Page 96 of Electric Kiss

“It’s locked, Bailey. Where is the key?” Cynthia clipped out.

Bailey stayed on the threshold of his world and her world. “I am not permitted to open the study, Miss Turner,” he replied.

“Why is that?”

“Not until the will reading. I have been instructed by the solicitors not to open that room until after Mr Turner’s will has been read.”

“I see. That event is scheduled to take place at two o’clock today. Is that still the case?”

“Yes, Miss Turner. In the drawing room. I have been asked to attend as a witness.”

“Of course you have,” she said, contrite lacing her words.

She stalked across the marble floor and walked up the wide staircase to the first floor and the gallery balcony. She looked down and wondered if she was ever happy at Turner Hall. Now that it was all hers, finally, she wanted none of it. Regret started to worm its way into her veins. If only she hadn’t scared away Imelda. Would Freddie still be alive? Would the Hall be filled with children and grandchildren by now? Where would Cynthia be if she hadn’t done her father’s bidding?

Where indeed. Regrets. They were of no help to her now. Two more stages of her mission, get the will read and then get the hell off Copper Island.

A few hours later, Cynthia was drinking tea on her small veranda, looking out across the lawns. She was now down to hours before she could leave. Her bags were packed with clothes she wanted to take back to Italy. There were a few first editions taken from the library for Jonathan. Cynthia was ready.

Jennifer was behind her on the threshold. There wasn’t enough room for the two of them out there. Jennifer had her saucer in one hand and the cup in the other, occasionally sipping. They were silent as the minutes ticked by.

“What do you think is in the will?” Jennifer asked. “Did he share any details before he died?”

“He shared nothing with me. But that was the rule. Only the next in line was allowed to know when they became next in line. No preparation, although it seemed Freddie was prepared.”

“We’re on the four o’clock flight. Is that enough time?”

“Can’t imagine telling me I need to take care of everything will take long.”

“No, I imagine it wouldn’t.”

Jennifer sounded like she was on her way to the gallows, and Cynthia empathised. But Jennifer hadn’t grasped that Cynthia no longer cared about Copper Island, its inhabitants or its future. She just needed the details and could run everything from Italy. Technology enabled her to work anywhere.

“Let’s go downstairs. It’s time,” Cynthia said, passing her cup to Jennifer.

Jennifer carried the two cups and saucers to the tray on the sideboard in the sitting room. She glanced Cynthia’s way, and Cynthia nodded while she straightened her twinset. She couldn’t wait to change her clothes as soon as she arrived at the villa.

They walked side by side down the staircase. Once they were on the marble floor, Jennifer turned right and went through the doorway that led below stairs. Bailey was at the door to the drawing room. He opened it as she approached, and she swept in without speaking with Bailey. She didn’t know whose side he was on, but now it didn’t matter. Generations of Bailey men had served the Turners. He probably was loyal only to his pay packet.

“I’ll send him in, Miss Turner,” Bailey said.

She nodded at him, then sat in the high-backed chair by the unlit fireplace. She thought back to the last time she was in there with Freddie’s children and her father. Another unpleasant conversation with her family. But then she reasoned she couldn’t remember when she had a friendly conversation with anyone on Copper Island besides that summer with Jonathan.

A few moments later, Mr Porterfield, her father’s solicitor, walked in. He looked as elderly as her father before he died, but she knew him to be her age.

“Will this take long, Mr Porterfield? I have a flight to catch.” Cynthia asked as she stretched out her hand to shake his.

“No, not long at all. The terms of the will are straightforward. I’ll summarise with you now and then leave you the contents of the will for you to read. Then if you have any questions, please telephone me during office hours, and I’ll gladly assist you.”

“Thank you, Mr Porterfield. Please sit. Do you want tea?”

“No, thank you, Miss Turner. Maggie provided nourishment when I arrived after a long journey from London.”

“Of course,” Cynthia replied.

Of course, the staff would take care of him. It was a shame Jennifer hadn’t advised her, saving her the embarrassment of offering tea.

“Shall we get down to it?” Mr Porterfield asked.

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