Aunt Lucy's Lover

Jessica looked up at the patiently waiting solicitor, her expression curious and thoughtful.

‘Surely my aunt’s husband must have had some relatives,’ she speculated. ‘Why didn’t she leave them something? Why leave everything to me?’

The solicitor shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that. She doesn’t mention any in-laws in her will. Neither have any come forward. You are her sole legal heir, and might I say her estate is quite considerable.’

Jessica was taken aback. She’d been picturing a small house perhaps, in a country town. Somehow, Aunt Lucy had looked country. Jessica hadn’t envisaged any great fortune. ‘How considerable is considerable?’ she asked, feeling the first stirring of excitement.

One of Jessica’s primary goals in life had been to make herself financially secure. Being poor all her young life had left its mark. When little more than a child, she had vowed never to be poor once she was old enough to support herself. After her mother’s death, she’d worked damned hard to put herself into a position where she had a well-paid job with considerable job security.

Though no job was entirely secure in this day and age, she conceded.

‘Firstly, there is the property,’ the solicitor began enthusiastically. ‘It consists of several acres of prime real estate overlooking the Pacific, and a grand old heritage home, which your aunt had been running as a guesthouse for many years. There is no mortgage, and the house itself is reputedly well-furnished with solid pieces, many of them valuable antiques.’

‘Goodness!’ Jessica exclaimed. ‘I had no idea!’

‘So I can see. I am also pleased to inform you that even after all legal fees and funeral expenses are paid for, your aunt’s bank balance will still be slightly in excess of five hundred thousand dollars.’

Jessica gasped. ‘Half a million dollars!’ She could hardly believe her ears. ‘So where is this property? You mentioned an acreage. And a view of the Pacific Ocean. I presume it’s along the east coast somewhere, then?’

The solicitor looked surprised. ‘You mean you don’t know where your aunt lived?’

‘No, I told you. I hardly knew her. We only met the once.’

‘I see. You’re in for another surprise then. Your Aunt Lucy lived on Norfolk Island.’

‘Norfolk Island!’

‘Yes.’

‘Good Lord.’ Jessica had never been to Norfolk Island, but she knew where it was. Out in the Pacific Ocean off the east coast of Australia. It was a popular holiday destination for honeymooners and the middle-aged to elderly, the sort of pretty but peaceful place where the most exciting activity available was looking through the ruins of an old convict gaol. One of the staff at the hotel had spent a week there last year and left a tourist brochure lying around. Jessica recalled glancing at it and thinking she’d be bored to tears at a place like that.

Jessica liked to keep busy. And she liked lots of people around her; another mark, perhaps, of her wretched childhood when she’d had no friends, as well as no money. You didn’t bring friends home to a drunken mother, and if you had no money, you couldn’t afford to go out.

The inner Sydney area was Jessica’s type of place. She thrived on the hustle and bustle of city life, the bright lights and the continuous undercurrent of throbbing life. When she wasn’t working, there was always some place to go, something to do. Dining out and discos. The theatre. The ballet. Movies. Concerts.

Jessica couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, certainly not on a small Pacific island whose only bright lights were the stars in the sky!

‘I presume you’d like to go and see your inheritance for yourself?’ the solicitor asked.

Jessica gnawed at her bottom lip. Well, of course she would. But she really didn’t have the time right now. Her job was very demanding, and February was still a busy month for hotels in Sydney.

Still, how could she pass up the opportunity to find out the truth about her roots? And where better to start than where her aunt lived? It was clear the solicitor didn’t know very much.

Jessica mulled over her work situation. She was due her annual holidays, having slaved for over a year in her present position without a break. Surely they could spare her for a week or two. She would demand compassionate leave if the boss made a fuss.

‘Yes, I would like to see it,’ she said, making up her mind with her usual decisiveness. ‘I should be able to arrange to have the property put up for sale while I’m there, too, shouldn’t I?’

The solicitor seemed startled. ‘You mean you don’t want to live there yourself?’

‘Heavens, no. My life is here, in Sydney.’

‘You do realise that people with permanent residency on Norfolk Island don’t pay any income tax,’ he said dryly.

Jessica had forgotten about that. It was a tempting thought—especially now, with her income about to soar—but such a consideration was still not enough for her to give up a career she’d slaved for and a lifestyle she enjoyed. What on earth would she do on Norfolk Island?

‘You could take over the running of your aunt’s guesthouse,’ the solicitor said, as though reading her mind. ‘You’d have no trouble securing a permit to stay under your circumstances.’

Jessica wrinkled her nose. She’d spent a year in hotel housekeeping while working her way up in her career, and had hated it. She knew exactly what running a guesthouse would entail, and it was not what she wanted to do with her life.

‘That’s not for me, I’m afraid. No, I’ll be selling up and investing the money.’

‘I see. Er, how long were you planning on staying on the island?’

‘A fortnight at the most,’ Jessica said crisply. ‘I can’t spare more time than that.’

‘Hm, I think you’ll have to, Miss Rawlins. You see, there is a small but rather odd condition attached to your inheriting your aunt’s estate.’

‘Really? You didn’t mention anything earlier.’

‘I was presuming you’d want to live there permanently. Most people would jump at the chance. Since you don’t, then within a reasonable time of your being notified of your aunt’s death, you have to take up residence in her home on the island and live there for at least one month.’

‘A month! But that’s ridiculous. I can’t afford a month!’

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to, if you wish to inherit. Your aunt’s wishes are clear. Provisions have even been made in the will to pay for the purchase of your airline ticket, in case you couldn’t afford one. Oh, and there’s another small condition. During this month, you are to allow a certain Mr. Slade to remain living in the same room he has occupied for the last three years, free of charge.’

‘How very peculiar! What happens if I don’t comply?’

‘Then the estate goes to the aforementioned Mr. Slade, whom Mrs. Hardcourt describes in her will as having been a loyal and loving companion to her over these past three years.’

Jessica frowned. Was loyal and loving companion a euphemism for lover? She remembered her aunt as having been a handsome woman, with a good figure for her age. Although obviously in her fifties, it was not inconceivable she’d been having an intimate physical relationship with a man.

‘It was this Mr. Slade who found the will,’ the solicitor said. ‘It had apparently slipped down behind a drawer. He’s been living in and looking after the house and grounds since your aunt’s death.’

‘Not to mention searching for a will, which he obviously knew existed,’ Jessica pointed out dryly. For some reason, she didn’t like the sound of this Mr. Slade. Or was it just the complication of that odd condition she didn’t like? ‘I wonder why my aunt didn’t just leave everything to him in the first place, if they were so close?’

‘I really couldn’t say.’

‘No, of course not,’ Jessica murmured. The only way she was going to find out anything was to go there herself. But for a whole month? How was she going to wangle that without risking her job?

‘This Mr. Slade,’ she said, her mind ticking over. ‘What do you know about him?’

‘Very little. I did speak to him briefly on the telephone yesterday.’

‘And?’

‘He sounded surprisingly…young.’

‘Young?’ Jessica repeated, startled.