by Anne Morice
Maud’s bedroom was at the head of the staircase on the first landing, with her bathroom on the left of it, and I remembered that Betsy’s room was two doors down on the right, separated from her mother’s by a second, more austere bathroom. The door was ajar and, pushing it further open with my knee, I saw the poor lamb curled up and fast asleep on the bed, wrapped in Betsy’s old Jaeger dressing-gown. I set the tray down on the bedside table but she did not stir and I decided not to wake her.
The wardrobe door was also open, swinging a little on its hinges, and passing it on my way out I automatically pushed it to. There must have been something wrong with the catch, though, for it immediately flew open again, wider than before and hitting a chair leg in the process. I glanced over at the bed but there was still no movement, so I left her to it and crept out of the room.
‘Just as well, poppet,’ Betsy said, when I handed in my report. ‘Gerald won’t mind whether she’s there or not, and Piers can tell her about it afterwards. Personally, my darling, I’m rather relieved.’
I did not ask her why this was, but followed her into the drawing-room, where the audience was now beginning to assemble.
VI
Isolated in his shell of boredom and impatience, Robin occupied a sofa as far removed as he could place himself from Margot and Piers, who stood together by the fireplace chatting as unconcernedly as though they were at a cocktail party. However, this had small significance because when it came to putting on an act they had both been trained in a hard school. Less versed in the art, Jasper was strutting about the room, continually shaking back his romantic lock of hair and nervously nibbling at a sandwich.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked me rudely.
‘Now, my dearest, you mustn’t be cross with poor little Tessa. She’s been such a help to me.’
‘I shall be cross with whoever I please,’ he replied, shaking her hand from his arm. ‘This is the most grotesque charade I’ve ever been asked to take part in. I didn’t realise that even your family was capable of organising such a farce.’
I sat down beside Robin and Betsy went over to speak to Gerald. A sofa table in the centre of one wall, between the two windows, had been pulled forward to make an improvised desk for him. Seated behind it, with only his top half visible, there was nothing to show that he was in any way abnormal and it may have been the confidence which this knowledge inspired which had toned down his exuberant manner. He sat quietly sifting through his papers, as though oblivious to the rest of us, although he did look up and smile as Betsy approached. They exchanged a few words and then she turned round and called out to Margot:
‘Gerald is ready to begin now. Do you know where Dickie and Digby have got to?’
‘I have sent Digby to fetch Albert,’ Margot replied.
‘That was quite unnecessary,’ Gerald told her. ‘And what have you done with your father?’
‘I believe he has gone for a stroll in the garden,’ she said primly.
‘I was always on at Mamma to have one installed downstairs,’ Betsy confessed, joining Robin and me on the sofa, and she sighed deeply, as though regretting that vindication had come too late.
Dickie entered the room at this point and stood just inside the door, gazing amiably around and beaming benevolently at all of us.
‘’Allo, ’allo, ’allo! Board meetin’ started already?’
‘No, dear,’ Betsy assured him. ‘We shouldn’t dream of starting without you. Have you seen Digby by any chance?’
‘Funny thing. I saw him boltin’ upstairs. “What’s the fellah up to now?” I thought. Go and get him down, shall I?’
Not waiting for consent, he turned and ambled out of the room again. Whereupon Jasper flung himself down in an armchair uttering a loud groan, Margot raised her eyebrows and Betsy murmured that it really was too bad of them, when Gerald had gone to all this trouble and must be feeling quite whacked.
Dickie reappeared a few minutes later, accompanied by Digby, looking flustered and apprehensive.
‘I’m frightfully sorry,’ he said, addressing his mother, ‘but I can’t find him. I’ve looked everywhere . . . you know . . . in their flat and everything, but he’s not there.’
‘Which is just as well,’ Gerald announced, ‘because if you had I should have been compelled to send him away again. What I have to tell you is unofficial and strictly for your ears alone. So, if you’ve all now finished popping in and out, I may as well begin.’
After the inevitable round of coughing and fidgeting which follows such preludes, there was silence and he went on:
‘You’ll be getting letters and copies of the will from my office in due course, but there are certain aspects which can’t be dealt with in correspondence; so, in order to spare everyone as much confusion as possible, and also to avoid future recriminations, I’ve asked you to be good enough to spare me ten minutes of your time now. Right?’
He looked round at each face in turn and there was no flippancy or impatience to be detected on them now. The general reaction, which I shared, was one of slightly uneasy curiosity.
‘As most of you know,’ Gerald continued, ‘Maud made minor alterations and codicils to her will on several occasions during the last months of her life. This is not a particularly rare phenomenon with elderly people during a terminal illness. It sometimes stems from forgetfulness and failing mental powers, and sometimes from sheer self-preservation. The threat of cutting some relative or companion out of a will can be quite an effective whip for bringing that person to heel. However, I cannot emphasise too strongly that neither of these conditions applied to Maud. She was in full possession of her faculties, remarkably so for her age, right up to the day of her death, as I happen to know at first hand. I beg your pardon?’
He had been interrupted by a loud squawk from Jasper.
‘Did you say something?’ Gerald enquired.
‘Not exactly,’ Jasper replied in an amused voice. ‘What you heard was merely a comment on your claim to know any such thing at first hand. I apologise if it put you off your stroke, but since it can’t possibly be true . . .’
‘You are wrong, as it happens, Craig, but I’ll come back to the point in a minute. To return to what I was saying: Maud was in no sense senile and nor, to the best of my knowledge, did she ever threaten or attempt to influence anyone by disclosing or hinting at the terms of her will. All my recent consultations with her on this subject were conducted in the privacy of her bedroom, and she refused categorically to instruct me either by letter or telephone. As you know, I visited her several times during this spring and summer. It was not always strictly convenient to do so,’ he added wryly, ‘but Maud was adamant and I do not have to tell any of you that she was not a person whose demands were easy to resist. What you are evidently not all aware of is that my last visit occurred within a few hours of her death.’
It was plain from the stir which went round the room that Jasper had not been alone in his ignorance of this fact, although Betsy betrayed no surprise continuing, as before, to make pleated patterns with her handkerchief as though her life depended on it. Margot was the one to voice the general incredulity and, as usual, she managed to sound faintly insulting.
‘I’m afraid you must be mistaken, Gerald. We were all here on that day, the whole family; though, God knows, none of us guessed it would be the last time we should see her. But I certainly don’t recall hearing anything about a visit from you.’
‘I may have misled you by calling it a few hours. To be precise, I was with her from eleven until noon. She invited me to stay for lunch, but, contrary to her cherished beliefs, I had other clients besides herself and I preferred to drive back to London. Pete remembers the occasion well and so, I believe, does Betsy?’
Without raising her eyes and speaking exclusively to the handkerchief, Betsy mumbled: ‘Gerald is quite right. I am sorry I forgot to tell you, but I was out at my meeting when he came; and then you all arrived and Mamma was so pleased and excited and every
thing. It must have gone out of my head. Besides, as Gerald says, she was always sending for him and there was no reason to suppose that this time was any more important than the others. Do forgive me, though.’
‘It wouldn’t have made the slightest difference if you had told them,’ Gerald said coolly. ‘I have raised the point for one purpose only.’
He paused to take in another brief survey of his audience before continuing:
‘It was simply to impress upon you that it would be useless, as well as undignified, to contest this will, either now or in the future. It was drawn up according to her explicit instructions and signed and witnessed in my presence. I am satisfied that she was in her right mind and understood what she was doing, and I would be prepared to repeat this on oath.’
This ominous statement provoked a general spluttering and muttering of alarm or displeasure, but once again Margot was the only one to complain aloud.
‘Really, Gerald, I can’t imagine why you find it necessary to bully us. Surely your job is to tell us about Mamma’s will and keep your comments to yourself? I daresay you’re getting a great deal of fun out of lecturing us all but if it’s leading up to some rubbish about Mamma leaving everything to a cat’s home, kindly say so and have done with it. We’re perfectly capable of making up our own minds about what steps to take.’
‘I say, hold on, ol’ gel,’ Dickie waffled in a faintly uneasy way. ‘No point in gettin’ the wind up till we hear what the fellah has to say.’
‘That is exactly my point,’ Margot told him angrily. ‘If he can be persuaded to tell us what that is.’
Gerald had flushed so violently that the sun shining through the window at his back made his ears look literally on fire. He glanced enquiringly at Betsy and she nodded, saying in a braver tone:
‘It’s all right, Gerald dear, you mustn’t mind what we say. We’re all a bit on edge today.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Margot said sharply, and Digby reached out and grasped her hand. She shook him off, disregarding his imploring look.
Gerald took only a second or two to regain his self-possession and then continued as though there had been no interruption.
‘Having made my own position clear, I shall now outline the main clauses of this, the last will and testament of Maud Stirling, revoking all former wills and signed by her in my presence and in the presence of Maureen Bilson, S.R.N., of 21, Cross Street, Dulwich, S.E., and of Mrs Olive Chalmers, Masseuse and Physiotherapist, of 2, Mayfield Drive, Storhampton-on-Thames. They are relatively brief and I should be obliged if you could all remain silent until I have finished. I propose to give you the terms in layman’s language, more or less as dictated to me by Maud, and omitting most of the legal trimmings which might be puzzling to you. One: To my faithful friend and servant, Albert Matthieu, I leave a capital sum, the exact amount to be fixed upon later, to be invested in an annuity which shall provide him with an income for life of two thousand pounds per annum, free of tax.’
When these words dropped among his listeners an audible sigh passed round the room and normal breathing processes went into action again. The bequest may have been a little more generous than I, for one, had anticipated, but the substance of it was no doubt the kind of thing they had all been expecting before the session began. Everything, one felt, was after all turning out according to plan.
Seemingly unaware of the slackening of tension, Gerald continued:
‘There follows a short list of minor bequests, which again I shall give you in the terms they were presented to me: To my grandson, Piers Roche, my diaries, letters, photographs and all other records of my public life still extant, to make what use of them he chooses and I also appoint the said Piers Roche my official biographer. To my grandson, Digby Roche, I bequeath whichever one of my motor cars he may prefer, together with a sufficient sum of money to cover the road tax and insurance for a period of one year from the date of my death.’
Neither grandson looked particularly ecstatic about these windfalls, but Margot, now exuding good humour, beamed at both of them with great complacency, and the reading continued:
‘To my former husband, Richard Travers, the sum of five thousand pounds and my collection of Fabergé ornaments, which he has so often admired. To my friend, Theresa Price, my ruby and diamond ring, inscribed on the back with my initials, in recognition of the many hours of her company which she so generously gave.’
Betsy had pushed the handkerchief at me even before the tears had started to my eyes, but I blinked them back into reserve for a later occasion, for Gerald was still intoning in the same dispassionate voice:
‘To my daughter, Marguerite Roche, my sable coat and the portrait of myself by Augustus John, which I trust she will see fit to hang in a prominent place, wherever she may happen to be living.’
There followed a deathly silence, in which nobody had the courage to look at Margot. Dickie half rose in his chair, then lost his nerve and subsided again.
‘Go on,’ Margot said between clenched teeth.
‘There is not much to add,’ Gerald informed her. ‘One remaining clause, as follows: To my daughter, Elisabeth Craig, the residue of my estate, including all my property, financial holdings, personal effects and goods and chattels, absolutely and unconditionally, to use and dispose of as she wishes.’
Still speaking and with no change of tone, Gerald folded his papers together.
‘That’s the lot. Betsy and I are joint executors and, to forestall the inevitable questions, I am able to tell you, through long and intimate acquaintance with the subject, that the estate is likely to come out in probate at something between one-quarter and one-third of a million.’
For a moment I feared that Margot had been afflicted by a mild stroke and was about to crash to the ground in a stupor, but her voice remained stonily controlled as she said:
‘What utter balderdash! I don’t believe a word of it.’
‘I am sorry to hear that,’ Gerald told her, ‘although it is more or less what I expected. You have my sympathy, but there is nothing in the world that I or anyone else can do about it. You are naturally free to take advice elsewhere, but I have already warned you what the outcome would be.’
‘You have indeed,’ she replied, ‘and one does begin to glimpse the motive behind all that pompous preamble.’
Gerald had stretched out his hand to a bell, which had been placed just within reach and his fingers closed tightly round the handle.
‘What are you implying, Margot?’
‘It’s obvious enough, surely? You had the best of reasons for warning us off. The less we enquired into this farcical document the better it would be for you. I don’t know what your reasons may have been, or what devices you used to trick Mamma into signing it, but if you think you can coerce me into believing that this so-called will expressed her true intentions, you are very sadly mistaken.’
‘Oops, now! Take it easy, old gel,’ Dickie protested, getting right out of his chair this time.
‘I suppose you understand what you have just accused me of?’ Gerald enquired. ‘Fraudulence of a kind which would not only get me barred from practising for the rest of my life, but would also carry serious criminal charges. I would remind you that there were half a dozen witnesses to your allegations, two of whom are unconnected with your family.’
Margot glanced contemptuously at Robin and me, as though registering our presence for the first time.
‘Is that why you insisted on their being here? Are you threatening me, Gerald?’
‘No, I think it is you who are threatening me, or attempting to. I am simply advising you to say no more until you have had time to reflect on your position, and if necessary to take legal advice.’
He then shook the bell and Pete’s head instantly popped round the door.
‘Ready to move off, mate?’ he asked.
‘Yes, please. You can take me to the car now.’
Pete advanced into the room and pulled the sofa table sideways, so tha
t Gerald could manoeuvre the wheelchair from behind it.
‘I’d like to see you in my office as soon as possible, Betsy,’ he said, as he swivelled himself round. ‘Monday, if you can. Ring my secretary first thing and make an appointment, will you?’
Pete held the door wide for him and we watched in silence as he rolled himself through it and out of sight.
Robin and I followed a few seconds later, he having dragged me out of the room practically by the hair.
‘I’m sure we shouldn’t leave Betsy alone with the howling wolves,’ I protested. ‘I had a strong impression that Margot was about to tell the boys to lynch her.’
‘She’ll be all right. She’s got Jasper to protect her and it would be much better for them to get the first round of recriminations over in private. Less embarrassing all round.’
‘But the stupid thing is, Robin, that it’s all so unnecessary. Margot has only to command Betsy to hand over half the loot and she’d oblige without a murmur, with a pound of emeralds thrown in.’
‘Maybe, but it wouldn’t be quite the same, would it? Specially for a proud old thoroughbred like Margot. All very fine to inherit a quarter of a million; not quite such fun to have it doled out as charity by the dowdy old sister you’d spent the best part of your life openly despising. Besides, she would have to reckon with Jasper. He might not be quite so keen on going shares.’
‘Oh, Jasper doesn’t . . .’ I began, then lost the thread as my attention became diverted to another quarter. The front door was still open to the warm afternoon and from the corner of my eye I had glimpsed Gerald’s car turning in the drive, before beginning its slow, smooth progress to the gate. Halfway there it halted and Pete got out and walked back towards us.
