The Language of Spells Read Online Free PDF Page A

that we sent to you. Your great-aunt’s will. I understand there is some confusion on your part.’
    Gwen kept her hands in her lap, refusing to touch the paper. ‘Not confusion exactly.’
    ‘How can I help?’ Mr Laing steepled his fingers.
    ‘I wanted to know if I could sell the house straight away.’
    ‘The terms of the will state that the property cannot be placed on the market for six months. After that, you can sell as quickly as you like.’
    ‘Right. I read that.’
    Mr Laing waited.
    ‘I was wondering, though.’ Gwen swallowed. ‘Is there a way around it?’
    ‘I’m not sure I understand.’
    ‘Can I put it up for auction, or something?’ Gwen wasn’t going to embarrass herself by explaining that she needed cash right now. Or that she couldn’t stay in the house because Iris appeared to be talking to her from beyond the grave.
    ‘Ms Harper was very clear in her instructions. She updated her will six weeks prior to her passing and instructed us to send it to you.’
    ‘But how? How could she do that?’
    Mr Laing’s white eyebrows crept upwards again. ‘She was an exceptionally organised woman.’
    ‘I mean…we weren’t in contact. How did she know my address?’
    ‘She was your great-aunt. Isn’t it possible that she spoke to another family member?’
    Gwen shook her head. That was most definitely
not
possible.
    ‘Is there no way to release equity from the house or something? Immediately?’ Gwen realised that her voice was getting louder and she snapped her mouth shut again. Shouting at a defenceless old man was not cool. It wasn’t his fault he worked in a soulless leather-and-oak hell and looked like an extra from
The Godfather
.
    Mr Laing looked back at her calmly. ‘I see.’
    Gwen sank back.
    ‘If you will excuse me, I will get my grandson in here.’
    ‘Sorry?’ Gwen sat forward.
    ‘He prepared this file but…’ Laing paused ‘…became overscheduled and passed the baton to me, as it were.’
    ‘Okay. Fine.’ Gwen remained perched on the edge of the padded leather chair and waited. She thought of her beloved minivan. It was stuffed full of her possessions and business stock and she barely fitted amongst the boxes. She didn’t want to stay at End House, but she didn’t want to sleep in the van again. Then she processed the word ‘grandson’. It couldn’t be—
    The door opened behind her and Gwen turned.
    The man in the charcoal-grey suit was both older and taller than she remembered. His face was tense, though, and that sadly fitted her last memory of him to a tee. She gaped, then, realising that she probably looked like a village idiot, closed her mouth.
    ‘Hello, Gwen.’
    ‘Cam.’ The word felt odd in her mouth. Wrong.
    ‘Don’t get up.’
    Gwen realised she was suspended, half out of the chair like she was poised to run a race.
    ‘Is there a problem?’ Cameron Laing had been twenty-three when she’d last seen him and thirteen years was a long time. Which would explain the blank and professional expression he was levelling in her direction.
    ‘You’re a lawyer,’ she said stupidly.
    ‘So it would appear,’ Cam said.
    ‘Ms Harper wishes to contest the Harper will,’ Mr Laing senior said.
    ‘No. I’m not saying that,’ Gwen said, suddenly desperate to appear reasonable. She had a good idea that ‘reasonable’ was probably not the first word that Cam would use to describe her. She wanted to show him she’d changed. Not that she needed to. There wasn’t going to be any antagonism after thirteen years. Probably no emotion at all. ‘I was just wondering if there was a way to convert the house into cash. Quickly.’
    It hardly seemed possible, but Cam’s expression became more rigid. ‘Let me see.’ Cam ran over the same details, then plucked the paper from Laing’s desk and put it into Gwen’s hands. She took it to stop it sliding off her lap onto the floor and, despite her intentions, glanced down. Iris’s signature was there at the bottom of