by Alison Bond
17
Octavia arrived at CMG at twenty to ten. Max was due to read Ruby’s will at ten o’clock.
‘I just wondered,’ she said to Sheridan, who was despatched to make sure that a hideously early Octavia was comfortable, ‘if I might have a few minutes alone with Max first.’
‘He’s got to make two very urgent calls,’ said Sheridan – she suspected that Max would be reluctant to grant Octavia a private audience – ‘but let me see what I can do.’ Which left her options.
Max waited until five minutes to ten and then told Sheridan to show Octavia in.
‘How are you?’ he asked, and they air-kissed.
‘Fine. You?’ Octavia had no intention of wasting any time on pleasantries. Despite her fondness for Max Parker she didn’t care for the unnaturally close relationship he’d had with her mother. Max had been in her life for as long as she could remember. Octavia had exploited the relationship to her own end and she’d asked him for plenty of free advice, but he was often hard to reach and she suspected that he dodged her calls. As of today, she intended to retain alternative counsel. James played golf with a lawyer who was much more accessible.
Max was avoiding her eyes. She didn’t trust him.
‘I’m still a little numb inside, I think,’ he said.
Octavia was momentarily confused and then realized that Max must be talking about Ruby’s suicide. Didn’t the man know how to move on?
‘Do you think we’ll ever know why she did it?’ Max asked.
Octavia kept her thoughts to herself. Because she was a self-pitying lush, ‘It haunts me, Max, it really does, but I don’t think we should try and judge her actions.’ She tried for a smile that conveyed benevolence, grief and dignity, but the result was an unflattering grimace. She waited for a beat of three, out of respect, and then continued.
‘I’m having cash-flow problems,’ she said. ‘James is waiting to close an enormous deal but we all know that the real-estate market is not what it once was. The funeral planner sent me a bill for the funeral which I can’t pay; I assumed CMG would be picking it up. You know that Ruby used to contribute to the household, and presumably that won’t happen any more.’
Max was well aware of the monthly sum that Ruby paid to prop up the Valentine—Jarvis finances. Personally he thought that James Jarvis was the most spectacularly unsuccessful real-estate agent at the high end of the game. He gave the appearance of wealth but he was not a rich man. Someone with limited skills like Jarvis should be dealing in one-bed/one-bath condos and turning them over cheap and quick, not trying to move multi-million-dollar mansions, but his wife’s steady income meant that the pressure simply wasn’t there. As long as he shifted a handful of properties every year they could maintain the lifestyle of excess and leisure that they loved. Max thought it was shameful, but Ruby used to say that Octavia had already been unfortunate enough to make a bad marriage and she shouldn’t be made to pay for it in more ways than one. Max dutifully saw to it that Octavia’s steady drip-feed of cash continued.
‘Give me the bill’, he said. ‘I’m sure we can take care of it’
‘I hope so.’ She pulled the papers out of her bag. Max glanced at them and saw that the fee for the private funeral was tiny, dwarfed by the many thousands CMG had contributed towards the cost of the elaborate tribute still to come.
‘How long do you think,’ she said, ‘before it’s all legal? The inheritance, I mean. Believe me, I don’t want to sound mercenary but it would allow me to plan.’ The prospect of riches glittered in her eyes like sexual excitement. Max needed to curb her expectations.
‘Octavia,’ he said, searching for the words that he had rehearsed in the car on the way to work, ‘Ruby was a fantastic television actress, but she was a television actress all the same. I get the impression that you may be overestimating her wealth.’
Octavia tried not to react but her heart took a dive. ‘She wasn’t a television actress, Max. She was a movie star.’
‘Sure, a long time ago, way before movie stars made serious money.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘There’s the house of course,’ Max continued, ‘but it’s a considerably modest piece of real estate.’
Octavia had taken the liberty of getting an independent valuation, so she knew that ‘considerably modest’ was an understatement. The house was a steal for three bedrooms and a sea view. But Octavia also knew that her mother would have been able to afford a house ten times as expensive and only stayed out at the shore for sentimental reasons. ‘So, all in, what are we talking?’
Max braced himself. ‘Around one point seven.’
Octavia felt like crying. One point seven million wouldn’t even pay off the mortgage. They also had considerable store-card debts. James had talked about giving up work, maybe writing a book about the Civil War. That would have to be put on hold. She was so busy revising her calculations and dreams that the sheer absurdity of the figure escaped her for several seconds.
‘Hold on,’ she said finally. ‘That’s impossible.’
‘I’m afraid not.’ Max had been waiting for the explosion.
‘Max, my mother was the most tight-fisted woman I know. She’d buy two of anything that was on sale. She had very few excesses and worked at the top of her game for the last four decades. You’re telling me that all she has to show for her life is one point seven million dollars and a beach house?’
‘No. That’s not what I’m saying’
‘Thank you, Max, I was seriously worried there.’
‘It’s one point seven including the house,’ said Max. ‘Or thereabouts,’ he added, woefully aware that the difference would be minimal.
For a moment Max actually thought that Octavia would faint. Her eyes glazed over and she seemed to sway in her chair. She dragged in a lungful of air through clenched teeth and struggled to focus.
Why, that can’t be,’ she said, sounding faintly like Scarlett O’Hara.
Max held her hand as if he had just told her of a death in the family. Octavia bit back her tears and used every ounce of grace she had to recover her composure. She gave a gay little laugh that wasn’t fooling anyone. ‘How is that possible?’
‘Just because Ruby worked constantly she gave the impression of being extremely successful, and she was, but she wasn’t wealthy. She did movies before they were expensive and television when it was cheap.’
‘But her deal for Next of Kin was huge. I read about it.’
‘That was a three-year deal. Eventually it would have made her rich, but you have to realize Next of Kin was always a risky project; everyone involved wanted to make sure they had a hit on their hands before doling out inflated salaries,’ said Max.
‘Everyone involved meaning you? You’re a producer on the show.’
‘It was in my interests to make sure that Ruby was paid as much as possible. My first loyalty was always to her.’
Octavia was horrified. She was known as Ruby’s daughter, now Ruby’s orphaned daughter, and with that came a certain status. Without money to back it up such a reputation was worthless. One point seven million was a paltry fortune by Hollywood standards. A fresh horror dawned on her. An abomination. She might have to get a job.
‘My mother had a share in the profits,’ she said. ‘There must be more money, there simply must be.’
‘Her points didn’t kick in until season three, I’m afraid.’
Max felt a stab of sympathy for Octavia. It couldn’t be easy to suddenly realize that you had to fend for yourself, that the safety net of Ruby’s maternal generosity had finally been snatched away. Max had watched Octavia grow up spoilt; she didn’t have the means to be self-sufficient and her husband wouldn’t be much help. ‘I know this is a shock,’ he said gently, ‘but properly invested one point seven million will bring in a substantial return. I’d be happy to advise you.’
‘You honestly think I would take advice from you?’ spat Octavia. ‘One point seven is a joke. You were solely
responsible for Ruby’s financial affairs, so if this is the sum of decades of hard work you’ll forgive me if I take my business elsewhere. How much did she make you over the years? You have a house in Malibu worth five times as much.’ Octavia’s voice was rising to an alarming pitch. Max fought the impulse to tell her to hush, knowing that she wouldn’t respond well to such a request. ‘What’s your cut of Ruby Valentine? Twenty per cent? Thirty? Did you make her change her will when you saw she was on the edge?’
Max tried laying a conciliatory hand over hers on the desk top but she pulled away as if she had been burned.
‘I’ll have you investigated,’ said Octavia with a note of triumph in her voice. ‘I want to know about every commission that you took and I want you to justify it. This is embezzlement.’ Octavia pushed her chair back and stood as tall as her diminutive frame would allow. You’re a common thief,’ she shouted, and in his outer office a bunch of people turned to stare.
‘Sit down!’ hissed Max, and stood up to put a restraining hand on her shoulder.
‘Take your hands off me,’ shrieked Octavia, but she sat down all the same. She didn’t want to make an exhibition of herself. This was too much information for a brain which was soft from lack of use. The most pressing concern of this week until now had been deciding a colour scheme for the new master bathroom.
A fresh thought came to her. ‘What about the rubies, Max?’
‘We’ll come to that.’ Max walked to the door and opened it, grateful for air that wasn’t contaminated by Octavia’s blatant avarice,
‘Sheridan? Are the others here?’ he asked. ‘Send them in.’
Kelly could sense the tension in the room and she thought that Vincent could feel it too. They looked from Octavia, who was pink-cheeked and breathless, to Max who was fussing unnecessarily with papers on his desk. Vincent gave Kelly a weak smile which she returned, and then Max began speaking in the formal tone he reserved for special occasions.
‘The last will and testament of Ruby Valentine has been in place since 1985 and an insubstantial amendment was notarized in 2003,’ said Max. Kelly didn’t miss the firm eye contact he made with Octavia as he began. ‘This is a preliminary reading and it’s very straightforward, so if there are no objections I think the best thing for me to do would be to progress directly to the pages that contain her final wishes.’
He paused, presumably waiting for objections. Octavia looked at the floor.
‘It states: “My entire estate shall be split equally between my son Vincent and my daughter Octavia’,”
Octavia relaxed an infinitesimal amount. At least the Utile half-sister wouldn’t be taking any of her share.
‘My estate as herein defined shall consist of all my assets in their entirety excluding the items detailed below.’ He turned a page and kept on reading. ‘I would like my youngest daughter Kelly Coltrane to have my jewels, which are currendy entrusted to a secure insured facility at Western Bank, 1368 Olive Drive. These are to be retained or sold as she sees fit but my intention was to provide for her secure future.’
Cha-ching. Kelly got the impression that these jewels were not costume. A secure future?
Octavia was livid. ‘Objection!’
Max almost laughed. ‘This isn’t a courtroom, Octavia. You’re not a lawyer.’
Octavia stood up and turned on Kelly. Are you happy now?’
Kelly didn’t know how to respond.
‘Octavia, give her a break,’ said Vincent.
‘Shut up,’ said Octavia. ‘You have no idea. How much do you think our mother was worth? Go on, guess.’
‘Sit down,’ said Vincent. ‘You’re making a scene.’
‘I don’t care! I’ll tell you, shall I? One point seven. That’s everything, the house, the investments, everything. The rubies are the only asset worth a damn.’
Vincent’s eyes widened briefly with surprise. ‘Is that right?’ he asked Max.
‘It’s approximate, but yes, about that.’
Kelly found it unpleasant to listen to people scrapping over what was to her an obscene amount of money. She tuned out and considered what it meant to be in Ruby’s final thoughts. As she grasped the notion that Ruby had remembered her, a final dam of resistance broke inside and tears welled up in her eyes. She tried anxiously to swallow the lump in her throat but it was too late. The tears that she had failed to shed at the funeral streamed down her face as she considered what she had lost. Someone who was looking out for her future, someone who’d always cared. Something that she had wanted for as long as she could remember. A mother.
Are you crying?’ Octavia looked down on her with contempt, breaking off her rant. ‘Stop it! How dare you?’
Kelly was so shocked that her tears dried instantly.
Octavia turned to Vincent and raised her hands in submission. ‘Do you have a lawyer? We can sustain it.’
‘You mean contest it?’
‘You know exactly what I mean.’
‘Hey, listen, on what grounds?’ said Vincent. ‘Okay, so maybe it’s a little shy of your ideal figure, but I don’t know if I want to get into all that.’
A little shy?’ Octavia didn’t know what to do next. She needed legal advice and most unfortunately she’d normally go to Max for that kind of thing.
Max passed Kelly a box of tissues from his desk. ^Why doesn’t everyone just calm down?’ Kelly blew her nose on a man-sized white Kleenex.
Vincent checked his watch and wondered if he’d make the audition he had scheduled for noon. It was starting to look as if he might need the money. Unlike his sister, Vincent wouldn’t be lost without his mother’s wealth; he wasn’t a great actor but it paid the bills. And unlike Octavia, he thought that one point seven million split two ways sounded like a proper windfall. Enough to move into a nice big house and take the whole family on holiday to Aruba. He wouldn’t be inviting Octavia. She was spoilt. He blamed their mother. In fact, Vincent blamed their mother for quite a lot.
Octavia sat down, arms crossed, defiant. ‘Everything in the house is mine? She only gets whatever’s at the bank?’
‘That’s correct,’ said Max.
‘She has a safe at the beach house. I know the combination. Vincent? Are you coming with me?’
Vincent shuffled in his seat. Kelly got the impression he was scared of his sister and she didn’t blame him – right now she was scared of her sister too. ‘I have to do something,’ he said.
‘Fine, I’ll go on my own. Kelly – we’ll talk about this later.’
Kelly felt as if she’d just been scolded.
The house was under twenty-four-hour protection: there had been reports of fans gathering for vigils outside and so Max had arranged for armed security staff to stand guard. Octavia called ahead to make sure that she was expected. This was an excellent idea, she should have done it earlier. There were a number of pieces at the house that would look wonderful displayed in her home, including a valuable Orla Mackey vase which would be perfect for the dining room. The uniformed guard on the front gate looked up from his meatball sandwich, checked Octavia’s driving licence and waved her through.
Bouquets of slowly decomposing flowers were crowded around the porch and Octavia picked through them with distaste. She supposed something ought to be done about them. She opened the door and her jaw dropped in horror.
The place was a mess. More flowers covered the floor in the hallway and the fetid, sweet stench almost made Octavia retch. Dusty cellophane crunched beneath her feet as she walked into the main living room. By the fireplace burnt-out candles had spilt their hot wax over the flagstones and on to the wool carpet. There were pictures of Ruby everywhere. Trimmed from magazines and scrawled with brief messages of devotion, they covered all the walls like a grotesque art gallery. People had written their condolences wherever there was space and the indelible graffiti crammed into the gaps between the tattered images of Ruby. Octavia pushed aside the rotting floral tributes with the point of her snakeskin court shoe and started t
o climb the stairs. With a squeal of anguish she realized there was a big empty space on the landing where her coveted vase should be.
In the bedroom she noticed more missing items. Ruby’s wardrobe had been totally decimated and only scraps of clothing survived. Everyone had taken some sort of memento. A glance up at the mantel in the master bedroom confirmed that Ruby’s Academy Awards had gone too.
Octavia retraced her steps and confronted the guard on the front gate mercilessly. ‘What on earth is going on? This place is supposed to be under constant protection. It’s a mess in there, things have been taken.’
‘Yes, ma’am, that’s why it’s under protection,’ he said. Was he mocking her? Octavia checked for a smirk but his young face was devoid of expression and he looked dead ahead. Ex-military, she could always spot them.
She returned upstairs and slipped open the fake back of the closet. She was fearful of what she might see but the safe was untouched. Her fingers tapped in some familiar digits, the date of her father’s death, on the electronic combination. There was an agonizing moment of delay and she was terrified that Ruby had changed the magic number, but then the metal door swung cleanly open.
Inside there was two thousand dollars in cash, Ruby’s passport and a plain gold wedding band. That was it.
Octavia could see that the safe didn’t contain anything else but she launched a fruitless search regardless. She simply couldn’t believe it. The house was trashed and everything of value had gone. What other day-to-day items had they stolen? She realized that the moment Ruby’s death was announced somebody should have foreseen this and put a guard on the house immediately. Surely this wasn’t all her fault?
Octavia pocketed the cash and called Max from the car. ‘It’s like the shrine from hell.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘But everything’s insured, it’s represented in the estate. Do you want me to arrange for someone to come in and clean up?’
