Page 58 of The Impossible Fortune
Jill nods. ‘Of course. I’ll talk to Mum too – she’ll enjoy that.’
‘It isn’t much money,’ says Joyce. ‘Especially if we have to spread it around the different branches of the family, but, as I say, we’d rather the family had it than the government. Wasting it on … hospitals and what have you.’
‘Most of the family we’ve tracked so far are in Sussex,’ says Elizabeth. ‘So we might need you to head down at some point.’
‘That would be fun,’ says Jill. The baby is now asleep on her lap. A huge crash above their heads tells them the toddlers have gone upstairs.
‘Perhaps you still have friends you could stay with from your Brighton days?’ Elizabeth asks. Worth a shot.
‘One or two,’ says Jill. That’s encouraging. ‘Do you have any photos?’
‘I’m sorry?’ says Elizabeth.
‘Of my great-great-uncle?’
‘No, I’m sorry –’
‘Of course we have photos,’ says Joyce, reaching into her bag. You never knew what was in Joyce’s bag. She pulls out a manila folder, instantly recognizable as one of Ibrahim’s, and opens it to reveal a series of photocopied pictures of a gentleman in a top hat and Victorian dress standing next to an assistant cut in half in two cabinets. Elizabeth can see Joyce and Ibrahim now, going through the internet to find pictures of Victorian magicians.
In the old days at MI6 you could walk down any given corridor and peek in through open doors and see people up to all sorts of things. A sudden image comes to Elizabeth’s mind: Joyce and Ibrahim huddled over one of the old desks, sucking pencils and starting wars.
‘How wonderful,’ says Jill, looking at the photos. ‘Harry Ablett’ is on the same stage each time.
‘May I keep these?’ Jill asks.
‘Of course,’ beams Joyce. Joyce will tell Ibrahim all aboutthis when she gets home, Elizabeth knows that. ‘Job done,’ she’ll say.
As Jill looks through the photographs again, a gentle smile on her lips, Elizabeth begins to fear the worst. She’s seen criminals of pretty much every size, shape and colour over the years, but nothing about Jill is suggesting anything other than quiet Manchester teacher. Which can only mean one thing. Jill Usher and Holly Lewis were good friends, and Elizabeth isn’t desperate to be the one to break difficult news. But she has to. Because at least then she can ask a few useful questions, and come back from Manchester with a lead.
Had Jill been expecting a call from her friend?
Would Holly call Jill if she were in trouble?
It must besomething.
Elizabeth hasn’t heard from Ron yet, but hopes he’s having more luck with Bill Benson.
As she prepares to mention Holly’s name, they hear the front door of Jill’s home open. The baby opens her eyes. Or his. Joyce had asked, but Elizabeth hadn’t really been listening.
‘That’ll be Jamie,’ says Jill. Then she says, leaning into Joyce, ‘The better half.’
A tall man in a faded rugby shirt appears in the room. He looks at Elizabeth and Joyce, and then at his wife.
‘They’re from the Heir Hunters company,’ says Jill. ‘I told you about them.’
‘Like you see on television,’ says Joyce.
Her husband nods. ‘Kids upstairs?’
‘In their room,’ says Jill, then turns to Joyce. ‘This is Joyce.’
You shouldn’t give your real name, but Joyce really has a blind spot about remembering what she’s supposed to be called, so Elizabeth usually keeps it simple for her.
Joyce smiles, but Jamie Usher does not smile back. ‘You got cards? Identification?’
‘We freelance,’ says Elizabeth, and extends her hand. Jamie shakes it. She gives him a card. ‘Let’s not disturb the Ushers’ Sunday any more than we have already, Joyce.’
‘It was lovely to meet you,’ says Jill. ‘I look forward to hearing from you.’
