Lavinia has, by now, manoeuvred herself into the sitting room and is leaning on the cane she’s just started using. It’s one of Margot’s father’s, and they found it tucked in his old wardrobe after Lavinia announced that she was ‘feeling wobbly’ on her feet. Wobblier, that is, given her permanent limp. Lavinia isn’t prone to admitting to weakness, so Margot knew it must be a serious amount of wobbliness for her to say something.
‘My aunt, Lavinia King,’ Margot says.
Mr Williams takes Lavinia’s hand and bows his head, which Margot finds both unnecessary and charming.
‘Miss King,’ he says.
They all smile benevolently at each other, like he’s here to take tea, not rip half the house away from them.
Margot realises someone has to move things along. She raises her eyebrows at Lavinia, who nods her understanding.
‘Shall we?’ Lavinia says, pointing the cane at the mahogany lowboy that’s been in the family for so long its provenance is unknown.
‘Thank you.’ Mr Williams walks slowly toward the piece of furniture, as if he has little interest in it. He puts his fingers on the wood and presses. ‘A fine piece,’ he says. ‘Mid-eighteenth century, I think. George II.’
‘Perhaps,’ Lavinia says. ‘It belonged to my grandparents. They brought it on a ship from England.’
Mr Williams smiles vaguely. ‘Are the other pieces of the same era?’
‘Not all.’ Lavinia gestures toward the first floor. ‘There’s an Art Deco dresser in the main bedroom that you may wish to see.’
He looks more interested in this, although Margot is fairly sure the lowboy is more valuable, based on what the neighbour told Lavinia when he decided to offer an assessment, unprompted.
After Mr Williams has seen the rest of what’s on the ground floor, Margot leads him up the stairs, two of which need repairing. Something else on the list of what she can do when she has money.
She takes him into the master bedroom, where Lavinia sleeps and Margot keeps clean, so there’s hardly any dust on the dresser. Although a dresser properly belongs in a kitchen, Perry liked to keep it up here. It was her favourite piece of furniture in the house, and that’s another reason why Margot is pained about selling it.
‘You must love this furniture,’ Mr Williams says as he walks over to it. ‘Some of it is beautiful.’
‘I do, but as you can see, with only two of us here we don’t need much of it. So we thought we should sell it. Perhaps go on a holiday with the proceeds.’
It’s the story she’s prepared in order to preserve her dignity and Lavinia’s. It’s important to act as though the money isn’t necessary so as not to come across as desperate, even if you are.
‘I imagine you’d enjoy that.’
He is properly looking at her now, in a way that makes her believe he can both see her and see through her. See that she’s lying and respecting that she needs to. It’s unsettling, to be seen. And a relief. After all these years, someone has noticed that she’s a person. That she’s not just a daughter and a niece.
‘Do you take holidays, Mr Williams?’
It’s an odd thing to say, yet she knows she can be odd. Perhaps he’ll forgive her.
‘Not as many as I used to.’ He smiles sadly. ‘My wife died three years ago.’
‘Oh – that’s …’ She doesn’t want to say she is sorry. She didn’t know the woman. Yet she must say something. ‘That’s awful.’
His eyes look into hers and they are deep and brown and unreadable. ‘Yes,’ he says after a few seconds. ‘It was. But life moves on. My daughters need me to be strong.’
She doesn’t want to pry so she doesn’t ask about the daughters, and he returns to looking at the dresser.
‘Well, Miss King, you have some lovely pieces here. I shall prepare an estimate, if that suits?’
‘Thank you,’ she says.
Wordlessly he descends the stairs and she follows.
‘Thank you for coming, Mr Williams,’ Lavinia says as he reaches the door. ‘We look forward to hearing from you.’
‘And you shall, Miss King.’ He smiles kindly, then turns toward Margot. ‘A great pleasure to meet you both,’ he says but he’s looking only at her. ‘A great pleasure indeed.’