by RV Raman
‘I wrote this initial will about a year ago. But soon, I found reason to change it. After lengthy discussions with Varadan, I cancelled the earlier will and wrote the two wills that are now in force–one that will come into effect if I die naturally, and the other if I die of unnatural causes.
‘I sent copies of my revised will to Michelle, Richie and Dora. This is the one that takes effect if I die of natural causes. In this will, Michelle gets a part of the Greybrooke estate as before, and Dora gets the same Bangalore property. But Richie no longer gets a part of the estate. Instead, he gets a twenty-year cash annuity. At the end of twenty years, he gains control of the corpus.
‘The reason I made this change was this: I’ve come to realize that Richie is wayward and a spendthrift. His judgement is terrible, and he has habits that he cannot support. If he gains control of a property, he will sell it immediately and squander the money. Similarly, he would fritter away any large chunk of money I might leave him. The best way to protect him against himself is to give him a cash annuity, the corpus of which he cannot touch until he is older, and hopefully wiser.
‘When I sent them copies of this will, I also made it clear that there was another will that would supersede this one should I die of unnatural causes. I explained what “unnatural causes” meant, but I did not reveal the contents of the second will. Even Manu is unaware of it.
‘This, Mr. Athreya, is a summary of the woes that have plagued my family. Any questions?’
‘Several,’ Athreya replied softly, ‘but the one that is foremost on my mind is why you chose to write two conflicting wills. Does it have anything to do with the legend of Greybrooke Manor?’
‘The one about all future owners of the mansion dying violent deaths?’
Athreya nodded.
‘It’s probably true that some of the British owners of the mansion died violently. My own view is that their deaths were the result of how they had conducted themselves. Dad’s death, on the other hand, was an accident. The idea that future owners will die violently is just bunkum. Hogwash.’
‘Yet,’ Athreya said slowly, ‘you seem to expect that you may die unnaturally. Why?’
Bhaskar inhaled deeply and let out a long sigh.
‘That’s because something started happening immediately after I wrote my initial will a year ago.’
‘The one in which you unconditionally bequeathed portions of your assets to your nephew, nieces and neighbours?’
Bhaskar nodded slowly. His arms were lying limply on the cushioned armrests of his wheelchair.
‘Yes…yes. It occurred to me that someone was not idly waiting for me to die. He or she was trying to hasten it.’
‘Hasten it?’ Athreya asked. ‘In what way?’
‘Within a month of writing that initial will, death began to stalk me. Of course, they may just be coincidences or tricks of my imagination, but peculiar things began to happen.
‘My car’s brakes failed in a surprising manner—a rubber hose had been cut with a sharp blade. A venomous snake appeared in my bed out of nowhere. I was almost run over in Coonoor by an apparently out-of-control van. And to top it all, there was a break-in at this mansion. Disregarding valuable items that he could potentially have stolen, the intruder made straight for my room. That’s when I began thinking about writing two conflicting wills.’
‘What happened to the intruder?’
‘I shot him. Varadan will tell you that I am a pretty good shot. I could have killed him if I wished to, but I thought it better to wound him so that I could find out whom he was working for. I shot him in the leg. Unfortunately, he broke the glass of my room’s French windows and escaped. I had been lying in bed when he came, and couldn’t follow him. Had I been in my wheelchair, I would have pursued him. By the time Sebastian and Murugan heard the gunshot and came to me, the man was gone. It was after that that I had bars put on my room’s French windows too.’
‘It should not have been difficult to find a wounded man,’ Athreya protested. ‘Especially in a place like this. Did you check with the local doctors?’
‘All of them in Ooty, Coonoor and nearby towns. The police made a thorough search. They came up with nothing.’
‘That can mean one of two things,’ Athreya mused. ‘Either the police were hand in glove with the intruder—which I have no reason to suspect—or the person who had engaged the man was close by. They must have transported him away to Coimbatore or elsewhere, to a doctor who kept his mouth shut for a price.’
‘I think so, too,’ said Bhaskar, nodding. ‘Let me answer your next question before you ask it. Did the attempts on my life stop after I rewrote the will? Yes, but it’s only been a few weeks since I wrote the new ones. Only time will tell.’
‘Okay,’ said Athreya. ‘So where do I fit in? Why did you bring me to Greybrooke and tell me all this?’
‘You see, Mr. Athreya, I am not entirely convinced that my two will trick can work. There is a chance that I may have miscalculated. In the event that I do die unnaturally, I want you to investigate my death.’
‘Is that the commission you wanted to offer me?’
Bhaskar nodded and allowed himself a wry grin. ‘A posthumous commission, if you will. I wonder if you have ever been offered such a thing. But seriously, Manu and Varadan have instructions to appoint you if something nasty happens to me or anyone else here.’
Chapter 6
The previous night after dinner, Michelle had offered to show Athreya around the vale. They now set off together, going up the path that led to the cemetery and the vale beyond. They stopped briefly to admire the rock garden in the outer lawn. It was a circular arrangement of tastefully laid out rings of rocks and plants, rising higher with each ring. Around the outermost ring were three stone benches for people to sit on.
About 500 yards from the inner lawn, the walkway ended in a quiet little cemetery demarcated by stone pillars. The grass in the square piece of land had been mowed, and small flower beds had been laid out around the five gravestones that occupied one corner of the cemetery.
Michelle walked up to the graves and solemnly placed the flowers she had brought with her. Athreya stood back a few paces, his arms folded in respect for the departed. Michelle bowed her head and said a silent prayer before she turned to Athreya with a little smile.
‘I always feel at peace when I come here,’ she said softly. ‘Somehow, I feel my mother’s presence here, as if she is standing beside me. Poor Mom, she went too young.’ She gestured to the gravestone closest to her. ‘This is her grave. The large one near the corner is my grandfather’s. The ones next to it are my uncle and aunt. And this is my father’s.’
Athreya had detected a hint of suppressed emotion when she had talked about her mother, and, to a lesser extent, about her grandfather. But when she mentioned her father, her voice was flat and expressionless.
‘There are two people from the family who are missing from this cemetery,’ she continued. ‘Do you know why?’
‘Well, I heard that your grandmother’s name was Anjali and Bhaskar’s wife’s name was Sujata. I presume they were cremated, not buried.’
‘That’s right.’ Michelle flashed him a quick glance. ‘That was quick. You hadn’t met any of us till yesterday evening.’ A sheepish look came over her. ‘I hope you have forgiven me for yesterday’s foolishness?’
‘There is nothing to forgive, Michelle,’ Athreya said.
‘As you would have gathered over dinner last night, we are going through a difficult patch. You know that Uncle and my husband are not on talking terms, and quite frankly, my husband and I could do with some help from Uncle. With the two of them staying at two ends of the vale, I have to be the go-between. I don’t mean to bore you with my troubles, but I thought I owed you an explanation for yesterday’s rudeness.’
‘Come, Michelle, you need to explain nothing.’
By now, they were walking out of the cemetery and away from Greybrooke Manor.
The walkway had ended at the cemetery, and they were now on a mud path with wild grass and shrubs on both sides. A dozen yards to their left ran Grey Brook, whispering to itself, flowing placidly. A short distance to their right was an irregular stand of trees, beyond which the hill began its climb gently.
They continued walking slowly, with Michelle providing a running commentary, just as Dora had done in the jeep. With a smile, Athreya appreciated the fact that everyone at Greybrooke Manor, with the exception of Richie, was being hospitable, and was going the extra mile to make him feel welcome.
Ten minutes farther down the valley, they came to a clutch of low buildings to their left, one of which was larger than the rest.
‘Is that a resort?’ Athreya asked.
‘The Misty Valley Resort. This path leads straight past it.’ She gestured towards two cottages to their right that were standing alone. ‘These have nothing to do with the resort, and stand on Uncle’s land. A very good painter lives in one of them.’
‘Ah, Mr. Phillip, I presume? I believe he is coming to the party tonight?’
‘That’s right. A quiet man who says little, but smiles a lot. The other cottage is occupied by an ex-army major and his wife. They too will be coming to the party.’
Michelle broke off as a youngish-looking man appeared farther down the path. He had just come from the resort, and hailed Michelle as he strode towards them. He was immaculately dressed, and must have been in his mid- thirties. His dark hair was carefully brushed back, and he seemed to have freshly shaved. His clothes were obviously expensive. Athreya’s first impression was that he gave considerable attention to his looks.
‘This is Ali Abbas, the owner of the Misty Valley Resort,’ Michelle said. ‘And this is Mr. Athreya, who is visiting Uncle.’
‘Technically,’ Abbas said as he shook hands with Athreya, ‘I am not the owner. My father is. But as he is too old to run the place, so I do what I can. A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Athreya.’ He looked down at Athreya’s long fingers and continued, ‘Of course! A valuer would be an artist too.’
For a second, Athreya was confused. But light dawned the next moment. Abbas had mistaken him for the art valuer Bhaskar had invited to Greybrooke Manor.
‘I’m afraid I’m neither, Mr Abbas,’ he said good-humouredly. ‘I do sketch a bit and fool around with pencils and pens, but I am not an artist by any stretch of the imagination. I’m visiting Mr. Fernandez casually.’
As he spoke, he caught a flash of puzzlement on Michelle’s face, and recalled the question she had blurted out unintentionally: ‘Why are you here?’ She had mistaken him for a lawyer or a policeman, and Abbas had now assumed that he was the art valuer.
Michelle intervened to change the topic.
‘You sketch?’ she asked enthusiastically. ‘I would love to see one of your sketches. The vale abounds with excellent subjects. The eastern side of the mansion, which faces the hills, presents a lovely scene.’
‘Perhaps I’ll try my hand at it,’ said Athreya, smiling.
‘The afternoon may be a good time, with the sunlight falling on the hills from behind the mansion.’
‘If we have sunlight,’ she said with a nod. ‘Even otherwise, it’s a fine sight. Oh, Abbas will be joining the party too. It’s going to be great fun with a dozen people. Bhuvana, our cook, is outdoing herself for the party. I’m really looking forward to it.’
Athreya wondered how true that was. With her husband staying fifteen minutes away at the Misty Valley Resort, she must be torn between the two places. On the other hand, being alone at Greybrooke Manor might be a welcome sojourn away from her badgering spouse.
After some more pleasantries, they said goodbye to Abbas and went farther down the valley. Half an hour later, they turned back and headed towards Greybrooke Manor. The walk in the vale, preceded by the discussion with Bhaskar, had stimulated Athreya’s appetite. He now looked forward to lunch.
When they reached the mansion, a little later than expected, lunch had been laid out and the others were waiting for them. Dora and Manu were arguing about some trivial matter as cousins and siblings often do. Sebastian and Varadan were discussing a pair of colonial-era swords mounted on one of the walls of the dining room. Bhaskar was in his wheelchair, talking to a bearded, bespectacled man with unruly, grizzled hair. Bhaskar broke off as they entered and hailed Athreya.
‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Enjoyed the walk?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Athreya responded. ‘The valley is beautiful. Almost as if it is frozen in time. I can’t believe that we are just an hour away from crowded Coonoor. We may as well be on a different planet.’
‘That’s true,’ Bhaskar agreed. ‘That’s precisely why some of us have decided to settle here. Let me introduce you to my friend and neighbour, Phillip. You would have walked past his cottage on your walk. Phillip, this is Mr. Athreya, who has very kindly consented to visit me.’
Phillip ambled across and took Athreya’s hand in a firm grip. His long artist’s fingers curled around Athreya’s palm and gave it a brief squeeze; and though they looked fragile, they exerted more pressure than Athreya had expected.
‘Pleasure to meet you, sir,’ Phillip said shyly in a gentle voice, with a wide smile.
‘Same here,’ Athreya replied. ‘Michelle showed me your cottage. A very pretty place, I must say. Did you come by the same path we took?’
‘No other way unless you take to the woods,’ the artist said laconically, the wide smile still in place. As Michelle had said, here was a man who smiled more than he spoke.
‘Phillip goes around on his mountain bike,’ Bhaskar chimed in, expertly piloting his wheelchair into their midst, avoiding Dora by a whisker. ‘It doesn’t take him very long to get here. You must have been farther down the vale when he left home.’
Athreya recalled seeing a high-end mountain bike outside the mansion’s front door. That explained why he had not seen Phillip entering Greybrooke Manor. The conversation moved to mountain bikes, and how they were so useful in the vale. Most well-to-do people in the valley had one, including Manu, Sebastian, Abbas and the retired army major. Phillip, it turned out, was an avid cyclist, testimony of which was borne by his muscular shoulders and arms.
As they partook of the informal buffet lunch, conversation meandered and finally came to the topic of art and paintings. Phillip lost his reticence and spoke at length about the various forms and styles of paintings, and how watercolours were very different from oil paints. He and Bhaskar argued like schoolboys over matters of detail.
‘The trouble with Phillip,’ Bhaskar grumbled to Athreya as they finished lunch, ‘is that he has very little imagination for an artist. But to his credit, he is the first one to admit it. His fingers, however, weave magic on the canvas. There are over a dozen of his paintings in my art gallery. All of them are of scenery or people; none are abstract or from his own imagination. Come, let me take you around my gallery.’
Flanked by Phillip and Athreya, Bhaskar careened his way to the hall. The wide corridor that ran the entire length of the mansion, from the front door to the rear one, had been converted into the art gallery. Mounted along the entire length of the long corridor, except where doors pierced the walls, were paintings of different shapes and sizes. Along the walls were glass display cases that flaunted antiques and smaller works of art—figurines, sculptures, tablets, fine china, jewelled daggers and miniature paintings.
They stopped at a large painting of a mountain scene that dominated the wall near the front door. The familiar-looking scene was done in strikingly vivid colours that seemed to bring it alive. At the bottom right corner was a scrawl in maroon that said ‘Philipose’.
‘Recognize it?’ Bhaskar asked. ‘It’s one of Phillip’s early works.’
‘Aren’t these the hills at the far side of the vale?’ Athreya asked. ‘The western side beyond the brook?’
‘That’s entirely right.’
‘Is this how pretty it
is during the summer?’ Athreya enquired with a hint of wonder.
‘When the sun is shining and the fog absent, this valley is heaven on earth. But at this time of the year, we are hostage to the mist.’
‘Mr. Phillip,’ Athreya said, turning to the artist. ‘I congratulate you. This is absolutely terrific. I am no connoisseur of art, but this is as beautiful a painting as any I have seen.’
To Athreya’s surprise, Phillip blushed.
‘Thanks,’ he said bashfully. ‘As Bhaskar said, I can faithfully reproduce what my eyes see. When it comes to painting the unseen, my mind is sightless.’
‘This one,’ Bhaskar said, propelling his wheelchair to a midsized painting, ‘is the Danube valley. An excellent reproduction by Phillip. And that there is the Buda Castle in Budapest.’
They spent an enjoyable hour going up along one wall of the gallery and down the other. More than half of the works were by European painters, a couple of which seemed vaguely familiar to Athreya. Phillip spoke at length about his paintings and a few others, while Bhaskar expounded on the rest. When it came to antiques and other pieces of art, Phillip fell silent.
But Bhaskar was unstoppable as he gave a continuous commentary on the antiques. The erstwhile antique dealer in him came to the fore. Metal works of art from Europe competed with wood carvings and masks from Africa, and with delicate porcelain pieces from Southeast Asia.
At the end of the hour, Athreya was left enlightened and inspired. He decided to accept Michelle’s suggestion to sketch the hills on the mansion’s eastern side. He went to his room and took out a sketching pad, pencils and erasers from his suitcase. As he stepped out and went towards the front door, a shadow fell over him.
It was Richie.
‘I saw you with Phillip and my uncle,’ he said without preamble.
His voice was sophisticated and well-modulated. Intelligent brown eyes gazed out from a handsome, well-proportioned face, under hair that was set in a calculatedly casual manner. There was an air of elegance and virility about him that was sure to make him attractive to some women.