Ware, Ruth - The Death of Mrs. Westaway by Ware Ruth

Author:Ware, Ruth [Ware, Ruth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Thriller, Suspense
ISBN: 9781501156229
Google: rXVEDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B078MDYVVT
Goodreads: 36373481
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2018-05-29T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 24

* * *

“So, in view of all that, it looks like we are stuck until Monday,” Harding said wearily, slumping back on the drawing room sofa. He picked a cup of tea off the tray that Mitzi had just put in front of him and took a gulp.

“You are kidding me.” Abel put his head in his hands. “I can’t stay away until Tuesday. I’ve got client meetings on Monday afternoon.”

“Well, I suggest you postpone them,” Harding said irritably. He smoothed his shirt, which was gaping across the middle, exposing soft white skin like uncooked dough. “Might I add, it’s partly your fault for not being present at the meeting in the first place. Between you and Ezra, I have the feeling that I’m the only person trying to sort out this mare’s nest.”

“I had no idea Mother had made me her bloody executor!” Abel said. “What in God’s name possessed her?”

“What in God’s name possessed her to do any of this,” Harding snapped. “Including disinheriting all of her children.”

“Spite, pure and simple,” Ezra said from the corner of the room. He rose, took a cup from the tray and a digestive biscuit from the plate. “I’ve no doubt the one thing that amused her on her deathbed was the thought of the unpleasantness she was leaving behind.”

Abel nodded bitterly.

“I could believe that. She probably thought that a protracted legal wrangle swallowing up all the estate’s resources would keep the unpleasantness going for years.”

Protracted legal wrangle. The words made Hal’s stomach seem to drop away, and she felt a spike of fear course through her. There was no way any papers she could forge would survive such a process. It would all come out—the truth about her mother, her grandmother—everything.

But there was no way back now—she had gone too far. There was no longer any possibility she could credibly pass off this deception as an honest mistake.

She imagined herself in a court of law, the prosecuting barrister saying, with false confusion, “Run this past me again, Miss Westaway. It was your honest belief that your maternal grandmother had changed her name from Marion to Hester and moved from a modest council house in Surrey to an estate in Cornwall after her own death?”

Hal felt the confession rising up inside her again. Impostor. I’m an impostor.

There was only one way out. It wouldn’t save her from Mr. Smith—but then nothing would, that was becoming clear. Even if, by some miracle, she managed to get hold of fake papers good enough to pass muster, and to bluff her way through the interviews, there would be no money in time for his deadline.

No. She would just have to cut her losses and get out, while she still could.

She stood, shoving her hands in her pockets to prevent them from shaking.

“Listen, I’ve been thinking—”

“Not now, Harriet,” Harding said. He dunked his biscuit in his tea, and then tutted as the edge crumbled.

“Yes, now!” Hal said firmly. She felt a kind of desperation choke

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