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  ESME’S INHERITENCE

  By

  FLORA FOX

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from its author.

  All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to any real persons, living or dead are purely coincidental.

  The right of Flora Fox to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents act 1988

  CHAPTER 1

  I wasn’t absolutely sure when I first realised that my boyfriend Silas was a total twat, but I’d managed to narrow it down to two particular occasions. The first, was when he was taking me to the fancy new Italian restaurant in town. I’d spent absolutely ages choosing what I hoped was a sexy outfit, and by the time I was satisfied, my bedroom looked like an explosion in a clothes factory. High heeled black suede boots, red tights, a short tight clingy black skirt and a red top. A chunky black necklace draped around my neck and my black suede jacket over the top and I was ready. I looked pretty okay I thought, trendy but not too over the top. My friend Lee thinks I look like the love child of Kate Moss and Rodney Trotter. I don’t really look anything like a super model, but I am skinny, have quite good skin, and according to Lee who knows about stuff, I’ve got cheek bones you could cut glass with. My hair is dark brown, messy and shoulder length. Silas announced his arrival by revving his fifth hand crappy sports car with its rusting twin exhausts outside the door of my ground floor flat. Instead of complimenting me, on what I thought was a pretty stylish outfit, he burst out laughing, and said, “Bloody hell Esme it’s not fancy dress, anyway the bride of Dracula look went out yonks’ ago.”

  The second time his twattiness became more apparent, was when we were meeting some of his friends in a wine bar in town. As we were enjoying a mini heat wave in Surrey, even though it was only April, I decided after my shower to sit in the communal garden with my book and let my hair dry in the sun. As I read, I twisted sections of my damp hair around my finger, which ended up with it drying in rather nice loose ringlets. Silas arrived, looked me up and down and said, “You’ve obviously forgotten to brush your hair, it look’s a right state. I’ll wait in the car while you smarten up.”

  Now, I should point out that Silas has highlighted blonde hair and wears a fake diamond stud in his ear. He thinks he looks like a premiership footballer, when in fact he looks like a total moron. His job in a mobile phone shop basically involves selling phones. Often I’m bored to death listening to him waffling on about the latest screen size, data and other boring stuff that I have zero interest in, like football, fast cars, films featuring guns and semi naked women with big bangers (his words not mine). He also thinks that my job as manager of a charity shop which raises money for Romanian rescue dogs is completely pointless, and that I need to set my sights higher. After all, who gives a shit about some mangy old mongrels?

  After three months together I know he’s not the soul mate I’ve been searching for. It’s early May and a lovely sunny evening, we’re in the pub, along with some of his dopey friends, and their equally dopey girlfriends. The boys are at the bar leering at the barmaid’s cleavage and braying at each other like donkeys every time they get a glimpse of her bra. They are having a discussion about who they’d like to “give it to”. Currently Kylie is lying in first place closely followed by all the members of Little Mix, with Ariana Grande in reserve. Totally pathetic. Meanwhile, I’m stuck with Stacey, Shazza and Dionne who are having trouble deciding whether frosted pink lipstick makes their lips look poutier than fire engine red. Give me strength. They’ve given up trying to include me in the conversation, so I fired off a quick text to my best friend Kate, telling her I was bored shitless. Her reply simply said, “Dump him.” I looked over at Silas propping up the bar, we were supposed to be ordering food, and I was starving so I thought I’d go and chivvy him along.

  I walked casually over and said, “Shall we order some food then?”

  “Yeah babe, laters, no one’s hungry yet except you. You need to rein your appetite in, or you might end up a lard arse,” replied Silas as he shoved a handful of peanuts into his mouth. He winked at his cronies who sniggered like schoolboys. I stared at him while the nuts went round and round in his mouth, a cement mixer came to mind. Did I really want to go out with someone who’s name was a cross between silage and arse? Who called me babe, and used terms like big bangers and lard arse? The answer was most definitely no.

  I smiled brightly at him, and in a loud voice said, “I’m dumping you Silage, I mean Silas, because basically you’re a bit of a dick. You have the conversational skills of a three-year-old, and you’ve about as much charisma as a potato.” As Silas stood there open mouthed and red faced, I caught the eye of the barmaid who grinned and winked. I grinned back before turning round and marching out of the pub and out of his life. I caught a taxi home and sent Kate a text telling her what I’d done, she was ecstatic as she couldn’t stand Silas. I know we’d only been together for three months, but it felt so much longer, probably because I was bored and knew it was never going to work.

  Tony, who lives in the top flat, had kindly sorted out everyone’s mail, and left it in neat piles on the table in the communal hallway, he was a bit OCD like that. Only one letter for me, an expensive looking cream envelope with Hadley and Stokes solicitors stamped on the front, probably junk mail wanting me to arrange my will. I let myself into my flat and flicked on the kettle before opening my letter. I read it five times then text Kate and told her to come round straight away with Lee and to bring chocolate and wine.

  Kate, Lee and I, met on our first day at secondary school, three smart arsed eleven-year-olds with attitude seeping from every pore. From day one we were inseparable, supporting each other through highs and lows. They sat and listened patiently while I cried and ranted on a regular basis about my useless mother and when Lee came out as gay to his parents, Kate and I went with him to offer moral support. We’d watched each other grow and develop. Lee was now a flamboyant interior designer who had recently set up his own business and was very much in demand. Kate just flitted from job to job, basically doing as she pleased, and I was the manager of a charity shop.

  “Bloody hell Esme what on earth’s happened?” asked Kate dumping two carrier bags on the table. “Chucking Silas doesn’t really warrant emergency supplies. Lee can’t come by the way; he’s got a hot date with that photographer guy he’s been lusting after.”

  I handed her the letter, “You read this while I fetch some wine glasses.”

  I poured two hefty glasses of wine and opened a big bag of chocolate buttons while Kate reread the letter.

  Kate looked at me wide eyed, “What the actual fuck,” was all she managed to say.

  “That’s exactly what I thought,” I said.

  “Is it legit?” she asked taking a huge slug of wine.

  I shrugged, “Well the solicitor exists because I googled it, and when I was about eight, I remember meeting my grandmother. My mother and her didn’t get on at all, hardly surprising when you consider what my mother was like. Anyway, that was the only time I met her. I doubt she even knew my mother had died.”

  Kate frowned, “So let me get this straight. A grandmother you’ve only met once, has left you all her worldly goods?”

  I put a chocolate button in my mouth, “Well I don’t know, but that’s what the letter says. What shall I do, I mean is it real?”

  “Ring them,” said Kate.

  “Well, I can’t ring now it’s half past nine, they’ll be shut,” I pointed out.

  “Okay, well ring first thing in the morning,” instructed

  Kate ripping open a bag of Maltesers.

&nb
sp; We spent the next few hours knocking back wine and eating our own body weight in chocolate while we discussed, in great depth, the contents of the letter. Silas sent me a text saying he was prepared to forgive my rudeness if I apologized to him. Obviously I ignored him. As Kate was far too drunk to drive home, she bunked down on my sofa for what was left of the night.

  I got into work early the next morning so I could get the charity shop sorted out and ready to open before ringing the solicitors. I spoke to Mr. Stokes, the senior partner who explained everything to me. I was indeed the sole beneficiary to my grandmother’s estate. Basically, my grandmother was a widow, her husband, my grandfather, had died when they were both still quite young. She had lived the rest of her life alone in a big house in Devon and had never remarried. My mother was her only child, but they hadn’t spoken in years. Grandmother had been in a home for eighteen months, before she died four months ago. It had taken this long for the solicitor to track me down, as I’d moved several times over the years. Mr. Stokes told me that the house had been empty for two years and needed refurbishment. He suggested that I go to Devon to view the house for myself so I could then make a decision about its future. It seemed a sensible idea so I said I would arrange some time off and get back to him. Mr. Stokes also suggested I bring a boyfriend (no chance), or a friend when I visited, as the place was big (eight bedrooms apparently) and rather deserted for someone to stay in on their own.

  I was owed some holiday so I rang my boss Philippa, and without giving any details asked if I could have a week off. After consulting her diary, she said if I organised my volunteers that helped in the shop, so she didn’t have to cover too many of my hours, I could have next week off. Quick phone call to Mr. Stokes to say I’d be down on Saturday, with arrangements made for him to meet me at the house with the keys and some paperwork I needed to sign. His son is the local odd job man, so he’s going to get him to go to the house and turn on the range. I didn’t like to mention that I had no idea what the range was, as didn’t want him to think I was thick. Next, I sent a text to Kate asking if she fancied a week in Devon if she could get the time off. She replied immediately, and said she was pretty bored with her latest temping job, so yes, she was definitely up for it, and that she’d come round tonight with a Chinese so we could make plans. I’m hoping she means Chinese food rather than a Chinese person, not that there’s anything wrong with Chinese people, it’s just I’d rather not eat one.

  Kate has a low boredom threshold so preferred temping through an agency rather than having a permanent job. I was surprised she’d lasted as long as she had, covering maternity leave at an advertising agency. Apparently, the boss looked like his face had caught fire and someone put it out with a shovel, and the other girls that worked in the office were pleasant but drippy. Then I text Lee and told him I had epic news and asked if he wanted to come to Devon next week. He replied immediately and said he was knee deep in silver crushed velvet and purple silk, so would have to give it a miss, but he wanted to hear my news so would meet Kate and me at The Kings Head tomorrow tonight at eight. I sent back a thumbs up.

  As Kate and I sat chomping on Chinese, we wrote lists and made plans.

  “We’ll definitely need cleaning stuff, as Mr. Stokes said the place was in a right state,” I said. Kate, who was in charge of the list added cleaning stuff.

  “Better take our own bedding and towels too,” added Kate as she bit into a prawn ball.

  “Let’s load up with food as well, as I bet there aren’t any shops there,” I said.

  “Will I need a bikini?” asked Kate pushing her empty plate to one side.

  I shook my head, “Shouldn’t think so, I doubt there’s a swimming pool there, anyway there’s rain and wind forecast for next week.”

  Kate frowned, “Well I hope it’s got heating and hot water, oh and electricity would be helpful too.”

  Now it was my turn to frown, “Shit, I hadn’t thought to ask about electricity. I bet it’s been cut off as the house is empty. I’ll ring Mr. Stokes in the morning.”

  Kate flopped back on the sofa, “So, have you decided yet whether you’re going to keep the house or sell it?”

  I shook my head, “Haven’t a clue what to do, I mean, it’s not every day you inherit an eight bedroomed house with acres of land is it?

  “I suppose you could rent it out,” said Kate.

  “Need to see what state it’s in first, it might be falling down.”

  “Let’s get Google maps up and plan the route,” said Kate grabbing her phone. After a lot of faffing about we discovered it would take around three and a half hours to get there.

  “I reckon we should leave at about six on Saturday morning, the roads should be fairly quiet at that time,” I suggested. Kate nodded in agreement before starting to gather up her coat and bag before heading for home.

  CHAPTER 2

  The next night, Kate and I sat in the pub waiting for Lee, who had sent a text to say he was on his way. We bagged ourselves a corner table, ordered drinks and stockpiled crisps and peanuts. Lee arrived wearing skintight black skinny jeans, winkle pickers and a long powder blue leather coat. His jaw length streaked blonde hair was held back with a navy-blue Alice band, as usual he looked amazing, and drew several admiring glances from both sexes.

  “Right then spill the beans, what’s this epic news?” he said plonking himself down next to me. I handed him the letter.

  He read it twice. “Fuck me, this is epic news, I’m gob smacked, I didn’t even know you had a grandmother.”

  “Kate and I are going down to Devon on Saturday and staying for the week. Thought I’d better check it out and decide what to do with it. Are you sure you can’t come with us?”

  Kate paused in her quest to see how many crisps she could eat in one minute, well at least I think that’s what she was doing anyway, “Come on Lee, it won’t be the same if you’re not there. We always share each other’s life changing moments.”

  Lee put his thinking face on, which was pursed lips, eyes skywards and finger on chin. “Well, I might be able to manage it. The mistress of the minor MP has finally managed to make a decision on her colour scheme. Purple and silver, it’s going to look totally hideous but that’s up to her. Then I’ve got a new build for a Z list celebrity, to be fair she’s not too demanding and knows what she wants. So, while she swans off to Turkey for plastic surgery and a boob job, I’ve got free run of the house. Apparently, it takes four weeks for the bruises to fade so she’s staying out there until she’s presentable. Let me see how the week pans out and I’ll decide on Friday lunchtime.”

  I made a noise which sounded a bit like an excited pig, “It’s going to be brilliant, the three of us on holiday together.”

  Kate rolled her eyes, “As long as it’s not a repeat of our last holiday together.”

  Lee laughed, “Oh Kate, you do exaggerate. It wasn’t that bad.”

  “Let’s see, shall we?” said Kate ticking the disasters off on her fingers. “I got food poisoning, Esme got sunstroke and stung by a jelly fish, and in case you’ve forgotten Lee, you spent the night in hospital with alcohol poisoning.”

  “All the attributes of a perfectly good singles holiday,” grinned Lee.

  We stayed in the pub until closing time, before drifting off to our respective homes, or in Lee’s case to his empty Z list celebrity’s house to start making notes and planning colour schemes.

  Lee rang me on Friday, and said he’d drive down to Devon on Saturday afternoon. At least if he took his own car, he could always drive back to Surrey mid-week if he got bored or needed to work. I emailed him directions, told him to bring a sleeping bag and warm clothes and said I’d see him on Saturday.

  The week flew by which was a good thing, as Kate and I were like two kids who had overdosed on blue smarties. We spent Friday evening loading up my car with essential food, sleeping bags, blankets, and all the thick winter clothes that we owned. The winter clothes were Kates’s idea, based on the fact that wh
enever there was a news report about snow it was always in Devon. I didn’t think that was strictly true, but better to be safe than sorry. The last thing we want is to be freezing our arses off in a blizzard, clad only in summer dresses and sandals. I should point out that it is May, so snow is highly unlikely.

  On Friday night Kate spent the night on my sofa, and when my alarm went off at 5am, she was already up and dressed. We quickly downed toast and coffee, before bunging the last essentials in the back of the car, which included the kettle and mugs. I suggested taking a flask of coffee, but this was met with a withering look from Kate, who asked if I also wanted to sit in a deck chair with a blanket over my legs and have a picnic at the side of the road while juggernauts whizzed past. And didn’t I realise service stations were invented so that we could avoid roadside picnics.

  Our journey down to Devon was remarkably stress free, the roads were quiet, and we bowled along at a good speed. Mr. Stokes had emailed me very precise directions and had arranged to meet us at the house at around ten o’clock. We turned off the A30 and drove down narrow lanes flanked by green fields full of lambs gamboling in the sunshine, and cattle grazing. I opened my window and breathed in the unfamiliar countryside smells, the air smelt sharp, damp and earthy, of things growing.

  We passed an old stone cross on a bank at the side of the road, Kate looked at the directions again, “Okay, once we pass the cross, we should come into a village called Combestone. Keep on through the village, up the hill then turn left sign posted Blackstone. After half a mile turn left through stone gate posts. There is a sign saying Larkworthy.”

  We drove through Combestone, it was a picture postcard village with thatched cottages huddled around a village green. There was a shop which would be useful, and a pub with a thatched roof, called The Frog and Fiddle, just over the road from the pub was a small grey stone church. There was hardly any traffic around, and the few vehicles we did pass were either tractors or muddy four-wheel drives. My little hatchback looked a bit out of place. We left the village and climbed up the hill, turning left as we got to the top. The lane was narrow and had grass growing in the middle. I drove slowly until we came to the stone gate posts with a rough wooden sign saying Larkworthy. We turned in and followed the rutted dirt track. There were woods on one side of the track, and fields on the other, we rounded a bend and there in front of us was Larkworthy. I stopped the car and gazed at the house with my mouth open.