‘And I’m quite new,’ said the voice. ‘Could you hang on a mo while I find the file?’
‘Yes, of course.’ There followed a long pause while Helen heard the sound of filing cabinets being opened and banged shut.
‘Sorry to keep you. I’ve got it at last. Mrs Beatrice Tresikker of the High House.’
‘That’s her.’
The sound of shuffling papers came down the wire. ‘Yes, no will. There’s a note about it, but no one seems to have done anything. Forget I said that. Look, I’m on my own here, holding the fort, but I could come in after we close, get a draft then, if that’s all right.’
‘That would be really kind. The thing is, she’s not a bit well, had a tiny stroke the other day, and she doesn’t seem to have anything in the way of family or friends.’
‘It sounds as if she has got you.’
‘I’m just the carer, really. I’ve only been here a few days, answered an advertisement. She was in a bad way when I got here, had had a fall, been on her own for almost a week. Actually I tried to get in touch with your office then, she’s awfully vague about her finances—’
‘And got the cold shoulder from our Eileen, I suppose. So she needs to know what she’s got to leave before we can even start thinking about the will. There’s a house?’
‘Yes, big and run-down but a wonderful position.’
‘Worth a bomb so long as it’s free and clear. I don’t see any sign of a mortgage or any of those old-age financial arrangements. I’ll take a look at the file and make a note of anything that seems helpful. Then, if she cooperates, we can get a draft today. Have the whole thing signed and sealed right after New Year’s.’
‘Not till then?’
‘This is Leyning, not London, my friend. Is she so very poorly?’
‘Dr Braddock said, the sooner the better.’
‘And he’s no fool. There’s the other phone. I’ll see you tonight, quarter past five or as near as I can make it. I’ve got the address.’ And she rang off.
‘So no need to summon the Fanshaws tonight.’ Beatrice summed it up when Helen had finished reporting the conversation. ‘But you liked her, didn’t you?’
‘Very much. No nonsense, and very helpful.’
‘Like the girl in the bank,’ said Beatrice, surprisingly. ‘Perhaps you bring it out in people. Well, I suppose I’ll just have to apply my mind to staying alive until after the millennium weekend.’
‘Touch wood when you say that,’ Helen told her.
Frances Murray arrived sharp at five fifteen and looked, in her neat legal black suit, younger than Helen had expected. ‘You’d like to see her alone, I imagine.’ Helen was leading the way upstairs. ‘I’ll be in my room across the hall, just shout if you need anything.’ She opened the bedroom door. ‘Here’s Miss Murray, Beatrice.’
They had found a caftan that matched the duvet and Beatrice looked regal propped among gold and crimson cushions, in sharp contrast to the pitiful, desperate figure Helen had found the week before. ‘It’s good of you to come in your own time,’ she greeted Frances Murray warmly. Helen saw her settled with a small table for her briefcase and left them to it.
Summoned by the bell some time later, Helen found them on excellent terms. ‘Guess what, Helen.’ Beatrice had a little colour in her cheeks. ‘I’m not quite so dead poor as I thought. Father was a cagey old bird. Not very flattering, but then he never did think much of me. Do you know what he did?’
‘No?’
‘Left a second fund, not to be touched till I was seventy-five, or mentioned either. But there if I needed it. Funny old cuss.’ She said it almost with affection. ‘I wonder why he took so against poor Paul. Because that’s what it all has to be about, isn’t it, Miss Murray?’
‘Not necessarily. No, I don’t think you should take it like that. Rich men do get odd feelings of power over their money. They want to stay in control from beyond the grave, poor things. Not good for them, or for any of their connections. They tend to leave nothing but trouble.’
‘My brother’s like that,’ said Helen, surprising herself. ‘A control freak. But surely …’ she had been thinking about it, ‘shouldn’t Mrs Tresikker have been told about the extra fund when she reached seventy-five?’
‘Yes, I am afraid she should. There seems to have been some kind of an office crisis going on six years ago and the date just got overlooked. I’ve apologized to Mrs Tresikker on the firm’s behalf, but I am sure she will get a formal letter from one of the partners. In the meanwhile I think it’s the least I can do to see that she has her very simple will signed and sealed before the weekend.’ She was repacking her briefcase. ‘So if you could very kindly arrange for the doctor and the two witnesses Mrs Tresikker wants to be here at this time on Friday, we’ll get it sorted.’
‘Millennium Eve?’ asked Helen, amazed. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Quite sure. I’m not a mad partier and anyway I’ve only been at Finch & Finch for a couple of months. Still feeling my way.’
‘Like an Atlantic crossing in the good old days,’ said Beatrice, surprisingly. ‘Don’t make friends too fast, you might regret it. Tell you what –’ her eyes were sparkling – ‘We’ll be celebrating my new-found wealth. Why don’t you plan to stay on and share whatever delights my beloved carers produce for me? I can guarantee it will be delicious. If you are agreeable?’ On a note of apology to Helen.
‘What a nice idea. Do stay.’ She turned to Frances Murray. ‘I thought a kind of small bits meal we could eat up here around the bed until Beatrice wants rid of us, and then we can go down and watch as much as we fancy on the television my niece, Jan, is providing. Do plan to join us if you really haven’t anything else planned.’
‘Not a thing.’ Cheerfully. ‘And I’d love to. It’s good of you, Mrs Tresikker, but please, it’s not wealth you know. Just a nice little nest egg.’
‘Cause for celebration just the same. We’re going to be paying bills like mad between now and then so I can start the new millennium free and clear. I can’t tell you what a relief it is.’
‘It makes me more ashamed than ever of my firm’s carelessness,’ said Frances Murray. ‘I’ll see to it you get that letter of apology, Mrs Tresikker.’
‘From old Finch or young Finch, or even fledgling Finch? I never could decide which of them disapproved of me the most. I shall enjoy that. Goodbye Miss Murray, and many thanks for coming.’
‘Mrs Murray actually. I should have said.’
‘Then hadn’t you better bring Mr Murray on Friday?’ asked Beatrice.
‘Oh, goodness, no, thank you very much. We parted a long time ago. But Finch & Finch seem to prefer married ladies.’
‘Makes them feel safer,’ said Beatrice. ‘Murray your maiden name?’
‘No. I’d changed my name at work once when I got married, drew the line at going through the whole hassle all over again when we divorced. Changing one’s brand name is always a risky business.’
‘Yes,’ said Beatrice. ‘Look at Consignia, poor things. Anyway, I shall call you Frances.’
Seven
‘How on earth are we going to get rid of the Fanshaws after the will’s signed?’ asked Jan on Friday morning. ‘Awkward, if we want Dr Braddock and Mrs Murray to stay.’
‘Yes.’ Helen finished her coffee. ‘I hoped Ellen Fanshaw would say something about plans for the evening, but she very significantly didn’t. Oh, well, there’s plenty of food, and they may turn out better than they sound. Neighbours, after all.’
‘There must be others.’
‘It’s the wrong time of year, isn’t it? You don’t see people much. Everyone just dives home to the television. I’ve been rather hoping that there would be a local Christmas card or two for Beatrice, but I suppose she froze everyone out years ago.’
‘It might be a bit tiresome in a crisis,’ said Jan thoughtfully. ‘Having no one. Maybe we’d better cherish those Fanshaws. For when you’re on your own. Where does Wendy live?’
‘Th
e other side of town. She cycles. Better in summer of course.’
‘I liked her so much.’
‘And wasn’t Clive a surprise?’ Wendy had brought Clive the day before, explaining that the friend who usually had him was ill.
‘I’ll say. Awkward for them both that they look so different.’
‘Beatrice told me they had actually been stopped by the police. On suspicion of kidnapping.’
‘Ouch. Even here?’
‘Maybe more likely here. You don’t see many black faces in Leyning, when you stop to think about it.’
‘I suppose you’re right. Nice old-fashioned, conservative little town.’
‘Reasonably nice. Let’s wait till we’ve met the Miss Fanshaws.’
‘They’re not the whole town,’ said Jan.
‘You look like a Roman empress.’ Dr Braddock had arrived first. He smiled at Beatrice, enthroned in her purple caftan against golden cushions, and looked around the room. ‘And what a transformation. You’d not know the place,’ to Helen.
‘It does look nice, doesn’t it?’ Ruthlessly tidied by Helen and Jan, and then cleaned by Wendy, Beatrice’s room looked much bigger. Jan’s little Christmas tree had pride of place on the big bookcase, and scarlet sprigs of holly drew the eye to Japanese prints on the walls. ‘I do hope it’s not going to be too much for her.’ Helen was counting chairs with an anxious eye.
‘I’ll see it isn’t. Don’t worry. She’s fine at the moment.’ He closed his bag. ‘Even the blood pressure. You’re a credit to me, Mrs Tresikker.’
‘And to my minders. There’s the bell. If it’s the Fanshaws, Helen, always early, don’t bring them up till Frances Murray gets here. I can only take so much of those two.’
‘Right.’ Helen hurried down to find Jan helping two grey-haired women out of identical dark coats.
‘Better early than late for an occasion like this.’ The taller one handed her scarf and gloves to Jan, as if to a menial, and turned to Helen. ‘You must be Miss Westley, the good Samaritan. So pleased to meet you. And how is our dear friend today? Does the doctor think her fit for this ordeal? Though mind you, Dr Braddock – oh, thank you, my dear.’ Jan had whisked the coat off her back in what struck Helen as a slightly ruthless gesture. ‘Poor Sandra Braddock was a dear friend of ours, you know, but perhaps the less said about that the better.’
‘The doctor is with Mrs Tresikker now.’ Helen opened the sitting room door. ‘So we’ll just wait down here until Mrs Murray arrives.’
‘Oh.’ She had started to move towards the stairs at the end of the hall. ‘Of course. Deciding whether she is up to it. Quite right too. This is my sister Susan. Miss Westley and … ?’
‘My niece, Jan Dobson.’ Helen shepherded them into the front sitting room, also tidied and cheerful with holly and ivy and a scarlet poinsettia. ‘Do sit down. Mrs Murray from Finch & Finch wasn’t quite sure when she would be able to get away.’
‘Not one of the Finches?’ Disapproving.
‘They are none of them working this week. I’m immensely grateful to Mrs Murray for putting herself out for us like this.’
‘Such a sad story,’ said Susan Fanshaw. ‘Oh, that must be her.’
‘Sorry to be late.’ Frances Murray shook out her dripping umbrella and handed Helen a clanking plastic bag. ‘Put them in the fridge for later? Is everyone here?’
‘Yes, and Dr Braddock says she’s fine.’
‘Good. Then let’s get on with it. I do try not to get involved in things, but I’ll be really glad when this will is safely signed, sealed and stowed away. Do me a kindness, would you, and winkle out Dr Braddock for me when we go up? I prefer to be on my own with the testator and the witnesses. Anyway the fewer people the better, for Mrs Tresikker, don’t you think?’
‘Of course.’ She had hung up Frances Murray’s coat and now opened the sitting room door to summon the Miss Fanshaws. ‘We’re not wanted, Jan,’ she said. ‘Mrs Murray thinks the fewer people the better, and of course she is right.’
‘I should think so,’ said Ellen Fanshaw. ‘Such a very private business, a will, isn’t it? Come along, Susan, we mustn’t keep the old dear waiting.’
‘No, that would never do. Suppose her mind should start slipping again.’ Susan Fanshaw pulled herself awkwardly to her feet.
‘There’s never been a thing wrong with Mrs Tresikker’s mind,’ said Helen, more sharply than she had intended.
‘Oh! Sorry, I’m sure, but I had heard some stories about fits of temper… ?’ She was in the hall by now, face to face with Frances Murray. ‘Well, Frances, it’s been a long time. How are you, my dear?’
‘Fine, thanks. And grateful to you for coming, but the less said about temper the better, don’t you think, Miss Susan?’
‘I had no idea Frances Murray was a local girl.’ Dr Braddock had left to finish his round, promising to come back when he could, and Helen and Jan were in the kitchen putting smoked salmon on plates.
‘No, what a surprise,’ Jan agreed. ‘It sounded as if she and the Fanshaws go back a bit, didn’t it? More goes on in Leyning than meets the eye, that’s for sure.’
‘You can say that again. Goodness, can they be done already?’ There were sounds of movement upstairs, and she went out into the hall to see what was happening, feeling suddenly anxious for Beatrice.
Frances Murray was leading the way down the stairs, looking surprisingly handsome, dark eyes sparkling with what Helen recognized as rage. ‘There you are. Good. Mrs Tresikker needs you. She’s a bit upset.’
‘Oh dear.’
It was awkward squeezing past the two Miss Fanshaws on the stairs, and they were not particularly helpful, with Miss Ellen busy trying to explain something to Frances Murray: ‘Our duty as witnesses—’
‘The doctor had taken care of that.’ Frances spoke with strained civility. ‘A witness’s job, Miss Ellen, is to witness. Is this your coat?’ But Helen had closed the bedroom door behind her and heard no more.
Beatrice was sitting bolt upright in bed, those alarming red spots flaming in her cheeks again. ‘My own bloody fault.’ She surprised Helen. ‘Should have had more sense than to ask them. Pair of nosy old busybodies. Wanted to go through the terms of my will with me, didn’t they? Make sure I hadn’t made some kind of terrible mistake. Outrageous! Help me calm down, Helen? I don’t want to foul up the evening for you all.’
Helen had taken the hand that clutched the purple quilt. ‘Shut your eyes,’ she said. ‘Look at the darkness. Breathe slowly … That’s better.’ She slowed her own breathing in sympathy and counted its time gently into the hand that gradually slackened under hers.
Five minutes later, Beatrice was asleep. Helen settled her more comfortably against the pillows and tiptoed downstairs to find Jan and Frances sitting anxiously at the kitchen table.
‘How is she?’ Frances asked. ‘Should we call Dr Braddock? It’s my fault, I should have stopped them. Interfering old busybodies—’
‘That’s just what she said,’ Helen told her. ‘I think she’s going to be all right, but it was certainly touch and go there. She’s asleep now; I don’t think we need call the doctor. He said he’d come back when he can, no need for panic stations. And at least you managed to get rid of them.’
‘Shaking the dust off their feet, I’m afraid,’ said Frances ruefully. ‘I’m sorry about that. They and I go back a bit as I imagine you will have gathered. I did have a qualm when I heard they were to be witnesses, but as Mrs Tresikker had asked for them …’
‘Absolutely.’ Helen moved over to the fridge. ‘Champagne time, don’t you think? Jan, you’re the expert.’
A cheering glass later, Helen ventured the question that had been teasing her. ‘Do tell about the Miss Fanshaws. I hadn’t even realized that Dr Braddock had a wife, let alone her being a friend of theirs.’
‘Well, he hasn’t now – partly thanks to them, I’ve always thought. A pair of troublemakers if ever there were such. Taught us all in the local school, and went
in for favourites. Sandra Jones, later Braddock, was a natural born favourite. Film-star pretty, with not much in the way of brains but a gift for saying the right thing at the right moment. And an orphan, brought up by a bossy aunt, so we were all sorry for her, or tried to be, but it was difficult sometimes. Specially when she became such a teacher’s pet. There was a bit of fuss about her A level results.’ She looked from Helen to Jan. ‘I’m being terribly indiscreet.’
‘Safe with us.’ Helen passed her the olives. ‘All forgotten in the new year, we promise. And one must talk sometimes. Tricky coming back to work where one grew up. Specially as a solicitor?’
‘Yes. I’m beginning to think it was a mistake. But it’s not so easy to get started. As a woman. So when Finch junior approached me, I jumped at it. Trouble is what they wanted was a token woman, and I’m not sure I’m going to be token enough for them.’
‘Tea and sympathy,’ said Jan.
‘Exactly. Well, mainly tea. And running their errands. It’s been wonderful, this week, being on my own. There’ll be hell to pay, I expect, when they get back on Tuesday and find I’ve gone ahead with this. Not their form at all. They’re great believers in gentlemanly delay. Makes them more respected, they think. I oughtn’t to be telling you this.’
‘Of course you shouldn’t,’ agreed Helen. ‘But we’re safe as oysters, quite apart from knowing no one here in Leyning, and you know it’s doing you good. Oh, there’s her bell.’ She had been listening for this. ‘I’ll go.’
‘Loo, please?’ The red spots had faded from Beatrice’s cheeks. ‘Have you got rid of them?’
‘Frances Murray did.’ Helen helped her out of bed. ‘She was furious. Well, so were they.’
‘Pity,’ said Beatrice as they shuffled to the bathroom. ‘Not what I meant at all. Nosy old fools. Thanks.’ She settled down with relief and Helen left her to it and went to tidy sheets and pillows on the big bed.
Settled back again, Beatrice smiled. ‘Better now. Thanks. Glad that’s all over. And now, did I hear someone mention champagne?’
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