Little did any of them know, old Scrooge had left us all a pile of rotting shit.
Four years ago, I sat amongst the family as Arthur Peverill, long-time lawyer to the Weiss family, delivered Eugene Weiss’s last will and testament. Peverill, also known as Artie, Art, or plain oldThe Shark, sat back in Eugene’s dark green armchair. The smooth leather creaked beneath him as he surveyed us over steepled fingers. We were waiting on Tristan and Mimi, as usual.
Aunt Clem and Uncle Fergus wore tweed suits and polished brown shoes, obviously dressed for the roles of soon-to-be multi-millionaires. Jeannie lounged in an armchair, an irrepressible smirk twisting the side of her face. She looked them up and down and tittered to herself.
Sitting on a straight-backed chair beside Jeannie, George perched with his usual bored demeanour. Whenever he was anywhere that wasn’t his own turf, he had an itchy look about him that screamed,Leave me alone, dammit, I just want to read my book.
I glanced at Miles, sitting so still next to me, he was barely breathing. I clutched the top of his hand, giving him a reassuring smile that I hoped conveyedWhatever the outcome, we will be fine.
Toots was on the other side of Miles, hunched over in a huge wing-back chair that made her look like the matriarch of a Mafia movie. She pulled a tissue out of her sleeve and wiped her nose. The rest of us sat in silence, the laboured ticking of the grandfather clock and Toots’s sniffing being the only sounds.
Tristan sauntered in, Mimi trailing behind him like a perfumed cloud.
‘Sorry, folks,’ he drawled, ‘traffic was murder.’
Aunt Clem sniffed disapprovingly, her nose wrinkling as if she’d caught a whiff of something unpleasant. Uncle Fergus merely grunted, his thick fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on the arm of the sofa.
‘Now that we’re all here,’ Artie began, his voice as smooth as oil, ‘let’s get down to it, shall we?’ He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a thick envelope, sealed with red wax bearing the unmistakable E.W. crest.
Miles and I held our breath, the air around us feeling thick and cloying.
As Artie broke the seal, the crackle of wax seemed to reverberate through the room. He cleared his throat, unfolded the document with deliberate slowness and began to read.
‘I, Eugene Weiss, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this to be my last will and testament…’
I could sense everyone leaning forward, hanging on every syllable. Aunt Clem’s nails dug into tweed as she gripped Fergus’s arm. Jeannie’s smirk had faded, replaced by an intense, almost predatory glare. Tristan exuded nonchalance, but I noticed his foot tapping out an anxious rhythm on the Persian rug.
Artie paused, his eyes scanning the room before continuing. ‘To my dear family, I leave you with this final lesson: in this world, there is only one victor; He who possess a killer instinct and is not afraid to do what is necessary. I have no doubt that each of you believe yourselves to be deserving. Yet some of you are much more deserving than others and have proven your worth to the continuation of the Weiss legacy. I hope you will take my decisions in good faith and realise I was only trying to do what isright,no matter how unfair you may find it.’
As Artie’s words hung in the air, a collective intake of breath filled the room. I felt Miles’s hand tighten around mine, his palm clammy with nervous anticipation. We had discussed what we thought the outcome might be and concluded that we didn’t want or expect anything. But my God, would it ease some of our burdens if we did. Now that we were here, I could see how much it meant to us both.
‘To that end,’ Artie continued, his voice taking on a sombre tone, ‘I have decided to divide my estate as follows…’
He paused again, his eyes sweeping across the room, lingering on each face for a moment. The tension was palpable, like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point.
I wanted to scream,Get on with it then!
‘To my first grandson Miles, his wife and children, a donation of one hundred thousand pounds to Miles’s research department at the university, and a further sixty thousand to be split equally for my grandchildren, Callum and Martha, to be used for higher-education purposes only.’
Miles gripped my hand so hard I had a job not to cry out. I pulled away from him, and he looked down at my hand, appalled that he might have hurt me.
‘I’m so sorry,’he mouthed.
Artie continued. ‘For my second grandson, Tristan, and his wife Miriam, one hundred thousand pounds will be donated directly to Miriam’s charitable ventures.’
‘To my nieces, Beebee and Ceecee, who I hope will go on to great things,’Artie’s eyes read on, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably,‘and not end up in some seedy nightclub grinding on a pole?—’
I almost choked out a laugh as Mimi let out shocked gasp.
‘—I leave the sum of sixty thousand pounds, the entirety of which is to be spent on higher education.’
Tristan just stared ahead, jaw working, his face getting redder and redder. Oh, Tristan was not going to like that at all. It was a miracle he was still in his seat, his body still containing him and not vaporising into red mist.
I saw Clem lean forward, her eyes wide; she might as well have been rubbing her hands together.
‘To my son, Fergus, and his wife Clementine, I leave my collection of first edition books and Bluebell Cottage, to live in until their deaths. At which time, the cottage and the surrounding land will pass back to my son George, or his wife, Jeannie, whoever is still living at said time.’
Clem’s face fell.
