‘What are you expecting to happen?’
‘I don’t know. As I said, I’ve no idea what her intentions were.’
‘What did she have to leave?’
‘Well, the Villa and its contents. Uncle Thomas owned the house, bought it when they married, did it up, paid off the mortgage. It’s only been in later years that she’s drawn on the Trust. Although I assume, she had an allowance when young. It seems everything is coming to an end. If I’d had a cousin, or two, things might have been very different.’
We rose in the lift to the top floor, reception seemed abandoned. ‘I’ll wait here whilst whatever happens, happens.’
‘Thanks babe.’
After a minute or two Brinkley appeared, masked like the two of us. ‘I’ve been asked here to represent the Trust. Bernard’s been very proper about things, not breathed a word about Mrs Hayward’s estate.’
‘What did you make of the funeral?’
‘I can’t every recall one like it. Thank you for the music Anthony, most consoling.’
Then Bernard came out of his office. ‘Morning Ms Sparkwell. I shan’t keep you long Tony, Lawrence. I propose just to read the Will - it’s not long - take any immediate questions, otherwise I see no reason not to do the rest by email or video conference.’
He was right, it was short and to the point, I suppose I should have expected that. ‘Okay then,’ I said as Bernard did that trick of folding and tying a legal document without actually looking at it. ‘Charlie and I will do a systematic search of the Villa in the next few days and we’ll deliver anything legal, financial, insurance like...’
‘Jewellery.’
‘Oh yes, of course.’
‘One other thing Tony, your Aunt did mention on the occasion she signed the Will, that amongst her possessions are all your father’s papers. Now they will be yours to do with as you see fit, but in truth neither Lawrence nor I have ever had the opportunity to review them. There is, historically speaking, a bit of a gap in the Trust archive.’
‘You intrigue me strangely.’
‘Quite. We are ourselves intrigued. Also, it is possible some of her documents may be quite explicit about the death of your parents.’
‘Yes, I always knew, if I made a fuss, I could find out more. Anyway, I’ll certainly undertake to ask your advice before consigning anything Trust related to the bonfire!’
‘So, onward and upward.’
Charlie and I walked in silence through a local park. ‘Let’s sit here, I’ll explain. Aunt has left the house to the Trust to do with it what it will. Her possessions she’s left to me. But there is an attachment, non-binding you understand, asking the executor, Bernard that is, to allow Murchison to carry on tending the garden for as long as he wishes. And that’s it.’
‘How strange. Is it strange?’
‘I guess if one knew the nature of their relationship, it wouldn’t be strange. Attempting to deduce it from the request, could be fraught with mishap, capital mistake to theorise from too little data…’
‘Okay, enough of the Sherlock.’
‘Perhaps I should be calling him Kenneth from now on.’
‘So, what now?’
‘Well, if you’ve a mind to, you’re welcome to join me over the next few days doing a proper search of the Villa.’
‘With what purpose in mind?’
‘At the moment, just looking for stuff the executor needs sight of; financial and legal records, anything to do with assets and liabilities, so one must be on the lookout for unpaid bills too. Don’t want the utilities to suddenly fail. Bernard can do the actual informing of people. Do you know anything about jewellery?’
‘Do I look like I do?’
‘No, we’ll just have to collect any and all we can find, give it to Bernard so he can arrange valuing. Problem is, both he and I know there is some which is old and valuable, and is already listed as assets of the Trust.’
‘How come?’
‘I’m guessing, but items handed down through the generations, that at the time must have been worth more than, say, ten grand in today’s money?’
‘And neither of you can tell one from t’other?’
‘Well, there are descriptions somewhere and presumably on insurance documents too, but all in the name of the Trust so, his problem. And, apparently, Aunt confirmed to Bernard that she still had all my father’s papers, stuff I’ve never seen. I could have asked, not sure why I didn’t.’
‘Mad, completely crazy. Fifty years old.’
‘Makes no difference, as you’ll discover. In my head, my memory of my parents is from a time when I didn’t know anything about the adult world. Let’s get to the car, I’m beginning to feel cold.’
‘I’ve not heard anything from Cat for a while, he wasn’t at the livestream, in fact, yes, he’s not actually logged-in to the new website yet, in any capacity. Of course, we’ve not met since that day at the Park when the lockdown was announced.’
‘Whereabouts does he live?’
‘All over the place, no fixed abode.’
‘I never picked up on that!’
‘You mean, one nomad recognising another?’
‘Yes.’
‘Although, I think, these days he goes home a lot, his parents are quite elderly.’
‘Somewhere grand, no doubt.’
‘Well, they’re the only people I’ve met with a moat!’
‘Blimey, a castle.’
‘No, no. Seventeenth century brick and timber jobbie, with legendary Civil War connections, changed hands several times between Royalists and Parliamentarians. Full of damp basements and places of concealment. Semi-fortified, would be the correct terminology I suppose. The moat is a rectangular thingy, with a nice decorated drawbridge - any modern pole-vaulter worth his salt could get across it. Cat never did of course, lost a couple of his nine lives in the attempt. They’re the injuries he’s most reticent about. What are you staring like that for?’
‘It’s all coming out now, there’s a deep strain of madness running through the whole damned lot of you.’
‘I say! Good old British eccentricity if you please.’
‘Wait a second, the water goes right up to the wall, right? What’s the point...’
‘Ah, but the moat, strictly speaking, is the trench, with sloping sides. It has to have otherwise it would undermine the foundations of the building, it’s only in modern times with an abundant, year-long supply of water, that you have this illusion of this great water barrier.’
‘Er...’
‘I’ll text him, enquire after the health of his folks.’
A while later. ‘Ah ha, a reply, “sorry to have been out of touch”, “been isolating with Ma and Pa, they quite fit”, “had a bit of a mishap, fixing the...” Oh, good lord!’
‘What?’
‘Er, oh, right, “mishap, fixing the weather vane on top of the bell tower.” “was abseiling down when foot went through one of the decorated windows.”
‘Is he badly hurt?’
‘Oh, no. “Been spending my time with the glass people at the cathedral”.
‘Which cathedral?’
‘He means Lincoln. The house is a good sixty road miles away, but Lincoln was once the largest diocese in country, he gave me a tour years ago, quite fun being on the roof. Rather my favourite gothic building.’
‘I know it. My father really is crazy religious - along with his group of Christian lawyers, he dragged me everywhere.’
‘Oh, really.’
‘Cat must have been defying the pandemic rules all over the place!’
‘How does one fix a stained-glass window anyway?’
‘Well don’t look at me. I’ve just spent countless days staring at them!’
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