The Gift Room Page 2

  “Alexander,” began Mr Clarkson. “I can call you Alexander, I trust?” he did not wait for a reply but pressed ahead. “It is just that, after being your parents’ solicitor for well over 20 years, I think I have a very good knowledge of their family and, thus, of yourself. I don’t mean that to be in any way presumptuous, but when one reaches my age and has been doing this work for so long, one tends to find it better to be direct from the outset. I have, after all, had these types of conversations with many, many families in similar situations.”

  Alexander looked directly at Mr Clarkson and felt a level of anger welling up inside him against a man whom he had only just met. He realised he needed to control that temper inside him but could not help in responding somewhat tersely…

  “Mr Clarkson, I know you mean well and I have no wish to be rude but…” Alexander paused. “With the greatest respect… I find it hard to believe my situation is similar to many others. I have not spoken to my parents for over 20 years… in fact over 25. They did not even have the good manners to inform me of my sister’s death over 15 years ago, until after they buried her. I am here as you requested and would like you to please read their will, inform me that they have left their bloody house, a couple of ISAs and bank balance to the RNLI or some other such charity, and then let me get back in my car and drive home to my family.”

  At that moment the door opened and the receptionist walked in with another coffee. After she left the room, Mr Clarkson opened the file without responding. He reached into an envelope that was on top of a pile of other papers, pulled out a stapled document and started to read.

  “This is the last will and testament of Mr George Fredrick Talbot and Mrs Eileen Susan Talbot of Winchester House, Godfrey St John, Devon. Being of sound mind and body…”

  “I’m sorry,” Alexander interrupted the old solicitor, who looked up from reading, took his glasses off and laid them down on the desk.

  “Apology accepted, Alexander. I am sorry too that we got off on the wrong foot. I am actually finding this rather difficult myself… You see, your parents were not only one of my oldest clients, but had become occasional friends, and whenever they needed my help over the years we had always combined it with a pleasant lunch…” Mr Clarkson now paused and seemed to weigh his next sentence in his head before continuing. “I am not here to judge their actions in terms of how they interacted with their children; I can only carry out their instructions as their solicitor and executor. I was terribly shocked at the news last week. One expects to have one’s clients die in this line of work. But both together in such a terrible accident is a horrible shock, as I say.”

  Alexander reached for his coffee, took a long drink and placed the cup back in the saucer.

  “Mr Clarkson, I am not certain of the protocol on such occasions so please forgive my ignorance. Do you need to read the whole will, or can you tell me the critical elements and then leave me with a copy or perhaps even send me one by email?”

  “Of course…” Mr Clarkson said, looking relieved to be able to dispose with formalities and address the meeting on a conversational basis. “In essence, Alexander, the will was drawn up along very traditional lines, leaving the estate to each other in the event of one of them dying first. In the event that they both died together…” Mr Clarkson paused. “I am sorry, this is really harder than I anticipated… well, in that situation, their estate passes completely to yourself.”

  Alexander looked directly at the solicitor sitting in front of him. He was too composed to show his astonishment but it was certainly not what he was expecting.

  “Well, I see, that is a surprise,” said Alexander, after a long pause. It seemed a somewhat inadequate response to the news but somehow Alexander could not really say much more as it was so completely different to what he had been conditioning himself to expect.

  “I am sorry, I should clarify that they have made one or two small charitable bequests but to all intents and purposes you are the sole heir,” Mr Clarkson explained.

  “Well, to be honest, that is not at all what I was expecting,” Alexander replied.

  “Your parents were very thorough and they anticipated this may be a shock, so I have a personal letter from them,” said the solicitor. “I am instructed to pass it to you, sealed. I honestly do not know what it contains. I am also instructed to pass you a key to their house and the instructions for their alarm system.”

  Mr Clarkson passed over a white envelope with Alexander’s name written unmistakably in his father’s hand. There was also a key attached to a brown tag, upon which were written the words “house code 1107, press enter” – again, in his father’s handwriting.

  Alexander looked at the envelope and the key. “That’s my birthday,” he said. “The code I mean, for the house alarm.”

  “I know,” replied Mr Clarkson. “I think it may help if I read to you the letter of instruction I was left by your parents.”

  Dear Peter,

  Thank you for the very nice lunch last Thursday. As always, it was a pleasure to see you. I have enclosed a cheque for your fees in relation to the matters we discussed. I have also enclosed a sealed letter which I would be grateful you could hold with our wills and pass to Alexander if, as we discussed, both his mother and I were to die simultaneously. The letter will probably still be relevant even if one of us dies first, but that will of course be a matter for either Sue or myself to determine at that time, depending upon who is left, so to speak.

  Please pass Alexander the sealed letter and the key to our house. The code is in fact his birthday. The will stands regardless of what actions Alexander takes in the next few days, having read the letter. However, I would ask that you request he takes the letter, still sealed, to our house, and reads it there.

  I am sorry if this sounds rather dramatic, but our family history has not been without some pain and suffering along the years and I hope, as this will be our last request, that Alexander will honour it.

  Kind Regards,

  George

  Mr Clarkson put down the letter and once again removed his glasses and looked at Alexander. He had placed them at the end of his nose to read the note.

  “In fact the more I think of it, the more I realise that this situation is not at all similar to any other that I have ever encountered. Will you decide to go home to Surrey, or would you like to go straight to their house as requested in their letter?”

  Alexander paused and then took a deep breath. “OK…OK, let me go to Godfrey St John. It is only around half an hour from here, I guess? Not that I have ever visited their house!”

  “Yes, probably no more than 25 minutes actually. If you leave the motorway exit signposted to Barnstable, you will see the village signposted after that,” Mr Clarkson replied.

  “Thanks, I have been to the village itself a couple of times over the years, to see my sister’s grave in the churchyard, but never to Mum and Dad’s Winchester House.”

  “Ummm, yes, of course.” Mr Clarkson felt a little awkward with the conversation. “Well, your parents’ house is just through the village, go past the pub and carry on for about 100 yards… it’s got a gravel driveway on the right.”

  Alexander stood up, with the envelope and key in his left hand. He extended his right to Mr Clarkson, who stood as well. “Thank you, Mr Clarkson, I will be in touch.”

  “Of course, Alexander, come back to me when you are ready.” After the two men had shaken hands Mr Clarkson passed Alexander a business card.

  Alexander took the card, popped it into his suit pocket and walked towards the door.

  He walked through the reception, holding the envelope and key in his hand. He strode through the automatic doors as they opened and across the car park to his Mercedes. He unlocked it and placed the letter and key on the passenger seat. He turned the car key in the ignition and the car gently purred to life. Alexander waited a few seconds as his phone connected to his car and then, without initially driving off, still parked outside the solicitor�
��s offices, he scrolled through his phone book to “home” and pressed dial.

  The ring tone filled the car through the speakers as he sat waiting for the call to be picked up.

  “Good morning,” sounded a cheerful voice on the other end.

  “Julia, it’s me.” Alexander was relieved to hear his wife’s voice, even though he knew she would be home and would be answering the call.

  “Oh darling, how did it go? Did you forget to text me when you arrived?” Julia did not mean to sound accusing, but she always liked to know when he arrived somewhere, since Alexander travelled a lot with work and she would naturally worry.

  “Oh shit, I’m sorry I forgot. I arrived fine and just walked in and, to be honest, had so much on my mind.” Alexander had completely forgotten and hated the thought of his wife worrying unnecessarily.

  “Well, I guess it is all over now? Are you coming straight home? Tell me the details when you get here, but for now at least let me know which charity gets the most!” Julia wanted to sound light-hearted for her husband. She did not want him dwelling too much on his parents and their disinterest in his life for the last two decades. She appreciated that they were very comfortably off and, although any monies from his parents would have made a difference to their lives, it was not critical.

  “All a bit strange, actually. They have left me… well, I suppose us… everything,” Alexander replied. There was silence on the end of the phone. “Julia, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, I’m here! Well that is a bit of a shock! What did the lawyer have to say?”

  “Well, he has passed me a sealed letter from Mum and Dad and I have to go to their house to read it! Well, at least that is what they have asked me to do. We inherit everything regardless of what I do having read the letter, although God knows what it says or for that matter how long it is and if my parents think the contents of it will affect my views on inheriting their estate! I can’t really see why I have to flake over to bloody Godfrey whatever-it’s-called,” Alexander replied.

  “That all sounds as though it is out of an Agatha Christie novel - only there hasn’t been a murder… has there?” Julia paused.

  “Do you want to open the letter now and read it to me?” She was trying to contain her interest, as she was dying to know what was in the letter and felt annoyingly out of the loop all those miles away in Surrey.

  “No, I am not going to open it now. Don’t ask me why…I don’t know. I shall drive over to the house and open it there. I will call you later.” Alexander felt a need to comply with his parents’ last request, although part of him wondered why he should bother.

  “Well OK, but don’t stay there too long. You will have one hell of a drive home as I guess it is another half an hour on from Exeter,” said Julia, sounding a little note of caution to her husband. She knew he had not slept well last night and he had already been driving since 5am that morning.

  “Darling, don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Call you later.” And with that Alexander rang off and looked down at the letter. “Right then, let’s get over to this house and read you, shall we?” He looked away from the passenger seat and slipped the car into drive to leave the car parking space and start his trip to the village where his parents used to live.

  CHAPTER 2

  Alexander arrived at his parents’ house around 20 minutes later. He had found the village easily off the Barnstable road just as Mr Clarkson had confirmed. He drove past the church on his right and slowed as he thought of his sister. He had not been down to visit the grave now for more than five years. He had always wanted to do so more often but somehow he felt as though he were invading his parents’ territory by doing so and therefore had tended to stay away. The last visit had been fraught as he had been sitting on the bench opposite his sister’s grave when the vicar had come out of the church and enquired if he was alright. Tears had been streaming down his cheeks; it had been a pretty ridiculous question to ask, he had thought at the time.

  “I’m fine, thanks, just miss my big sis,” he had said, and quickly left the graveyard and climbed back into his car. He had left the vicar standing in his churchyard wondering who the crying man had been. The truth was, he not only missed his elder sister; he also missed his parents. He had felt abandoned, cast adrift without any recognition of his life. That had been the last time he had visited the village. He had sped back along the motorway network of southern England to his own loving family, those who held him, cherished him and wanted him. His family that always demonstrated their love for him.

  Alexander drove past the pub and turned into the gravel drive on the right. The gate was open and the sign on the top bar clearly read “Winchester House”. He followed the drive up as it curved through the front garden which was obscured from the road by mature chestnut trees, arriving at a parking area outside the front door. The house was a typical Georgian-style, double-fronted family house. The wide parking area curved to the right of the house to a double garage which was set just to the side and just behind the front of the house. It was not huge, but it was imposing none the less. The front door was painted black with polished brass fittings, in contrast to the traditional white sash windows to the rooms on both ground and first floor.

  He parked, turned off the car engine and walked up to the front door, clutching in his hand the letter and the key. He placed the key in the lock and unnecessarily double-checked the code for the alarm. As he pushed the door open, he felt resistance and looked down at the pile of post that had collected behind it. He also heard the ringing tone of the alarm and quickly scanned the unfamiliar hallway for the panel in which to type the four-digit code. He walked past the staircase and, in the recess under the stairs, he saw a panel with keypad beneath it flashing an urgent red light at him. He bent down to avoid his head hitting the underside of the stairs and tapped in the number. The code display turned green and the noise stopped.

  Alexander looked back at the front door that was still open - he realised that the post pile now resembled more of a mountain. It included a bundle of Sunday newspapers as well as assorted envelopes and a couple of magazines in their clear plastic wrappings.

  He walked over, pushed the front door closed and as he did he popped the letter from his parents, still sealed in its envelope, into his inside jacket pocket. He then bent down and bundled the mountain of post up in his arms. He turned and walked down the hall to what he was hoping was the kitchen door. He did not know it would be, but just felt intuitively the kitchen would be at the back of the house. He pushed it with his foot, it was slightly ajar, since his arms were full, and it swung open to reveal a pleasant, light and airy room with a large wooden conservatory forming the back of the kitchen. It was set out with a large oblong oak table and assorted chairs. Alexander walked over to the table, dropped the post pile onto it and a couple of brown envelopes at the top of the pile slipped down and fell on the floor as it all cascaded across one end of the table. Alexander bent down and picked them up replacing them on the pile and then stood surveying his surroundings. The kitchen itself was modern with traditional pine wood units, a granite worktop ran around interrupted by just the large black range cooker. He reached into his pocket and removed the letter from his parents.

  “Funny,” he thought to himself. “I have never been in this room in my life and yet I would know it was my parents’ kitchen. Tidy and clean, ultra-traditional and yet somehow full of clutter. Lived in and yet lacking any form of coordination in terms of décor and style.” Alexander smiled to himself. “Perhaps I should look around the rest of the place,” he mused, still standing by the kitchen table. Then he decided that was not the course of action to take. He looked down at the envelope. “No, now it is the time to read you,” he said, conscious that he was addressing the letter as though it had its own personality.

  Alexander pulled out a chair from under the clear end of the kitchen table away from the post pile and ripped open the envelope. Before starting to read, he held the letter in his hands and look
ed up at his parents’ garden. He had sat at the table with his back to the kitchen and stared at the neat flowerbeds, paths and lawns that led away from the house towards a belt of mature trees at the end of the garden. Alexander could see a greenhouse and shed to the right. The garden was large and well tended. A garden for grandparents to share with their family when they visited he thought to himself. Yet that had never happened. He looked down at the letter.

  Dear Alexander,

  I hope you are reading this letter in our house as we have asked.

  “Fucking great,” thought Alexander, “From beyond the grave they still have to find fault and criticise me, as though I was not going to comply with their sodding wishes.”

  Your mother and I are not ones given to theatricals, however, we have decided that this would be the best way for you to understand our wishes concerning our wills and also to perhaps see how much we have loved you always. I realise that you will probably find this hard to believe, but we have missed you in our lives for a very long time and have missed seeing your family grow and being part of their lives as grandparents. We assume, as you have been married for such a long time to Julia, that you are personally happy, and that brings us some comfort in our twilight years.

  We have decided to leave you everything. With our investments over the years you will find that we are not poor, but somehow I doubt that you will need for anything much. I am guessing from what little we know of your life that you are very successful, and we are both very proud of that. The wonders of the internet mean that, knowing your address, we know you live in a very nice home and appreciate the position you hold in the organisation you work for due to their website.