Finding Values

Lyn Miller

Description

Claire Ford is a successful young professional.Growing up in Royal Tunbridge Wells in Kent, she is an Oxford graduate and has a post-graduate degree from Kingston University. Now based in London, she leads a busy life, enjoying the buzz of the city and the many diversions it has to offer. Her whole life has been based in the south-east of England.When Claire is chosen to undertake a project for work, she is suddenly thrown into a very different setting and culture. But she is determined to make a success of the assignment and to enjoy the adventure. How will she cope with being so far out of her comfort zone?Maybe it won't be quite so straightforward to fit into her old routine once this sojourn is over.Maybe her life will take an entirely different direction.

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 06 janvier 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781803138664
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

Copyright © 2022 Lyn Miller

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is unintended and entirely coincidental.

Matador
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ISBN 978 1803138 664

Back cover photo by Michael at Click Photoshop, Morningside, Edinburgh EH10 5HX.

Illustrated by Dave Hill
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.


Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd



This book is dedicated to the memory of my parents-in-law, Donald and Ida Miller.
I think that Ida would have enjoyed reading this story. Although Donald didn’t regularly read fiction, he always asked about the progress of my writing. Unfortunately, my work didn’t evolve quickly enough for either of them to be able to read any of the results. But I can still remember their interest and encouragement.


Contents
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15

Part Two
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30

Author’s Note
Acknowledgements


Part One
2007


Chapter 1
The whole story that I’m going to tell you came about as a consequence of two deaths, although I didn’t know either of the deceased.
On a Friday morning in mid-March, I was struggling to concentrate on my usual office routine, typing up a valuation report for a client in Brighton. The sun was shining for the first time in days after a wet and windy spell, and I have to admit that the view from my office window was distracting me, drawing my attention away from the computer screen every few minutes. The Wedgwood-blue shade of the sky seemed to be a sign that spring had begun. The floating clouds were white, puffy and benign; a lovely change from the recent purple-and-grey variety.
My phone rang and I picked up. “Claire Ford here. Good morning.”
“Claire, Anthony would like to see you. Are you free?”
“Of course. I’ll be right there, Olivia.”
I’ll admit that I felt apprehensive. Anthony Greene, the director of Braithwaite, Crosshall & Greene, wasn’t a scary character but I didn’t come across him in my daily work, so a call to his office was unusual. I thought that I’d better pop into the ladies’ en route. As I washed my hands after exiting the cubicle I studied myself in the mirror. Wispy tendrils of hair were escaping from the French roll I’d attempted earlier that morning. I tried to tame them back into shape, and applied a quick top-up of lipstick. Then I climbed the two flights of stairs to Anthony’s suite of offices.
“Have a seat, Claire.” Olivia greeted me. “He’s on the phone right now but he won’t be long. He was grateful that you were able to be so prompt.”
I perched on the edge of a brown velvet armchair opposite Olivia’s desk. The design was such that it would swallow me up and make it impossible to rise elegantly if I relaxed back into it, so I kept my knees pressed together and my feet planted on the floor.
“Any plans for the weekend?” Olivia was obviously trying to put me at ease.
“Well, I’m hoping to finally get along to the exhibition at the Hayward Gallery. I’ve been meaning to see it for ages; if I don’t go soon it’ll be over. How about you?”
“Oh, I’ll be busy with a birthday party for my son. He’s going to be six; you can imagine it’ll be hard work amusing a group of noisy little boys.”
I found it hard to envisage the immaculately turned-out PA with her soft, refined voice surrounded by a horde of grubby six-year-old boys. “Mm, I should think so. I hope it all goes well,” I managed.
Then Olivia’s phone buzzed and she gestured that I should go through to see Anthony.
Anthony’s office was even closer to the sky than mine and, with the added height, I caught glimpses of the Thames through the south-facing windows, beyond and between the buildings opposite ours.
“Good morning, Claire. Thanks for coming up. Would you like a coffee?” Anthony guided me to an informal huddle of chairs around a low glass table.
“Yes – black with sugar, please,” I requested as I chose the most upright of the seats available.
He poured coffee from a vacuum jug, handed me the cup and offered a bowl of sugar lumps and some tiny tongs. I picked out a lump and stirred it into my coffee. It looked dark and strong, as I liked it, and had a proper coffee aroma.
“You’re probably wondering about the summons.” Anthony smiled at me. He was a trim, silver-haired man; elegant in a dark suit with a white-and-pink striped shirt and a claret-coloured tie. My previous contact with him had been limited to polite small talk at office events. “I have a problem that I hope you can help me with. Miles White was scheduled to carry out an important valuation, but unfortunately his mother has died suddenly. His father has Alzheimer’s and was totally dependent on her, so poor Miles will have to be on leave for some time, what with arranging the funeral and sorting out some care arrangements for the old man.”
“Oh dear, that’s tough for him. Where do his family come from?” I asked. I didn’t know Miles well but was aware that he was single, and that he travelled extensively for the firm. He seemed to enjoy his foreign jaunts, and within the company he was famous for extravagantly woven stories about his experiences.
“Somewhere in Somerset, I think,” Anthony replied. “Anyway, he was all set to value an important estate for me. You’ve been with us for a number of years now, and I know that you achieved your chartered status some time ago and have begun to carry out some independent jobs. So I feel that you’re experienced enough to take over this project, and I’m sure that you won’t mind a bit of travel.”
“I’d be glad to help out,” I replied, wondering where Anthony would send me. Miles had recounted tales from the French Riviera and the Costa del Sol, and even as far afield as South Africa.
“Excellent. Well, here are the details.” Anthony handed me a pale green cardboard-bound A4 file. “It’s the estate of Murdoch Maclean. He was unmarried with no known direct descendants. His lawyers have been able to contact a great-nephew who lives in Australia, but he’s not interested in taking on the house, so everything needs to be valued with a view to selling, although I’m not sure of the market for remote Scottish castles.”
“Scottish?” I enquired. My dream of an exotic journey to a warm climate quickly withered.
“Yes, it’s on a small island off the coast of Mull I believe.”
Well, it would definitely be travel into the unknown – I wasn’t sure that I’d ever heard of a place called Mull.
“Why don’t you take the file and familiarise yourself with the details? I’m around all day so we can meet again later in the afternoon if you have any questions. Basically, we’ll need a full inventory. Then you can value what you’re able to and advise me of any specialists we’ll need. For example, I think there’s quite a collection of old weaponry. Also, have a chat with Olivia; she knows about the arrangements that Miles has already put in place for accommodation and travel, and can rearrange air tickets and the like.” Anthony stood up and proffered his hand to be shaken; the sign of my dismissal.
I stopped by Olivia’s desk on my way out. “Anthony said you’d help me with the travel and accommodation for this Mull trip,” I said.
“Yes. Let me see.” She manoeuvred her mouse and tapped a few keys. “OK, we should be able to transfer the car hire in Glasgow into your name, and the hotel in Oban and guest house in Mull will both be fine. All it needs is for me to book a flight for you. Miles wasn’t sure how long the job would take, so he left the return flight open and the arrangement with Mrs McDonald in Tobermory is flexible.”
“When am I expected?”
“You’ll have to fly up on Sunday. The car is available from midday and the Oban hotel is booked for Sunday night. Miles made an appointment with the solicitor, a Mr Stewart, for Monday morning, and booked the two o’clock ferry over to Mull. Mrs McDonald will expect you from Monday night. I don’t think Miles organised the boat over to the castle. I expect he was going to do that once he arrived. There’s a phone number here for a Mr Archie MacTavish.”
I listened to these details with increasing dismay. I’d always been a town-and-city person, and it seemed that my destination would be in the back of beyond. I needed to look at a map to assess just how bad it was going to be.
“Can you put it all together once you’v