Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
The next morning Rita was washing up her breakfast things furiously in the kitchen sink, her bashing and crashing disturbing Henry enough for him to retreat to the Den. On the kitchen table behind her lay a cream envelope, its contents strewn where she had thrown them down in frustration.
Zenya appeared in the doorway, her cheeks pink from a morning trek to Seahaven Cove with Teo and the group.
‘Morning, how’s it going?’ She grabbed herself an apple from the fruit bowl and took a huge bite.
Without a word, Rita turned around, wiped her hands on a tea towel, and pointed to the table.
Zenya put her apple down on the envelope, then picked up a letter, typed on stiff white paper, headed in bold with CRIPPS & HAVERING SOLICITORS.
‘He’s trying to force me out, Zen. Out of my home. Archie’s not been gone a year, and my own son is circling like a greedy vulture waiting for pickings.’
‘Shit, Rita. I’m so sorry.’
Rita sat down, eyes brimming.
Zenya lifted the letter, reading aloud with a frown.
‘Re: Estate of the late Mr Archibald Jory (Deceased)
‘Dear Mrs Jory,
‘We write on behalf of our client, Mr Thomas Jory, a beneficiary under the rules of intestacy in the estate of the late Mr Archibald Jory.
‘It has come to our attention that the primary asset of the deceased’s estate, namely Seahaven Farm, has not been valued or listed for sale.
We are instructed to request that you undertake an independent valuation within fourteen days of this letter, with a view to initiating a sale, so that all legal beneficiaries may receive their rightful share.
‘We must remind you of your duty as a representative of the estate to act in the best interests of all beneficiaries and to avoid any appearance of self-dealing or undue delay.
‘Should no satisfactory action be taken, our client reserves the right to pursue legal remedies to ensure a fair distribution of the estate.’
She set it down gently, then looked Rita dead in the eye.
‘I’m no expert here, but I think it’s a scare tactic, Rita. Nothing more. You owned this jointly with Archie, right?’
Rita nodded.
‘I’ve got an idea. How about you talk to Michael. He’ll know the score and it’ll be free and a quick response, at least.’
‘Oh, Zenya, I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
‘I’m like a walking emergency kit, me,’ Zenya quipped as she headed to the door.
Once alone, Rita sat at the kitchen table, the solicitor’s letter trembling in her hands like a living thing, sharp, cold and accusing. This wasn’t just paper and ink. It was Thom’s voice turned to ice, a final verdict that slammed down between them, driving a cruel wedge where love once lived.
Her chest felt like it was being crushed, the weight far heavier than anger or frustration. It was grief. Confusion. Betrayal. A knot twisting deep inside, squeezing tighter with every heartbeat.
Why? Why would Thom do this? Her boy, her baby, whose dreams she’d cradled like fragile glass. And now, instead of a call, a conversation, he’d sent the lawyers. Like she was a stranger.
Her heart was broken, not just because he’d taken this step, but because it felt like a signal she’d missed. Had she failed to hear him? To reach him as a mother? Was this letter a desperate plea for years of feeling unloved?
She couldn’t bear the thought. Thom had never been as open with his feelings as Sennen, but she’d always held them both close, equally, fiercely.
And yet, beneath the wreckage of hurt and confusion, a stubborn pulse of love still beat strongly. He was her only son and she couldn’t find it in her heart to shut the door on him. Not yet. She needed to understand what storm had driven him to this bitter shore.
Slowly, trembling, she folded the letter, a quiet defiance blooming inside her. Because love, she finally knew, wasn’t just about holding tight when everything was calm. Sometimes, it was about holding on when the very ground beneath you threatened to crumble.
Michael sat under the Singing Tree, on the bench that bore Archie’s name, collar turned up against the sea breeze, the Hardy poetry book resting on his knee. He was looking out aimlessly to where the sky met the sea.
Rita approached quietly, clutching the solicitor’s letter in her hand. She had debated interrupting one of her guest’s moments of peace, but the weight in her chest had grown heavier by the hour. She needed answers.
‘Mind if I join you?’
‘Of course not.’ He tapped the bench beside him.
She hesitated, then held up the letter. ‘I wouldn’t normally bother a guest, and you can tell me to bugger off, but… I just wondered if you could have a quick look at something for me. Not now, but soon…’
‘It’ll cost you.’ He smiled and took the letter, reading it slowly.
After a few seconds he said, ‘Firstly, I’m so sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you. It’s been a few months now, so…’
He looked up, his expression kind. ‘So what? You’ve covered it well, my dear. And kudos to you for running this retreat so superbly.’
Rita felt a small warmth inside.
‘Do you mind if I ask?’ Michael said, folding the letter carefully. ‘Is the farmhouse in your name now?’
‘It was always in both our names, but I haven’t changed it to mine alone yet. I thought maybe that happened automatically.’
Michael shook his head. ‘Then this letter is nonsense. Empty posturing.’
Rita let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.
‘I thought so. But it rattled me. Thom, that’s my son, he’s always been hungry for more. Even as a kid. Wanted the biggest slice of cake, had the loudest voice at the table.’
Michael handed back the letter. ‘He may rattle, but he can’t bite, not legally. The house is yours. And unless there are significant assets solely in your husband’s name, there may be nothing left for him to claim once the bills are paid. Is there a will?’
Rita swallowed. ‘That’s the worst part, Michael. The solicitor who was supposed to be holding the will… they’ve lost it. We can’t find it anywhere.’
Michael’s face darkened. ‘Lost it? That’s not just careless, that’s ridiculous. It’s actually breaking the law. A will can’t just disappear like that without serious consequences. You need to get to the bottom of this immediately.’
Rita nodded, feeling the knot tighten in her chest.
‘So, does that mean Thom might have a case?’ she asked quietly.
‘Potentially,’ Michael said slowly, with a grimace.
‘If he feels he’s been unfairly treated, he could make a claim against the estate, or even against you, depending on the assets.
The law allows children to challenge a will, but it’s not automatic.
He’d have to prove his case. But with the will missing, things get more complicated. ’
‘Even if the house is in my name?’
‘Correct. Ownership is important, but courts look at the entire estate’s fairness. He might still try.’
Rita stood up. ‘There has to be a solution. And I’m so sorry for disturbing your peace, Michael. You came here to escape the world, and I’ve dragged you into mine.’ She smiled weakly. ‘But you’ve helped me so much.’
Michael smiled back. ‘That’s what I’m realising it’s all about. It’s not The Michael Stone Show. This place is magical, really is. And Hardy was a great writer. Someone I might never have discovered without you.’
He raised his arm dramatically. ‘And I quote: “Happiness was but the occasional episode in a general drama of pain.”’
Rita smiled. ‘Look at you, getting all literary.’
She tucked the letter back in the envelope. ‘Yes, we have to cling to the good bits. I’m slowly learning that too.’
At that moment, Annie appeared in a vibrant red kaftan, her hair wrapped in a flowery turban.
‘Ooh, whose good bits have I permission to cling on to?’ She winked at Michael, who flushed slightly. He laughed and shook his head at her vivaciousness.
He stood. ‘This too shall pass, dear Rita. And if you need anything else whilst I’m here, please ask. But what you need to do, pronto, is find that blessed will and hold that irresponsible solicitor accountable.’
‘Thank you.’ Rita swallowed hard and fingered the recent tree note in her pocket. Maybe it was time to start looking.