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‘I knew her very well, many years ago. But I left Devon as a young man and only returned to my roots a short while ago. Sofia and I had only recently renewed our acquaintance, and then this happened. I’m so sorry. I’ll miss her terribly.’
Rosie was surprised to see Jackson’s eyes fill with tears. She’d been expecting him to be distant and professional, a bit of a cold fish. But he had a heart and it seemed that a part of it belonged to her mother. Perhaps local people’s affection for Sofia had made up for her own daughter’s lack of care.
‘Here you go.’ Jackson opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a small box of tissues, which he slid across to her.
‘Thanks,’ sniffed Rosie, who hadn’t been aware that tears were trickling down her cheeks. She dabbed at her face and took a deep breath before rummaging in her handbag and pulling out the paperwork she’d received from Charles Epping.
‘It’s a bit of an imposition but I was hoping you could do me a favour. This has arrived, about Driftwood House, and I’d be grateful if you could give me your opinion on it. I’ll pay for your time, of course.’
‘No need. Anything for Sofia,’ said Jackson, pushing the glasses perched on top of his head down onto the bridge of his nose. ‘Let’s see what we have here.’
‘I’d be grateful if you could keep this confidential,’ said Rosie, hanging on to the paperwork. ‘It may be that people know already but I’d like to keep it quiet if possible.’
‘Of course,’ said Jackson, looking at Rosie over the top of his specs. ‘Anything said in this office remains confidential. Let me have a look at what you’ve brought in.’
He scanned through the letter in seconds, while Rosie tapped her foot anxiously against the leg of her chair. Then, with just the slightest raise of a bushy grey eyebrow, be began to read the lease.
Rosie stared at him as he turned the pages, willing him to say it was not worth the paper it was written on; that of course the house had belonged to her mum all along, and Charles Epping was merely trying his luck. But Jackson sucked in air through his teeth as he read on and whistled softly when he got to the end of the document.
‘Well, well.’ He sat back in his creaky leather chair and folded his arms. ‘That appears rather cut and dried, I’m afraid. Sofia was a tenant at Driftwood House and the tenancy reverts to the owner, the Epping family, at the time of her death. You haven’t lived in the house for some time, I believe?’
‘Not for a few years.’
‘Hmm. And I’m assuming that Sofia didn’t leave a will.’
‘Not as far as I’m aware. She wasn’t a will-making kind of person, really.’
‘Hardly surprising. Those of us sliding into middle-age rarely feel compelled to set our affairs in order. We can’t quite believe in our own mortality.’
‘Mum was always optimistic and full of hope. She’d never have believed that she might…’
‘No, of course not. But are you quite sure that there’s no will or other paperwork about this arrangement?’
‘I haven’t come across a will and I’m sure she’d have mentioned making one, although…’
Rosie trailed off. She was equally sure that her mother would have mentioned, at some point over the last twenty-nine years, that their house belonged to someone else, but she never had.
Jackson sniffed. ‘We could question this lease but, knowing what I do about Charles Epping and his family, I have to warn you that it would be expensive, and with next to no chance of success. Though it wouldn’t do any harm to scour Driftwood House for any other relevant paperwork your mother might have left.’ He breathed out slowly through pursed lips. ‘So Charles Epping is the legal owner of Driftwood House. Whoever’d have thought it?’
Not me.Rosie screwed her tissue into a ball and pushed it into her pocket. ‘If you were friends, I’m surprised Mum never mentioned anything about it.’
‘She never said a dicky bird. But I left Heaven’s Cove rather abruptly shortly before she moved into Driftwood House and married your father.’ Jackson shifted in his chair, the leather creaking. ‘So what about you, Miss Merchant?’
‘Please call me Rosie.’
Jackson smiled. ‘Rosie, then. What are your plans?’
‘I don’t know. First of all, there’s the funeral to finalise.’ Rosie closed her eyes for a moment to steady herself. ‘And then I’ll go back to Spain. I’ve been living abroad for some time.’
‘So I understand. I’ve always loved travelling and have taken quite an interest in your adventures since becoming reacquainted with your mother. You’re living near Málaga, I believe.’
‘That’s right. I work part-time for a property agency and the rest of the time for a B&B near the beach.’
‘Marvellous. Which job do you prefer?’
‘The B&B, definitely. I’ve met all kinds of people through it and I enjoy helping them to have a brilliant holiday. It’s hot work when you’re changing beds at the height of summer, but it’s fun.’
‘I visited the area a few years ago and thought it was beautiful, but I almost melted in the heat.’
