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| The Last Will and Testament | |
| By timon | ||||
| 21 May 2006 | ||||
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not sure about this story, did it under a deadline and was not very happy with where it was going...any feedback gratefully received On the day of the reading a weak sun filtered through the cloud, shedding little warmth into the tiny office. Stephen was the first to arrive. Having carefully lifted his briefcase out of the car he unlocked the front door and stooped to pick up the post, which this morning consisted of one solitary piece of junk mail. Throwing the letter in the bin, he opened the tiny window in an attempt to get some air into the stuffy room and sat down at his desk. He drummed his fingers on the bare wood and wondered how he would fit everyone into this room. The clock said nearly one o’clock. They should all be arriving soon. He opened his briefcase, lifted out a sealed envelope and turned it over in his hands several times before placing it in the top drawer of his desk. Then he fiddled with a pile of papers before leaping up from his chair to peer anxiously out of the window. Sighing heavily, he sat back down and picked up a photograph from his desk. An elderly lady smiled back at him. Poor Edith. She and Harry had always had money. They weren’t millionaires, but they had certainly been comfortable. When they were first married they had spent time in South Africa after the war. Harry had been heavily involved in gold mining and had made much of his money there. After they moved back to England Harry was very shrewd about investing the money in various pots. So when he was suddenly diagnosed with cancer twenty years ago Edith was left with a very tidy nest egg; hence the family gathering today to divide up the spoils. Stephen thought back to the first time he had met Edith. When she made contact with him she simply needed someone to help her sort out Harry’s will. He had just been starting out on his own and was desperate for clients; she had picked up one of his business cards at the hospital, just in case; in less than a month Harry was dead. Since then Stephen had become like a grandson to her. In fact she saw more of him than her own grandchildren. He used to pop round and see her, to start with once a week to make sure she was alright and had everything she needed. As they got closer he visited her more and more, and when he suggested they take a weekend away together to help her recuperate after an attack of pneumonia, she was delighted. After that they went away once a year, usually for a week, normally somewhere in the Lake District where they pottered around gift shops, pondered over tea shops and savoured the stunning scenery. Edith was sure he just felt sorry for her, a lonely old woman alienated from her family. But he always argued that he truly enjoyed her company. In fact, Edith actually felt sorry for Stephen. He never seemed to spend time with friends and barely mentioned family. She did once or twice probe him about family, but he casually brushed her off and dismissed the subject. He did mention parents who had divorced when he was seventeen, but he was clearly uncomfortable with the whole matter so Edith was careful not to push him. There was a quiet respect between them for one another’s turbulent family background. It was during one of these trips to the Lakes that Edith told Stephen all about her estrangement from her family. It was nearly twenty years since Harry’s death and Edith and Stephen were staying in a beautiful Bed and Breakfast near Lake Windermere, lingering over a bottle of wine on an idyllic spring evening. Young lambs were bleating in the field opposite and the sun was slowly sliding down over the roof of the house. They had spent a perfect day wandering beside the lake and sharing a delightful three course meal at a local pub. Now, due in part to the lubricating effect of the wine, Edith had begun to open up to Stephen more than ever before. ‘It was a complete mess you know’ began Edith. ‘It was my fault, all of it. I don’t blame anyone else now. I tried to blame Harry for a while, he really resented that.’ Stephen leaned forward and shared the remains of the wine between the two glasses. ‘Blame Harry for what?’ he asked gently. Edith sipped her wine and looked across her glass at Stephen. ‘For the fact that I had an affair with another man and fell pregnant and insisted on keeping the child.’ She put the glass down and leaned back in her seat, waiting for a response. ‘You mean…Clare?’ Edith nodded. ‘We managed to keep it secret from outsiders. But it became so hard; it was the first thing anyone would comment on: how Clare’s complexion was so dark compared to the boys.’ ‘And Clare and her brothers know the truth?’ ‘They do now. We never wanted them to. But one day Clare’s father, her real father, tracked us down. We had to tell them.’ ‘How awful. And that’s why they have nothing to do with you now?’ ‘Exactly. We swore we would never tell anyone outside the family. It was such a disgrace back then, as you can imagine.’ Stephen was silent. He picked up his glass and drained the contents. ‘I think we may need more of this. Shall I go and get us another bottle?’ ‘Sounds like a fine idea. Then I’ll tell you all about it’ Stephen picked up the empty bottle and headed up the garden towards the old house. Edith leant forward, picked up a rug from the ground and wrapped it round her legs. Stephen returned with another bottle and asked Edith if she was warm enough. ‘Yes, I’m fine out here if you are. It’s such a beautiful evening.’ Stephen settled back into his seat. ‘So, where were we?’ Well…’ Edith began. ‘Cast your mind back to South Africa, 1953. The war is over, Harry and I have been married for ten years, he’s constantly away with work and I am left alone in the house more than I care to remember. I’m not on my own, of course. We have numerous slaves and I have maids assisting me with every daily task. But I feel so lonely. The house is in the middle of nowhere. I have very little contact with neighbours. The only people who visit the house regularly are two of Harry’s business associates, Edward Jones and Philip Mountfield, who have been asked by Harry to keep an eye on me and make sure everything is carried out on the land. ‘I spend more and more time with Philip; he is funny and dashing and entertaining and he fills a huge void in my life. I find myself looking forward to his visits more than to Harry coming home. Then one night when Harry is away there is a torrential storm and Philip is forced to stay over. We enjoy a wonderful meal together out on the veranda, the lightning is breathtaking and we eat and drink and laugh and have a beautiful night. And when it turns cool we retire to the fire and drink whisky, and, well, I’m sure I don’t need to spell it out for you… ‘And the next morning I don’t regret a thing.’ Edith paused and took a long sip of her wine. She shivered and pulled the rug up over her shoulders. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go in?’ asked Stephen.’ It’s getting quite dark.’ ‘No, I’m fine.’ Edith waved her hand dismissively. ‘Where was I? Oh yes, so when Harry returns to the house he doesn’t suspect a thing, he’s so tied up with the business he barely notices I’m there. The next time he’s away Philip comes over again and it becomes a regular thing. I love the company and the attention; he makes me feel so special.’ Edith sighed and looked up at darkening sky. ‘When I found out I was pregnant there was no fooling Harry. He may have been distracted with the business but there was no avoiding the fact that we hadn’t, you know, behaved as man and wife, for many weeks. ‘I refused to give up the baby. Harry wanted me to, but it never crossed my mind. In the end he agreed to bring her up as if she was his own. I think he was more ashamed of people finding out I’d had an affair than bringing up the child of another man. He told Philip that if he ever showed his face again he would kill him. Eventually we moved back to Britain to try and make a fresh start. ‘We really did try. From the moment Clare was born I loved her more than I have ever loved anything. I wanted to call her Philippa but thought that would be the last straw for Harry. He tried to love Clare. But when Geoff and Peter came along it was hard for him to hide his real feelings. Those two were his flesh and blood. Clare thought it was just because they were boys; they did all those masculine things like playing football, fishing, all sorts of outdoor activities that Clare was never a part of. She resented that. And because I lavished so much love upon Clare, her brothers resented her. That’s why they don’t get on nowadays. ‘Then one day just after Clare’s eighteenth birthday Philip turned up. I recognised him instantly. He had aged but was still incredibly dashing…’ Edith stopped speaking and shifted in her seat. ‘Poor Clare, she refused to believe it at first. Then she wouldn’t see Philip. As far as I know they’ve never had any further contact. And she never forgave me.’ She yawned. ‘I feel exhausted now.’ She moved the blanket aside and got up, leaned over Stephen and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Goodnight,’ she whispered and disappeared into the house. Stephen sat quietly and watched the moon climb high above the house before retiring to bed. Three months later Edith was dead, finally defeated by a particularly severe bout of pneumonia. And here Stephen was, waiting for the arrival of the estranged family and the reading of her will. Edith’s youngest granddaughter and her family were the first to roll up, shrouded in black. Stephen watched through his window as her husband pulled up the Range Rover, stepped out and opened the passenger door, allowing his wife to delicately lift herself out of the vehicle. Leaning heavily on her husband, she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Three small children, equally veiled in black, tumbled out from the back of the car. Stephen waved and moved to the door to let them in. The husband spoke first. ‘Good morning Mr, er, Stephens, is it? Clint Johnson. Good to finally meet you.’ The men shook hands. ‘Such a shame we couldn’t make it to the funeral. We couldn’t possibly have cancelled the holiday though; kids had been looking forward to Disneyworld for months. This is my wife Sharon, and my three little ones, Beth, Henry and Felicity.’ Sharon raised her right hand in a feeble greeting, while the left hand continued to dab her eyes. Meanwhile the children had already found their way into Stephen’s office and were making themselves at home. ‘Please come in,’ said Stephen, standing aside. ‘There’s not a huge amount of room I’m afraid, we’ll just have to squash in as best we can. Here’s someone else arriving now.’ Clint peered through the open door and snorted. ‘Oh, that’s Uncle William and his gang of cronies. Come to sniff out their reward I bet. Damn mercenaries.’ William was about as tall as he was wide and he held in his hand the biggest cigar Stephen had ever seen. Puffing on the cigar, he walked straight up the drive, past Stephen without even acknowledging him, and plonked himself heavily onto the one easy chair in the office. ‘Let’s get this over with so I can get back to the pub,’ he wheezed as he lolled in the chair. In his wake followed four young blondes of various shapes and ages; each smiled sweetly at Stephen as they tottered through the corridor and swarmed around William, one even perching on his knee. Clint folded his arms and addressed William: ‘Thought you’d be the first one out of the woodwork. Still up to your old tricks I see.’ ‘A pleasure to see you too Clint,’ replied William, puffing heavily on his cigar and, much to Stephen’s distress, tapping molehills of ash onto his clean carpet. ‘See you’ve brought the whole family; is that so you can start planning your next holiday the minute you know how much you’re getting?’ More flakes of ash fluttered gently to the floor. Clint was about to respond when the door opened. Edith and Harry’s two sons, Geoff and Peter, walked in with their wives. They were in the midst of an argument as they walked through the door. Stephen remembered Edith telling him about their competitiveness, both so desperate for approval from their father. He was distracted by a smartly dressed lady making her way towards the office. Dressed in a tailored black suit and matching accessories, she seemed to glide through the doorway. Looking at Stephen beneath the brim of her hat, she carefully removed her gloves and shook his hand. ‘Hello. You must be Mr Powell. I’m Clare, Edith’s daughter. A pleasure to meet you.’ Before Stephen had a chance to reply William’s ruddy face reared into view. ‘Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. You barely speak to your mother for thirty years, then the minute she pops her clogs you’re practically hammering down the door for anything you can get your grubby little hands on. Just like when we got divorced!’ ‘Please,’ interrupted Stephen. ‘Is this really necessary?’ ‘It’s okay Mr Powell.’ Clare folded her gloves and placed them carefully in the matching bag. ‘William obviously feels he must question everyone else’s presence here because his own claim is so weak. Yes, my mother and I had irreconcilable differences, she knew that too, but at the end of the day I am her daughter, her only daughter, and I have a right to whatever she has put by for me. I’m sure that must be the reason each one of you is here, after all, I don’t believe any of you have actually visited her in the last twenty years, and I’m sure you were all far too busy to take time out of your busy schedules for the funeral.’ There was silence. ‘Am I right?’ Stephen cleared his throat. ‘Well, I think everyone is here now so shall we make a start?’ He pushed his way through to the desk, sat down and looked up at Edith’s family awaiting his words. ‘Good afternoon to you and thank you all for making the journey to be here today. I appreciate that many of you have had to travel a considerable distance, and I hope you will all be rewarded accordingly. ‘Before I read Edith’s will, I have a letter which she wrote and entrusted to me several months ago Without further ado I will read this letter if no-one has any objections. Edith sealed it after she wrote it,’ Stephen continued, holding up the envelope for everyone to witness, ‘and I have as much idea of the content as you do.’ He cleared his throat again, tore the envelope open and began to read. ‘It is dated October 14th 2005. “To you all, I am writing this as the doctors have told me I won’t be around for much longer. I’m growing weak and believe my death to be close. I can just imagine you all there, crowding round, waiting to hear what I have to say, how I plan to divide my wealth between you. Well let me tell you this much. Those of you who have had no time for me during life, I have no time for you now that death is upon me.”’ There were gasps and cries from all around the room. Stephen continued: ‘“Firstly, my children. Clare, my only daughter, I have loved you more than life itself, but you could never forgive me for withholding the truth about your father. For all the pain I have caused you, I am truly sorry, and hope that in some way the money I leave you can recompense. I award to you the sum of £100,000. Geoff and Peter, you are your father’s sons and always will be. I leave to you both all the investments your father made and all the profits from the mining business in South Africa. The total amount of this has been estimated to be around £150,000. ‘“The remains of my estate and all my worldly possessions I leave to someone who has been more like family to me than the rest of you; a man who has become a true friend and companion, a great confidant. I trust it is he who is reading this letter out at this very moment.”’ Stephen paused and slowly lowered himself back into his seat. He continued to read, slowly, ‘“I thank you Stephen for making these last few years of my life bearable when no one else was there for me.” ‘I had no idea, really…’ Stephen stammered, staring up at the furious faces in front of him. After the initial chaos, they all crept away fairly quickly in the end. Maybe they felt ashamed at their behaviour, maybe they just couldn’t bear to spend any more time with one another. Stephen stood watching from his window as the last car pulled away into the drizzle that was now falling. He moved back towards the desk, sat down heavily and picked up the phone. ‘Hi, could you put me through to Mr Philip Mountfield please…Hello, Grandad? You’ll never believe this. She’s left it all to me…’
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