Below Market Price

It fell to Florence to tell Lily the truth. Nigel heard every word — no one had turned off the speaker — and thought he never wanted to hear again, as long as he lived, a stranger at the other end of the country crying for a woman she'd never met.

"She never once came to the house," Lily said through her tears. "She only rang. Every Sunday, at eight. And this summer she came to see Dad in hospital for the first time. The third of August. He said it was the best day of his life."

Every Sunday at eight. An hour before Katherine rang at nine.

Nigel watched the arithmetic land on Katherine. Every Sunday Mum had talked first to the son she'd given away, and then to the daughter who never missed a call. And never said a word.

They agreed that Florence and Nigel would drive to Norwich the next morning. Lily gave them the address of the hospital.

Derek arrived at eleven on the dot.

This time Nigel opened the door himself.

"Nigel, my friend." Derek held out his hand.

Nigel didn't take it. Derek pretended not to notice and walked through to the sitting room. Not to Mum's armchair this time — Katherine was sitting in it herself, back straight, as if at a board meeting.

"I won't be long." Derek finally opened his folder. "Preliminary agreement between Margaret Harlow and Ashford Homes. Dated the third of August. Price — four hundred and twenty thousand. Clause seven: should the heirs decline to complete the main contract by the thirtieth of September, a penalty of ten per cent becomes payable. Forty-two thousand."

Nigel felt his stomach go cold.

"Mum never signed this," he said.

"There's her signature." Derek tapped the last page with a fingernail. "Witnessed. Look, I understand how hard this is for you. But I have obligations to my client. And frankly, given the arrears with Hartwell, this is the best way out for everyone."

He knew about the bank too. Of course he did.

Katherine held out her hand.

"May I?"

Derek hesitated — a second, no more — and handed her the document.

Katherine read slowly, going back to the first page twice. For twenty years her job had been finding the mistakes in documents someone had tried very hard to make flawless.

"The third of August," she said at last.

"And?"

"Nothing." Katherine photographed every page without asking permission. "It's just that on the third of August, Mum was in Norwich. Yesterday I found a train ticket in her coat pocket, for the seven-twenty that morning. And a hospital visitor's pass for St Luke's with the same date."

Derek's face didn't change. But Nigel, who had worked with wood all his life, knew what a piece of timber looks like a moment before it splits.

"Perhaps she signed it in the evening, when she got back."

"Perhaps," Katherine agreed. "Then here's another question. The signature here says 'Margaret A. Harlow.'" She turned the page towards him. "But for forty-seven years Mum signed her name 'M. E. Harlow.' E for Ellis, her maiden name. She never dropped it. It's on every cheque, every statement, on the loan agreement with Hartwell. I can show you a hundred examples."

The sitting room went very quiet.

"People sign their names in different ways," Derek said, and for the first time his voice went thin.

"They do." Katherine closed the folder and handed it back. "For a court, of course, that would be a matter for a handwriting expert. I think we'll be ordering one."

Derek stood up. The smile was gone — completely this time — and the face underneath turned out older and nastier than Nigel had imagined.

"You're making a mistake," he said quietly. "All three of you. You've got sixty days before the bank takes the house and no money to stop it. And once the court cases start, everyone in Little Ashford will very quickly find out why saintly Margaret Harlow mortgaged her house. And about St Agnes'. And about the boy she—"

Nigel didn't remember crossing the room. He only remembered grabbing Derek by the collar of his expensive blue shirt and pinning him to the wall so hard that Mum's porcelain shepherdess fell off the shelf and smashed on the floor.

"One more word about my mother," Nigel said very calmly, "and I'll forget I'm not like you."

"Nige." Katherine was already beside him, her hand on his elbow. "Let him go. That's exactly what he wants."

Nigel looked Derek in the eye — and saw there, beneath the fear, something like calculation. Yes. That was exactly what he wanted. A complaint to the police about an assault. One more lever.

Nigel opened his fingers.

Derek straightened his shirt and picked up his folder.

"The thirtieth of September," he said. "After that — the penalty, and court. Think about what solicitors cost."

The door slammed behind him so hard the windowpanes rattled.

Nigel stood over the pieces of the shepherdess. Once, he'd been afraid even to touch it.

"Sorry," he said to Katherine. "I know that was stupid."

"It was." Katherine crouched down and began gathering the pieces into her palm. "But if you hadn't done it, I probably would have."

He looked at her in surprise. His sister wasn't smiling, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

"Go to Norwich tomorrow, you and Flo. I'll stay. I need to see a solicitor, the bank, and Mrs Abbott again."

"Kat, you can't take him on by yourself."

"Nige." She laid the pieces on the table in a neat row, edge to edge, as if she meant to glue them back together. "For twenty years I've been auditing people who were sure they could take me on. Not one of them could."

That evening, as Nigel was loading a flask and blankets into the van for the journey, his phone buzzed in his pocket. An unknown Norwich number.

"It's Lily. The doctor says Dad's worse. He wants to see you. Please come as soon as you can."