Chapters (33)
- Cover
- BERKLEY TITLES BY LEXIE ELLIOTT
- Dedication
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Readers Guide
- QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
I’m not sure if she’s referring to the broken branch or my reaction. I turn away to ward off her gaze. “Sorry,” I say, looking at the tree instead. Only the broken branch appears dead; the rest seems to be thriving. “It was . . . Anyway. Sorry.” I head for my little hire-purchase Golf before she can press her point, whatever that may be. “Time to move in, I guess.” I throw a swift glance at the Manse as I open the boot of the car, but it’s not watching, breathing, swooping or in any way exhibiting animated behavior. The facts: it’s just a rather impressive old Scottish manor in the middle of nowhere that now happens to be mine.
• • •
Except it’s not. Not mine, not completely—and if you don’t completely own a house, you might as well not own it at all, or so I discovered on meeting my mother’s lawyer in his smart office in the City of London. I wasn’t quite fresh off the boat (yes, boat) from Egypt; I’d slept two nights in my mother’s and Pete’s house in Surrey—my mother’s very last abode, but never a home to me—but I was still adjusting to the cool, the lack of sunshine, the muted shades after color so intense it could hurt the eyes. The England I found myself in was lacking, whereas Egypt had been too much.
“Sell it?” The lawyer repeated my question, shaking his head. “Oh no. I’m sorry to say that with this type of joint ownership, there is very little you can do. You can’t sell the property without the permission of the joint owner, you see.”
“I can’t . . .” His words took a moment to sink in. In fact the whole situation was still sinking in. Had I known my mother still owned the Manse? I couldn’t say for sure either way. Certainly it wouldn’t have been something we talked about. “I can’t sell it?” He inclined his head apologetically. “What about renting it out?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Not without the permission of the joint owner.”
“And the land?”
“No, not that either. Again, not without the permission of the joint owner.”
“Even though that joint owner—my father—hasn’t been seen or heard from for, let’s see, twenty-seven years?”