I shrug my shoulders, and force a smile. ‘No idea. Bizarre isn’t it?’ I try to speak slowly, and clip the end of my words. I have had so much to drink that I might be sounding slurred. ‘But £100,000 is more than enough to tide us over. To invest some money in BPC if you want?’

171

Saffron

Miles is right: £100,000 is enough to tide us over. And six months to wait for the rest is nothing in the scheme of things. What a weird stipulation. Why? And at least the probate is simple. Nothing in trust. Mainly cash not shares.

I have nothing to worry about. You have done all the damage you possibly can from beyond the grave, Caprice. You are finished. Over. Kaput. As Miles said, we have more than enough to begin to invest in BPC if I want. Oh yes, I want. Of course I want. Yes please. I want my business to succeed. Thank you, Caprice, for dying at the right time and rescuing me. I will hide my desire for my business to succeed, and try not to make my benefits from your demise too obvious. I will wear my smile inside.

172

Aiden

Sunday lunch, at mine for a change. I have sweated over a Nigel Slater vegetable curry to please you, Saffron. And I’m serving it with an Ottolenghi salad, containing too many ingredients, including a herb that I can’t get at Waitrose, but grows in a friend’s garden. I had to drive to Putney to collect it. Burgundy wine. San Pellegrino, your favourite mineral water. You are fussy about that.

Your black net dress shows your red lacy bra. I like your red ankle boots and perfectly toning lipstick. Your Deborah Harry in her heyday look. Punky and delicious.

Miles is his usual self. Complacent and charming, wearing chinos and slip-on mules. I really can’t understand why he was always Mother’s favourite. There is so much more bite about me. I was more rebellious at school. That’s why I wasn’t a prefect. He was a prefect because he was such a yes-man. Didn’t Richard Branson say you should ditch education if you want to be successful? Or was it Bill Gates? Anyway, Miles is too embroiled in intellectual activity to ever be truly top of the pile.

We finish the main course and I clear the plates. I put the homemade vegan meringues, made with chickpea water, into the oven, and step back into my dining room. I sit down, place my elbows on the table, hands together and lean across toward my indolent brother and his feisty wife.

‘Now the funeral’s over, there’s something I need to discuss with you both.’

You put your wine glass down and look at me wide-eyed. Miles necks the end of his glass, and tops it up. He leans back in his chair. ‘Fire away.’