Page 11 of Love By Sunset

‘I’m sorry,’ Robbie Jones interrupted, ‘but sponsored you to do what? And… from the age of twelve? Did he send you to a private school or something? I haven’t been with the firm that long, and I’m new to the area,’ he finished by way of apology.

Jake explained his history, and how he took over the café, finishing with Henry Whitchurch’s promise he would leave it to Jake.

‘Okay.’ Robbie Jones put his mug down and sat upright, looking at Jake. ‘So how can I help?’

‘Well, I’ve heard Mr Whitchurch—Henry—died intestate and there’s a big property development company sniffing round.’ Distress crept into Jake’s voice. ‘It can’t be right, Mr Jones. If Henry told me he was going to leave the café to me, he would have got on with it.’

‘Oh.’ Robbie Jones picked up a pencil, which he twisted through his fingers. ‘Jake… is it okay to call you Jake? And call me Robbie, okay?’

Jake nodded.

‘You’ll be aware that after Mr Whitchurch died, we contacted his nephew. He organised the funeral and contacted us, saying he wanted to sell the estate, and could we deal with it.’

Jake rose to his feet and paced the floor, hands shoved into his pockets. ‘Yeah, I realised it might take time to sort things, and I was just waiting, expecting someone would contact me. Then I heard Henry had died intestate, and there’s this property company hanging around who want to buy it.’

Robbie sighed and shook his head. ‘Yes. Approach Developments. Quite a sympathetic company in that they’ll want what’s right for the area where they’ve bought the land.’

‘But do I have any claim on the cafe?’

Robbie was silent for a very long time.

Jake sank back down into his chair, his brows a knot of worry. ‘Sir?’

‘You have some claim, yes,’ Robbie said, speaking slowly. ‘There’s obvious goodwill, and I assume you have the paperwork which shows you’ve had long-term, overall control of the café? Bills, rates and so on?’

Jake nodded.

‘But you’d have to take it to court, and it would take a long time and a lot of money. I would advise you to think very hard about this. You could try approaching the nephew, but there’s few people who would give up what is probably the most valuable part of the estate unless it was for a very good price. Maybe worth considering, though.’

‘How do we know there’s not a will? Has anyone looked properly?’

‘Once we were instructed, yes, we did. We took all Mr Whitchurch’s personal possessions and checked through them with a very fine toothcomb, you can be sure of that. And, Jake, think of this. If there was a will, where the hell are the witnesses? We’ve asked around, and you know what Solhaven’s like. Someone would have said something.’

‘But maybe you missed it, somewhere in the house?’

Robbie looked sad. ‘I wish I could say it was likely, but all his papers were in one desk, and there was no will there.’

Jake nodded. ‘I know the desk,’ he muttered in a low voice.

His mind went back to the last time he and Henry had spoken, in the study where the desk was. At the end of the visit, the affection they had for each other showed, as it always did, in a brief hug, and gruff words. Jake had been worried about his friend. Somehow, he’d sensed something was wrong and had suggested a check-up. Henry had agreed, but in the end, he’d left it too late. He’d suffered his heart attack, and by the time Jake reached the hospital, his friend had died.

‘Maybe I could have a look round sometime?’

‘I suppose so,’ Robbie said slowly. ‘I think I should say no, but I can’t see any harm would come of it. How about you let me know when would be a good time, and I could meet you there?’

Jake left Greenall’s with an ache in his heart, and spent the rest of Wednesday finishing painting the exterior of the pebble-dash café, his brush slashing over the roughness with grim determination, slapping on the pale, primrose yellow, having solved none of his problems. He didn’t know where to turn next, other than to take Robbie up on his offer to search the house, despite the solicitor’s conviction everything had been done to find this elusive will.

CHAPTER7

Emily’s tripback to London didn’t go well.

On Tuesday afternoon, after the general staff meeting about the purchase, she asked Gerry to come into her office.

‘Okay, what’s this all about, Em?’ Gerry dropped into the chair next to her desk, where Emily sat, a frown on her face.

‘This project,’ she said. ‘There’s a hitch, which for now I prefer to discuss only with you because it might affect the purchase.’

‘What kind of hitch?’ Gerry sat up, his eyes narrowing. ‘And how would it affect things?’

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