Melissa's gaze travelled once again to the clock on the wall. Twenty minutes late. This was getting ridiculous, she thought, glancing across to the desk where the solicitor's receptionist sat typing at a keyboard, her perfectly coiffed white hair slightly squashed by an audio headset. Replacing the dog-eared copy of Woman's Weekly upon a pile of similarly ancient magazines Melissa rose to her feet. "Excuse me?"
The white-haired lady looked up, clearly annoyed by the interruption. She slid the headset down so that it dangled around her neck, somehow managing to frown with her eyes despite her mouth curving into a polite smile. "Yes?"
"Will Mr Barrington be much longer?" Long-experienced at dealing with delays and excuses, Melissa knew it was best to keep her tone friendly but firm. "My appointment was at five o'clock. I understand he must be busy but--"
"Oh!" The receptionist's expression cleared. "I'm sorry. I assumed you knew. Mr Barrington's ready. We're just waiting for Mr McKenzie to arrive. He phoned a few moments before you arrived to say he was running a little late. He should be here soon."
"Wh-what? " Her stomach gave an unexpected lurch. "Mr McKenzie?" Please God, no... "You mean,
Matt
McKenzie?"
"That's right, dear. You didn't know he was coming?" The receptionist looked up again and her smile suddenly broadened as she looked beyond Melissa towards the door.
"No. I thought he--I'd heard he was abroad. China--or--or..." It was proving impossible to quell her rising sense of panic. "Hong Kong or somewhere like that--"
"Singapore actually."
At the sound of the wry male voice, Melissa inhaled sharply then stopped breathing altogether. Rooted to the spot, she couldn't turn to acknowledge the tall man who'd arrived beside her at the counter.
"Sorry I'm late." He dropped a briefcase to the floor, narrowly missing her right foot. "The plane was delayed at Changi but luckily I found a cabbie at Heathrow who was willing to break a few land speed records." There was a pause. "Hello, Lissy."
Melissa opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out, hot colour surging into her cheeks as she felt his appraising glance.
"It's been a long time."
No kidding, Melissa thought grimly, still unable to move. It'd been more than fourteen years. But before she could gather herself enough to respond she heard a door open.
"Matt! I thought I heard you. So glad you could make it after all."
Heart thudding in her ears, she managed to look up at last. A much shorter, rather stout man was striding towards them, his right arm outstretched. Charlie's solicitor, she supposed.
"How are you, my boy?"
The two men shook hands then to her astonishment, clapped each other on the back like old friends. "I'm fine," Matt said. "Just a pity we couldn't be meeting again in happier circumstances."
"Indeed." She felt a gentle touch on her arm. "And you must be Miss Barton. I'm Archibald Barrington. We spoke on the phone."
"Oh, please." Forcing herself to smile, she lifted her head to find herself gazing directly into the little man's inquiring grey eyes as she clasped his hand. "It's Melissa. Do call me Melissa, Mr Barrington."
He smiled back amiably. "I will, so long as you call me Archie. Would you believe, my wife Mary and I--" he nodded towards the receptionist "--went to school with your uncle. Such a wonderful chap. He'll be greatly missed." He sighed, exchanging glances with Mary who also sighed, then gestured towards the open door. "Shall we?"
Still unable to look at Matt, Melissa allowed herself to be ushered into the solicitor's inner sanctum. As she moved towards a battered brown leather armchair she couldn't help glancing around. Although twice the size of her own office, this room seemed cramped, the desk squeezed between huge grey filing cabinets and bookcases crammed with folders.
"Please--do sit down." Archie settled himself behind the desk and retrieved a buff coloured wallet from a teetering pile. "This shouldn't take long."
"I daresay it won't." Melissa heard the wobble in her voice and hated herself for sounding so nervous. She perched on the edge of her seat, aware of Matt dropping rather less elegantly into the adjacent chair. "Uncle Charlie seems to have left rather detailed instructions about everything else."
"Yes, indeed." Archie's expression was soft. "He was quite determined to put everything in order before he died. But then he was that sort of chap."
Melissa swallowed hard. There it was again--that now familiar hard lump at the back of her throat. Charlie had known he was dying. He'd known for six months that lung cancer was going to kill him. But she hadn't. She hadn't even suspected he was ill. Tears pricked the back of her eyes. "The funeral's arranged for next Friday," she said quickly, determined not to lose her fragile grip on control. "Two o'clock, at St Mary's Church--in Ebberlea of course. The vicar's name is Michael Wright. I've made an appointment to meet him on Wednesday morning to go through the eulogy and the hymns and readings. Though--" Steeling herself, she finally braved a glance at Matt. "I suppose you'd probably like--" The words caught in her throat as his stony gaze met hers. Those oh-so-familiar chocolate brown eyes, once so full of mischief and laughter, now held no trace of a smile.
"To be there?" His tone was icy. "Well, yes, I would actually, thank you."
She felt her face flood with colour again. "Look," she said, biting her lip. "I--I didn't think--I wasn't sure you'd be able to make it."
His expression hardened further. "You seriously thought I'd miss Charlie's funeral?"
"No!" It took considerable effort on Melissa's part to maintain eye contact. "But I wasn't sure you'd be able to get back in time--well, not in time to help make any arrangements."
Despite herself, she found herself drinking in his appearance. His face and what she could see of his neck above his shirt and jacket were lightly tanned, the ends of his dark brown hair curling into his neck as though a trip to the barber was long overdue. But otherwise, his clear-cut features appeared much the same as they had when he was a teenager. He certainly didn't look his thirty-one years, only the tension in his face betraying travel-induced fatigue.
"But now that you're here--of course--you'll want to--you'll..." It was hopeless. Quite unable to bear his open animosity, her voice died and she had to look away.
After a moment of deafening silence, Archie coughed politely. "You're both aware that the funeral is prepaid? So cost isn't a consideration."
Melissa was relieved to be able to shift her focus back to the solicitor. "Yes, so you said in your letter," she said, striving for a more cheery tone. "Trust Charlie to do that. He planned the whole thing. Everything. The music to be played when they carry in the coffin, the precise order of service, the readings, the hymns--he even wrote down the names of the tunes so that we'd choose exactly the right ones. Oh, and he requested that no one should wear black. No black suits, no black ties. The brighter the colours, the better." Aware of sounding more hysterical than cheery, she forced a short laugh, then on catching Matt's eye again, rather wished she hadn't.
Archie was nodding sagely. "Jolly good idea. I'm all for that. And as for planning everything, I know he wanted to make it as easy on you as possible." He opened the wallet and pulled out a sheaf of papers. "And I'm glad you're both here today as it makes things rather easier for me. There's a few forms to sign I'm afraid. Probate, etcetera."
"Of course." She experienced another, more muted spasm of pain. It had been two years since her mother died but sometimes it seemed like only yesterday that she'd signed a similar set of forms in another solicitor's office across town.
Archie was still speaking. "Obviously, we'll leave the formal reading of Charlie's will until after the funeral," he said, pushing a paper across the table and passing her a pen. "But I can tell you now that it's very straightforward. In a nutshell, his estate is to be equally divided between the two of you."
The pen slipped from her grasp. "What?"
"You seem surprised." Archie smiled. "To whom were you expecting he'd leave his money?"
Still reeling from the shock, she stared at him. "Well, Matthew of course." She shot a bewildered look at the man sitting silently beside her. "Charlie was his uncle. I'm not a blood relative."
"Yes but you were his wife's niece," the solicitor explained patiently. "And even though Suzie passed away some years ago Charlie considered the farm still belonged to them both and therefore in the event of his death that it should be passed to you as Suzie's heir and, of course, to Matt. That's right, isn't it Matt? That's what was agreed that day?" She watched as Matt nodded his confirmation then felt Archie press the pen back into her hand. "Just there please--on the dotted line," he prompted, pointing to the bottom of the form.
Automatically, she began to sign only to stop midway through her first name as Archie's words registered. "'That day?'" she repeated, lifting her head. "What day?"
"The day Charlie made his will." Archie frowned and hastily took a glance at his watch. "Sorry, Melissa, I don't mean to hurry you but my wife will be most upset if I'm late tonight. Golf club dinner you see."
"You were here?" She turned to Matt, this time feeling no apprehension. "You were here when Charlie made his will?" A chill grabbed at her heart as he nodded again. "And when--exactly--was that?"
"Miss Barton, please." Archie motioned again to the page before her but his anxious tone confirmed her suspicion he'd inadvertently revealed more than he'd intended.
"Matthew?" she persisted. "When?"
He winced but didn't try to look away. "The end of December," he admitted. "Just before I went out to Singapore."
December. Four months ago. As she allowed the truth to seep into her consciousness, she stared at him, strangely numb. Then at last she curled her trembling fingers around the pen and completed her name before shoving the paper along the desk to Matt.
A relieved-looking Archie placed another sheet in front of her. "And this one too--just there--and again there, please," he murmured.
