The Buttercup Field

by D J O'Leary

  Thus it was with a mixture of trepidation and excitement that he stepped into the solicitor’s office the following day, a large room in a building creaking with age. The solicitor himself was the senior partner of the oldest established firm in the town, a spry man, with grey hair, who revealed a gentle, courteous manner as he guided Elspeth to a leather-covered chair while offering a welcoming smile for the two of them.

  ‘Good morning Elspeth, Mr Pearce. It’s good of you to come at such a harrowing time, but that is the way with things. Unfortunate, but there it is. They won’t go away. Time and the law wait upon no man, one might say.’

  He moved around the desk to sit opposite them, drew a file towards him and opened it. A brief shuffling of the documents contained therein produced the last will and testament of Hubert Jacobus Willem de Groot.

  ‘As I am sure you are aware, Elspeth, Hubert used his final weeks wisely, sorting out all his finances in readiness for the taxman and I foresee very few last-minute hitches and glitches. Probate will still take time, probably a couple of months or so, but it should all be plain sailing.’

  Financial provision had been made for Elspeth during the transitional period between death and probate, including funeral costs, and the solicitor insisted that should there be any emergency then Elspeth need merely to pick up a phone and let him know and funds would be made available.

  ‘Now, Mr Pearce, I understand from Hubert that he made you aware of the fact that he was bequeathing you Stottenden Manor and its land, is that correct?’

  Tolstoy found his throat appeared to be dry and he began by nodding, before adding somewhat croakily, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you like a glass of water?’ asked the solicitor solicitously, and, before Tolstoy could reply, he was on his intercom and requesting a jug of water and glasses from his secretary.

  While waiting for the drinks to appear he continued, ‘Did Hubert tell you anything further about your inheritance?’

  ‘Well not exactly. I mean, he explained that he wanted me to continue to maintain the cricket ground and uphold the traditions, supervise the various matches and so forth. And please call me Warren.’

  ‘Thank you… Warren. No, no. I meant did he make you aware of the detail of his bequest to you?’

  ‘No.’ Tolstoy glanced at Elspeth in puzzlement; she merely smiled at him. ‘No, not really.’

  ‘Well, for example, did he make it clear that in leaving you Stottenden Manor he was also bequeathing to you all the fixtures and fittings, you know, the furniture, etc, not forgetting his wine cellar?’

  ‘Um… I hadn’t really thought about it, about that side of things.’

  ‘And how about money? Did Hubert let you know he would be leaving you a not insubstantial sum of money?’

  ‘No. No. He didn’t. He didn’t mention anything like that to me.’

  ‘So how were you proposing to pay for the upkeep of Stottenden Manor, repairing it, painting it, keeping it watertight, and maintaining its grounds?’ asked the solicitor gently.

  ‘To be honest, that thought never crossed my mind. I mean, I suppose it might have eventually, when a problem arose, but it is actually quite difficult just coming to terms with the fact that Hubert has left me Stottenden. And the fact that I’m responsible for the cricket ground. It’s going to be quite an undertaking. My only thought has been about how much time it might take sorting things out, making sure the pitches are properly prepared, that the outfield is mown regularly and the sight screens are painted before the start of each season, that the mowers and roller are serviced regularly, all that sort of thing. I don’t suppose I could really think further than that.’

  ‘Hmm… well…’ at which point the office door opened and the secretary appeared, bearing a tray with a jug of water and three glasses. After placing them on the desk she withdrew and the solicitor did the honours. Tolstoy took a couple of gulps, wishing, in passing, that the glass contained a half-pint of Fuggles.

  The solicitor took a sip from his glass before placing it back on the tray and continuing, ‘Hubert enjoyed a great deal of success with his various investments. He was a canny, but prudent man. Risks were minimal, but he knew a good deal when he smelled one, and he had a great instinct for what was a good deal and what was not. Despite the several so-called financial crashes in his lifetime, his investments rarely suffered deep or long-term damage. As a result, he has been able to set up a number of trust funds, all of them substantial, providing a very generous income for Elspeth, and a handsome income for you, Warren. There is, additionally, a trust fund set up to fund the maintenance of the cricket ground and its pavilion, with provision for capital withdrawals to repair and/or replace the roller, mowers and other essential equipment as and when it should become necessary.

  ‘These trust funds are in addition to a share portfolio, which is to be put in your name, Warren. I think it is safe to say that you will want for nothing.’ At that point he furnished Tolstoy with a sheaf of accounts, which gave details of his riches. Tolstoy’s eyes opened wide. Meanwhile the solicitor addressed the widow.

  ‘Elspeth, I think you had already discussed the will with Hubert?’

  ‘Yes. He had wanted to leave me more, but I have plenty already, far more than I need. And I know that Tolstoy, sorry Warren, has also agreed to allow me to remain in Stottenden, although he will become responsible financially, for all repairs and other charges relating to it, as well as taking over the day-to-day running of the place once we have the grant of probate, but for the time being I know I have to deal with all that sort of thing. Once Tolstoy does take over that will be a great relief to me. And, yes, I’m perfectly happy with what Hubert decided. I think it is only right and proper. We have no children. No nieces or nephews. Tolstoy is the nearest thing we have to a child of our own, and we both knew he would be the ideal person to inherit Stottenden and the cricket pitch. I think it is a perfect will. And more importantly, it was what Hubert dearly wanted, to leave all this to someone young enough, and with similar interests, to appreciate it and look after it for future generations. All that remains now, I suppose, is for Tolstoy to find a lovely young woman with whom to settle down in Stottenden and in time perhaps to produce children of his own to whom he can leave everything.’

  They went into more detail with the solicitor, Elspeth produced more documents pertinent to probate and inheritance tax, then finally they were taking their leave, Tolstoy somewhat stunned at what he had inherited from his godfather, Elspeth relieved that she was coming to the end of the administrative duties that went hand in hand with the death of a loved one.

  Once outside on the pavement she turned to Tolstoy and said, ‘I think this calls for a celebration. We must raise a glass to Hubert for all that he has done for us.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tolstoy, still feeling somewhat sandbagged by it all. He looked at his watch. ‘It’s lunchtime. What say we try that little pub Hubert said that you and he discovered in the spring?’

  ‘Excellent idea. I think I can remember the way from here. Let’s go.’ They made their way around the back of the building to the solicitors’ clients’ car park and got into Elspeth’s car and set off.

  The pub was buzzing. It was very different from the Snitcher’s Head. While an old building, possibly even older than the Snitcher’s Head, it had had a recent makeover. A large conservatory had been added, as had an enormous wood-fired oven, in which the chef and his team were able to produce their own breads, pizzas and stone-cooked meats. There was a heavenly smell of garlic in the air, mingling with perfumes and wood smoke. It was, thought Tolstoy, a heady mix.

  The pair of them settled at a table, Tolstoy with a pint, Elspeth with a sparkling water. They had made their choices for lunch – he a pizza, she a salad and fresh bread – and they clinked glasses.

  ‘Well Tolstoy, it’s happened. I had dreaded it, but in truth, after seeing the suffering that Hubert had t
o endure, I am frankly relieved that it’s all over for him, and for me. All the admin has left me with precious little time to grieve, although, to tell you the truth, I have been doing my grieving since the original diagnosis. But I am just happy to be able to put it all behind me now. And we –you and I – now have things to discuss and plan.’

  Tolstoy looked at her, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Yes, I know. After last night there are yet more things to consider and make decisions about. I do seem to be laying down the law a bit, I’m sorry, but these things have to be talked about now. I think it’s really important, for you, for me and not least for Stottenden Manor. And I can tell you that they are things that Hubert wanted me to discuss with you.’ She stopped talking for a moment, removed a handkerchief from her handbag and dabbed delicately at her eyes. ‘Sorry. It just hits me at unexpected times. I didn’t want to embarrass you.’ Her voice quavered.

  Tolstoy patted her forearm gently. ‘There’s no need to apologise. I understand. And I know exactly what you mean about it coming up on you unexpectedly. Take your time.’

  Elspeth smiled wanly. ‘Thank you, Tolstoy. I think I’ll be all right now, but I appreciate your understanding of my feelings. Hubert’s death has really left a large hole in my life, and I don’t know how I am going to fill it. I might need one or other of your shoulders from time to time, if that’s all right?’ Tolstoy nodded, and Elspeth picked up from where she had left off.

  ‘As I was saying, Hubert felt that he wasn’t up to talking about this himself, but he did make it very clear to me that I was to sit you down at the earliest opportunity and talk things through.’

  ‘It all sounds a mite serious,’ said Tolstoy warily.

  ‘Well, that’s because it is. I don’t want to sound harsh, or unsympathetic, that’s not my way, as you know. But you are now on the threshold of taking on some serious responsibilities, and in order to fulfil them you have to take certain actions in your own life, because, money apart, the biggest drain on you with the ownership of Stottenden Manor is time. You’ll be surprised just how much of it the Manor will demand of you. This means you have to make possibly the most important decision of your life to date – you have to decide whether you need to give up your job in London and move down here permanently.’

  Tolstoy sat upright, startled. ‘Uh, that seems a bit drastic, Elspeth. I mean, I haven’t even officially become the owner of the Manor yet.’

  ‘No, but it is something to which I think you should give some thought. And it wasn’t my idea, although I thought it was a good one; no, this is what Hubert thought made sense. Of course you don’t have to stop work now, this minute, but you do need to consider it once we get the grant of probate. I can assure you that Hubert spent a couple of hours each morning on business related to the Manor and, lately, these trust funds. I’m afraid that you’ll have to do the same. And if you carry on working in London you’ll find that you’ll be coming down to Stottenden most weekends and spending much of that time doing that sort of administration. I’m sorry if I’m sounding like a hard, unfeeling person. I’m just trying to help you to see what all this means. The fact is that what Hubert has left you means you won’t need a job anymore.

  ‘And anyway, what are your prospects in your job? Can you get promoted to a position of some responsibility? Could you end up as chairman? And, a further point, I think I am right in saying that you do not drive, yes?’ There was a nod from Tolstoy. ‘So you must organise driving lessons as soon as possible. But the most important thing you have to do is to make up your mind about your job. Is it really worth hanging onto it, when Stottenden awaits you, with, I can promise you, a busy enough schedule. After all, money will no longer be a deciding factor, now will it? So think hard about it, and then,’ she smiled, ‘hand in your notice.’

  Tolstoy was about to launch into a defence of his job, when he paused, contemplated things a little more before engaging mouth, then finally addressed the issue. ‘I suppose my prospects are not that great, really. The owner is unlikely to sell to me, and ordinarily even if he had offered me such an opportunity I would not have had the wherewithal to take him up on the offer. I have the title of “manager” but that is not a job description, that is a token title. There is just me, Darren, the company’s archivist, and Kayleigh, a part-time secretary-cum-office manager, who sorts out the administrative side of things.

  ‘It’s interesting, but it can also be dull, and I suppose you could argue that I’m going nowhere. The money is poor. I’ve just never felt the need to move onwards and upwards. And these days no one wants to employ someone like me with a poor degree in business management.’

  Elspeth spoke firmly, but kindly. ‘Well, once you take over down here I can promise you there will be plenty to occupy you. I think you’ll find that Hubert actually wrote out a list, well actually, dictated a list, to me, of tasks you’ll need to do almost daily. You will not receive that lot until the grant of probate, but when you do I think you’ll be surprised, if not a little shocked. How much notice do you have to give?’

  ‘Only a month, I think. I’m not really sure. But I’m also not sure that I’m ready for this.’

  ‘Have a chat with friends. Charlie Hornchurch for one. He has his head screwed on and he understands what you are taking on down here.’

  ‘But Charlie works in the City, and he has a serious pile to look after as well. Why do I need to stop work?’ Even to Tolstoy’s ears that last question sounded more like a childish whine than a reasoned argument.

  Being the lady that she was, Elspeth took the question at face value. ‘Charlie has a team of people working on the estate. He probably only needs to devote a few hours each month, perhaps signing a few documents and so on. Down here there will be only you, because I have never run the house and grounds, and I can assure you that, while I am prepared to do some basic day-to-day running for the time being, the moment we get probate you will be taking over. After all Hubert did everything, and I know he expected you to do the same when you took over.’

  At that point their food arrived, which gave a chastened Tolstoy more time to think things over. Initially he was humbled into silence. He had to admit he knew he had been going nowhere for some time, but lethargy, apathy, call it what you will, seemed to rule his life these days. He took a mouthful of pizza. The fact that there was no “significant other” gently goading him into being a trifle more ambitious probably did not help, he reasoned to himself. But his hours were also a handicap. He started work late morning, or, more often, around midday, then worked until maybe 9pm. There was the occasional Saturday or Sunday call-out, of which there had been rather more than usual over the last couple of months, he reflected. His time never really seemed to be his own; it was as if he were just sitting in his flat, or in the office, waiting for a request to be phoned in.

  Another bite of pizza and another thoughtful chew. He invariably picked up a sandwich or a takeaway meal on his way home and once that had been consumed he went to bed. He saw no one, other than his landlady when he paid the rent once a quarter. It was a soulless existence. Yes, that’s what it was, an existence, not a life. He had thought about learning to cook to try to improve his diet, but somehow he just could not be bothered even to look into days and times of cookery courses. Maybe now was the time to do something about it all. And once he got into the swing of things at Stottenden there might even be a part-time job that he could undertake locally. He had to admit that he was not exactly happy in his job. It was a fairly thankless occupation. More pizza. And living in Stottenden, as his own boss, so to speak, would mean that there would probably be more opportunity to watch cricket at Canterbury, Hove, Tunbridge Wells, Horsham, even The Oval and Lord’s, for that matter, or perhaps further afield, without having to use up holiday allocation to do so. After all, in order to come down and give some moral support to Elspeth he had had to take unpaid leave. Unpaid leave in the twenty-first century, for someth
ing like this? It was not as if he was taking time off to go to Las Vegas and blow his pittance of a salary on The Strip. He was taking the time off for someone else. To be there for them. But his boss had insisted there could be no compassionate, paid, leave. Now though, things did seem a little brighter. A couple more mouthfuls of pizza fuelled further thoughts. No. Things looked a lot brighter. Spring and summer would hold far more for him from now on. All he had to do was embrace his new role. Accept his new status, socially and financially. And Elspeth had merely been conveying Hubert’s thoughts on the matter. She was sympathetic, he could see and hear it. She had also been diplomatic in the way she had phrased things. There was no admonishment in her voice. She was just her usual gentle self. And there was really no one else close enough to Tolstoy who could, and would, say what needed to be said.Tolstoy pushed himself away from the table and sat back in his chair. ‘Thank you, Elspeth. I think you are right. I have been putting off this debate with myself about my situation for far too long. It’s a very easy thing to do when you are on your own. Well, when you live on your own. I’m in a job that’s going nowhere. How long did the solicitor say probate would take?’

  ‘I think about three months.’

  ‘Right then, I shall give my boss two months’ notice when I’m back at work and I shall sort out moving out of my flat and shifting my belongings down here. Will that be OK?’

  ‘That will be perfect, Tolstoy. That should give you some time to get your feet under the table, so to speak.’

  Elspeth meanwhile had finished her salad and watched as Tolstoy polished off the remains of his pizza. They ordered a coffee and chatted about their surroundings and the way pubs had changed in the last couple of decades. Finally Elspeth said they should head back to Stottenden, when she would ring the colonel for the latest news on the Buttercup Field hearing.