Page 6 of Secrets and Seashells at Rainbow Bay
‘Then I would like it if you called me Benji, as that’s what I prefer.’
I stare at him for a second. How had Benji come from Alexander?
Ah, Alexander Benjamin. Of course. ‘Sure,’ I agree. It’s a bit odd, but kind of suits him, I suppose. Even though Benji dresses like a solicitor, I suspect from the look of his slightly unkempt hair and the Harry Potter socks I’d glimpsed when we sat down, he might have a less formal, wilder side to him.
‘Good,’ Benji says, sounding pleased. ‘Now we’ve got that out of the way, you must still be wondering what I’ve got to tell you.’
‘I am a bit, yes.’
‘You have every right to feel enormous anticipation, Amelia.’
I smile at him. He obviously takes great pleasure in using as many long words as he can when he speaks.
Benji reaches for his briefcase and pulls out a slim cardboard file. He lays it unopened on the table.
‘In this file,’ he begins, ‘are details of the estate you have inherited.’ He taps the file for effect, and I hope that the apparent emptiness of the file is a good indication that inside is a rather large cheque bearing my name. ‘Would you like to see?’
‘Yes please.’
Benji opens up the file and pulls from it several large photos, which he keeps turned away from me.
It’s going to be photos of a dog, isn’t it? I know it.
‘Here,’ he says triumphantly, turning around the first photo with a flourish, ‘is your inheritance.’ He lays the photo on the table in front of me.
‘It’s a castle,’ I say blankly, as I stare at a picture of a large medieval-looking building standing on top of a hill.
‘This,’ Benji continues, laying another photo next to the first, ‘is Chesterford Castle, to be precise. Your ancestral home.’
I laugh – a big out-loud laugh that makes the few other people in the coffee shop look over at us.
‘Sorry,’ I apologise, ‘but I thought you said myancestral home. We’ve just come from my home – a two-bedroom, fourth-floor flat on a slightly dodgy estate in Hamilton.’
‘Not for much longer, Amelia,’ Benji says, laying down a third photo with another view of the same castle on it. ‘If you accept your inheritance, then thistwelve-bedroom castle in Northumberland will be your new home.’
Three
‘You’re bonkers!’ I say, looking incredulously at Benji. ‘How can a castle be my home? There must be some mistake.’
Benji shakes his head and some of his grey coiffured hair flops over one of his eyes. He hurriedly pushes it back with his hand. ‘No, no mistake. Chesterford Castle has been without an heir since the last Chesterford passed away – almost a year ago now, I believe.’
I simply stare at Benji – suddenly wondering if this is some sort of joke. I look surreptitiously around for concealed TV cameras, and then I scan Benji for a hidden microphone or a tiny earpiece. When I don’t speak, he continues: ‘John Crawford Chesterford, the seventeenth Earl, died without an heir to either his estate or his title. Without going into too many details right now – that information is in the documents both his family solicitor and I have access to – we have been trying to trace a suitable heir since his death.’
I still stare incredulously at Benji, and then back down at the photos on the table, then back up at him again as he talks. But I realise he’s stopped talking now, and is waiting for me to say something back to him.
‘A . . . suitable heir?’ I repeat. ‘How do you find one of those – on eBay?’
Benji stares at me, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to work out if I’m being serious, flippant or just plain stupid.
Usually it would be flippant – my sense of humour has got me into trouble on more than one occasion – but this time Benji would be correct in veering more towards the stupid. I just can’t comprehend what he is telling me.
But he obviously chooses the flippant option – and laughs.
‘Aha, funny!’ he says, waggling his finger at me. ‘If only it was that easy – actually no, strike that. If itwerethat easy I’d be out of a job. Like I said, this particular case has been extremely tricky, and I’ve had to go across several branches of the Chesterford family tree to find you.’
There is a Chesterford family tree? All the Chesterfords I know barely have two twigs to rub together, let alone a tree.
‘You’re serious, then?’ I ask, looking at the castle in the photo again. ‘You’re telling me that this inheritance you keep talking about, it’s this castle?’ I tap the photo on the table. ‘This one right here?’
