Ribbon of Moonlight

by Margaret Kaine

Genres: Sagas; Historical Romance

Synopsis

Sometimes the past is our future . . . When her beloved grandfather dies in 1958, Polly Merton is forced to share her home with a woman she scarcely knows: the mother who abandoned her. Sadie Merton, glamorous and selfish, has her own set of morals and Polly is appalled by her scandalous lifestyle. Ashamed and resentful, she takes refuge in her friends and her college studies. Then Polly's love of France takes her to Paris - and after a chance encounter there, her life will never be the same again . . . ********* Praise for Ribbon of Moonlight 'A complex, satisfying read' Leicester Mercury 'The spirit of a new age is beautifully captured' Choice Magazine 'Written with charm, sensitivity and heart, Ribbon of Moonlight is full of family strife, illicit passion, devastating secrets and class conflict' SingleTitles.com

Release date: October 13, 2011

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 384

Sample

1

Polly was a nut-brown wren. At least, that was what her grandfather called her at the age of three. And as she grew older, Polly was destined often to remind people of that familiar small bird, so eminently sensible, so welcome in everyone’s garden, but hardly decorative. It wasn’t that Polly was plain. Her brown hair was silky, if straight, her large eyes a soft brown, her body curved in all the right places and she even grew to a medium height. But as soon as the sun shone then her skin, no matter how she tried to prevent it, would turn a warm, nutty shade. And Polly longed to be an English rose, with a fair and delicate complexion. But her female vanity, her dissatisfaction with her looks, paled into insignificance against the fact that the grave, kind man who had so accurately described her, the man she adored, was taken away. In 1958, when Polly was seventeen, John Merton died suddenly in his sleep as quietly as he had lived, and in the following year she would often rail against a God who had so deprived her. Because Polly knew with absolute certainty that her life would have been very different if her grandfather had been alive.

Polly could see daylight beneath the brocade curtains, but she lay quiet and tense in her comfortable bed, listening warily for soft footfalls on the thickly carpeted landing. It was a long time since that traumatic day when they had paused outside her room, but Polly had learned never to get up while any man her mother might have brought home was in the house. And so it was another hour before Sadie, sitting in the warm kitchen, turned as the door opened and her daughter, fully dressed, came in.

“You needn’t look at me like that!” Sadie, still in her pink quilted housecoat, looked at her daughter with ill-concealed irritation.

“Like what?”

“With that blasted look on your face! Why didn’t you phone and say you were coming home last night instead of today?”

“I did. But I missed you.” Polly lifted the tea cosy from the teapot and peered inside. “I see all the tea’s gone.”

“Well, you should get up earlier.” Sadie crossed her legs and, blowing a nonchalant ring of smoke, narrowed her eyes. “They don’t bite, you know!”

Going over to the sink, Polly refilled the kettle. “Who don’t?”

“The male species.”

“I’ll take your word for it!” She switched on the grill to heat for toast, took a loaf out of the white enamel bread bin, and began to slice it.

Sadie gazed morosely at the young girl before her. Maybe it was better that she did keep out of the way. The sight of Polly, in the first flush of womanhood, might make a man look more closely at her mother, and that, Sadie decided, stubbing out her cigarette, was not something she was willing to risk. “And what, may I ask, are your plans for the day?”

“I’m not sure. I might drive into Stafford.”

“What for?”

“Do I have to have a reason?” Polly, waiting for her toast to brown, turned round. “I expect you’ll be out again tonight?” Even as she asked the question, Polly guessed what the answer would be.

“Yes. Jerry’s picking me up.”

“And how long have you known this one?”

“A couple of weeks.”

Polly bent down to the grill. “Did you get any marmalade?”

“What? No, I forgot. There’s some honey in the larder.”

“I don’t want honey,” Polly said, beginning to spread butter on to her toast. “I’ve told you, I like marmalade.”

“Well you’d better buy some, then. I’m off upstairs.” Sadie got to her feet. “I don’t suppose you’re out tonight?”

Polly shook her head. And thanks for the welcome home, she thought.

As she left, Sadie turned, tightening her lips at her daughter’s rigid, disapproving back. “You don’t know how to enjoy yourself, that’s your trouble!”

Ignoring the familiar jibe, Polly, taking her toast and tea with her, went into the breakfast room and slumped into an armchair at the side of the fireplace. She stretched out her toes to the warmth of the fire, listening to the steady tick of the old mahogany clock on the wall. She loved sitting in here, with its brown painted frieze and darkening cream textured wallpaper. No matter that the pattern on the square Axminster carpet was fading, to Polly, this cosy room, more than any other in the spacious if old-fashioned house, represented home, love and security. Yet frighteningly, since her grandfather’s death, that security he’d striven so hard to provide seemed to be slipping away from her.

Sadie’s disturbing presence had changed everything. The perfume she wore and her – Polly searched for the words and guiltily came up with – “sluttish behaviour” were insidiously eroding the respectable atmosphere of John Merton’s home. And Polly, even now she was almost twenty, didn’t know how to prevent it.

Her breakfast finished, she glanced up as the clock in sonorous tones chimed eleven times and, getting up, went back into the kitchen to clear away the clutter that Sadie and Jerry had left. Once again the morning was almost over, and with bitterness Polly realised that at these times she was almost a prisoner in her own bedroom. A self-imposed isolation it might be, but she knew that unfortunately it was the only means she had of distancing herself from the way her mother chose to lead her life. At first, when Sadie had moved in after the funeral, Polly had tried so hard to understand, remembering how her grandfather had made excuses for his daughter-in-law.

“It’s not that she doesn’t love you,” he’d told her, when as a growing child she’d questioned him about her mother’s absence. “It’s just that she can’t have you to live with her – it wouldn’t be suitable – and she wouldn’t be happy living here.”

“Why not?” Polly had asked, wide-eyed. Surely anyone would be happy living in this cosy house with lovely old Barney, their golden retriever, and the glorious sheltered garden.

“Because, my pet, our way of life isn’t her way of life.”

Polly had pondered on this, but had never reached a satisfactory conclusion. However, having implicit faith in her grandfather’s wisdom, she’d reluctantly accepted his reason. But that hadn’t prevented her from staring with curiosity and bewilderment at the high-heeled, platinum-blonde young woman who, on her infrequent visits, would sweep Polly into a hug of scented face powder, and shower her with unsuitable presents. Sadie would sit at the dining table, cross her shapely legs in their sheer nylons, and smoke one lipstick-stained cigarette after another. Polly never knew quite what to say to her, she would sit mesmerised by the sight of Sadie’s milky-white cleavage, uneasily aware that none of her friends’ mothers would display their bosoms in such a way. John Merton’s expression, however, was usually impassive. He merely, as always, listened politely to his visitor gossiping, answered her questions, and offered ham sandwiches, fruit cake and cups of tea.

“I suppose it’s no use asking you for a gin and tonic?” Sadie would say archly.

“I’m afraid not,” John would reply.

Polly wondered why they went through this pantomime each time. But then she would catch a glimpse of merriment in Sadie’s eyes, and realise that her mother was just teasing. And a ghost of a smile would hover around her grandfather’s mouth. But it was all too fleeting, and once again she would see the familiar strain appear in his eyes, and empathise with his almost audible sigh of relief when her mother left to return to London.

And so Polly had grown up without a mother, or at least without a “normal” mother. And if there were times when she felt wistful for what she knew was missing in her life, she’d been a happy child. John Merton had made sure of that. His discipline was fair, balanced with affection, and he’d treated this unexpected girl child in his home with the same respect he accorded his friends and business associates.

Now, as the first days of her Easter holiday stretched ahead, Polly could only be grateful that although her training college was only in the next county, Sadie’s scant knowledge of geography meant that she didn’t question why her daughter never came home at weekends.

And the next day followed the same pattern, except that the man Sadie brought home – probably this Jerry – left earlier. And, because it was one of Mrs Booth’s “days”, her mother was fully dressed and already downstairs by the time that Polly got up. She could hear raised voices even before she descended the wide oak staircase. “As I’ve said from the start, I have me principles. And there’s no way I’m setting foot in that bedroom of yours, let alone cleaning it!”

“Oh yes? And who said you could pick and choose. I don’t see why I should keep a dog and bark myself!” Sadie’s voice was so shrill that Polly winced.

“Yes, well as we both know, you aren’t the one that keeps me, are yer?” In the short silence that followed, Polly sat on the bottom tread of the stairs, a grin spreading over her face. If Sadie thought she could get the better of Mrs Booth, it would be the first time anyone had in the last twenty years!

“I think you forget yourself,” Sadie said icily. “And that’s been said before!”

“So has my refusing to clean your room. I’ve always been a respectable woman and I intend to stay that way! So you’re wasting your breath!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, how narrow-minded can you get?”

Polly scrambled up as her mother flounced out of the kitchen. “It’s time you got rid of her,” Sadie said through gritted teeth. “That woman’s getting above herself.”

Polly stood aside as Sadie went back upstairs, and then going into the kitchen shook her head reprovingly at the cleaner. Doris looked shamefaced. “Sorry, ducks, she just rubs me up the wrong way!”

“How do you two get on when I’m not here?”

“We avoid each other. But I’m not setting foot in her bedroom, no matter what she says. I’ve seen it – all pink satin and flounces. Glory knows what goes on in there!”

Although the inference both hurt and embarrassed Polly, this woman with her flowered crossover overall, lisle stockings and hairnet had been so much a part of her childhood, that she hadn’t the heart to be cross with her. “How are you?” she said. “How’s all the family?”

“Well, Ernie’s got himself into trouble again,” Doris Booth sniffed, “but what do you expect, the time he spends in that pub!”

Polly smiled. Ernie Booth’s drinking habits were a constant topic of conversation. “What’s happened this time?”

“Only knocked a bobby’s hat off, didn’t he? Up before the beak he was, and damn lucky to get off with a caution!”

Polly laughed. “Go on, you know you think the world of him!”

“Oh, do I? Fat lot you know!”

Leaning against the kitchen table, Polly watched as Doris opened the cupboard under the sink, and took out a couple of yellow dusters and a tin of beeswax polish. “How’s everyone else – all right?”

“They’re fine. I’ve got a bit of good news. Our Shirley is getting married. And about time – I was beginning to think she’d never find a husband, fussy madam!”

“She can’t be that old!”

“She’s twenty-three this year! And I always say that if you’re going to have kids, better before thirty than after.” She glanced slyly at Polly. “How about you – have you got anything to tell me?”

“Nothing in that direction, anyway I’m too busy studying.”

“You’ve only got another year to do at college, haven’t you? And then you’ll be a qualified teacher! My, your grandad would have been that proud!” Doris looked searchingly at the young woman before her. “What will you do then? Get a job, local like, and go on living here?”

“I don’t know, Mrs Booth, and that’s the honest truth.”

Doris studied her for a moment, then said, “Ah well, there’s plenty of time to decide.” She jerked her head at the ceiling. “Has she said anything?”

Polly shook her head. “The subject’s never discussed.”

“Mmn,” Doris muttered darkly. “She’ll take some shifting, you mark my words!” Polly turned away feeling, as always, uneasy at discussing her mother in this way. But Doris was the only person she could talk to about the unusual situation. Seeing that the cleaner was anxious to “get on”, as she called it, Polly wandered into the large hall, glancing at the heavy front door with its surround of stained glass, to check if there was any post. There wasn’t, and pulling her cardigan closer against the chill, she went into the drawing room. Impressive in size and gracefully proportioned, it had hosted many dinner parties, mostly connected with her grandfather’s business life, but not nowadays. Sadie, of course, delighted in showing it to her men friends, probably hoping, Polly thought with resentment, to impress them.

With a sigh, she went to look out of the large bay window overlooking the formal garden. But the house, with its long circular drive and set behind a tall yew hedge, was almost invisible from the lane, so there was little to distract her. Going over to the elegant rosewood sideboard, she paused, and then picked up the silver-framed photograph of the father she’d never known. Gazing at the good-looking RAF officer, at the keen intelligence in his eyes, she wondered yet again how any man raised by John Merton could have been foolish enough to not only get involved with, but to actually marry a woman like Sadie. And how, she thought grimly, would either man feel if they knew, as Polly had recently discovered, that The Gables, the home they’d both loved so much, was beginning to gain a reputation as a “house of ill repute”?

2

Sadie, still resenting what she called the cleaner’s “insults”, sat before her triple-mirrored dressing table, and decided to sort out its drawers. She would go downstairs only when she was sure that Doris was on the other side of the house. It was “bedrooms” morning, and the woman would insist on cleaning all of them, not only Polly’s, but also the other three – despite the fact they were never used – while Sadie, to her annoyance, had to look after her own. Despite the ruched net curtains, the pitiless morning light poured in through the window, and she averted her eyes from her reflection, painfully aware that her complexion was beginning to show signs of fine wrinkles. When she’d first moved into The Gables, she’d been furious not to have John Merton’s large bay-windowed bedroom at the front of the house. But Sadie didn’t know then how implacable her daughter could be. Polly had simply refused.

And so, Sadie had settled for this spacious room at the back, which, she realised now, was actually more practical. For one thing, it was some distance from her prudish daughter, for another it wasn’t visible from the front of the house, and essentially, she’d been allowed to redecorate it to her own taste. The restrained furnishing of what had been a spare room had been replaced with silken curtains, a pink satin counterpane with a frilled valance, ivory and gilt bedside lamps, and pink-fringed lampshades. The plain oak headboard to the double bed was replaced by a velveteen arched one, the serviceable brown and beige carpet had gone, and the floor was now covered with a cream one scattered with pink roses. Being able to stamp her personality on this room had been, in a small way, one of the highlights of Sadie’s life.

Now, she took out a pile of lingerie, examining the lace, discarding and refolding. Then tucked into a corner in the bottom of the drawer, she picked up a pair of peach camiknickers she rarely wore, and felt the familiar hardness of the small photo-frame wrapped inside. Slowly she withdrew it, and gazed down at the face of the man who had fathered Polly, the only man she had ever married.

They had met in a London nightclub in January 1941, where Sadie had recently begun working as a hostess. “These lads deserve a bit of light relief,” her boss had told her when he’d taken her on. “Make them smile, help them to forget their troubles,” he said. “Remind them of their sisters, their sweethearts and the gentler side of life, what they’re fighting for.” Billy Fraser was a man full of admiration for the armed forces and was bitterly disappointed that he was too old to be a part of the war. He could at least, he thought, give them all a good time when they were on leave. Nothing tacky, of course, but he knew a man’s needs. To Sadie, eighteen and “man-mad”, it was a job straight from heaven.

The club had been fairly quiet that Saturday night when the small group of RAF officers came in. They had obviously been drinking elsewhere, and their noisy arrival in the smoky basement room enlivened what had promised to be a dull evening. Sadie sidled forward to their table, hips swaying; her mouth curving in the smile she practised before her mirror. “Hello boys!”

“Hey, you’re a smasher!” one said. He was a pilot – by now she was adept at recognising insignia. “Look at her, André, even you must admit that!”

The tall, thin officer, with a navigator’s wing on his tunic, smiled thinly but only gave her a fleeting glance. Instead, he stood up. “My turn, I think?” When his friends nodded with enthusiasm, he walked silently past Sadie to the bar, and miffed, she stared after him. Miserable sod!

But then the officer who’d first spoken said, “Don’t mind him, sweetie, he’s a bit down. His mother died a couple of weeks ago – it’s hit him hard.” She lingered by the table, laughing and flirting, enjoying the men’s admiration and suggestive glances, the heady sensation of knowing they fancied her. With the exception of André, of course, whose disregard when he returned with a tray of drinks both irked and challenged her.

“Hey, you didn’t bring a drink for Sadie!” the pilot said. “What’ll it be, sweetheart?”

“I’ll have a gin and tonic, please.” She glanced up at André from beneath her sweeping eyelashes. When she’d first come to work at the club, she’d drunk gin and orange, but soon realised that it was considered “common”.

André Merton looked at her properly for the first time, and thought how young she was to be working in such a place. Not that the club wasn’t fairly respectable, but this girl must be still in her teens. “Sorry,” he said, realising he’d been impolite, and momentarily startled by the warmth of her answering smile, he went back to the bar.

One of the men went to fetch a chair for her, and Sadie joined them; asking their names, encouraging their badinage, knowing that her presence, in her daringly low-cut blue cocktail dress, contributed enormously to their enjoyment of the evening. Any physical contact, such as the occasional touch of her hand, her bare shoulder, her knee, she accepted with good grace. Billy didn’t approve of “goings on”, as he called it, at least not on the premises. But it was her job to keep the customers happy, and if a slight stroke of her skin gave them such pleasure, Sadie certainly had no objection – in fact, she enjoyed the attention. Sometimes she even felt inclined to give one or two more intimate pleasure, away from the club – and that, she considered, was nobody’s business but her own.

But when André returned from the bar to sit beside her, Sadie turned to him with particular interest. He seemed different from the others around the table, whose laughing faces disguised not only their bravery but also, she suspected, their fear. This man, with his narrow face, dark hair and intense expression, filled her with an unusual excitement. Perhaps it was his disinterest in her, something Sadie rarely experienced, but suddenly it became essential that she should coax a smile out of the brooding face, and leaning forward, she brushed her arm against his. “Penny for them?” she said softly.

André, who had been quietly drinking his beer, turned to her. “I don’t think they’re worth sharing.”

“Perhaps not, but maybe I could provide some distraction?”

André, gazing into Sadie’s china-blue eyes saw both gentleness and sympathy there, and an offer he couldn’t mistake. Normally he kept his distance from what his father would call “loose women”, but there was something about this blonde girl that appealed to him. André found it difficult to place her in such a category; she seemed so young, so unspoiled. He drained his glass, uncaring that he was already over the normal limit he set himself for alcohol. What the hell does it matter, he thought in despair. What does anything matter? As if it wasn’t enough watching your friends, men you’ve trained and fought with, die in this bloody war, you even go home and . . . but the pain of his loss was too raw, and André struggled to close his mind against it. He knew for the sake of the aircrew, that he had to emerge from the black mood that was threatening to envelop him. And so with an effort, he tried to relax his taut muscles and he suddenly realised how very pretty the girl at his side was.

“Maybe,” he said slowly, “maybe you can.”

“How about another round, chaps?” This time it was Sandy McBane, the wireless operator, who got up to fetch the drinks, and glancing over her shoulder Sadie caught the eye of another girl, a brunette, who promptly came over to join them. “Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?” she quipped.

“More the merrier, as far as I’m concerned,” the pilot officer reached out and, taking her hand, pulled her willingly on to his knee. “I’m known as Kelly,” he grinned, “cos my first name’s top secret!”

She laughed down at him. “From the Isle of Man?” she said, quoting an old music-hall song.

He grinned. “Not me. I’m a Londoner, born and bred. Now let me guess your name.” He put his head on one side and pretended to consider. From behind the girl’s back, Sadie mouthed, “Babs.”

“You look like a Barbara, to me,” he declared.

Babs twisted round. “Hey, did you hear that?” Then she saw Sadie laughing, and playfully cuffed Kelly’s head. “Oh, you teaser!”

Even André smiled, and he found himself beginning to relax for the first time in weeks. The light-hearted atmosphere was infectious and as the club became more crowded, and full of laughter, alcohol and cigarette smoke, he found he was beginning, just beginning, to enjoy himself. After all, wasn’t that why they’d come, he and the rest of the crew? To escape from the terrible scenes that kept replaying in their minds. Not that the chaps talked about it, the way they coped was to put on an air of bravado, but André suspected that, like himself, they had their dark moments and vivid nightmares.

And as the rounds of drinks kept coming, with music from the piano tinkling in the background, André found the edges of his unhappiness slowly becoming blurred. Knowing that he desperately needed distraction after the hell of the past few months, he saw again the tempting offer in Sadie’s lovely eyes, and with despair thought – why not? Only a fool would refuse. If he’d learned one lesson in his twenty-six years, particularly since this blasted war started, it was that there was no point in waiting for that elusive tomorrow.

Now, Sadie, wrapping up the photograph with a sigh, dwelt for a moment on that night so long ago, when she’d taken André back to her cheap bedsit. With the gas fire flickering they’d sat in the cramped room, he, at her insistence, in the one shabby armchair, Sadie at his feet, her head resting against his knees. And as they smoked their cigarettes he had talked in a low and strained voice, while she had listened and felt a growing tenderness for this sensitive man, a respect for his grief, and admiration for his undoubted courage. He told her that before the war, he’d taught French at a local grammar school, a far cry, as he put it painfully, from carrying out raids that he knew were necessary, but which resulted in so much death and destruction.

When eventually she’d led him to the bed and they’d made love that first time, André’s passion and consideration had been a revelation. He’d treated her as if she was someone special, not merely used her for sex as other men did. And in response, Sadie had, for the first and only time in her life, fallen hopelessly in love. So much so, that in the hope of seeing him again, for six long, lonely weeks, she didn’t sleep with anyone else. And that was how she knew without a shadow of a doubt, that Polly was André Merton’s daughter.

3

As the summer term drew to a close at the Cheshire Training College, Polly found herself dreading the next two and a half months. “You’re so lucky,” she said to her closest friend, Ruth. “It must be lovely to have a proper family.”

“Oh yes?” Ruth said, with a grin. “And how would you like to share your bedroom with two squabbling fifteen-year-old twins? Or to have them pinch your make-up, ladder your nylons, and ask embarrassing questions?”

“Sounds wonderful to me,” Polly’s voice was wistful.

“I don’t really understand your problem.” Ruth glanced sideways at the other girl. They were so different, she and Polly, and yet they’d been inseparable from the first day they met. Ruth was tall and thin – painfully so in her own view – with a flat, narrow chest, a bony nose, and dark hair so coarse and springy that it frustrated all her efforts to control it. Her homely features were, however, redeemed by an amazing pair of intelligent green eyes. “I mean, you’ve never really said a lot about your mother, except that you find her difficult to live with.”

Polly looked down. She knew she was secretive about her life at home. “Yes, well,” she said hesitantly, “perhaps it’s because she didn’t bring me up.”

Ruth frowned. She’d known that, of course, and it was certainly odd. I mean, she thought – what sort of mother dumped her kid on an old man? “Is she bad-tempered, miserable, I mean?”

Polly said, “No, not at all. In fact, she’s one of those people who take life as it comes. For my mother, life is all about the froth, not the substance.”

Ruth looked at her with surprise. “My, that sounds disapproving. It’s not like you to be so judgmental.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be!” As Ruth turned away to speak to another student, Polly walked slowly on along the winding path, thinking back to the morning a few days after her grandfather’s funeral, when she and Sadie had sat in the solicitor’s office. The room was large and square, with tall windows overlooking a quiet street. There had been a bird perched on the wide ledge outside, fluttering its wings before it flew away, a secretary quietly bringing in a tray of tea.

Cedric Black, an elderly bachelor, had been John Merton’s closest friend and was the chief executor of his will. Now, with his bald scalp gleaming in the dusty sunlight, and seated next to the solicitor, he gazed with some perplexity at the two anxious faces before him. At the pretty, blonde woman, the mysterious Sadie, of whom Cedric had heard much, but had until now, never met. At Polly, who reminded him so much of Emilie, her French grandmother, with whom, to his shame, he’d been a little in love. With a sigh, he forced himself to smile at Emilie’s granddaughter with encouragement, despite his misgivings about the information he knew the solicitor was about to impart. Fifteen minutes later, two pairs of eyes gazed back at him. The brown ones, belonging to Polly, were wide with incredulity. The startlingly blue ones, belonging to Sadie, showed both surprise and apprehension. Cedric’s plump fingers drummed uneasily on the table. John Merton had always been generous to his daughter-in-law; certainly without his monthly allowance she would have found it difficult to support herself in the comfort he knew she enjoyed in London. But now, if she obeyed the conditions of the will, Sadie was going to find herself an even wealthier woman, at least for the next few years.

“You mean,” Polly was saying slowly, “that although The Gables belongs to me, it was my grandfather’s wish that my mother should come and live there?”

The solicitor nodded. “As next of kin, both The Gables and all his assets, which I might add are considerable, are left to you in trust until you are twenty-one. An income will be paid at regular intervals to cover the costs of running the house, and also your personal needs.”

“And me?” Sadie leaned forward.

“If you are willing to leave London and move to Staffordshire in order to provide care for Polly, then under the terms of the will, you will receive a considerably more substantial allowance.” He named an amount that made Sadie’s eyes widen.

“But what,” Polly said, “if my mother doesn’t want to leave London?”

Cedric regarded her for one long moment and then turned to Sadie. He raised his bushy eyebrows in query.

She shook her head vigorously. “I’m quite willing to take on my responsibilities.”

Polly and Cedric exchanged glances. Both suspected that it would have been a different answer if John hadn’t provided the necessary financial incentive. Then Cedric composed his features into a more suitably legal expression, and seeing the mutinous flash in Polly’s eyes, said, “You must remember, my dear, that when this will was drawn up, you were only fourteen. Your grandfather naturally felt he had to make provision for you, at least until you c