Chapter 3

It was a cold March morning. Mist hung low over the Northamptonshire countryside and a sharp frost covered the lawn outside Matt's townhouse. His alarm beeped and roused him from his slumber. His dream faded quickly in the cold light of day. He'd been dreaming about his past a lot recently. He didn't know why. It wasn't as if yearned for his school days. Perhaps it was his age. He was twenty-eight, and feeling old. Work was getting on top of him. The previous night he'd been out on the town with his colleagues, but he'd had a hard week and been too tired to enjoy himself.

Youth is wasted on the young, he thought as he stared at the ceiling. He stifled a yawn, forced himself out of bed and took a long hot shower. After towelling himself dry, he pulled on his robe and traipsed downstairs. He picked up the mail off the floor, carried it into the kitchen and tossed it on the table. It sat there while he buttered some toast and made strong, sweet coffee. Then he set about opening the letters.

'Dear home-owner, have you ever considered consolidating all your debts into one low-cost loan?'

He tore the first piece of junk mail in two. Two more loan ads and a not-to-be-missed-buy-one-get-one-free double-glazing offer went the same way. He nearly choked on his toast when he saw the size of his mobile phone bill. The last of the bundle had a real stamp instead of a franking machine mark. The address was handwritten in elegant, feminine script. He peeled it open. Inside was an invitation card. The opening line was written in big, bold letters.

'King George's Comprehensive School - Class of '94 Grand Ten Year Reunion.'

The rest of the card gave the details of when and where. "Good God. Ten years. Maybe that explains all the dreams."

Matt wasn't surprised to see that Laura Blackwood had signed the invitation. She'd been chair of the student committee, after all. The card gave RSVP details: her address, telephone number and e-mail. At least he wouldn't have to speak to her to tell her where to stick her reunion. He put the phone bill and invitation in his '—to do' pile and threw the junk in the recycling bin.

Twenty minutes later, he was dressed and driving his Audi TT roadster to his colleague's house. Jerry and Matt had become friends at university, where they'd both studied law. Now they worked for the same firm, S & J Legal. Matt pulled up outside Jerry's house and tooted his horn. His friend appeared a few seconds later. He climbed in to the passenger seat and Matt set off.

'Where are we going again? And what exactly have you talked me into doing?' Jerry asked.

'I didn't talk you into anything. You volunteered. It's not my fault you were too drunk to remember.'

'Whatever. Just tell me so I don't look stupid when we get there.'

Matt grinned. 'You? Look stupid? Never.'

'I don't know why I bother doing you favours. It's not as if you're ever nice to be because of it.'

'Do you remember Fanny McCarthy?' Matt asked, suddenly serious.

'Little old women that used to run the Post Office in Milton Malsor? Yeah. I sold the business for her when she retired.'

'Then passed her on to me to write her will '—cause you don't do wills.'

'Well, I don't. I do small business, corporate and commercial property. You do all that people shit.'

'Yeah, well. She sort of took a shine to me... '

'Old women seem to do that.' Jerry laughed.

Matt ignored him. 'She made me her attorney and the sole executor of her will. I advised against it, but she said that was one of the reasons to do it anyway. She said she trusted me more because I obviously had her best interests at heart.'

'Twisted logic.'

'Quite. Anyway, she passed away last week, and now that the funeral is out of the way, I've got to assess her assets so we can file for inheritance tax with The Revenue and get probate.'

'And that's where we're going now?'

Matt nodded. 'The old bird built up quite an antique collection, apparently. Andy Rogers from Hammersmith's is meeting us there. We're going antique hunting.'

'Great. What a wonderful way to spend a Saturday morning.'

'And what else would you be doing?'

'Sleeping. Or shagging.'

'Don't you need a woman for the second option?'

'Ha bloody ha. Just hurry up so we can get this over with and go for a pint.'

A white transit van waited for them outside the large former farmhouse where Mrs McCarthy had lived out her final years. A well-dressed man got out of the passenger side as Matt pulled onto the gravelled driveway.

'Matt!' The man extended his hand in greeting.

Matt shook his hand. 'Andy. Good to see you. You know Jerry Taggart?'

'Only by reputation. Pleasure.' Andy and Jerry shook hands.

'Who's the fourth?' Jerry asked. He nodded towards the burly man in jeans and a bomber-jacket who'd just climbed out of the van.

'That's Paul. He's here for the heavy lifting if we find anything of interest.' Andy addressed Matt, 'You got the keys?'

'I thought you had them.'

'No. How are we supposed to get in? Get Paul to break the door down?'

Matt put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He grinned like an idiot. 'You fall for it every time, Andy. Every single time.'

Matt led the way into the house. Jerry and Andy followed, with Paul bringing up the rear. The hallway was dark, dusty and a musty smell hung in the air. There was a door either side of them and one at the end of the hall. Stairs led upwards. In the hallway, a large wooden bookcase creaked under the weight of many books and an old wooden sideboard was adorned with small figurines and an ornate lamp.

Andy examined the sideboard. 'Early Victorian. Excellent condition. I'll have to get it back to the warehouse and look for signs of who made before I put a price on it, but this is a good start. Certainly worth sending to auction.'

'What about the ornaments?' Matt asked.

'They'll sell too. No trouble there.'

Jerry was looking at the bookcase. 'These books are all pretty ancient too. Hey... ' He pulled on of the books from the shelf. 'You know what this is?'

'No idea, ' said Matt.

Jerry opened the book. 'It's a mint, first edition of '—The Colour of Magic'.'

'What?'

'Terry Pratctett's first novel. This alone is worth a fortune. Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for one of these? Years.'

'What about the others?'

'I don't know. I'm a lawyer not a librarian. But it'd be worth getting in a second hand book specialist to take a proper look.'

'Good idea, Jem. Thanks. And put that book back. After it's valued I'll see if we can come to an arrangement.'

For the next couple of hours they worked their way through the house, room by room. Andy and Matt each had a clipboard and made notes as they went. Paul and Jerry moved some of the smaller items destined for auction to the van. The last room they inspected was the attic.

'We're not going to leave much for the family, ' Andy said. 'We've practically cleared out the house.'

'The family are more interested in the money than memories, from what I've seen of them, ' replied Matt. 'What we don't send to auction will end up on e-bay.'

'That bad?'

'Put it this way, when the eldest son found out that his dear mother had appointed me as executor instead of him, he immediately asked if there was some way he could object to the courts. He figured that I'd either charge too much for the job, which of course is impossible, the Law Society sees to that, or find some other way to swindle him out money that he'd have swindled out of the rest of the family had he been executor.'

'Sounds like a lovely man.'

'He is. Thoroughly charming. Seen anything up here worthwhile?'

'Looks like there are some paintings stored over there. I'll get Paul to get all these boxes down too so we can go through them properly.'

'Any of the paintings worth anything?'

Andy flicked through them. 'Doesn't look like it, but I'm not a painting expert. I'll get one of the guys at the auction house to look them over and let you know.'

Matt and Jerry went to a nearby pub for lunch. Matt ordered a steak and onion baguette, Jerry had a ploughman's. They ate, drank and chatted about work until Matt suddenly changed the subject.

'You'll never guess what I got in the post this morning.'