Page 20 of One Snowy Day
She let her head fall onto the steering wheel, and left it there for a while, until it stopped aching. What. A. Nightmare. Her cunning plan to speak to the lawyer had been a total waste of time too. They’d stopped at his office on the way here and she’d begged the receptionist to let her speak to Jeremy Sprite, but after a phone call, she’d been told that Mr Sprite wasn’t available.
‘Can you ask when he will be free?’ she’d asked, not accustomed to being forceful, but feeling like she had no choice.
The receptionist had grudgingly picked up her phone again, hit a few buttons and asked the same question, although, for all Alyssa knew, she could have been talking to a dialling tone, because the second call got them no further forward. When she’d put the phone down, she’d simply said, ‘Mr Sprite’s secretary has advised once again that he’s unavailable. She suggests that you put your request to see him in an email and he’ll respond accordingly.’
Accordingly? What did that even mean.
A loud bang on the van window shocked her out of her thoughts and she jolted her head up to see an elderly man in a flat cap and thick peacoat, with his face pressed up against thewindow. As soon as she reacted, he pulled his head back and she watched him smile with what looked like relief. She quickly rolled down the window.
‘Jeezo, lass, you gave me a fright there. I thought you were deid,’ he told her, chuckling.
‘Sorry, no! I mean, not sorry that I’m alive, but sorry if I scared you.’
‘Och, that’s okay. Sometimes we just need to test that the old ticker is still working,’ he told her, clutching his heart as he wandered off down the street.
After the absolute wankery she’d just been thinking about, it was a much-needed reminder that some people could be nice. Which took her back to her earlier thought about her landlord’s family. Maybe they were decent people who would listen to her. And just because she couldn’t speak to the tosser of a lawyer – who might actually be a very nice man, but she wasn’t prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt after he refused to see her – didn’t mean that she should give up. This was just an obstacle that she had to find a way to overcome because she damn well wasn’t going to lose her home and her business without a fight. Maybe there was another way to reach the people she needed to speak to. Inspired, she lifted her phone from the centre console between the driver and passenger seat and googled Martyn Morden. An obituary inThe Heraldnewspaper from several weeks ago was the first thing that popped up.
It is with deep sadness that the family of Martyn Morden, husband, father, and notable Scottish businessman, announce his passing on the 10th October 2025.
Nearly two months ago. That made her feel two things – firstof all, sadness at the loss of this poor man’s life, and then a depressing realisation that the events that had led to this moment had kicked off weeks ago, and she’d had absolutely no idea that her future was in jeopardy this whole time.
She skimmed through the rest of the obituary, which listed a whole load of Mr Morden’s achievements in business and philanthropic endeavours. Given that it was a long list, it seemed like maybe he was a decent kind of guy after all. Hopefully those genes had been passed on to his family.
She skipped down to the bit she’d been looking for.
Mr Morden is survived by his wife, Demi, and his sons, Jason and Lachlan.
Yasss! He had a wife. And two sons. Now she just had to know where to find them. She went back to the article.
The funeral will be a private ceremony, but will be followed by a service of reflection on 11 November, at theCimetière de Monaco, La Colle in Mr Morden’s beloved adopted homeland of Monaco.
Alyssa groaned. Monaco. How the hell was she going to reach these people if they lived in bloody Monaco?
It was no use – the lawyer was her only way in and she was going to have to find a way to reach him. Bugger. Bugger. Bugger.
She said that many more times, only stopping when the passenger door opened and Ginny climbed in, face flushed, eyes bright as she tossed her parka into the back seat. Alyssa immediately dropped her rage and directed all the optimistic energy she could muster to her sister.
‘Well, how did it go?’ she asked, grinning, picking up on Ginny’s positive vibes.
‘Good, I think. Apparently, I was the only one who braved the weather to get there – thank you again, I owe you a body part should you ever require it. They asked me a bunch of questions, got me to talk about my experience and what I could bring to the students, then told me that they’d review all my audition tapes and previous interview. They said they’ll let me know by Friday.’
‘Amazing! I knew you’d be great. For what it’s worth, I’m really proud of you and I think you’re going to get this because you’re fricking fantastic.’
Ginny responded with a cheeky grin. ‘You’re right. I am.’
Alyssa was laughing as she pulled her seatbelt back on. ‘Okay, let’s get back and put Mum out of her misery.’ Alyssa knew Dorinda had only agreed to man the fort because Jessie had offered and shamed her into it.
They were just out of the street, when Ginny remembered another pertinent piece of information.
‘Oh, and Moira Chiles was there. When I told her I worked in the café, she said she knew she recognised me. Hopefully that’s in a good way. Anyway, she was lovely and I didn’t even have to bribe her with cake.’
‘We’ve got a dozen cupcakes in the back if you want to change your mind on that,’ Alyssa joked. Yes, definitely a joke. But something in it…
She swerved to the side of the road, stopped, then reached for her phone and put the address of Huntington Farrell into the satnav again, while Ginny watched, confused.
‘We’re going back to the lawyer’s office?’
‘We sure are.’
