The Wedding Cake Tree

The Wedding Cake Tree

Melanie Hudson

Table of Contents

Copyright page

Dedication

Part One

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Part Two

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Part Three

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Part Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Part Five

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Part Six

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

About the Author

Introducing Choc Lit

More Choc Lit

Copyright © 2014 Melanie Hudson

First published by the author as The Wedding Cake Tre
e
(
978-0957443709)
Published 2014 by Choc Lit Limited (updated edition)

Penrose House, Crawley Drive, Camberley, Surrey GU15 2AB, UK

www.choc-lit.com

The right of
Melanie Hudson to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the
 public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the UK such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90
 Tottenham Court Road, London, W1P 9HE

ISBN-978-1-78189-152-0

For Edward

Part One

Devon
, England

22 May

Chapter
One

My mother died unexpectedly on the day when the last lingering rose of autumn lost its bloom. The letter I received from her solicitor shortly after the funeral remained in my work satchel for several months, and I would retrieve it, now and again, simply to confirm the unusual details in my mind.

The signatory on the letter, Mr Grimes
, requested I make it my utmost priority to visit him at his office – situated on Barnstaple High Street – at ten o’clock in the morning on the 22
nd
of May the following year. Mum had requested that six months should lapse between her funeral and the reading of the will. Although I found the delay to be a peculiar request, I realised she had done me a favour. I had a stepfather, but no siblings and no extended family, and the thought of spending hours in Mum’s study, trawling through her filing system in an attempt to terminate a lifetime of administration, filled me with dread. Content to postpone the inevitable, I returned to London after the funeral, rested my head on the shoulder of my old friend Paul, and threw myself back into my work.

Spring came around relativel
y quickly and I was glad when the 22
nd
of May arrived. I could once again retrieve the tatty letter from the bottom of my satchel and begin to plan my future.

I entered the soli
citor’s office exactly as a mahogany wall clock chimed ten. The room had a musty smell and the dust in the air was clearly visible as it filtered through dank vertical blinds. Grimes, dressed in a finely tailored pinstripe suit, finished with a striking yellow bow tie, was kneeling on his haunches beside a desk. He was feeding a lettuce leaf to a tortoise whose makeshift home was a cardboard box that had once contained Spanish oranges. If pushed I would have guessed he was the wrong side of forty, but the right side of a funeral policy, and he had the face of a sailor – tanned by the wind, taut and dry.

He
took the tortoise from the box and placed it on the threadbare carpet beside him, then stood, and turned to offer me a broad, welcoming smile. At a speed and style perfectly in harmony with the reptile, Grimes crossed the room and shook my hand.

‘
A pleasure to finally meet you,’ he said, heartily. ‘You don’t mind if Terry hangs around for the meeting?’

I glanced around.

‘Terry?’

Grimes looked
towards the tortoise, his expression full of affectionate pride. Terry looked up and I could have sworn I saw the creature wink.

‘My
trusty tortoise! You’ll see that Terry is particularly useful in meetings’—Grimes leaned towards me with a knowing nod—‘few are wiser than tortoises
–
except perhaps leatherback turtles
–
but they’re not so easy to keep in a small office. Don’t you agree, Miss Buchanan?’

I waited f
or him to laugh, but he didn’t. ‘Er, yes …?’

Grimes returned to take a seat behind the desk
, which is when I noticed he wasn’t wearing socks or shoes. I also noticed he had only four toes to share between two feet.  Trying not to stare, while feeling as though I had somehow stepped into a surreal dream, I took his cue to take a seat across the desk from him, put my satchel on the floor beside my chair (being careful to avoid the tortoise) and we got down to business.

Grimes
took a buff file out of the drawer and placed it on the desk in front of him. Assuming the manner of a man about to discuss serious business, he perched his elbows on the desk, crossed his hands, placed them under his chin, and sat in a moment of silence while he gathered his thoughts. Responding in kind, I sat up straight in the chair and waited for him to begin.

‘
A few formalities to get out of the way first,’ he said, looking up with a smile.

‘
Just to confirm, you are Grace Buchanan of’—he looked to his notes to confirm the details—‘57a Gloucester Court, Twickenham?’

Another smile.

‘Yes, I am.’

‘You’ll remember I asked you to bri
ng your passport as proof of ID. I take it you have it with you?

‘
Yes’—I reached for my bag—‘Do you want it now?’

‘
No, no,’ he said with a wave of his hand, ‘I’ll take a copy later.’ He opened the file. ‘I’m going to explain to you the instructions regarding the last will and testament of Mrs Frances Heywood of St Christopher’s Cottage, Exmoor, Devon. You will note,’ he continued, ‘that I said the instructions
regarding
the will – rather than reading you the will directly.’

I gazed at him confused and
– trying to hide the frustration in my voice – said, ‘My mother’s name was Rosamund Buchanan, Mr Grimes,
not
Frances Heywood.’

‘
Buchanan. Ah, I thought there may be some discrepancy here and wondered how much you knew …’

He picked up a pen and swivelled
it around with his fingers.

‘
Your mother changed her name some years ago when she moved to Devon. The reason for this will become clear to you later, Grace, but she did not go through the usual legal proceedings to change her name. So, for the purposes of her will, her legal name is Frances Heywood.’

I tried to interrupt
but he held up a hand to stop me.

‘
I’m going to fire a large quantity of information your way and I suspect it will come as a shock. I suggest you let me put all of the information I have forward, and then there will be time for questions later.’

Surprised by his sudden firmness of manner I let him continue.
If the discovery of my mother’s real name was a revelation, it was nothing compared to what I was about to hear.

‘
First of all, I should state that you are the sole beneficiary of your mother’s estate.’

Th
at was no surprise.

‘
Secondly, I have a letter for you from your mother.’

Th
at
was
a surprise.

He glanced at the
file.

‘
I’m afraid I cannot inform you of the details of your mother’s will at present because she left quite clear instructions regarding the actions you must carry out if you are to meet the conditions of the will and, thereafter, inherit the estate. I also cannot disclose exact details of the estate: that will be revealed to you at … well, at the end.’

T
oo dumbfounded to respond, I let him continue with his instructions.

‘
She left for you a detailed list of actions,’ he said, placing the word actions in imaginary quotation marks with his index fingers, ‘that you must carry out, and provide
proof
you have carried out, in order to satisfy the qualification requirements to eventually inherit.’

‘
Mr Grimes,’ I interjected forcefully, ‘I appreciate you’re doing your job, but please can you tell me, in basic English, what on earth you’re talking about? What do you mean,
eventually
inherit?’

He
removed his glasses. Despite his precise manner I could see by the way his eyebrows furrowed and the way in which he rubbed his fingers along his forehead that he was finding the meeting stressful.

‘
Your mother was quite a special lady …’

He paused
– presumably waiting for me to agree with him – but I said nothing, so he continued.

‘
I visited her at the cottage not long after she discovered her illness was terminal.’

I felt my eyes moisten
; the word terminal was a harsh reminder that she was dead.

‘
She explained to me that she wanted you to learn a little more about her as a person, the person she was prior to your birth that is, before you can take your inheritance. I’m not sure how much you know about your mother’s life?’

He said the last more as a question than a statement
, but again I said nothing.

‘
She discovered she was pregnant with you just after she turned thirty and decided it would be for the best if she had a complete change of lifestyle. She decided to base herself in Devon, set up at St Christopher’s, and you know the rest from that point on. Towards the end of her life, she began to consider the fact that she had given you little information, if any, regarding any extended family you may have, or any clue at all regarding her previous career—’

Grimes came to an unexpected halt in his dia
logue. He bent down to his left side, picked up the tortoise and placed it on the desk so that the head of the tortoise was facing me. It was at that precise moment I realised the adage that pets and owners share facial characteristics was absolutely true. He took a lettuce leaf from his top drawer and handed it to me, smiling. Thinking it unlikely to be a snack for my own consumption, I fed it to the tortoise.

‘
She realised that her professional life, the life she led before you were conceived,’ he continued, settling back into his chair, ‘was an enormous part of who she was. I suppose she felt your image of her was incomplete. She wanted to fill in all the gaps in your understanding. For that to happen she wanted you to go on a journey to places that held special significance in her life, and that is what you must do, Grace, if you wish to inherit her estate. There are only five destinations,’ he added, as if this was a bonus, ‘and you will read a letter from her at each location. She will explain to you, through the course of the letters, all she feels you need to know. Oh, and she wanted you to scatter a little of her ashes at each destination. Does that make it any clearer?’

My face must have held an expr
ession of complete shock. I raised myself up, leaned forwards across the desk and met Terry’s fixed, determined glare, which was surprisingly disconcerting.

‘
Are you telling me that my mother actually wanted me to skip about the country and scatter her ashes in order to qualify for my own inheritance?’

‘
Yes, that is exactly what I’m saying … you’ll be setting off today in fact.’

What
!

‘
Today? How long for?’

‘Ten days.’ Grimes’ voice remained irritatingly monotone.

‘
Ten days
?’ I jumped to my feet, exasperated. Once again, the tortoise stopped eating and glowered at me. I lowered myself back into the chair. ‘But that’s absolutely ludicrous,’ I said in a quieter voice, not wanted to offend the animal further. ‘I can’t possibly drop everything with no notice. Mum must have been insane
–
you
must be insane!’

Grimes remained calm.

‘No, she was of sound mind, if not body, and I can testify to that. Again, she simply wanted to put you in the picture regarding the life she led prior to your birth.’

Simply?

‘Mr Grimes, you’re making it sound as though I didn’t know my own mother; although, to be fair, it seems I didn’t even know her name. What I do know is, she gave me a very special childhood, in a very special place, and I don’t see why I need to know any more information. Children don’t need to know every little detail about their parents, I’m not sure I even
want
to know. Okay, so she changed her name, big deal. She already told me all I needed to know years ago, that she originated from Yorkshire, farmers I think, it had been a happy childhood, but like me, she was an only child. She lost her parents when she was in her early thirties. Yes, I queried the whereabouts of my father, but she hadn’t wanted to discuss it and I didn’t delve. I don’t want to delve Mr Grimes. I just want to keep the memories I have and leave it at that. I don’t understand why Mum is passing all this on to me now. Why on earth did she wait until she was bloody well dead to start digging up the past? If all this information is so damn important, why didn’t she tell me to my face? This is completely out of character for her.’

My voice
began to break towards the end of my speech. He waited for me to continue and I tried to regain my calm.

‘
Look, no offence,’ I said, lifting the tortoise and turning it away from the edge of the desk like a clockwork toy, ‘but I’m going to have to seek separate legal advice. There is absolutely no way I’m going to be a part of this folly. I haven’t the time to go. I just want to inherit my mother’s cottage
–
it’s all I’ve ever wanted,’ I added quietly. ‘Maybe her illness altered her towards the end, I’m sure she meant …’ He interrupted me by holding up his hand and opening the file that lay previously untouched in front of him. He removed a small pile of cream A4 envelopes that were bound together by a red ribbon.

‘
Please try to understand; I am simply passing on to you your own mother’s wishes.’ He handed me the envelope from the top of the pile, but asked me to wait for a second before opening it.

‘
Rosamund mentioned you’re a photographer?’ he said, leaning back into his chair.