With a nod, the man replied, “Yes. I visited him here myself.” He shuffled in the chair and seemed to be having some difficulty maintaining eye contact with her. “I’m sorry, your father told me he would discuss this with you before… the time came.”

“Well, he didn’t,” she snapped, then held her hands up. “I apologise, Mr Lenton, I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I’m just surprised, that’s all. So what is to discuss? What amendments did my father make? I’m not being thrown out of here, am I?” she joked, though as the words passed her lips, a splinter of panic worked its way into her mind. There was no way in hell he’d disinherited her. There was simply no reason to—she’d been the loving, dutiful daughter until his dying breath, and now beyond. So what had changed?

Oh God—was there a secret child? Did she have a brother or a sister out there somewhere? Or had he decided he wanted to be buried somewhere completely bonkers, like the summit of Everest or something?

Mr Lenton took a sip of his water, then put the glass down with a slightly trembling hand. Either the man had developed a condition since the last time she’d seen him, or he was nervous. And his being nervous made her nervous. What the bloody hell was going on? “No, Miss Harrington, of course you are not being thrown out. Please, let me continue, and all will become clear. After that, if you still have questions I will answer them as best I can.”

“All right. Please, go ahead. I’m sorry, I won’t interrupt again.”

The first part of the reading concerned her father’s wishes for his funeral and final resting place. She’d had an inkling, so it was no surprise at all to learn that Edward Harrington wanted a small service, held in the church on the estate’s grounds, and to be buried alongside his beloved wife in the small churchyard adjacent. Drinks and a buffet would be held at the house afterwards. Much to Mia’s relief, he’d even detailed what hymns and prayers he wanted. She wasn’t religious herself and wouldn’t have had a clue where to start in that regard.

Her remaining family members—distant as they were—thought it odd that Mia didn’t already know her father’s wishes. It wasn’t as if his death had been a surprise, after all. The man had been valiantly fighting cancer for two years, and finally it had won, leaving Mia devastated. Just because she’d known it was inevitable didn’t make bearing his loss any easier. In fact, the only thing that made it remotely tolerable was knowing he was no longer suffering from what, especially towards the end, had been horrific side-effects and discomfort.

It was that overwhelming love and admiration, as well as simply not wanting to contemplate the “after”, that resulted in Mia’s refusing to talk to her father about what he wanted to happen once he was gone. Years ago, when he’d re-done his will following his wife—Mia’s mother’s—death, he’d basically told her she was the main beneficiary, as well as the executor, and that his funeral wishes were all there in black and white. With that knowledge in the back of her mind, Mia saw no need to further distress her father, or herself, by discussing something she wished with a fervent—albeit pointless—hope that she would never have to deal with. But here it was.

“Thank you, Mr Lenton. I appreciate that,” she lied.

The solicitor gave a tight nod, then indicated a bound document in front of him. “I have here your father’s last will and testament. I’m here to go through it with you, answer any questions you might have, and give advice on your next steps. Is that all right?”

Mia nodded, then slid a notepad in front of her and retrieved a pen from the holder so she could make notes if she needed to. No doubt there would be a great deal of legalese in the document, so if anything didn’t make sense, she needed to be able to remember it, so she could get the man to explain it.

“All right.” Mr Lenton cast his eyes down at the document. “This is the last will and testament of Mr Edward Harrington, born first of April, 1947. Last amended fifteenth of September, 2017.”

Mia flicked her gaze to the man’s face, frowning. “Excuse me? Amended? My father didn’t mention any changes.” She paused. “So… he had the amendment made while he was severely ill?”

Mia Harrington thanked James, her father’s butler—her butler now, she supposed—as she stood from behind her father’s desk—now also hers, to welcome her visitor.

“Mr Lenton. Thank you so much for coming, and on such short notice. Please, come in, and take a seat. Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee, water?”

The grey-haired, bespectacled man gave a tight smile and bustled over to the chair Mia had indicated. “Thank you, Miss Harrington. A glass of water would be fine.” He took a seat, then began removing files and papers from his briefcase and placing them on the desk.

Once Mia had delivered two glasses of water to the desk and taken her own seat, the solicitor fixed her with what was undoubtedly an often-practised solemn expression. “Thank you. May I firstly offer my sincere condolences on the loss of your father? He was a wonderful man, and he will be greatly missed.”

Mia barely resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. She’d received so many condolences and expressions of sympathy in the last thirty hours that she was in danger of drowning in them. In many ways, of course, she deeply appreciated them—it was heart-warming and offered the merest sliver of comfort to know that she wasn’t the only one who’d loved Edward Harrington and genuinely mourned his loss.

It was the sound-bite condolences that drove her crazy, from people that had barely known him, and those she’d never even heard of, let alone met. How could it possibly help Mia to know that Mrs Pipes from the post office in the village was terribly sorry for her loss? And it would only get worse once the death announcement went into the newspaper.

She mentally shook herself. While Mrs Pipes might not matter, Mr Lenton most definitely did. He had been her father’s solicitor for many years now, and was here to discuss her father’s will with her. And, although she’d much rather not be dealing with the fallout, would much rather Edward Harrington was the one in the office with her right now, poring over paperwork; in the absence of a time machine or a magic wand, she had no choice. She had to hear what her father’s wishes were, and carry them out to the very best of her ability.