Secrets and Lies by Janet Woods Page A

fruitcake arranged on a plate, all balanced on a small tray. Setting it on the small table between them, he seated himself in a wing-backed chair.
    They stared at each other for a moment, then he said, ‘You look like your mother.’
    ‘My mother thinks I look like my father.’
    He huffed with laughter, but it had a hollow sound. ‘Who do
you
think you resemble?’
    ‘Myself . . . Meggie Elliot.’
    ‘You’re a Sangster,’ he pointed out.
    She didn’t want to take sides. ‘Yes. Dr Elliot adopted me, and gave me his name.’
    ‘Why?’
    She laughed at the rapid exchange between them. He was sharp-minded for an old person. ‘I don’t know why. I imagine my mother wanted him to. Perhaps it was because my aunt and uncle grew up in the same house and they’re called Carr. It would be awfully confusing having people with three different surnames living in the same house.’
    ‘Have you asked her?’
    ‘Good Lord, no. Mother would bite my head off.’ She nibbled the edge of the fruit cake. It was stale. ‘Who are the Sinclairs?’
    ‘Ah . . . so that’s why you’re here. You want to know about your legacy.’
    ‘Is there one?’
    ‘Yes . . . the Sinclairs are your grandmother’s side of the family. Goodness knows what’s left of it now. The Depression is deepening, I believe. You’d have to contact the lawyer who handles it. His name is Simon Stone of Anderson and Stone.’ He stood, opened a drawer and rummaged around inside it. ‘Aha! I knew I had one.’ He handed her the lawyer’s card. ‘Keep that in case you need to contact them. There’s still the house, of course, but they had to let the gardener and the housekeeper go. If the maintenance isn’t kept up the building will deteriorate.’
    ‘Are you talking about Foxglove House?’
    He smiled. ‘I am. You should ask your mother about it.’
    The house belonged to her then. Lor, what a monstrosity to inherit! She didn’t know whether the knowledge was welcome or not. ‘My mother won’t tell me anything about the past. She won’t even discuss it. If she forgets she never talks about it, and mentions it by mistake, she clams up like an oyster. It’s unfair!’
    ‘Yes . . . I suppose you would think that.’ He gave a soft chuckle. ‘Oysters don’t clam up. Clams do.’
    ‘What do oysters do then?’
    ‘They close.’
    ‘Oh . . . I see.’ She didn’t really. If clams could clam, why couldn’t oysters oyst? She must ask her stepfather. He loved ridiculous questions that gave him an excuse to come up with ridiculous answers.
    They exchanged a grin and she ventured to say, ‘Grandfather . . . I swear I won’t ask you anything personal, but if you happened to tell me anything I shouldn’t know, wild bears wouldn’t make me tell on you.’
    He patted her on the knee. ‘You’re a girl after my own heart. In the war I used to be in intelligence, you know. I could show Foxglove House to you, I suppose. I still have a key somewhere.’
    She smiled at that, saying eagerly, ‘When?’
    ‘How about next week? After school on Thursday, would be a good day.’
    She nodded, gulping down her tea, along with her disappointment. She’d rather have seen over the house now, and a week seemed as long as a year.
    Swallowing her disappointment, she stood, feeding the stale cake to Shadow at the same time. When she held out her hand to the major, he shook it.
    ‘I’d better go before someone comes looking for me, I suppose. You won’t tell anyone I was here, will you? If my family finds out they won’t let me visit you again.’
    ‘Good grief . . . I won’t breathe a word. There’s no love lost between your mother and myself as it is . . . still, that’s water under the bridge, and best if it stays there. It will be our little secret.’
    Rather disappointing, since she was itching to ask him what the trouble had been about. He was so sweet though, and she couldn’t imagine why her mother didn’t like him. But it was early days.
    ‘I’ll