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He drones on, reading my dad’s last wishes in formal terms and with an emotionless intonation. Besides the houses in Great Brak River and Cape Town, Mom also gets a retirement fund that will pay a monthly allowance from the date she turns sixty. Ryan inherits the business.
Poor Ryan.
I catch his gaze across the table. Does he even want the burden? Did he ever? Or did Dad make those decisions for him—for all of us—when he decided to do things under the table?
Dad set up investment funds for Mattie and me that will pay out when we respectively turn twenty-five. I don’t care what I get. I don’t need anything. All I care about is the fact that Dad is gone and that I can’t think about the man who did it for fear of breaking down so effectively I’ll never come back from it. All I can think about is the farce and the lies and the terrible sword hanging over our heads. I can only think about the untruths and the fear we’ll have to live with for the rest of our lives.
“…the vintage collection of cars be sold and the profit donated to a charity of Mrs. Margaret Rose Edwards’s choice.”
I tune out as the solicitor goes into the finer details of how my dad’s belongings should be divided. The sailing boat he kept in Cape Town, the one he hardly ever used, goes to Ryan. Dad’s collection of old coins goes to Brad, as well as some cash. Brad and Mattie’s unborn child each receives a college fund. It goes on and on.
It’s only when he mentions a property in Hout Bay that I pay attention again, not only because we don’t have a house in Hout Bay, but also because of the short hesitation in the solicitor’s otherwise flowing presentation and especially because of the way he clears his throat and takes a sip of water.
He sticks a finger in his collar and loosens the knot of his tie. “Ownership of the property at hundred eleven Fish Eagle Avenue, Hout Bay, is transferred to Mrs. Laura Remington.”
Mom frowns, pale and startled. Ryan sits quietly, expressionless. Mattie takes Jared’s hand where it rests on the tabletop as if she needs the support.
“Excuse me,” Celeste says. “Who?”
The solicitor clears his throat again. “An investment fund to the value of ten million rand goes to Miss Daisy Remington.”
“Ten million?” Mattie exclaims. “That’s double the amount of Bella’s and mine put together. Who is this person?” She twists in her chair, leaning forward to look at Ryan. “Is that someone at work?”
“No,” Ryan replies, his tone flat.
“Can you please explain?” Celeste asks.
The solicitor briefly glances at my mom before fixing his gaze on the document in his hands. “Miss Daisy Remington is the daughter of Mrs. Laura Remington and the late Mr. Benjamin Edwards.”
ChapterTen
Sabella
The two vacant chairs next to the solicitor suddenly make sense. They’re reserved for these women, Laura and Daisy Remington.
The information refuses to sink in.
She’s the daughter of Mrs. Laura Remington and the late Mr. Benjamin Edwards.
Dad had an affair. Or a one-night stand. He has a daughter with someone else.
So many questions flood my mind that I feel dizzy. When? Why? How old is she? Why didn’t Dad tell us?
Mom is frozen in shock. Mattie clamps a hand over her stomach as if wanting to protect their baby from the violent way of discovering the news. Jared rubs her back. Celeste gapes. Ryan scrubs a hand over his face.
The solicitor gets to his feet. “I understand that this isn’t the best time or way to meet Mrs. Remington and her daughter, but they requested to be present.” The slightest hint of an apology slips into his professional tone. “Alas, it’s their legal right.”
He goes to the door and opens it. “You can come in now.”
Dread fills me as he steps aside.
An attractive woman with shoulder-length blond hair and clear blue eyes enters. The soft lines around her eyes and mouth tell me she’s in her late fifties. A powder-pink Chanel dress hugs her slim figure. Heels in a matching shade of pink adds an inch to her average height and shows off her well-toned calves. A handbag in the same patent leather as the shoes hangs over her forearm. She wears a compassionate smile and a warm expression. There’s no malice or anger in her features, only concern and affection as she waits for the second person to enter.
The young woman who follows is more or less my age. It comes as a shock. I don’t know why I expected a child. Maybe because I don’t want to admit how long my dad concealed this secret. With wheat-blond hair and gray-blue eyes, Daisy takes after her mother. She’s beautiful and regal, looking like a queen in simple black slacks and a silk blouse. She offers her mother a smile, one that says, I’m okay, before meeting our gazes with a confident air.
Behind them, the solicitor coughs. “I’ll give you a couple of minutes before we continue,” he says before leaving discreetly.
Laura Remington leads her daughter to the table. Her voice is pleasant and serene. “I wish we could’ve met under different circumstances.”
