Antony appeared at her elbow. ‘Darling? It’s time to go to the solicitor’s.’
‘Tosee what’s in the will,’ Fran explained to her fascinated companion.
‘To see who gets the farm, do you mean?’ The old lady’s eyes opened wide at the prospect of a bit of upset. Then she grew more serious. ‘I do hope it’s you, dear. You’re liked in the community.’
After some goodbyes, which threatened to become protracted, Antony led her away by the elbow.
‘I don’t think the community around Hill Top really knows me that well,’ said Fran, ‘but I don’t think Roy would contribute much.’
‘Apart from some executive housing,’ said Antony.
Fran shuddered.
Although they hurried, everyone else seemed to be there already when they arrived in the meeting room at the solicitor’s office. Mr Addison was at the head of the table, with Roy on his right. Issi and Tig were sitting together and Fran suspected they were holding hands under the table. Rather to her surprise, Moyra Jenkins, manager of the care home, was also there. Fran and Antony sat down. It wasn’t a big room or a particularly big table but Fran couldn’t help noticing that only Mr Addison and Antony looked comfortable in their clothes. They were accustomed to wearing suits; no one else was, really.
‘Right,’ said Mr Addison. ‘First of all, may I say what a very successful and appropriate funeral that was, Miss Duke. And a charming eulogy. I felt Mrs Flowers was truly represented by your words.’
‘Thankyou,’ muttered Fran, embarrassed.
‘As you all know, Mrs Flowers had her little eccentricities and left very detailed instructions in her will. I am one of the executors and Mrs Jenkins, as manager of the care home, is the other.’ He smiled at his co-executor reassuringly. She seemed a bit nervous. ‘So, shall we begin?’ he asked.
‘No one’s stopping you,’ said Roy.
Silently, Fran echoed his words. She wanted to know what was going to happen to the farm.
Mr Addison looked at the sheets of paper in front of him. ‘Mrs Flowers has put a long list of beneficiaries, charities and small bequests first, but I won’t read them all out. The first bequest of any significance is for Christopher Brown.’
‘Who’s that?’ asked Roy. ‘And why does he get to get anything?’
‘That’s me,’ said Tig. Fran could see his jaw was clenched and a vein pulsed in his neck. He was obviously extremely tense.
‘To Mr Christopher Brown I leave the cottage he currently lives in, the bull and five heifers of his choice. I also leave him the field at the bottom of the farm, by the gate, to start him off.’ Mr Addison frowned. ‘She goes on to say,I know this isn’t enough land really, but he should be able to rent some more locally.’
Tig gulped. ‘Thank you very much,’ he said quickly, obviously too overcome to say more.
‘That’samazing,’ said Issi. ‘We don’t have to leave the cottage!’ She flung her arms round Tig’s neck and kissed him.
‘Hang on!’ said Roy. ‘Is she allowed to break up the property like that? I want to contest the will!’
‘Mrs Flowers can do exactly what she likes with her property,’ said Mr Addison sternly. ‘There are no grounds for contesting her will. Now shall I go on?’
‘Be my guest,’ said Roy, looking mutinous.
‘Right! Now.To my husband’s distant cousin from Australia, Roy Jones—’ The telephone started ringing. ‘I am so sorry, I will have to take this.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ said Roy.
Fran was sympathetic and she also wanted to giggle. It was nerves, she knew, but she also knew she mustn’t give in to them.
It was hard to tell what Mr Addison’s conversation was about, as only one side of it was audible and he was monosyllabic. It seemed ages before he ended the call.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said.
‘It’s unprofessional to take personal calls in the middle of a business meeting,’ said Roy.
‘Indeed,’ Mr Addison agreed, ‘but that was about some test results for a family member. It was personal, but important.’
‘Not acceptable!’ said Roy. ‘You’re holding things up here.’
