supposed to happen until them?’
Anthony cleared his throat. ‘Well, they are to be held by your aunt,’ he said simply.
‘Is that legal?’ he asked, dismayed.
‘Tom, please,’ said Roger sternly. ‘We’d all like to get this over as soon as possible.’
I bet you would, smiled Emma to herself. Whoever was the majority shareholder was invariably the chief executive of Milford, and as Winterfold was officially a company asset, whoever was CEO of the company would be its de facto owner and resident. She could see Roger’s wife Rebecca looking at the walls and carpets, no doubt planning what she was going to say to her interior decorators first thing in the morning.
‘To my darling niece Cassandra,’ continued Collins, ‘I give Les Fleurs, my Provence villa, knowing how stylish she will keep it and that she will continue the tradition of throwing the most fabulous parties in Europe.’
Emma saw Cassandra smile and nod, but she was sure she had also gone a shade whiter.
‘To my brother Roger, now head of the family, I bequest the chalet in Gstaad in the hope he will continue the tradition of a family Christmas in the snow.’
Roger looked straight at Collins, a frown on his brow. He looked as if he was about to speak, but thought better of it and simply nodded. A hush had now fallen over the room, as if everyone was holding their breath. The hiss and pop of the fire seemed unnaturally loud and Emma could hear Roger breathing through his nose.
‘To my niece Emma, I give all my shareholding in Milford Industries. Over the years I have quietly watched her mature into a businesswoman of such force and reputation I feel safe in the knowledge that she will take the company to even greater heights than I have dared to dream. The wine cellar and art I also give to her in the hope that she will also find time to stop work once in a while and enjoy life.’
Emma felt stunned, then embarrassed and then a horrible creeping sense of guilt. She looked around to see the room shell-shocked. They were all staring at the fire, out of the window, at the floor; everyone was avoiding Roger’s gaze. Roger, meanwhile, had turned pink.
‘The residue of my estate, I give to my sisters Julia and Virginia,’ concluded Collins. ‘And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my client’s last will and testament.’
‘And you are absolutely sure this is the most up-to-date will in existence?’ asked Roger, his brows compressed anxiously.
‘Quite sure,’ said Collins decisively, averting his eyes momentarily when he saw the fury in Roger’s face.
‘And what about this place?’ asked Tom.
‘Winterfold is officially a company asset,’ said Collins. ‘The CEO of the company has traditionally lived here.’ He looked over at Emma encouragingly who just looked at the ground and shook her head. Suddenly, everyone started talking at once. The family had started breaking into small splinter groups, whispering intently. To Emma they were deafening.
‘He can’t be serious, can he … ?’
‘I can’t believe he would’
‘What on earth was he thinking… ?’
‘I felt sure he would have’
Roger was standing over Collins, his eyes scanning the will keenly. Cassandra walked over to the window, pulled out her mobile phone and pressed it to her ear. Emma walked to Saul’s club chair and sat down heavily.
‘Wow, Em! Well done to you!’ said Tom. ‘I mean, I have to say I’m surprised, but hey, it’s his money. So when’s the party begin?’
Emma laughed nervously. ‘I’m not sure everyone’s in the mood to party,’ she said quietly. She looked down and saw her hands were trembling.
‘So?’ Emma looked up to see Roger had moved over to her. He was a big man and his physical presence would have been enough to intimidate most people on a good day, but today he was bristling with barely-checked emotion, a little boy who has not been given the train set he had been promised. When she had been a little girl, Emma had always seen her Uncle Roger as a grown-up, as a rather strict figure of authority. But she was not a little girl now. Over the last few years, Emma had faced some of the world’s most powerful men, telling them in so many words why their companies were failing, listing their shortcomings and weaknesses. She was not easily scared.
‘Roger, please,’ she said, ‘I am as surprised as you. I can tell you that this certainly was not in my five-year plan.’
‘So you’re not interested in the shareholding?’
She bristled. Did he expect her to give it to him?
‘Not in so much that I have time to run the company,’ she said diplomatically, not denying to herself the prickle of excitement. ‘I have my life in Boston, as you know.’
‘So how much is it going to cost us?’ chimed Rebecca, attempting a smile, but baring her teeth instead.
Emma shook her head and put her hands out in front of her.
‘Roger, Rebecca. This is all a bit much for me to take in at the moment.’
‘But you can’t just sit there and …’ began Rebecca, before being cut off by Tom.
‘Exactly how much is “in remainder”?’ he asked Collins.
The solicitor suppressed a smile. He could always predict the questions and from whom they would come; funny how the feckless son should be asking how much his doting mother would be getting. He sighed. There was nothing like money to break up even the most harmonious families.
‘The remainder is what’s left of the estate,’ he said patiently. ‘It will take some time to quantify, of course. Obviously death duties and fees and so on have to be paid.’
‘What about the art at the Milford offices? There’s a couple of Matisse sketches, a small Miro …’ Julia added hopefully, looking up at a colourful abstract above the fireplace.
‘I suspect they are Saul’s own, in which case they pass to Emma.’
Julia’s face said it all: ashen and tight-lipped. She had always coveted the eclectic art in Saul’s home and had assumed he would send it her way, but not even the pieces in his office were destined to be hers. She looked as if she had been slapped. Cassandra, meanwhile, was sitting silently in the corner. Her face was expressionless. But she did not seem to be rejoicing in the gift of the villa in Provence.
Emma turned to see her mother. ‘You can’t possibly be thinking of keeping the shares,’ said Virginia slowly. ‘Roger has been Milford’s creative director for over twenty years.’
Emma gaped at her. She had never been very supportive as a mother, but this seemed a low blow even for Virginia. Saul’s bequest had – presumably – made Emma a rich woman, but even now she could not be happy for her, in fact she was thinking of her brother and his position.
‘I haven’t made any decisions about anything, Mother,’ said Emma shortly. ‘But when I do, you and
