The Legacy: Trouble Comes Disguised As Family (Unspoken Book 2) T. Belshaw (management books to read .txt) 📖

to have a good look around the place before we go to the solicitors.’ She stepped off the concrete base onto the tarmacked yard and turned towards the single remaining field. ‘There was a stable for Bessie, our shire horse, just along here. That could be another dwelling.’ She turned back and surveyed the house again. ‘Do you know what I see here? Apartments. Three apartments, and a studio in the attic, it’s plenty big enough.’

‘I wouldn’t want to live in the studio,’ said Marjorie, nervously. ‘Not with all the witchcraft that mother practiced up there.’

‘Don’t worry, you won’t be living in the studio,’ replied Martha. ‘You couldn’t afford to.’

At one twenty-five precisely, Nicola parked up in the car park at the side of Wilson and Beanney, solicitor’s office. She got out of the car and opened the back door for her mother, who slid off the seat, straightened and turned in one movement. She was an agile woman for her age.

‘Do you want me to come inside with you?’ Nicola asked as Marjorie alighted from the passenger side.

‘Why on earth would I want you to accompany me?’ Martha asked, coldly. ‘I’m not completely gaga and I’ll almost certainly understand the legalise much better than your drink-addled brain could ever hope to.’

She walked briskly towards the tinted glass doors of the office building. ‘Just wait here… and leave that bottle you stashed away in the dashboard alone,’ she ordered, without turning her head.

A bored-looking receptionist, sitting in front of a modern-styled desk, with a large computer screen in the centre, greeted them with a half-smile and buzzed a message through on the intercom. A couple of minutes later, a dark-haired, handsome young man wearing a mid-grey suit and brown brogues, came out of a connecting office and smiled at them.

‘Good afternoon, ladies, would you follow me please, this shouldn’t take too long,’ he said, turning away as he spoke.

‘Are you our solicitor?’ asked Martha. She looked at him suspiciously. ‘I expected someone… older, more mature.’

‘Someone older,’ repeated Marjorie.

The solicitor ignored the remarks. ‘This way please, ladies.’

His office was a complete contrast to the one they had just left. The décor was very tastefully done, with grey walls and cream woodwork. From the walls, the serious, trustworthy faces of former partners stared down at them. The furniture was vintage and looked like it hadn’t been changed since the business opened. Edwardian chairs with comfortable seats, were placed strategically around the room. The huge desk was made of solid, polished oak and in the corner was an ebony hat stand. The only modern feature in the entire room was the laptop computer that the solicitor opened as he reached the desk. Even the landline telephones looked to have come from the 1930s.

‘Please, sit.’ He held out a hand towards the two comfortable-looking chairs on the other side of the desk. He waited until they were seated before sitting down himself. ‘It’s a lovely day for the time of year.’

Martha pursed her lips. The person sitting opposite, whilst having good, old fashioned manners, seemed to be far too young to be holding a position of such responsibility.

‘Young man—’

‘Bradley.’ The young man interrupted. ‘Or, Mr Wilson, if we are to be formal. I’m happy with either.’

‘Well, Mr Wilson,’ replied Martha, curtly. ‘I am Mrs Crew, and this,’ she pointed to her left without looking at Marjorie, ‘is my sister, Miss Mollison. Marjorie never married,’ she added unnecessarily.

Bradley pressed a key on the laptop, studied the screen for a moment, then opened a drawer in the desk and took out a green folder.

‘I am instructed to hand over a cheque to each of you, courtesy of your mother, Mrs Alice Mollison,’ he began.

Marjorie began to fidget, wriggling about in her chair as though she couldn’t get comfortable. Martha leaned forward an inch.

The solicitor took out two legal forms and two cheques from the folder. He slid the forms across the desk. ‘Sign at the bottom, please… where I’ve marked with an X.’

Martha picked up a classic, black fountain pen from the desk, pulled a pair of narrow, framed spectacles from her handbag and began to peruse the document.

‘One hundred pounds, paid to the beneficiaries of Alice Mollison, by the National and Provincial Insurance Company,’ she read aloud. She signed the bottom of the form with a flourish, then handed Marjorie the pen and nodded to the second form. ‘Sign it,’ she ordered.

When the documents had been pushed back across the desk, Mr Wilson countersigned both sheets of paper, put them back into the folder, then handed one of the cheques to Martha and one to Marjorie, who giggled excitedly as she received it.

‘Don’t lose it… in fact, give it to me, I’ll look after it.’ Martha snatched the cheque from Marjorie’s hand, studied both carefully to make sure they were identical, then folded them and slipped them into her bag. She shifted in her seat and looked expectantly across the desk. Mr Wilson typed something into the laptop, closed the lid and leaned back in his chair.

‘Right,’ said Martha in a business-like manner. ‘Onto the substance of the will.’

Mr Wilson shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, but that is the substance of the will, as far as you two ladies are concerned at least.’

Martha shook her head. ‘Read it again,’ she ordered.

The solicitor opened the folder, took out Alice’s last will and testament, and read through it. It wasn’t a long document.

‘That’s it,’ he said. Reading aloud, he continued, ‘My life insurance policy, provided by the National and Provincial Insurance Company, taken out in September nineteen thirty-eight to the value of, but not exceeding, one hundred pounds, shall be split evenly, between my surviving children as the policy stipulates.’

‘And that’s it?’ Martha leaned forward and tried to snatch the document from the solicitor’s hands.

Bradley pulled the document out of reach and slid it back into the green folder.

‘That, is it,’ he held both palms upwards. ‘I know this must be something of a disappointment to you both, but