Old Sins Read Online Free

looked at Phaedria; she was resting her head on her hands on the table. She appeared to be about to faint.
    ‘Phaedria, let me take you outside,’ said C. J.
    ‘I’ll take her,’ said Eliza, getting up and crossing over to Phaedria, putting her arm around her shoulders. ‘She needs some air.’
    ‘No, no really I’m all right,’ said Phaedria, ‘I’m sorry, just a bit dizzy, that’s all. Perhaps I could have a glass of water.’
    ‘I’ll get it,’ said C. J. quickly, grateful for something to do.
    ‘C. J.,’ said Roz from where she was standing, ‘do settle down, you’ve been rushing round with drinks all morning. Jane will fetch Phaedria a glass of water, I’m sure. Jane dear,’ she called through the doorway, at Jane’s back, ‘could you fetch Lady Morell a glass of water, please? The strain of the occasion is proving a little too much for her.’
    She watched Phaedria carefully as she took the glass of water, sipped at it half-heartedly, put it down, leant back in her chair, shaking the dark waterfall of hair from her face. Looking at her, Roz did have to admit she looked ill. Her skin was starkly white, rather than its usual creamy pale, and she seemed thinner than ever, shrunk into herself. God, she hated her. Somuch, Phaedria had taken from her, so much that should have been hers, and what were they all to learn now, how much more was to go Phaedria’s way, away from her, Julian Morell’s daughter, his only child, his rightful heir? Roz swallowed, fixed her eyes on Henry’s face. She must concentrate. The words she was to hear, had to hear, were what mattered just now, not her thoughts, her emotions. Time for them later.
    ‘Very well,’ said Henry. ‘Perhaps I could begin. Now as you may appreciate, this is an out of the ordinary occasion. These days, public readings of wills are very unusual. Although, of course, perfectly legal. And it was at Sir Julian’s request that it should be conducted in this way. In the presence of you all. He particularly specified that you should all –’ His gaze fell briefly, unbidden, on Camilla, then shifted hastily again. ‘All be here. There are of course minor beneficiaries, staff and so on, who were not required to attend. So – perhaps the best thing now is just for me to read the will. If any of you have any – comments, or questions, perhaps you could save them to the end.’
    Christ, thought Roz, what on earth is the old woman going on about?
    She shifted her weight slightly on to the other leg, took a sip of her drink, and fixed her eyes on Henry’s face again.
    Henry began to read: ‘I, Julian Morell, of Hanover Terrace, London, N.W.1, Company Director, hereby revoke all previous wills and testamentary dispositions . . .’
    It began slowly, with a trickle of small bequests; it was like the start of a party, Roz thought, with only one or two guests arrived, making stiff and stilted conversation. The atmosphere was cold, tense, uncomfortable.
    There were five-thousand-pound legacies for minor staff: the housekeeper and the gardener at the house in Sussex, the part-time secretary Julian had employed in Paris for ten years, and elderly Mrs Bagnold who had directed the cleaners of the offices in Dover Street for longer than anyone could remember.
    Mrs Bagnold was also bequeathed a set of ‘Victorian watercolours she had once admired, to do exactly what she likes with, she may sell them tomorrow if she wishes, without fear of incurring my displeasure from wherever I may be.’
    As Henry read out this part of the will, Phaedria looked upand caught Letitia’s eye, in a sudden flash of humour. He is still fun, that look said, he is still making life good.
    ‘To Sarah Brownsmith, my patient and very loyal secretary, I bequeath £10,000, both early Hockneys, and the use of my house on Eleuthera in the Bahamas, for at least one month a year, at a time mutually agreeable to her and my wife. This is in the devout hope that as she lies in the