This is news to me. Albert never said anything.
“Why would she think that?”
“Your height and the fact that you take care of yourself. And if I am going to be completely candid, you do have a somewhat intimidating countenance.”
The remark elicits mild irritation rather than surprise. I try to mask my capability. As I sink back in the chair and relax my shoulders, I notice her staring down at the rucksack resting against my leg.
“Are you heading somewhere?” she asks, one of her pencil-thin eyebrows raising.
Everything I own is in there. Or rather, everything I wanted to keep. The rest I took out in black sacks to the refuse collectors who turned up early this morning. After using the pool one last time, I chose to slip away and avoid suffering through an insincere farewell speech from Edward. Should he choose to look—and I’m sure he will—he will find nothing of me left behind, as though I’ve never lived there. I left my keys with the housekeeper and told her to tell Callico I would not be returning.
“Staying with a friend. I find being in the house too painful.”
“Oh. I see,” she says, her tone not one of sympathy but of disappointment.
“Problem?”
“I assumed you would be returning to Callico House from here and could hand a copy of these papers to Edward Callico. Never mind. I can always get Brittany to—”
“No, that’s fine. It’s on my way.”
Even if Alice is home, I am not setting another foot in that house. But I’m not too petty or averse to pushing a copy through their post box if it means having this episode of my life closed.
“Excellent. Then let us get this over and done with, Mr Redbrick.” I know she is not asking for permission, but warning me not to make waves. “Roger, my husband, has taken the children to his parents’ Geneva home for the last of the school holidays, and I have the Bentley waiting to take me to London City Airport right after this meeting. It’s a little family tradition of ours.”
Why she thinks I care about her life is a mystery. Albert didn’t either. As a spectator, on visits when I’d accompanied him, I came to despise Hammond-Clyde and her middle-class insouciance. She doesn’t need to work because she and her husband come from wealthy families, a circumstance shemanages to weave into the conversation at each meeting. Both were educated at expensive schools, and Mr Hammond holds the prestigious position of senior partner in one of the country’s leading accountancy firms. Today, her deference is only assumed because of my provisory association with the Callico family.
“Ah, yes, here we are.”
She cranes over a neat pile of papers, the gold chain links attached to her designer reading glasses swaying every time she peers up at me.
“As you may know, Dr Callico was in reasonable shape financially.” I had learnt very little about his financial status from him, but I understood he’d had more than enough. He’d refused to take any of the income I earned from my logistics job at the Gateway Charity. His single substantial asset was the family home, inherited upon his father’s death, where we lived free of debt, thanks to his father’s strict instructions and generous legacy.
“I’m sure you’re aware, Mr Redbrick, that the Mayfair home stays in the family and will pass to Edward Callico. And of Dr Callico’s liquid assets, a sizeable proportion has been pledged to medical research organisations.”
After the death of his best friend some twenty-two years ago, Albert had made his intention quite clear to his ultra-conservative siblings that upon his death, he intended to bequeath most of his money to AIDS-related research organisations. Nobody questioned him, even though I am sure not all of them approved.
“Of course.” As ever, she studies me coldly over the top of her glasses. “I don’t really know you, Mr Redbrick, but as his partner, you are wholly within your rights to challenge these instructions, although I should point out—”
“Then you don’t know me. I have no intention of challenging anything.”
“As you wish,” she says, continuing to scrutinise me as though waiting to see a crack in my resolve. After a satisfying pause, she pulls a flimsy folder from the pile and places the document on top. “Good. Then that leaves you. Even after everything else, there is still a little encouraging news. You’ve been left an annuity. Not excessive, but comfortable enough—”
“No,” I say, cutting her off. “I don’t want any Callico handout.”
My friend Josh would berate me, telling me not to be so proud, but I want nothing more to do with the Callico family and their old-world money. A tiny knot appears between Mrs Hammond-Clyde’s eyebrows. Albert once referred to her as the nastiest kind of terrier when it came to legal matters, one of the reasons they employed her as their family solicitor.
“This annuity is Edward’s late brother’s express wish. Written into his will.”
“And I am not blood family, as Edward Callico made perfectly clear at every family gathering.”
“But this is—”
“Can I formally decline the money?”
“Of course you can, but—”
“Then to save time and your legal fees, I would rather do so.”