The Attic Room: A psychological thriller - Huber Linda - Страница 2

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Nina took a deep breath. A long weekend pony-trekking sounded like the best possible way to help Naomi ease into the new normal and have fun holidays, especially as there was no summer visit to her father for the girl to look forward to this year. Alan and his new family had moved to South Africa and Naomi was going for Christmas.

Nina stroked the girl’s blonde hair, so like her own, and kissed Naomi’s nose. ‘Sounds brilliant! You’d better call Ally’s mum, then.’

Naomi whooped and disappeared upstairs with the phone. Nina and Bethany grinned at each other.

As they unpacked the shopping Nina told her friend about Samuel Harrison’s call.

‘How very odd,’ said Beth, staring. ‘Sounds like he’s got hold of the wrong daughter for the right father, or something like that. Moore isn’t an uncommon name.’

‘He had my full name and date of birth – place of birth, even,’ said Nina. ‘What I really don’t get is why Mum never mentioned this John Moore. Unless… hell.’ Claire hadn’t mentioned John Moore, but maybe she’d tried to.

 Bethany touched her shoulder. ‘What’s up?’

Nina closed her eyes for a moment; the memory was so terrible. ‘After the accident, you know, the first day in hospital before she had the brain haemorrhage, she wanted to tell me something. She was saying things like ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I should have told you’ but it was all so garbled and then she lost consciousness and –’

And she had never heard Claire’s voice again.

It was late the following afternoon before Samuel Harrison called back, sounding guarded. Nina took the phone into the deserted living room and sat down.

‘Ms Moore, I’ve got more news for you and I’m afraid it’s not all good. I went to the hospice this morning, but John Moore wasn’t well enough to see me and in fact he died a little later. He’s left a will, made with my colleague a few years ago, with instructions for it to be opened in your presence. You must be related, but I haven’t found anything so far that explains the connection. Are you quite sure your father didn’t have a brother?’

Nina’s head was reeling. She cleared her throat. ‘I’m – almost sure he didn’t.’

She’d never known her father, of course, but – actually, why the hell wasn’t she absolutely sure?

The lawyer was speaking again. ‘I’ll get onto the General Register Office; they’ll have all the information we need. Would it be possible for you to come down to Bedford for a day or two? We could read the will and work out what would be best for you.’

Nina thought quickly. With Naomi on a pony all weekend, this would be the ideal time to sort out whatever needed sorting in Bedford. She could fly down tomorrow, see Samuel Harrison, and be back by the beginning of the week. It would do her good to get away from the island for a day or two, and as Beth and her husband Tim lived in the barn conversion next door they would be around for Naomi – exactly what was needed right now.

Two o’clock on Friday afternoon saw Nina stepping into the arrivals building at Luton Airport. She’d spent the flight thinking about the almost faceless blur in her mind that was her father, not even sure if the blur was a memory or something she’d seen on a photo. Come to think of it, photos of him hadn’t exactly been strewn all over the house while she was growing up, and she couldn’t remember ever seeing photos of any other Moores. Nina knew she’d lived in Bedford with both parents when she was a toddler, but her memories of those days were hazy to non-existent. Was there an Uncle John in her little life all those years ago? She simply couldn’t remember.

Two very different emotions were fighting for place inside her as she looked round the arrivals hall for the lawyer – uppermost was a definite ‘oh no not all this as well’ feeling, but – what on earth was going on here? Was John Moore her uncle? Even a distant cousin would be a find – there could be a whole family waiting in Bedford, and with Naomi being her only blood relation Nina wasn’t going to worry about how distant other family members were. But then – wouldn’t any family in Bedford have kept in touch with Robert Moore’s widow and child? So maybe it was all a mistake. Nina set her shoulders; worst case, she’d have a wasted journey, but at least it was giving her something fresh to occupy her mind. The grief swirled up again and she pushed it down. This was neither the time nor the place to throw a wobbly.

As soon as she set eyes on Samuel Harrison Nina smiled to herself, remembering what Beth had said that morning. ‘Be careful, Nina. You don’t know what kinds of sharky old lawyers there are around the place.’

This was almost certainly no shark, and definitely not an old one. He must have been about the same age as she was, with fine features set in milk chocolate skin, and jet-black cornrow plaits just tipping his collar. There was an appealing air of enthusiasm about him as he stood holding a card with ‘Nina Moore’ printed in large blue letters. Apart from the sober grey suit he didn’t look in the least like a lawyer. Nina pulled her case across the arrivals hall.

He strode towards her as soon as he noticed her, hand outstretched. ‘Nina? Hi, I’m Sam. Was your flight okay?’

Nina shook hands – his handshake was warm and firm – and allowed him to take her case.

‘Fine, thanks,’ she said, following him to a dark blue Zafira. ‘I’m glad you could meet me.’

He nodded. ‘We’ll drive to my office in Allerton and open the will, and then go on to the hospice in Bedford. It’s not far.’

Nina settled into the passenger seat. Sam Harrison seemed an easy person to be with; attractive too, now she thought about it. Nina sighed. It was ages since she’d done more than go out for the odd dinner date. Being a single mother and B&B-owner meant that relationships had taken a back seat while business and her daughter were right up in the front row.

‘Do you know any more about John Moore?’ she asked, as Sam drove into Allerton, a bustling little place close to both the A6 and the M1. It was a lot bigger than Brodick, the largest town on Arran, and Nina sniffed dolefully. Her island nose wasn’t used to exhaust fumes and the smell of a busy town.

‘I’ve got his hospice admission sheet,’ said Sam. ‘His GP’s down as next of kin, so his death was registered by the hospice. I haven’t heard from the General Register Office yet. The admission sheet’s a bit odd, but you can have a look for yourself and see what you think. This is our office now.’

He pulled up in front of a red sandstone building. There was a combination of dentists’ and lawyers’ practices inside, noticed Nina, going through the old-fashioned revolving doors. Sam’s name was at the bottom of a list of five on a plaque on the office door.

He saw her looking. ‘Junior partner, that’s me. My grandfather established the firm, so I’m carrying on the family tradition.’ He opened the door and stood back for her to enter.

In spite of the age of the building the offices were bright and airy. Nina followed Sam along a corridor and into a small room with stark white walls and black and chrome furniture. A Chagall print above the desk provided a vibrant splash of blue and green, and Nina gazed at it admiringly.

Sam fetched coffee then sat down at right angles to her, a slim folder in front of him. Nina straightened in her chair. This must be the will. And maybe the answer to the mystery of who John Moore was.

It was very short. Sam read it aloud and then explained the details, and Nina sat gaping at him, her heart pounding. John Moore, a man she knew nothing about, had left her over two million pounds – two million pounds – plus a house. With no mention at all of how they were related. How in the name of all that was sensible could this be? Hot confusion made sweat break out on her forehead and she leaned back in her chair, struggling not to hyperventilate.

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