The Heir and the Spare (6 page)

“Just drive,” Edmund ordered through the window after we jumped in. The cab driver did a double take, then put the gas pedal to good use.

“What about your guards?” I asked, looking behind us.

“They'll grab another cab. I'll text them when we get to where we're going. What would you think about The National Gallery?” Edmund relaxed into his seat.

“Sounds great.” I pulled out my phone and checked the time. “I need to make one stop first; I hope you don't mind.”

Edmund pursed his bottom lip and shook his head.

I opened the window to the driver and said, “21 Fetter Lane, please.” When he nodded I closed it again.

“What's on Fetter Lane?”

“My mother's lawyer.” I shook my head. “I mean, solicitor.” I'd set up an appointment with Anton LeClerc. Our meeting was in a half-hour.

“Why does your mum have a solicitor here and not America?”

I shook my head. “They do have one in Seattle . . . well, Dad does. But Mom was English. She only moved to America to marry my dad. She died when I was little.”

“I'm so sorry; I didn't know.” His eyes searched mine.

I looked away and studied my hands. “It's fine, really. I don't go around telling everyone.”

“That must've been really hard, growing up without her.” Edmund's voice was soft and low.

“We're here,” the driver said as he pulled the cab to a stop in front of a tall brick building.

I sucked in a breath, wishing we'd had longer to talk.

Edmund paid the driver and we stepped out.

What can this Anton dude possibly tell me about Mom?

“You don't have to answer this, but I'm curious. If your mum's been gone for years, why are you visiting her solicitor now?”

“That's a great question.” I grinned and checked the time on my phone. “It's a long story, and I have to be inside in ten minutes. Can I explain after?”

“Of course.” Edmund reached out to open the door for me.

Inside, the receptionist sat behind a glass-and-metal desk, surveying the waiting area. Everything was sleek in white and black, so not what I'd been expecting from the outside. I checked in while Edmund sat.

“Mr. LeClerc will be with you momentarily.”

“Thanks.” I went and joined Edmund.

“You look nervous.” He closed the magazine he was reading. His face was on the cover.

I sighed. “I am. I don't know why Mom wants me to see him.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Wait, your mum wants you to?”

“Miss Gray, I've been expecting you for a very long time.” An older, well-dressed man approached me, arms outstretched.

Is he going to hug me?
I stood and froze, steeling myself for an embrace. Instead, his hands grabbed mine and held them tightly. The more he smiled, the more crinkles formed around his brown eyes. I guesstimated he was Dad's age.

“For a moment I thought you were Lily standing there. The resemblance is remarkable. Your hair is the exact same shade of red.” He released my hands.

“You must be Anton LeClerc?”

“My apologies, I should have introduced myself.” He shook his head and put a hand over his heart. “Anton LeClerc, your mother's solicitor and good friend.”

“Thank you for seeing me on a Sunday.”

“I'd make arrangements to see you any day of the week. I've been looking forward to this meeting for years. Shall we go to my office?”

“I'll wait out here.” Edmund stood.

“I'm sorry, I . . .” Anton stopped and took a closer look. His eyes widened. “Your Highness, could I interest you in anything to eat or drink? We have a lounge you might find more comfortable. Jenna would be happy to see you settled. Unless of course you were joining Evie.”

Edmund shook his head, not looking at me. “The lounge will do.”

Anton guided me into his office. I turned back and caught Edmund's eye. He smiled before I disappeared around the corner.

“You must be wondering why your mother wanted you to come see me.”

I nodded. His office matched the sleek motif of the waiting room. His personal photos gave it a coziness the lobby lacked.

“Maybe I should start from the beginning.” He offered me a glass of water.

“The beginning's a fabulous place.” I took the glass and sipped from it.

A warm smile filled his face. “Your mother and I grew up together. Up until university we were inseparable. Even away at school we kept in close contact. I quite fancied her, truth be told.”

I wasn't sure how to respond to this dude telling me he had a thing for my mom. I squirmed in my seat.

“When she met Henry, your father, I knew I didn't stand a chance. It was love at first sight for her. Your dad's a very lucky man. And a very good man, too. After meeting him I knew he was perfect for Lily.”

“If you're friends with my dad why haven't I heard about you before?”

Anton shook his head. “I was always Lily's friend. You father I knew, but we were never close.”

“Were you at her funeral?”

He nodded. “I was. It was the worst day of my life. You were so little and confused. Your father was absolutely gutted.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I remember when she told me about the cancer. Then when she passed . . .” Anton cleared his throat and looked at his desktop. He polished away a smudge on the glass surface with a fingertip.

My eyes burned and my vision blurred.
Keep it together, Evie. Don't cry.
I wouldn't be able to stop if I got started.

“And that's why you're here. When she was first diagnosed, she called me with a plan. I think she knew from the beginning she wasn't going to make it.”

I flinched.
She knew she was going to die? From the start?

“At first I didn't want to hear it. I couldn't imagine her not being around. Eventually, she persuaded me to listen and agree should the worst happen.” He looked at me, his eyes watery. “And it did.” Inhaling deeply, he continued. “She needed my help. Even though she wouldn't be here, she wanted to play a part in your life. That's how the birthday letters started. They were my suggestion. I assume your father has been seeing you get those.”

I nodded. “What about the quest letters? What's your role in those?”

“It's my job to make sure you complete the tasks.”

“You sent the first two letters, didn't you?”

His eyes glinted brightly. “I did.”

“But how did you know I'd been accepted?”

“Your father. I called him concerning a sizable trust that your mother has set up for you. We were catching up and he told me your news. Which, I must admit, was the primary objective of my call.”

“So why can't you just tell me what she wants me to discover?”

“She asked me not to.” His mouth drew into a serious line. “Plus, it's not a simple secret. These tasks are to help you understand her and for you to know what to do when the time comes.”

“What's that even supposed to mean? Mom's letter said something similar and I don't understand.”

A funny smile curled his lips. “You've just explained why you need to follow her letters better than I ever could; you
need
to understand.”

“Then I check in with you when I finish one of her tasks?”

He nodded.

“Well, I went to Big Ben and Parliament today. Task two, check.” I made a check mark in the air with a finger.

He rolled back in his chair and pulled open a desk drawer. “Then you'll need your third letter.” He stopped and eyed me with a suspicious smile. “Do you have proof?”

Is he serious?
Okay, Sherlock.
“Would pictures work?”

When he nodded I pulled up the photos on my phone and passed it to him.

“Ah, yes, Big Ben, Parliament, is this the archives?” He turned the phone to me.

I leaned in and looked. “Yup.”

His eyebrows rose as he slid his finger across my screen. “Oh, that's a nice picture of Edmund.”

Shit.
I reached for my phone. “See, I was there.”

“Indeed, here's your next letter.” He passed the letter across the desk. “I'll wait for your call.”

I stood and clasped the letter. “Thanks.”

“Have a safe trip back to school.”

“I will.” I smiled as he stood and walked me to the door. My hand on the knob, I stopped. “One question: how did you get the letter into my trunk?”

“Ah, yes. I have something else for you.” Anton went back to his desk and pulled a small item from the top drawer. “This is yours.”

He dropped a small, but weighty, metal key into my palm. It matched mine exactly. “
You
put it in my trunk?”

“I did. You see, the trunk used to be mine. I gave it to your mum when she moved overseas with Henry. I couldn't find the extra key to give to her before she left.”

“Why didn't you just send the letter to Dad? He could've slipped it in before we shipped it.”

“I didn't want to involve your dad in the quest letters until I knew what you'd told him. I thought this was a clever way to get it to you.” He scrunched up his nose. “I was counting on you wanting to haul that old trunk of hers over here.”

My smile faltered. “Clever, and a little creepy.”

Anton laughed. “Yes, now that I say it aloud, it does sound that way, doesn't it? I didn't think of that when I concocted the idea. To ease your mind, an advisor went with me and didn't let me out of her sight.”

I opened the door with a nod, unsure how else to respond. “I guess I'll talk to you soon.”

Anton waved as I approached the desk to ask after Edmund.

The letter hot in my hand, I wondered what Mom would have me do next.
And how much of this should I tell Edmund?

Edmund and I slowly walked through The National Gallery, our footfalls echoing through the rooms. Paintings by fabulous artists dotted the walls: Titian, Rubens, and Michelangelo.
This is heaven.
I love it here.
Really, I loved being here with
him.

We followed his bodyguards into a room of Dutch paintings. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Edmund watching me. It wasn't the first time I'd caught him today.

When we left Anton's I wanted to tell him about my mom and the crazy adventure she was leading me on. It nearly burst from my lips. But I wasn't sure if I should trust him. I barely knew him. Did I want him to know this about me?

Edmund stopped and stared up at
The Guitar Player
by Johannes Vermeer. He sighed. “I've tried several times, but I've no idea how to start this conversation. So, I'm just going to come out with it. Do you want to tell me about your mum?” He turned to face me.

I studied him before nodding and sinking onto a worn wooden bench in the center of the room. “Her name was Lilliana, she was English, and she was . . . wonderful.” Inhaling sharply, I looked at my boots. I'd tear up if I met his gaze. “Right after I turned six, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. The really aggressive, fast-moving kind. It metastasized throughout her body and she died three months later.”

I pulled her letters from my bag.

Edmund straddled the bench and studied me, not saying a word. In my hands I rolled the bundle of letters end over end.

“Every year on my birthday I get a letter from her. They're just little snippets of her life, her dreams, the things she wished for me, and reminders of how much she loved me.”

“And these are the letters?” He gestured to the packet in my hand.

I nodded.

“That's lovely. It must be nice to have a connection to her.”

“It is. And I'm lucky. They help me remember.” I smiled, my eyes watery.

“So, what did you mean earlier, when you said your mum wanted you to see her solicitor?”

Leaning toward him, I said, “Today . . . this, it was all about a letter.”

I explained the quest letters and how our sightseeing was my second task, as was meeting Anton and getting the next letter from him.

“Do you have any idea what she's guiding you toward?”

I shrugged. “No, not a clue. I know nothing about her side of the family. I don't even know if I have any living relatives here. I mean, this could be some deep, dark family secret that I don't want to discover.” I rolled my eyes, feeling a trifle overdramatic. “Then again, she could just want to tell me she really likes mangos.”

Laughing, Edmund said, “Ah, mangos, such a sketchy fruit.”

With a grin, I got up and tucked the letters away. When I glanced back at him, he was still watching me.

“So, what's your next quest?” He stood, his blue eyes locked on mine.

“I don't know.” I looked away and noticed Edmund's bodyguards blocking the entrances to the room.
That's handy.

“I thought you said Anton gave you the next letter.”

“He did. I haven't opened it yet.”

“What? Why not? If you need privacy, I can go explore on my own for a while.”

We walked past one set of bodyguards into a new room. It was longer and bigger than the last. I recognized a few of the paintings as Rembrandt's. We were the only people in the room, so I guessed Edmund's security was going ahead of us, clearing the way.

“That's not it at all.” My tall brown riding boots captured my attention again. Along the top seam, a thread had started to unravel. “I'm just . . . nervous.” I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. “I have this idea of my mom in my mind. I've built it up from all of Dad's happy memories and from what little I remember. I'm terrified these letters will change that. I don't want to lose . . .
her
.”

With a hand on my arm he stopped me. Heat spiraled out from his fingertips and spread through my entire body, sending a shiver through me
.