Page 110 of Save Us
I nod and go to the shelves. Cautiously, I start to look for anything hidden between the T-shirts. But there’s nothing there. James tackles the higher shelves that I can’t reach, and the shoes, but he has no luck either.
“What about here?” I ask, pointing to the white-painted cabinet at the back. James nods, and I click open the door.
Again I’m holding my breath. I’m positively dazzled by jewels. Everything glitters and sparkles—brooches, chains, earrings; there are a few fascinators too, the kind you wear to weddings or Ladies’ Day at Ascot.
“Wow,” I murmur.
James comes over and crouches beside me. “I recognize a lot of this stuff. I can even remember the exact occasions when she wore different things. Is that weird?”
I shake my head. “Definitely not.”
We study the drawers, which are lined with black velvet, and take them out in case there’s anything hidden behind them. The bottom one contains hair clips and all kinds of extravagant bits and bobs. I recognize some that I saw Lydia wearing when she sat in front of me in history.
“Why is this only half a drawer?” James asks suddenly.
I’d been too busy looking at a glittering spider, and wondering what occasion it would be suitable for, to have noticed. The next moment, James leans forward and pulls the drawer out as far as it’ll go. Then he squeezes his arm into the gap between the bottom drawer and the back of the cabinet. His eyes widen.
“I think there’s something there,” he says, shifting so that his whole arm can fit inside. I hear a quiet scraping sound as James reaches for whatever it is. I hold my breath as he finally gets hold of it and his arm reappears. But then I frown in confusion.
“What’s that?” I whisper.
James looks just as surprised. The object he’s holding is a small box. It’s completely covered in little beads and sequins, in all the colors of the rainbow. It’s so bright, so tacky, that it seems totally out of keeping with everything else in Cordelia Beaufort’s wardrobe.
“Looks like a jewelry box. But…I don’t think it can have been Mum’s. It looks kind of weird.”
I nod. All the beads are so wonky that it reminds me of a small child’s overenthusiastic artwork. “Did you or Lydia make it at nursery school?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “If we had, Dad would have thrown it in the bin.”
“James,” I say suddenly. “Turn it around.”
He does as I say, then freezes. There’s a little keyhole on the front of the box.
“Have you got the key?” I ask, but James has already reached into his pocket and pulled it out. I think we’re both holding our breath as he slips it into the lock—and turns.
We exchange glances, then James opens the lid. I lean in for a closer look.
It’s lined with navy blue velvet, and inside, there’s an envelope. James takes it out and sets the jewelry box down on the floor beside him. Then he slowly opens the letter.
I watch him as he reads. He doesn’t react in any way. But I try to wait, and not to show how worried I feel.
After a whole two minutes, James looks up from the letter.
“And?” I whisper.
“We have to call Ophelia right away.” He holds up the paper. “This is my mother’s will.”
29
Lydia
…furthermore, I leave my younger sister Ophelia my shares in the Beaufort Companies. In the event of my death, she is to take over as Creative Director and Chair of the Board of Directors until my children have completed their education.
As Ophelia reads, I clap my hand to my mouth. My aunt rubs her eyes as if she can’t believe what’s written there in Mum’s will.
“That’s not all,” Ophelia says, handing it to me. The fingers of my free hand are digging into Graham’s leg. He’s sitting beside me in the conservatory, with an arm around my shoulders. He gives me a quick squeeze as I take this letter written by my mother, my hand shaking. I scan through the will until I get to the part Ophelia just read out. When I see my name, I lift the paper higher.
I, Cordelia Beaufort, hereby declare my daughter, Lydia Beaufort, and my son, James Beaufort, to be my joint heirs, withequal shares in the inheritance. May they always believe in themselves and make their visions into reality.
