Inheriting A Dilemma

By Elizabeth Pulford

Inheritances can often lead down bumpy roads.
When Lucy Finch inherits a cottage in Kelclutha, a small coastal village in Scotland, she is not the only one.
Just as Lucy is settling in and enjoying the cottage, Ben, the other owner arrives with his partner. He is fast followed by Lucy’s sister, who has lost her footing on the corporate ladder along with her love life and needs comforting. Soon the cottage seems to belong to everyone, but Lucy.
As if all that wasn’t enough to send her scuttling back home to New Zealand, Lucy has fallen for Matt, an amateur baker. But Matt shows more passion for his pasties than Lucy.
A light, fun read sprinkled with romantic tinsel, sautéed choices and half-baked decisions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Pulford
• Release date: Apr 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463763179

Elizabeth Pulford

Before I became a writer I was a traveller, a typist, a cleaner and an ice-cream girl in a cinema.Now I live in New Zealand in a small southern seaside town with one extra nice husband who is a king of-all-trades.We have two children and two grandchildren.Every morning I go to my little writing room to make up stories. From this room I look out into a small garden, where I can hear the birds squabbling.Writing has long been a passion and sometimes even a curse!I have had over sixty children's books published from the very young to YA with regular publishers. Plus my adult short stories have been lucky enough to win many short story competitions.I love being creative, be it baking bread or chasing after new characters.Photograph by: Liz Cadogan - http://www.facebook.com/LizCadoganphotos

Book preview

Chapter One

Lucy’s first thought on seeing the constable standing on the priory steps was more of the building’s copper piping had been stolen.

‘I’m looking for Lucy Finch.’

‘That’s me.’

‘Good. I mean…’ The constable cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps I could step inside for a moment.’

By now Lucy was feeling a small panic in the pit of her stomach.

And while Constable Jones and Lucy stood in the priory’s foyer, with an old water stain on the floor between them, he told her about the bus crash that had killed her mother along with several other passengers.

As the young man was imparting this dreadful news, Lucy’s legs seemed to lose all standing power and folded beneath her like a concertina. Sinking to her knees, she felt like a nun of old. How strange. Was she praying? Or was she begging? To her it felt like neither, yet both at the same time.

‘Here, let me help you.’

Lucy felt the strong arm of the law guide her over to the wooden staircase where she sank down onto the bottom step.

‘Is there someone I can phone? Is there anyone else living here who could be with you?’ he said, casting a doubtful eye over the decaying interior of the building.

‘My sister, Nina, does she know?’ was all that Lucy could think to ask.

‘I’m sure…’

‘She doesn’t live here,’ interrupted Lucy, waving her hands around. ‘I mean she doesn’t live here. She lives in Wellington.’ Her head was bent almost to her knees as she stared at a crack in the floor and wondered if she hadn’t somehow slipped inside a book and lost her way. She was stuck between the pages and the policeman was talking to someone else, a character in the novel, not her.

‘The collision happened just outside Edinburgh. The bus skidded…’

Lucy’s head jerked up. ‘Outside Edinburgh? No – that’s not right, she was in London, not Scotland. My mother was in London so you must have made a mistake.’ For a split second Lucy felt like laughing. It was all a dreadful misunderstanding.

Constable Jones shook his head. ‘Dorothea Finch of Newton Road…’

‘But she was meant to be in London.’ Lucy tried to make sense of what he was telling her. She needed something strong to grasp, but there was nothing except a hollow silence. ‘What do I do now?’

Lucy had never been in this position before. She had never lost anyone this close. Certainly not a mother, but then she only had one true mother so she could only lose her once, not twice or three times, unless she’d had several adopted mothers which wasn’t the case. Lucy knew her thoughts were bordering on the ridiculous, but she couldn’t seem to stop them.

‘Do you have someone who can be with you?’ asked the constable again.

Lucy shook her head. There were people, of course, but none seemed right for such an occasion. If Harry was still alive he’d be the one, but he had been run over by a lorry late last year. Harry had been Lucy’s ever since he’d been a pup. He had always been there for her, no matter what, with his large melting brown eyes, his big black lumbering frame and enthusiasm for everyone and everything. Many of her illustrations featured Harry. Either lounging on a big soft armchair, stretching, yawning, lumbering outside, or digging up a garden. Dear, dear Harry, if only he were here for her now.

Lucy, sensing the officer was wanting to leave, pulled herself up from the step. She smiled at him and held out her hand. ‘Thank you for letting me know. It can’t have been easy…’

‘As long as you’re okay?’

‘Yes. I’ll get in touch with Mr McCarthy.’

The young constable didn’t ask who Mr McCarthy was; he seemed more intent on taking his leave. With a nod he pulled open the door, and gulping a mouthful of what seemed great relief, he stepped out into the grey morning and hurried towards the police car parked on the opposite side of the street.

As Lucy watched him she realised with a weird sort of thankfulness that now she didn’t have to worry about a Christmas present for her mother.

An hour later Lucy was hurrying through the damp, cobwebby rain, climbing the steps to her mother’s apartment.

Selling the family home had been a great relief to both Lucy and Nina. They were utterly fed up hearing about the rot that was munching away at the wooden windowsills, the bouncy sitting room floor, plus a hundred other costly projects, topped off by their mother’s intense dislike of gardening. Their mother’s true love was penning romance novels, even though her own life for many years had been totally devoid of even the slightest whisper of romance.

Before leaving the priory, Lucy had phoned Nina. It went straight to voice mail. Lucy left a message to call as soon as she was out of whatever meeting she was in. Nina had an important job, not to be disturbed, especially when she was in one of her endless meetings. Lucy had been informed more than once that it wasn’t simply a job, it was a career.

Nina was Stephanie Brook’s right-hand assistant. When Lucy had asked who Stephanie Brook’s left-hand assistant was, she was told in no uncertain terms to stop being smart. Stephanie Brook was someone big in marketing for television. Lucy didn’t have a TV. She didn’t want to watch endless reruns of movies or reality shows about how much weight someone had lost. Nor did she care about some intrepid traveller skidding down a mountain, grappling with the hazards of a sunbaked land and eating insects. The only programmes Lucy missed were the children’s movies. When Lucy had confided this to Nina she had endured a long speech which had included the words ‘pathetic’, ‘no life at all’, and ‘you are just so sad’.

Since then Lucy had shared only what had been totally necessary with her older sister of three years. The death of their mother definitely fitted into that category.

Lucy slipped the key she had been given in case of an emergency into the apartment’s keyhole. After hearing the click she pushed the door open.

She instantly smelt her mother.

Chapter Two

No sooner had Lucy shut the door than her mobile jingled in her coat pocket.

‘Darling,’ said her father, his great strong voice bellowing in her ear, ‘it sounded urgent.’

Her father called everyone darling – even Stanley his lover, much to the total disgust of Nina, who had announced to Lucy many times since he had left their mother all those years ago, that she was going to have nothing to do with him. Except, Lucy noted, when Nina needed cash for something big and important to help her along in the corporate world, ‘Daddy was really very useful’.

‘It’s Mum. She’s been in an accident…’

‘What’s she done this time?’ he asked with a light-hearted chuckle.

‘No, Dad, she’s dead.’ There. She had said the words straight out.

Lucy heard a sucking gasp. In her mind she could see her father’s hand tighten around his mobile, and his black bushy eyebrows pulled in a dark frown.

‘My God,’ he finally said. ‘How?’

‘She was in a bus. It was just outside Edinburgh.’

‘What the hell was she doing there?’

‘I don’t know.’

Even though Lucy’s parents were no longer together they had managed to remain reasonably good friends.

‘She was in London. She told me she was off on her usual tour.’

‘I know, I know,’ said Lucy. ‘That’s what she told me as well.’

‘Then what was she doing in Scotland?’

‘They must have changed her plans…or something…’

A small silence drifted between them.

‘My God,’ said her father finally. ‘I can’t believe it. Your mother was so… so…’

‘…invincible,’ finished off Lucy, knowing if anyone could survive disasters it was always her mother.

As Lucy stood there gazing out of the window down into the mist, her mobile pressed against her ear, she wished with all her heart that she could see the harbour. For some reason she always felt better when she could see the winding loop of blue.

‘I’m coming down.’

‘It’s okay, Daddy.’ How long had it been since she had called him that? Since before he had departed. Left her sobbing with a mixture of emotions – rage, desperation and humiliation at his despicable action, while cuddling Mr Honey her ragged teddy bear at the tender age of fourteen.

‘Does Nina know?’

‘I’ve left a message.’

‘Good. Good. My God – I can’t believe it.’

I can’t believe it either, Lucy thought after she had disconnected. How could someone be here one moment and not the next? To disappear so quickly from one’s life? It seemed surreal, especially with someone like her mother.

In the end it had been decided that her father wouldn’t come down. At least for the time being. Neither of them had mentioned a funeral.

Roaming through the apartment Lucy felt like she was somehow violating the place. There were two bedrooms, a small office, bathroom, and an open-plan sitting room, dining area and kitchen.

Lucy hovered outside the closed office door. The sacred centre, the inner soul. The place where her mother had poured herself into her novels. It was the one room in the apartment in which Lucy had never felt comfortable. The few times she had entered the office while her mother had been busy working she had made it abundantly clear her dislike of being disturbed. So she’d kept out.

Now though, there was no one to give her that look, no one to interrupt. Yet still, it was with great hesitation and uncertainty that Lucy pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The room smelt stuffy. To the right was a desk on which sat a brand new large-screened computer. On the back wall was a built-in bookcase. It contained her mother’s novels, along with trinkets, postcards and pieces of pottery. She was about to walk away when a photograph, half tucked behind her mother’s latest title, Castle of Dreams, caught her attention. Lucy pulled it out. It was a little whitewashed cottage with red window frames and door, and a sloping attic roof. It stood not far from the water’s edge. Behind the house was a smattering of trees. Beyond, dark hills. Lucy sighed. What she wouldn’t do to live in a place like that. Love-in-the-mist was scribbled on the back.

Her phone rang. She pushed the photo back in its hidey hole.

‘Hello.’

‘I hope you’re not going to waste my time.’

From her tone it was obvious Nina was having a hard day. It was also obvious she hadn’t heard the news.

‘Mother was killed yesterday in a bus crash in Scotland.’ Lucy wandered through to the dining room.

There was dead silence.

‘She…she…are you sure?’

Lucy had never been a horrible person. She was never one to be mean and hurt people, so she said softly to make up for her blatant statement, ‘I’m sorry to have told you like that, but honestly, there was no other way.’

‘No, no…of course not. I can’t…’

‘Neither can I. Dad as well.’

‘You’ve spoken to Dad?’ As if Nina owned first rights on the death of their mother, being the older of the two.

Growing up, Lucy had looked up to Nina, admired her, hung onto her every word, and did exactly what she wanted. To her, Nina was the captain of their small sister ship. But then things changed. Gradually a little stream flowed between them. Then it became a gulf of water, a wide river, and finally an ocean, until it seemed as if the sisters had nothing in common, except their parents.

‘What happens now?’ asked Nina, her tone returning to its usual briskness.

‘I’ve contacted Timothy McCarthy…’ As Lucy paused she anticipated Nina’s first reaction.

‘And…?’

‘He was in court, he’s ringing back. I couldn’t think who else to contact.’

‘How did you find out?’

‘A policeman came and told me. He assured me…’

‘I don’t need all the details.’

Lucy bit the edge of her lip, felt tears slipping into her eyes. ‘I just wanted to explain.’

‘You always do.’ Another silence stretched. ‘Okay, here’s what's going to happen,’ said Nina. ‘Leave the lawyer to me…’

‘But I’ve already …’

‘Yes. You told me. Then we need to get mother’s remains back here. I’ll ring Dad and get him to organise everything, then there’s the funeral.’

‘There’s no need.’ Lucy sank down to the floor. Her mother’s remains. It was too awful to think about.

‘What are you talking about?’

Lucy drew in a deep breath. ‘When I was talking to Mr McCarthy earlier he told me Mother had said if she died while abroad her ashes were to be scattered around the ruins of the castle in her latest book.’

‘That’s ridiculous. You can’t just go around sprinkling relatives’ ashes willy-nilly.’

‘She left the names and contact details of two trusted members of the Romance Society. Mr McCarthy has already been in contact with Juliet Taggish who has promised to do a grand send-off for Dorothea. First though, she needs the approval of the society. She’s sure there won’t be any objections. Said it would be an honour.’

‘How did he know so quickly? And the police, for that matter?’

‘Mother probably carried the necessary information on her phone or on a card. You know how organised she always was. In a way,’ continued Lucy, ‘Mother has done us a favour. It would cost a small fortune to bring her home.’

‘Can’t we override her wishes? She should be brought back to her real home. Not one that’s in a book. For goodness’ sake.’

Dorothea Finch slash Swan (changing from one bird to another so as to be more beguiling to her readers) was never to be argued with. Of both the sisters, Nina had always respected that and had inherited the trait from her mother.

Whereas Lucy was a person unto herself. Born into a family where she often felt as if she didn’t belong. Many a night Lucy would lie in bed during her childhood and try to understand why she was so different from the rest of the family. Even her grandmother, at one time, had wondered if somehow they hadn’t mixed up the babies.

‘Lucy, are you listening?’

‘What?’

‘There – I knew you hadn’t heard a word.’

‘Sorry, it’s the shock.’

‘I’m feeling it too,’ said Nina. ‘Let’s leave it for now, shall we?’

Lucy presumed she meant where Dorothea would be laid to rest.

‘I’ll bring it up with McCarthy. How old is he anyway?’

Lucy shrugged. ‘Mother’s always had him.’

‘Exactly my point,’ Nina huffed down the phone.

‘Did Mother ever tell you that she loved you?’ asked Lucy.

‘What are you going on about?’

‘Did she?’

‘She didn’t have to. She did it in a hundred other ways.’

‘She didn’t, did she?’ said Lucy. ‘Not once. Yet in her books she had her lovers say it all the time. But never to us…’ Her voice drifted away, like the fairy dust in the children’s picture book she was illustrating.

‘Leave everything to me,’ said Nina.

‘Yes,’ said Lucy, ‘I’ll leave everything to you.’ She moved her mobile away from her ear and pushed hard on the disconnecting button before Nina could say another word.

Lucy returned to her mother’s writing room. She plucked out the picture of the darling little cottage from behind the Castle of Dreams and tucked it deep into her pocket.

Chapter Three

At exactly eleven o’clock the following morning Lucy and Nina found themselves in Timothy McCarthy’s small, cramped office. It was on the fifth floor in the downtown exchange area. An area of the city no longer popular, made evident by the number of empty shops and dismal cafés.

Timothy McCarthy himself was not young; in fact, he was spectacularly ancient. Lucy wondered why her mother had still retained him, but suspected it was because his deceased wife had been a great fan of her books. Plus, he had also dealt with her side of the family ever since he had entered the business of law as a young man.

‘Dreadful business,’ was his murmuring as he searched amongst the pile of papers on his desk. ‘Just dreadful. Ahh…here we are.’ He smiled at the sisters. ‘Tragic.’ His large watery eyes oozed sympathy. ‘That it should end like this.’

He waited a respectful moment or two before continuing.

When Nina had arrived at the priory an hour and a half earlier, wearing a smart black woollen jacket and black trousers, her short black hair smoothed down into what looked like a skull cap, her first comment to Lucy had been, ‘Why on earth don’t you have a car?’

‘Because I don’t have my driving licence.’

‘It’s cost me a bus and a taxi already,’ she harrumphed. ‘I’ve left my things at Mother’s. I’m on a tight schedule, so I’m only staying the one night.’

Lucy wanted to ask why she had bothered to come at all and why not stay at the priory, but she already knew the answers. Firstly, because she didn’t trust Lucy to do things correctly. As for staying the night in a derelict building, that was well and truly beyond her sister. However, instead of arguing, Lucy had remained mute. She had leaned forward and kissed Nina on the cheek. ‘I’ll treat you to a coffee before we see Mr McCarthy.’ But even that had ended up riddled with splinters.

Lucy, thinking there would be at least one respectable café open near their mother’s solicitor’s office, had ignored several stylish ones on their walk through the misty city. Eventually they landed in a coffee bar. It was a ghoulish green, reminding Lucy of sludge that lay at the bottom of a pond. From the moment they stepped through the doorway, Lucy felt Nina’s disgust. They found two bar stools over by the window. When Lucy returned with the coffees Nina did a quick inspection before raising the cup to her mouth. ‘If I contract some deadly disease, I will hold you responsible.’

Amen to that.

‘No man on the horizon?’

Lucy shook her head. After Tommy had dumped her, almost a year ago now, to lead a full and ravishing life with Marcia Smeaton – a blonde with a nose ring, Lucy had decided her ideal man would be a poet. She would also accept a novelist, but only under special conditions. She didn’t want a man who wrote gory murders, where the detective was a rundown nobody that drank.

‘By the way, there was a bit about the bus crash on the late news last night. Did you see it?’

Lucy shook her head. ‘I’ve no TV, remember.’

‘How on earth do you keep up with what’s going on in the world?’

Lucy shrugged. ‘I don’t.’

‘Mother had a small mention as a popular romance writer.’

‘She’d have liked that.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Nina with a nod as she pushed her empty cup sideways. She wiggled off the stool. ‘In spite of the surroundings, the coffee was good.’

Lucy accepted the comment as a huge compliment, coming from one who lived in cafés.

‘Well, now,’ said Timothy McCarthy, bringing Lucy back to the present. ‘It seems there are only two beneficiaries,’ – here he lifted his wad of eyebrows and nodded at Lucy and Nina – ‘in the last will and testament of Dorothea Finch. It becomes my duty to inform you that the apartment and its contents, plus any vehicles, have been left in equal shares to you both. Of course, before anything can be legally handed over there will be the usual formalities, but once they’ve been cleared we can set about with the distribution of your mother’s assets.’ Before either Nina or Lucy could ask how long it would take, the lawyer added, ‘As long as there are no challenges to the will, and allowing for Christmas and closures, it shouldn’t take longer than say two months…give or take a week.’

In the short silence that followed, Lucy could almost hear the money machine clanking inside Nina’s head.

‘What about her books. The continuing royalties?’

‘I’m to administer the distribution until I am no longer in practice, and then…’

Lucy heard Nina’s neck creak as she stretched forward.

‘…the responsibility will be given to the one who is the most settled. Those are your mother’s words, not mine.’

‘What on earth does that mean?’

At this point the lawyer handed each of the girls a sealed envelope. ‘Your mother specifically indicated these were to be given to you after her death. Perhaps the answer is explained in there. I would hazard a guess that she meant being happily settled in life. In whatever you have chosen to do.’

‘Married. That’s what she means,’ said Nina.

Lucy knew Nina’s future plans only included herself, not trusting any man since Blane Whittle had dumped her fifteen months ago. This heartfelt information had been relayed to Lucy over the phone late one night by a morbid and tipsy Nina. ‘Trust Mother,’ she muttered, ‘to put a condition on any incoming money. It’s ridiculous.’

Lucy sat with the envelope in her hand. It felt fragile. She could almost feel the words; feel their imprint on the paper. It didn’t really matter what her mother had written, it was nice to know that at some stage in her extra busy life she had found the time to think of her and Nina. It was like being given a rare and unexpected gift.

‘Who is going to judge which of us is more settled?’ asked Nina, ripping open the envelope and reading it in a rush, whereas Lucy was keeping hers for later, when she was on her own. ‘This doesn’t explain anything,’ she said, waving the sheet of blue notepaper in the air.

‘That falls upon the shoulders of her publisher.’

‘What!’ exclaimed Nina. ‘Who is her publisher anyhow?’

‘Stewart