Unsafe Deposit

by J. E. Kellenberger

  The venue for the wake had been chosen carefully so that friends and acquaintances of Tommy and Stan would not have long journeys. Tommy was widely known in the motor trade and many of his work pals attended including several of Tommy’s current and previous employees. Together with a sprinkling of elderly men and women who worked alongside Stan on the market stalls they formed a jovial crowd. A hot meal was served and those travelling home by underground with no worries about drink-driving enjoyed the copious flow of wine and beer. The Walkers did their best to make it an occasion of happy remembrance. Daniel in particular pressed the flesh, endeavouring to speak to everyone. He heard many stories of Tommy’s adroitness in the motor trade. It wasn’t sharp practice, his chums would recall with knowing winks, just his natural skill getting customers to want to buy the car he wished to sell even if they had come in wanting to buy something completely different! As he moved from person to person his eyes wandered uncontrollably to his cousin. Mostly by her mother’s side, a moment arose when they came together, each alone. The platitudes of earlier in the day were gone. They stood looking at one another but saying little with a knowing acceptance of their situation but sharing the same hurt. She talked of her children and family life in New York and how she had settled into the American way of life with its accent on the individual and with the wonderful wide open spaces to explore and enjoy. So different, she said, from the village community in which she had been brought up in rural Leicestershire. She was happy there, she told Daniel, and without need of a further word she had laid their romance to rest. Whatever sadness she had felt for their foundered love was now gone. It was over, she had moved on and she would not be moving back. He could read it in her eyes, the softness that was once there replaced by a cool anonymity. She had consigned their love to history. Its memory might always be in her heart but she had moved on and now had others to love and cherish. Daniel felt a sudden release, a moment of liberation, unexpected but genuine. His romantic notions of holding himself forever for her seemed irrational, even stupid. The meeting had brought him to his senses. They now shared nothing more than family ties and casual friendship. In this precise moment he moved on too. He would look for a good wife and, God and their genes willing, he would start a family of his own. Standing in a small group and glimpsing over someone’s shoulder, Marian was a fascinated observer of their meeting. There was a melancholy in their body language but she could tell that something had finally been resolved. From a different angle Andreé too was a keen onlooker of the brief encounter, her mother’s instinct to know her child’s feelings in full flow and, like Marian, she could tell that the affair was now over. She squeezed John’s hand.

  ‘What was that for?’ he enquired.

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ she replied with an enigmatic smile. ‘It’s good news.’

  It was Jack who approached Daniel. He had been talking animatedly in a group of motor vehicle enthusiasts but when he spotted Daniel alone for an instant he went over to introduce himself.

  ‘Hallo, I’m Jack Dawes, Tommy’s business partner,’ he opened.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ replied Daniel, shaking Jack’s hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’

  ‘You’ve made a grand job of this,’ said Jack, looking around at the thirty or so guests chatting away happily with one another, ‘just the sort of send-off Tommy would have liked.’

  They shared some words of condolence, Daniel for Jack’s loss of a business partner and friend and Jack’s regret that Tommy would not be around to put his energies into WareWork. It was a new challenge Tommy was excited about, Jack said. In fact he was taking it so seriously that he had offered to sell his part of the partnership to Jack as he wanted to concentrate wholly on WareWork going forward.

  ‘Have you a moment to discuss something in private?’ enquired Jack, suddenly taking on a serious air.

  ‘Do you mean now or later?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Preferably now as it is the subject of the will and I have serious concerns.’

  Daniel was immediately alert. They found a quiet place to sit in a window bay overlooking a small ornamental garden and away from the general babble.

  Jack pulled a long envelope from his pocket.

  ‘This is Tommy’s last will and testament,’ he said earnestly. ‘It’s in longhand written in biro on a DIY stationery kit bought at a high street shop. Let me explain.’

  Daniel nodded for him to continue, the news of a will sounding to him like manor from heaven.

  ‘I was the witness to their marriage. Inside the envelope you will also find the marriage certificate. The registry office also made a photocopy and Jane slipped it inside her passport. She wanted something to show that her surname was now Cahill and no longer Meares.’

  ‘Understandable,’ interjected Daniel.

  ‘But Tommy had also asked me to witness his will. He had written it in advance but couldn’t have it witnessed until he was married because he left his entire estate to his wife. Obviously he didn’t have a wife until he was married!’

  Daniel was speechless. Jack continued.

  ‘He told me in advance that it would be the simplest possible will just to tide over until they returned home. Then he would get one done professionally by a solicitor. It was only for a few weeks, Tommy had said, what could go wrong! It’s left the partnership in trouble, that’s what could go wrong,’ said Jack with a worried look on his face.

  ‘It may have left WareWork in trouble too,’ said an equally worried Daniel.

  ‘Normally,’ continued Jack, ‘when one of the partners dies the partnership is dissolved but we didn’t have a formal agreement. We were just like loads of other small businesses. We started it informally and never got around to putting in place a written partnership agreement. We simply trusted one another and paid ourselves as and when the business allowed in proportion to how much we had invested in it. Tommy allowed me to put in tranches of money as and when I could afford it. At his death my share is about two-fifths. Tommy was an ace partner, he kept meticulous financial records and even though the business is doing well and solvent I’m sick to death with worry. Sorry, no pun intended. I don’t know where to begin to try to sort out the situation. I’m trying to put on a brave face but really it’s just a front.’

  ‘I feel for you,’ replied Daniel sympathetically, ‘it won’t be easy obtaining a grant of representation to Tommy’s estate. It could take months and will probably cost a fair penny.’

  Jack pursed his lips and his head slumped forward. He had already guessed the degree of difficulty lying ahead of him and Daniel had just confirmed it.

  ‘Why are you proposing to hand the will to me?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Because I know what’s in it. You have been named as sole executor. So there’s no one else to hand it to.’

  ‘Right,’ said Daniel, accepting the envelope. ‘I’ll hand it to the family solicitor and ask him to deal with all the issues that will arise from these complicated circumstances. He handled Uncle Rolf’s will and knows the family well and knows that Tommy was more or less part of it. There’ll be important issues that will arise in regard to Tommy’s directorship and shareholding in WareWork. Would you like me to ask him to handle your partnership problem? He would be reliable and give good advice and I could ask him to prioritise your work if you like. Hanging around waiting endlessly for a legal outcome will probably be one of your biggest obstacles to overcome. But I must warn you, it won’t be cheap.’

  ‘Thanks, it would be a big help if you could. If it’s a long, protracted affair working capital could become a real issue. I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I come to it. For the moment advice is what I need. So, thanks, that would really be appreciated.’

  ‘Everything okay?’ enquired his father as Daniel rejoined the group, ‘we wondered where you’d got to.’

  ‘In some respects very okay
,’ replied Daniel. ‘I’ve just learned from Tommy’s business partner that he left a will. He’s just handed it to me as, apparently, I am its executor.’

  ‘Oh! Thank goodness,’ burst out Andreé, clutching her face in her open hands. ‘Thank God for that.’

  ‘That’s the good news,’ said Daniel evenly, ‘but there’s bad news too. Tommy left his entire estate to his wife. Marian and I looked into this possibility just in case a will was found.’

  Standing with his parents, Marian nodded in agreement.

  ‘The law states,’ Daniel continued, ‘that in the event of a married couple dying simultaneously an assumption is made that the older one of the couple had died first and the estate passes on in accordance with the terms of his or her will. Jane was younger than Tommy and therefore Tommy’s assets pass to her. If she was intestate which we believe is the case then her assets pass to her closest living kin, that is, her daughter Angela!’

  ‘Oh! Dear,’ exclaimed Andreé. ‘Angela is mentally frail. The split-up of her parents and now the violent death of her mother, both factors have taken their toll on a person who may not be able to cope with such pressures. And what’s more she’s pregnant.’

  ‘It could turn into a calamity,’ interrupted John. ‘It will depend on whether she’s fit enough to hack it. Would she be able to cope with becoming a major shareholder of a quoted company? I doubt it from what I’ve seen but who knows,’ his voice trailed off.

  ‘Not just a catastrophe for us Dad, but also for Tommy’s business partner Jack.’

  A story about a plane crash didn’t usually find space in the financial press so Ruth’s attention was drawn to the short column on the front page. One of the passengers had been a director and major shareholder of a medium-sized quoted company, WareWork. His name was Thomas Cahill. The company had no comment to make at this juncture while awaiting news of the disposal of his assets. ‘WareWork again! I can scarcely believe all these coincidences,’ Ruth said out loud.

  On the afternoon of the funeral Arthur, who had eventually been informed of his ex-wife’s death by his son-in-law, and Sandra travelled by car to Winchester. Not present at the service itself for what Angela’s husband called “political reasons”, Arthur felt surprisingly little for his former wife but had desperately wanted to be by his daughter’s side during what he guessed would have been a traumatic ordeal for her. Under his breath he cursed the aircraft, the airline company, the flight crew and, most of all, Tommy. Why did this particular aircraft have to crash on this particular day and why did Jane have to be on board when things were just beginning to settle down. He and Sandra were as happy as sandmen, he didn’t need to feel any guilt about Jane as she had found someone else, his financial nest egg with Sir Brian was extremely healthy, and he even had a lead on the Croesus treasure. It was just Angela to worry about and her pregnancy might be precisely the right thing to divert her thoughts away from the marital break-up of her parents, something Arthur knew she had taken very badly. Now the loss of her mother had stirred up emotions which had been starting to calm down. Would she blame the death of her mother on Arthur, arguing that if they hadn’t split up she would never have been on that specific aircraft? He did not know. Physically robust Angela had always been a delicate child emotionally, prone to mood swings and easily upset in confrontational situations. He would have to hold her hand metaphorically and guide her through this difficult passage.

  They had timed their journey to arrive after Jane’s relatives had left Angela’s house. Sandra would wait in the car as her presence in the house would have been inflammatory. Greeted by his son-in-law, Arthur’s instincts told him that his presence there was being tolerated but he was, basically, unwelcome. Angela had already taken to her bed evidently. She was having an anxiety attack, he was told, and had taken a sedative prescribed by the doctor. Arthur asked to see her and her husband reluctantly agreed as long as it was for only a short moment. He tapped lightly on her bedroom door but there was no answer. He opened it quietly and went in. Angela was on her bed lying as straight as a dye on top of the duvet and staring unwaveringly up at the ceiling. She looked odd, she looked vacant, she looked in despair and she didn’t acknowledge his presence. Arthur gasped involuntarily. He had never seen her like this before. It was as if they were strangers, neither recognising the other. He stood for a moment deliberating on what to do and what to say before eventually sitting on her bed and taking her hand in his. There was no response from Angela save a brief fluttering of eyelids before the stony stare upwards at the ceiling resumed. It was a chilling sight: his only child, with whom he had always had a loving relationship, now unable or unwilling to respond to him. Daunted, but not prepared to give in, he spent several minutes encouraging her as best he could with how her life would settle down and how much she had to look forward to: the birth of her child, the love of her husband, and the support of her father. If she was feeling low at the moment that feeling would pass. If she was feeling despair then that feeling too would pass. If she felt she was in a dark tunnel from which she would never escape he could assure her that there definitely would be a time when she would emerge into the sunlight at its end. Lots of young women suffered with antenatal depression. She mustn’t lose hope; life would seem brighter later. ‘Just hang on in there,’ he told her. ‘Things will come right.’ He kissed her gently on the cheek and stroked her hair. ‘Just remember that your father loves you,’ he said. He closed the door softly behind him. There had been zero response, his heart sank.

  His son-in-law was waiting for him in the lounge, their rapport of happier times clearly absent, replaced now by a bristling demeanour.

  ‘I’m very upset to see my daughter so depressed,’ Arthur stated.

  ‘I’m very upset to see my pregnant wife so depressed,’ countered his son-in-law in a less than friendly tone.

  ‘Do I take it from your tone that you are blaming me?’ questioned Arthur.

  ‘Who else should I blame?’ retorted the son-in-law, ‘she was okay until all that musical marriage chairs malarkey.’

  Arthur was livid.

  ‘How dare you speak to me in that tone of voice! Marriage breakdowns and divorce happen to millions of couples. Couples don’t plan it that way but it happens, how dare you sit in moral judgement on me!’

  ‘Let me remind you,’ half shouted his son-in-law, ‘that if you hadn’t been having an affair with some floozy, Angela’s mother would still be alive today and Angela would be her normal cheerful self and my son or daughter on the way would have the prospect of a happy life to come. You’ve buggered up all that. Content are you?’

  His final sneer was almost too much for Arthur. He had to restrain himself. He wanted to shove his son-in-law’s face right up his arse but, for Angela’s sake, he couldn’t afford to lose his cool.

  ‘It’s my grandchild too,’ he said as evenly as he could manage, ‘and my daughter is in desperate need of psychiatric help and counselling. It’s urgent and if you don’t do something about it I will! Understand?’

  Arthur’s self-control in the face of provocation registered with the son-in-law. He calmed down.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I overstepped the mark. The last few days have been hell on earth. I don’t know which way to turn. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make matters worse.’ He ran his fingers through his hair, his anxiety deeply etched in his face.

  For a while the two men stood facing one another, both silent in reflection.

  ‘For the good of Angela we must not fall out,’ said Arthur. ‘When is she next due to see her GP or the midwife?’

  ‘She missed her appointment with the midwife last week. She said it wasn’t necessary as she still had some sedatives the GP had prescribed for her poor sleeping. I worry about her taking medication when she’s pregnant.’

  ‘She needs to see someone tomorrow. If she’s not well enough to go to the surgery then you
must insist on a house visit. Ring this number to let me know what happens,’ said Arthur, handing his son-in-law a business card with his mobile number. ‘I can help financially if you need to see a consultant privately.’

  Arthur climbed into the passenger seat and Sandra drove off.

  ‘You weren’t long,’ she said. ‘I didn’t expect you back so soon.’

  ‘Angela is in a bad way, a really bad way,’ Arthur sighed. ‘I fear for her sanity.’

  ‘That bad,’ said Sandra.

  ‘Yes, that bad,’ was Arthur’s truthful reply.

  Sandra pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the engine.

  ‘Let me tell you something Arthur. It’s not your fault,’ she said categorically. ‘Don’t pile the blame on your shoulders. It’s a freak set of circumstances which have led to this situation and nothing more!’

  She gave him a peck on the cheek and rubbed his upper arm in a comforting gesture.

  ‘You’re right I know. I shall do everything I possibly can to help her but I won’t let it affect us,’ he promised. ‘I’ve waited patiently all these years to be with you and I’m not going to let anything mar our happiness.’