful for what my mother gave me, so you don’t have to worry about me bothering you.’
‘You embarrassed Mum,’ Edythe snapped.
‘I know. That’s why I am here, young lady. I’m apologizing. And you’d do better to learn respect for your elders.’ He turned his gaze to Beth while Edythe continued to glare at him. ‘I acted a fool and took it out on you. My mother loved you both. I had no right to say those things. It’s time for me to see about getting a job somewhere. I’ll have to move, probably. Sell the cottage.’
‘Why don’t you enlist?’ Edythe asked.
‘Why don’t I treat you to tea?’ Phillip ignored Edythe’s question. He stepped between the women and offered each of them an arm. They had no choice but to take it and walk with him along the path to Gilly’s. He needed to get rid of Edythe, so he could talk to Beth alone.