Free The Will To Live by Tanya Landman Page A

But Julian’s married and so, apparently, is Lancelot. Everything therefore goes to Marmaduke. Jennifer’s got to be behind it, hasn’t she? It’s the only possible solution.”
    “That theory certainly seems to fit the facts.”
    “It just doesn’t feel right, though. If it was Lydia, I could believe it. She seems capable of anything. But Jennifer? She’s so nice!”
    “She may be a very convincing actress,” Graham pointed out as he rinsed a second teapot.
    “True. Let’s say she got Julian to marry Camille. Camille gets killed, but now Jennifer’s got the wedding certificate which will rule Lancelot out of the inheritance. Only then Toulouse shows up unexpectedly. So she arranges an accident for him. And when she thinks Joe might be about to work out that Camille was murdered, she tells him there are blueberries growing in the woods. Maybe she knows Julian won’t eat them because he’s such a bacon-and-eggs man. Or maybe she just doesn’t care if her brother dies too. It works as a theory, doesn’t it? It all fits.”
    “What fits?”
    Our conversation was suddenly interrupted by our chief suspect. Jennifer was standing in the kitchen doorway, Marmaduke on her hip. She was wearing a wounded expression.
    “Are you talking about the clothes I gave you?” she asked. “Look, I’m sorry I couldn’t find anything more suitable. I know they’re terribly old-fashioned. I just thought you’d rather be clean and dry.”
    “The clothes are great!” I said hastily. “Well, not great, but… Look, it was really kind of you. We’d have probably got a chill or something otherwise. Thank you.”
    Luckily Marmaduke spotted Graham, which distracted his mother from my nervous babbling. The baby held out his little arms and gurgled, so Jennifer came right in, handed him to Graham and then sat down at the scrubbed pine table. I noticed how drawn and anxious she looked.
    “Sorry to be so prickly.” She sighed. “But the last twenty-four hours have been dreadful!”
    “Would you like a cup of tea?” I offered. “The water’s nearly boiled.”
    “Yes, please.” In the kitchen she seemed to forget that Graham and I were a) children and b) staff, and soon she was chatting away like we were old friends. She was either trying to put us off the scent or she was genuinely desperate for someone to talk to who wasn’t connected with the family.
    “I was hoping for a pleasant reunion, you know? I thought a baby would bring us all together. That’s why I asked Lydia to be a godparent. I should have known better than to try building bridges. I’ll be so glad to get away from this wretched house! I don’t care if I never see it again.”
    This didn’t sound like the attitude of someone who had schemed and plotted and murdered to get hold of the place. Was she was faking it? Or was our theory wrong? I decided to test it out.
    “But won’t Marmaduke inherit it?” I asked.
    Jennifer looked astonished. “Marmaduke? Good Lord, no! Whatever gave you that idea?”
    Graham jiggled the baby inexpertly and said, “We just assumed the estate would pass down through the male line.”
    “I suppose that might be the normal way of doing things for an estate like ours. But my grandfather was far from normal.” She scraped a stray lock of hair behind her ear and then explained, “When he died it was supposed to pass to my father, James. But Grandfather’s will was terribly complicated. He was such a control freak! He wanted to manipulate everyone the whole time, even from beyond the grave. If Father died while Uncle Lawrence was still alive, the whole place would go to Lawrence and then on his death would pass on to his son, provided that Lancelot marry someone who Grandfather considered ‘suitable’. He was a mindless old bigot! I loathed him. He couldn’t endure anyone he considered to be beneath us. And now there’s this strange business with Lancelot marrying a French girl! I suppose it will have to be looked into.