The Death of Mrs. Westaway(52)

With a sinking heart, Hal followed Harding into the corridor, and from there out to the front of the house, where the car was waiting, the three children belted in the back.

“Just a moment, Harriet, while I get the boot seat set up,” Harding said, but his face changed as the big estate boot swung open. “Mitzi? Where are the fold-down seats?”

“What?” Mitzi looked over her shoulder. The engine was already running, and her impatience was plain. “What are you talking about, Harding?”

“The boot seats. Where are they? Harriet is traveling with us.”

“But she can’t—there’s no room. We took the seats out to make room for the cases, remember?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes. Does no one in this family plan more than two steps ahead?” Harding said testily. “Well, there’s a simple answer: Freddie will have to stay behind.”

“Firstly, darling”—Mitzi’s voice was brittle as cut glass—“it was your idea to remove the seats, if you remember. And secondly, Freddie can’t stay behind, he’s a beneficiary. Mr. Treswick needs to see his ID.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Harding said explosively. Hal felt a little flicker of hope ignite inside her. Was it possible she would not be able to attend after all?

She was just about to offer to remain at the house when a voice came from behind her.

“Good morning, all.”

Hal and Harding both turned, and Hal heard Harding’s sigh, a plosive noise, like a whale coming up for air.

“Ezra,” he said flatly.

He was standing, hands in his pockets, grinning widely.

“Hello, dear brother. And hello again, Harriet. Nice to see Harding is putting you firmly in the crumple zone. Have you investigated what happens to the estate if Harriet doesn’t survive the trip, Harding?”

“Ezra!” Harding snapped. “That is an entirely inappropriate joke to make. And no, Harriet won’t be traveling in the boot, as someone”—he ignored Mitzi’s eye-rolling sigh of exasperation from the driver’s seat—“forgot to pack the spare seats. We were just discussing how to proceed.”

“Well, I can solve that,” Ezra said. “I’ve got to go into Penzance myself. I need to transfer some money while I’m here. I’ll give Hal a lift.”

“Oh.” Harding seemed—Hal couldn’t quite put her finger on it—almost disappointed at having his bubble of irritation pricked. Or perhaps it was annoyance at having to be beholden to his brother. “Well. That is a . . . neat solution. Excellent.”

He shut the boot with a slam and smoothed his Barbour jacket over his stomach.

“Right. Well. Do you know where we are heading, Ezra?”

“Very much so.” Ezra twirled his car keys on his finger. “I may have been out of the country for a while, but Penzance isn’t so vast that I’m likely to lose my sense of direction. See you there, Harding.”

“Very good. Do you have my mobile number?”

“I don’t,” Ezra said carelessly. “But given I’ve survived this long without it, I’m sure we’ll manage.”

Harding gave an exaggerated sigh, and pulled his wallet out of the inner pocket of his Barbour. Inside was a small stack of business cards. He pulled one off the top, and handed it to Hal.

“I will entrust you with this, Harriet, as I have very little confidence in Ezra’s organizational abilities. Don’t lose it. And don’t be late.” He opened the passenger door and climbed inside the car. “The appointment is at tw—”

But his last words were drowned in the scrunch of tires on gravel as Mitzi accelerated. Hal heard a faint, “Bye, Hal!” from her window, and then the car disappeared out of the gate and down the drive, a cloud of magpies rising indignantly from the trees as they passed below.

CHAPTER 21


* * *

“So . . .” Ezra’s voice, as he led the way through the arched gate and around the side of the stable block, to a yard blowing with weeds and grasses, was a long, drawn-out drawl. “You are my . . . niece, I suppose it would be?”

“Yes,” Hal said. The word was almost lost in the scrunch of their feet on gravel, and the sound of the wind in the trees, and when Ezra didn’t turn she said it again, more loudly, trying for more conviction this time. “Yes.”

“Well, well,” Ezra said. He shook his head, but did not elaborate, and instead held out his car key towards the low, dark sports car parked beneath the trees on the other side of the yard. It gave a little beep-beep and the lights flashed once, to show that it was unlocked. As they drew closer, Ezra gave a short, mirthless laugh, and looked up at the tree above.

“Little bastards,” he said. “Mother should have had them poisoned.”

For a moment Hal could not work out what he was talking about. She followed his gaze up to the branches above, and saw once again the magpies hunched against the sea wind, their bright beady eyes following her movement. It was only when she looked down at the car that she realized what Ezra had meant. From the back, the car looked fine, but as Hal came closer, she could see that the windscreen and the expensive matte paintwork of the bonnet, the parts of the car parked beneath the cover of the trees, were thickly spread with a layer of dense black droppings, halfway between bird guano and something more like a rabbit’s.