THE lawyer cleared his throat and looked miserable. This was nothing short of blackmail, and the girl before him deserved so much better.
But the old man finally had her where he wanted her. Robert Fleming had manipulated people all his life. The only person whoâd broken free had been his stepdaughter, and now he was controlling her from the grave.
The will was watertight. Fleming would succeed and there wasnât a thing the lawyer could do about it.
âJust read it,â Amy said, stony-faced. The lawyer collected himself. And read.
âTo my stepdaughter, Amy Freye, I leave my home, White-Breakers. I also leave her the land on Shipwreck Bluff and sufficient funds to build a forty-bed nursing home. The home is to be built in the style of a resort, to ensure resale is possible, and I set aside the following to be invested for maintenanceâ¦
The above bequest is conditional on Amy living permanently in Iluka for at least ten years from the time of my death. If she doesnât fulfill this condition, White-Breakers and the nursing home are to be sold and my entire estate is to be divided evenly between my nephews. The nursing home is to be sold as a resort for holiday-makers whoâll appreciate Iluka. As Amy never has.â
âIF IT doesnât stop raining soon Iâll brain someone.â Amy put her nose against the window and groaned. Outside it was raining so hard she could barely see waves breaking on the shoreline fifty yards away.
âGreat idea. Brain Mrs Craddock first.â Kitty, Amyâs receptionist, was entirely sympathetic. âIf I hear âSilver Threadsâ one more time Iâll do the deed myself.â
It was too late. From the sitting room came the sound of the piano, badly played, and Mrs Craddockâs warbling old voice drowned out the television.
âDarling, we are getting old,
Silver threads among the goldâ¦â
Murder was looking distinctly appealing, Amy decided. âCan you taste arsenic in cocoa?â she muttered. âAnd just what are the grounds for justifiable homicide?â
âWhatever they are, it canât be more justifiable than this. A week of rain and this lotâ¦â
It was the limit. Nothing ever happened in Iluka, and this week even less than nothing was happening. The locals jokingly called Iluka Godâs Waiting Room and at times like this Amy could only agree.
It did have some things going for it. Iluka was a beautiful seaside promontory with a climate that was second to noneâapart from this week, of course, when the heavens were threatening another Great Flood. It had two golf courses, three bowling greens, magnificent beaches and wonderful walking trails.
On the cliff out of town was Millionaireâs Rowâa strip of outlandishly expensive real estate. At the height of summer the town buzzed with ostentatious wealth.
But the rest of the time it didnât buzz at all. Iluka was a retireeâs dream. The average age of Ilukaâs residents seemed about ninety, and when the rain set in there was nothing to do at all.
Nothing, nothing and nothing.
Card games. Scrabble. Hobbies.
Lionel Waveny had made five kites this month and he hadnât flown any of them. The sitting room was crowded at the best of times, and if he made one more kite theyâd have to sit on them.
From the sitting room came excited twittering. âAmy⦠Bertâs won.â
Great. Excitement plus! Summoning a smile Amy headed into the sitting room to congratulate Bert on his latest triumph in mah-jong. She stepped over Lionelâs kites and sighed. She really should stop him making them but she didnât have the heart. They were making him happy. Someone should be happy. Soâ¦
âGreat kite,â she told Lionel, and added, âHooray,â to the mah-jong winner. âBert, if you win any more matchsticks you can start a bushfire.â
Despite her smile, her bleak mood stayed.
Oh, for heavenâs sake, what was wrong with her? she wondered. What was a little rain? This was a decent sort of lifeâwasnât it? The nursing home sheâd set up was second to none. Her geriatric residents were more than content with the care she provided. She could start a cottage industry in knitwear and kites, she had a fantastic homeâand she had Malcolm.