CHAPTER TEN
THE telephone rang harshly in Callie’s ear the next morning, waking her from what could only be described as a restless sleep, at worst hours of lying awake wondering what she was going to do. Once Jeff’s will was finally settled she would have to take her partnership in Spencer Plastics a lot more seriously. And with Logan and Sir Charles against her she had formidable opponents.
She picked up the telephone, still groggy from her disturbed night.
‘Miss Day?’ She instantly recognised the crusty tones of James Seymour.
‘Yes?’ She was instantly wide awake.
‘Would it be possible for you to come and see me immediately?’
She jack-knifed into a sitting position, with a feeling of foreboding. ‘Is there anything wrong?’
‘It’s a very—private matter. Not something I would wish to discuss over the telephone,’ he told her in his prim, unemotional voice.
Callie was already getting out of bed. ‘What time would you like me to be there?’
‘As soon as possible.’
Something was wrong, she knew it was. It usually took weeks to get an appointment with a lawyer, James Seymour wanted to see her immediately, this morning.
It had to be something to do with Jeff’s will. Perhaps her fear had come true after all, perhaps there had been a mistake. If that were the case, would she be relieved or saddened? She had no idea how she would feel. And that might not be the reason James Seymour wanted to see her.
She wasted no more time thinking about it, washing and dres
sing in record time, then hurrying to James Seymour’s office. When a man like him said it was urgent, then it was urgent. Callie was shown straight into his office.
Once again she was the focus of his disapproval as he looked over his gold-rimmed glasses at her casual trousers and top, the way her hair swung loosely about her shoulders, slightly ruffled by the cold breeze outside.
Callie ignored his critical gaze. ‘You said you wanted to see me,’ she prompted impatiently at his delay, just wanting to get this over with.
‘Yes. I— What I’m about to tell you is—well, it’s rather difficult for me.’
She could tell by his evasive expression that it was something serious. ‘The shares and money aren’t mine after all,’ she said dully. ‘It’s all a mistake, it belongs to someone else.’
His eyes widened. ‘You already knew? Really, Miss Day, I must protest at your deception—’
‘I didn’t deceive anyone,’ she sighed. ‘I just knew it was too good to be true. Who do they really belong to?’
‘Well, as Mr Spencer died intestate—’
‘But there was a will—I saw it,’ she frowned.
‘Yes, there was a will,’ James Seymour looked uncomfortable. ‘But acting on information furnished to me by Mr Carrington—’
‘Logan?’ she echoed sharply.
‘Just so,’ the lawyer nodded. ‘Mr Carrington learnt recently, two days ago to be precise, that his uncle married four years ago. I have in fact ascertained confirmation of the marriage since speaking to him.’
‘Yes?’
‘Mr Spencer’s will was dated five years ago.’
‘So?’ she frowned.
‘Any marriage revokes a will,’ he explained. ‘I take it you were not adopted by Mr Spencer?’
‘Of course not,’ she dismissed scathingly. ‘I was already eighteen when they married.’