The Ghost Tree. Barbara Erskine

proving he is a liar. In the second, I’m sure you would prefer to retrieve your mother’s possessions if it’s at all possible before he disappears forever. Either way, he is almost certainly a thief and you are entitled to call in the police.’

      Ruth slumped back in her chair. ‘How would we find him?’

      ‘There’s an address on the will. I doubt if it’s real, but it must provide some way of contacting him about his supposed inheritance.’ He looked down at the papers in front of him. ‘It’s my belief that we’re dealing here with a man of fairly limited intelligence. He must have realised that we would find out the will was a fake almost at once.’

      ‘But he didn’t know there was anyone to query it,’ Ruth pointed out.

      ‘That’s true,’ James said slowly. ‘So, what would you like me to do?’

      ‘How long have we got before he gets suspicious?’ Ruth leaned forward, her brow furrowed. ‘I want him to go away; I want him to leave me alone; but I don’t want to spook him into destroying anything he might have taken. To be honest, I really don’t know if he’s taken anything at all; that’s the problem. I remember my mother mentioning pictures and portraits and silver, and there’s nothing like that in the house. But it could have been my father who got rid of them.’ She looked at him helplessly.

      ‘But from what you told me, you suspect your father didn’t get rid of anything.’ His voice was gentle; thoughtful. ‘Not permanently. He merely locked it all away.’

      She bit her lip sadly. ‘Mummy had a jewel box she kept on her dressing table. She never wore anything out of it, or opened it at all, as far as I know, except when I was very little. When Daddy was out, she sometimes let me try on her rings and bangles. There’s no sign of the box in the house.’

      He made a note.

      ‘Where is it he says he lives? He did mention once that he had a sister. It could be her house.’

      ‘If I tell you, you won’t go there, will you? I don’t want you getting hurt.’ James reached for the file.

      She smiled. ‘No, I won’t go there. I don’t want to spook him, as I said.’

      He studied the letter in front of him. ‘He gives a mobile telephone number as his contact and an address in Muirhouse.’

      ‘Where’s that?’

      ‘North Edinburgh. Parts of it are pretty rough.’

      ‘As I said, I don’t plan on going there. So, what do I do now?’

      ‘That’s up to you. If our suspicions are correct, he’s committed – at the very least – fraud, forgery and theft. I think we should inform the police as soon as possible. They can then search his house.’

      ‘Can I think about it?’

      He nodded. ‘Don’t take too long.’

      The sound of the doorbell pealing through the empty house nearly gave Ruth heart failure. Sally Laidlaw was standing on the step, an umbrella open above her head. Rain was bouncing off it and splashing down onto the doorstep. ‘I wondered if you would like to come over and have a cup of tea. This house must be sorely cold and drear.’ Sally hesitated. ‘It’s warmer next door, and I’ve been baking.’ She peered past Ruth. ‘Has Timothy gone?’

      The difference in the two houses was unimaginable. Sally’s was bright and warm and full of colour and in the background Ruth could hear a radio playing. Shedding her raincoat in the hall, she followed her hostess into the kitchen. It had the same high ceiling as Number 26, the same windows looking out onto a narrow garden, but there the similarity ended. The room was lined with pale blue fitments with granite tops; it was immaculate, the small central table adorned with an oilcloth covered with cornflowers and in the middle a jug full of Michaelmas daisies. ‘Sit you down.’ Sally indicated one of the two chairs by the table. She turned off the radio and switched on the kettle. ‘You’ll have a piece?’ She produced a sticky gingerbread loaf with a pat of butter, closely followed by a pot of tea. ‘I’m thinking your house must be very sad,’ she said at last as she sat down opposite Ruth. She glanced up. ‘Were you planning to keep it when the will is sorted?’

      ‘I don’t think so. You’re right: it is too sad. It needs someone new to do it up and bring some happiness back there,’ Ruth sighed.

      ‘Is Timothy coming back?’

      ‘I hope not.’ Ruth gave a tentative smile.

      ‘I didn’t take to him,’ Sally said succinctly.

      ‘No, neither did I. Can I ask you,’ Ruth leaned forward anxiously, ‘how long was he here, do you remember?’

      ‘Ages. He visited your father regularly, once a week or so to start with, then twice, then one day he moved in. I asked your father if he was happy with the arrangement and he said yes.’ She tightened her lips in obvious disapproval. ‘I don’t know if you remember, but I was good friends with your darling mother. I had no truck with the way your father treated her, I don’t mind telling you, but after she died I kept an eye on him, you know? For her sake.’

      Ruth took a deep breath. ‘He barely recognised me when I arrived.’ She gave a sad little smile. ‘I don’t know if he told you anything about Timothy,’ she went on, ‘but a will has turned up claiming my father left him the house and everything in it.’ She scanned the other woman’s face, waiting for a reaction, and was reassured to see first disbelief then anger there.

      ‘He would have wanted no such thing.’ Sally scowled. ‘If he signed that will, he didn’t know what he was doing. It is my opinion the man forged his signature. He had enough time to practise!’

      ‘My solicitor thinks it’s a forgery, but of course he has to take it seriously until we can prove otherwise. Timothy is claiming,’ Ruth rushed on, ‘to be my father’s son.’

      Sally stared at her in blank astonishment. ‘No.’ She repeated firmly, ‘No, absolutely not.’

      ‘Dad never mentioned that he had a by-blow somewhere?’

      ‘No. Your father worshipped your mother in his own way, Ruth. She was his first and only love. He was a bully and controlling and even cruel without realising it himself, but he would never have had another woman. If he had, he would have confessed to your mother on his knees and she would have told me, I am certain of it.’ She paused for several seconds, as if questioning her own statement. ‘Yes, she would. She talked to me often, Ruth. She had no one else to confide in.’ She leaned forward anxiously. ‘I’m not criticising you, dear, by saying that. I understand perfectly why you didn’t want to come here.’

      Ruth said nothing.

      ‘Your mother and I were quite close,’ Sally went on at last. ‘I used to tell her to leave him but of course she wouldn’t. She loved him.’

      ‘You knew about his problems with her family background?’ Ruth said cautiously.

      ‘Oh yes.’ Sally laughed. ‘Most people are afraid of reds under the bed; in your father’s case it was the lords he found in her pedigree. It was ludicrous! They were so far back, she told me, and I met her parents, your grandparents, and they were lovely, I don’t have to tell you that. They were simple, kind folk. I liked them so much when they came to see Lucy. Anyone more unassuming you couldn’t find. But then he didn’t like their faith either; he had no time for God and your grandfather being a vicar and English was too much for him.’ She laughed. ‘It was all so illogical. The Erskines are a Scots family, obviously, but here was his wife, sounding as English as they come, from down south. But she was descended from this man who was Lord Chancellor. He pictured the man in the great wig, draped in golden robes, and he had him down in his head as a rampant Tory, though Lucy told me he was a Whig.’ She looked worried suddenly. ‘She had the second sight. You knew that about your mother, didn’t you?’

      Ruth looked doubtful. ‘I knew she liked crystals and things. We didn’t talk