Chương 6
“Did he tell you that?”
“Not in those words.”
“What words?”
“He said, ‘I can’t do all of this anymore.’”
Beatrice leaned back.
“You see?” Eleanor said. “I chose.”
“You chose under pressure.”
“Most choices are made under pressure.”
“Not all pressure invalidates a decision.”
“Then perhaps the form was valid.”
“Perhaps.”
The answer unsettled Eleanor more than disagreement would have.
Beatrice folded her hands. “Why did you call me this morning?”
Eleanor looked toward the black window over the sink. Her reflection floated there beside the dark outline of the garden.
“Because Daniel brought the suitcase.”
“That was all?”
“He had put the green dress in it.”
Beatrice almost smiled but did not.
“He packed the photograph of Arthur,” Eleanor continued. “He packed my hand cream. He had thought of everything. And I realized he had been thinking of it for longer than one day.”
Beatrice’s expression tightened.
“I asked him when I would see the house again. He said we should not upset ourselves with details before breakfast.”
“Ah.”
“He sounded like you.”
“That is unforgivable.”
Eleanor’s mouth trembled. She covered it with one hand until the feeling passed.
“I signed because I thought I was saving him,” she said. “Then I understood he had already planned to be saved.”
The next morning, Beatrice’s solicitor arrived at ten carrying a canvas briefcase and wearing shoes that had collected mud from the lane. Her name was Helen Shaw. She was fifty, broad-shouldered, practical, and unimpressed by Beatrice.
This immediately made Eleanor trust her.
Helen declined coffee, accepted tea, then forgot to drink it. She sat at the kitchen table and explained that several separate issues had become tangled together: Eleanor’s living arrangements, her decision-making capacity, the power of attorney, the bank transfers, and the proposed sale.
“Untangling them matters,” Helen said. “Otherwise everyone begins using one problem to justify action on another.”
“Daniel says the house is unsafe,” Eleanor said.
“It may be.”
“And if it is?”
“That does not authorize him to take your money for his company.”
“I may have authorized some of it.”
“Then we establish what you authorized.”
Beatrice opened her mouth.
Helen raised one finger. “You are here as a sister.”
“I am aware.”
“You are wearing your former judicial face.”
“It is my only face.”
“Try another.”
Eleanor looked down to hide a smile.
Helen asked whether Eleanor wanted to revoke the power of attorney permanently or only suspend Daniel’s use of it while the transactions were reviewed.
“What happens if I revoke it?” Eleanor asked.
“We notify him, the banks, relevant professionals, and the Office of the Public Guardian. You can appoint someone else later or make new arrangements.”
“Will he be arrested?”
“Revoking authority is not an arrest.”
“But the bank transfers?”
“That depends on the evidence, the bank’s review, and whether you make a formal allegation. I will not pretend there are no risks for him.”
Eleanor rubbed the edge of her wedding ring.
“What if he pays it back?”
“Can he?”
Neither sister answered.
Helen took out a lined pad. “What do you want today, Mrs. Whitcombe?”
“To go home.”
Beatrice shifted in her chair.
Helen noticed. “Do you mean today, or do you mean you want home to remain a real option?”
Eleanor disliked questions that improved themselves after being asked.
“A real option,” she said.
“Good. Then we arrange an independent assessment of what support you need. Not whether you are obedient. Not whether your son is worried. What you can do, what you cannot do safely, and what adjustments might help.”
“I do not want strangers watching me make tea.”
“Then do not leave the gas on.”
Beatrice looked delighted.
Helen continued, “Independence is not the same as doing everything alone. It means choosing acceptable help.”
Eleanor folded her hands. “And Daniel?”
“What do you want from him?”
“The truth.”
“That is not a legal remedy.”
“It ought to be.”
“Yes,” Helen said. “It ought to be.”
Daniel came that afternoon.
He parked crookedly beside the stone wall and remained in his car for nearly five minutes. Eleanor watched from the sitting-room window. Claire was not with him.
When he entered, he looked older than he had the day before. His shirt was wrinkled beneath a dark coat. He carried no flowers, which Eleanor appreciated. Flowers would have made the visit feel like a hospital ritual.
Beatrice directed him into the sitting room and then stayed.
“I want to speak to Mum alone,” he said.
“No,” Beatrice replied.
“It’s her decision.”
Both looked at Eleanor.
She wanted to say yes. Privacy had always been the shelter in which she and Daniel repaired what they did not want others to inspect. But Helen’s words remained with her: separate the problems.
“Beatrice stays,” Eleanor said.
Daniel sat opposite them. His knee moved rapidly until he placed both hands on it.
“I didn’t steal from you.”
Eleanor had not accused him aloud.
“Tell me about the transfers,” she said.
“You said I could use the investment account.”
“The first one.”
“You said what I needed.”
“How much did you think that meant?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t set a number.”
“The second transfer happened while I was in hospital.”
“We had payroll. A tax bill. Two jobs stalled because clients changed the specifications after we started. I thought the Chipping Norton payment was coming.”
“It didn’t?”
“It’s in dispute.”
Beatrice said, “Was the second transfer approved by Eleanor?”
Daniel turned on her. “She had already approved the facility.”
“What facility?”
“The account.”
“It is not a business credit line.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
Eleanor lifted one hand. “Let him answer me.”
Beatrice became silent.
Daniel looked at his mother. “I intended to replace it.”
“With the money from my house?”
His eyes moved away.
“Daniel.”
“The house is too much for you.”
May you like
“That is not what I asked.”
He pressed his palms together. “The house is worth nearly seven hundred thousand. You don’t need to live in a place with four bedrooms and a roof that leaks. Hawthorn costs less than private carers. Selling would give you security.”
