Page 30 of Paper Roses

A hand lands on mine and I startle. Artie smiles at me. “You’re tapping,” he says, and I realise I’ve been tapping my foot—an old habit. He doesn’t let go of my hand, and when my gaze drops, I see our wedding rings nestling close together. I swallow hard and he pulls his hand away.

“It’ll be fine,” he says, and I offer him a smile.

An old man in a tweed suit enters the room.

“Mr Davies,” Artie exclaims.

The old man gives him a warm smile. He has a kind face. “Artie, my boy, how are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Are you ready?”

Artie nods.

Mr Davies edges a little closer. “Did you take my advice about consulting another solicitor?” His expression is worried.

“No need,” Artie says calmly. “Let me introduce you to?—”

There’s a noise at the door and Laura’s cleaner gives a horrified gasp as Daisy sails into the room. Artie’s mouth drops open, and I try hard to cover my laugh as a cough. She’s in a long red dress, her hair is dyed purple, and she’s wearing a red veil.

“Oh, mygoodness,” Mr Davies breathes.

I snort again, and Daisy beams at me.

“I am here for the reading of the will,” she says grandly. “I do hope I’m suitably attired.”

The cleaner mutters something about Sodom, and Daisy waves at her.

“This dress seems appropriate for my monster… I’m sorry, I meant my mother.” Mr Davies’s mouth twitches, and Daisy turns to Artie. “What do you think? Is it too subtle?”

“Terribly so,” he says dryly, accepting her hug. I bend to let her hug me next. Her perfume is sweet. “How is he?” she whispers. “Not overcome by guilt and willing to blow this gig out of the water?”

“You’ve been watching too many films. He’s fine.”

“Well, come in.” Mr Davies guides us into a room lined by bookshelves and lit by pale stripes of weak sunshine. We seat ourselves and then turn as one to look at him.

He coughs and takes some papers from his desk. “Well, are we ready?”

“Where’s my great-aunt’s solicitor?” Artie asks. “I thought he’d be here.”

“He isn’t attending the reading, but I will be seeing him afterwards when he will go over the details.” His mouth tightens. “Extensively,” he adds sourly and then pastes a small smile on his face. “We are here for the last will and testament of Laura Campbell.”

“I am ready,” Daisy says very seriously. “I am sure she had many poisonous barbs to impart before she carked it.”

His eyes twinkle, but he proceeds to go through the dry details. The cleaner has been left a nice sum, and her pleased hum reinforces this fact. Daisy receives the money from her father’s estate, which she already knew would happen. Then Mr Davies turns to Artie.

“The next clause pertains to the house in Wimbledon which was left to Laura during her lifetime and was to come to you on her death, Artie. There was also a sum of money that your father imagined would come to you, but as with so many of these bequests, I am afraid to say that a lot of this money has been eaten up with the costs to keep Laura.”

“At least they don’t need heating in hell,” Daisy mutters. “The devil will be very relieved because she’d bankrupt him in twenty-four hours.”

I try not to laugh.

Artie nudges her and the solicitor continues to speak. “As such, it will only provide a small stipend.” He gives a dry cough. “I also regret to say that Mrs Campbell had let her stewardship of the house lapse, no doubt due to her ill health.”

“More to do with her spite eating her alive,” Daisy mutters.

Artie leans forward. “What do you mean by that, Mr Davies?”

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