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‘For my wife, Rosina Elaine Charlton,’ he went on. ‘I direct that she receive an annuity of forty thousand pounds, payable on the first of January each year, and the use of Keeper’s Cottage during her lifetime, its repair and maintenance to be paid from my estate.’
‘An annuity—a cottage?’ Rosina, her voice shaking, was on her feet. ‘What are you talking about? There must be some mistake.’
‘Mother.’ Ginny guided her back into her chair, aware that she too was trembling. ‘Let Mr Hargreaves finish.’
‘Thank you, Miss Mason.’ He cleared his throat, awkwardly. ‘There is one final and major item.’ He paused. ‘All other monies and property of which I die possessed, including Barrowdean House and my shares in Charlton Engineering, I bequeath to my natural son, Andre Duchard of Terauze, France.’
There was an appalled silence. Ginny stared at the man sitting beside the solicitor, his dark face expressionless. Andre, she thought. The French version of Andrew. And, while she’d been aware of some faint familiarity, Barney—Barney had known in some unfathomable way. Barney had recognised him as family.
Then: ‘Natural son?’ Rosina repeated, her voice rising. ‘Are you telling me that Andrew has left everything—everything—to some—some bastard? Some Frenchman none of us have heard of until now?’
‘But I, madame, have heard a great deal about you,’ Andre Duchard said silkily. ‘I am enchanted to make your acquaintance at last.’
‘Enchanted?’ Rosina gave a harsh laugh. ‘Enchanted to think that you’ve robbed me of my inheritance, no doubt. Well, don’t count your chickens. Because I intend to fight this outrage if it takes everything I’ve got.’
Which at the moment, thought Ginny, is forty thousand a year and the use of a cottage. Damn all else. As for me—well, I can’t think about that now. The priority is damage limitation.
She put an arm round her mother’s shoulders. She said quietly, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Hargreaves, but I think we’re all in a state of shock. As my mother says, we hadn’t the least idea that Monsieur Duchard existed. But I imagine Andrew arranged for his heir’s credentials to be thoroughly checked.’
Mr Hargreaves took off his glasses and wiped them carefully. He said, ‘Indeed, yes. Mr Charlton always knew he had a son, and obtained legal recognition of his paternity according to French law. He also has letters and photographs going back to the time the boy was born, which my father kept for him in a box at our offices.’ He paused again. ‘This was a matter of discretion as Mrs Josephine Charlton was still alive at that time, and our client was anxious not to distress her.’
‘And what about my feelings?’ Rosina demanded tearfully. ‘He wasn’t so caring about them. Ten years of devotion rewarded by a pittance and the use of a hovel!’
Ginny groaned under her breath, stingingly aware of Andre Duchard’s sardonic smile, as he absorbed every word and gesture, then froze as he looked directly at her, the dark brows drawing together as if he’d been presented with a puzzle he had yet to master.
Hastily, she averted her gaze.
‘Mother, why don’t you come upstairs and lie down,’ she suggested gently. ‘I’ll ask Mrs Pelham to make you some tea and...’
‘I want nothing from that woman. Don’t you realise Andrew has treated me the same as her—a servant—in this disgusting will? Oh, how could he do such a thing? He must have been quite mad.’
Her eyes suddenly sharpened. ‘But of course, that’s it. Something must have disturbed the balance of his mind. Isn’t that what they say?’
‘I think you are referring to suicide, madame,’ Andre Duchard corrected gently.
‘Well, whatever.’ Mrs Charlton waved a dismissive hand. ‘We can still have the will overturned. You hear about such things all the time.’
‘I strongly advise against any such action,’ Robert Hargreaves said gravely. ‘You have no case, Mrs Charlton. Your husband was a sane and rational man, who wished to openly recognise his son born outside wedlock. The will I have just read was drawn up two years ago.’
‘But if this man is really Andrew’s son, why is he called—Duchard or whatever it was? It sounds bogus to me.’
The Frenchman spoke. ‘Duchard, madame, is the family name of my stepfather, who adopted me when he married my mother. I hope that sets your mind at rest,’ he added silkily.
Seeing that Rosina’s face had reddened alarmingly, Mr Hargreaves intervened. ‘I suggest you take Virginia’s advice, Mrs Charlton, and rest for a while. We will speak again in a day or two, when you’re feeling calmer. There are other important matters that need to be discussed.’
