A Brush with Death Page 7

  Arthur seemed terribly anxious not to take advantage of me, and so I replied, ‘Yes, of course. But please let me know if there is anything I can do to help.’

  I had completely forgotten until I stepped outside that my car was pulled up quite so close to the front door. I re-parked it at the end of the row of others in the yard. I had never been too sure why this small family needed quite so many cars but I knew that most large country estates had what they refer to as ‘an old banger’, a spare car to lend if anybody breaks down.

  I popped the boot of my car open and took out my suitcase. I’d only packed for a weekend and was going to have to be inventive with my outfits if I was here longer than the one night. I certainly didn’t want to revisit the memory of those fourteen years of drab school uniform, wearing the same thing day in, day out. I’d hated school and every little thing that went with it.

  Housekeeper Mary’s husband is Butler Shepherd and together they live in a very pretty two-up two-down Purbeck stone cottage at the back of Beckenstale Manor, conveniently only steps away from a back entrance that leads straight into the scullery and on into the kitchen. Like the majority of country houses, Beckenstale Manor has a front door for family and visitors and several discreet back entrances for servants.

  Shepherd and Mary had, I knew, been with the Greengrasses thirty-five years. Both ten years younger than Diana, who is seventy, their working lives had meant they looked a similar age. Mary is both cook and housekeeper, with only Miss Jenny under her, while Butler Shepherd waits on everyone, yo-yoing between the main house and Arthur and Asquintha’s annex. Even the grandchildren don’t carry their plates to the dishwasher or their outdoor kit to the car.

  ‘Susie!’ said Nanny in a slightly surprised voice when I knocked.

  ‘Hello Nanny. Were you expecting someone else?’ Nanny looked a bit awkward, and so I explained, ‘Arthur has asked if I can remain here until his mother is calmer. He suggested I could stay in your spare room. Would that be ok?’

  I was a little nervous asking such a favour, outside of my comfort zone, and hers.

  There was no need, Nanny looked at me with a broad smile. ‘That would be just great. I’d enjoy the company. I never have people to stay.’

  Nanny was full of chatter and didn’t seem at all perturbed by Lord Greengrass’s death. ‘No surprise she wants you to stick around. She’s always favoured you. All us staff have noticed that, ever since you first came.’

  I smiled but wasn’t sure what to say.

  Nanny turned on her heels. ‘I’ll just say to Mary and then I’ll take you to me house.’

  I stood on the doorstep listening to their hurried chatter. Then Nanny re-appeared with a duffle coat on and we set off together back round the front of Beckenstale Manor, across the yard and following the curve of the red-brick garden wall, until we came to a pretty cast-iron gate letting us in to the rose garden. Nanny’s bungalow was in front of us as we turned to our left.

  ‘Lovely location this, don’t you think, Susie?’

  ‘Romantic, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Well it’s yet to have an impact on me love life, but maybe you’ll have more luck.’ Nanny chuckled as she unlocked her Beckenstale-Estate-blue front door.

  ‘It’s about time I did, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Oh Susie, I can’t believe you don’t have a stream of young men proposing. With that blonde hair, they’d be after you before they’d even seen your pretty face.’

  I liked the fact Nanny treated me as a companion. Butler Shepherd and Mary were different. They’d had to wait on me when I’d come to stay, but Nanny’s position lay somewhere between the Greengrass family and their staff, and frequently she had dropped her guard in front of me. Whether it be raising her eyebrows behind Diana’s back or asking me to join her for tea and biscuits in the nursery, I had taken these overtures as a compliment, and so we had built up a rapport over the years.

  ‘Arthur wanted me to ask you to go to the annex and look after the boys so he and Asquintha could spend time with Diana,’ I remembered to say.

  After giving me a quick tour, Nanny returned to the big house.

  She was so calm and adjusted about Lord Greengrass’s death that I wondered if she had known it was coming. Perhaps he had been ill? I doubted he had died through old age, as although advanced in years he wasn’t that old.

  Now that I was on my own for the first time the thought of never being able to say goodbye to him made me feel sad inside. And, I am ashamed to admit, it also crossed my mind that my days as a guest at Beckenstale Manor may well be over.

  Very soon Arthur and Asquintha would move in, and Diana would move out. That’s how it goes when the head of an aristocratic family dies.

  I was suddenly conscious of making the most of my time here while I still had some, and with this opportunistic thought I decided to go for a walk down at the nearby coast. The unbroken horizon and crooked limestone coastline were two of my favourite views round here. I always much prefer a day with a walk in it and a blast of sea air would help me sleep tonight.

  By the time I got back to Rose Cottage it was almost dark. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and so, after warming up in a bubbly bath, I made myself a bowl of pasta and ate it standing up in Nanny’s 1960s kitchen. The room was dimly lit by one overhead light obstructed by a slightly wonky lampshade which I was unable to straighten. There were no chairs although there were a couple of stools, while the extended window ledge of the single window doubled as a breakfast bar. I was just finishing my washing up when I heard the latch on the front door.

  ‘Home at last,’ Nanny said with relief, ‘Susie?’

  ‘I’m in the kitchen.’

  Nanny appeared in the doorway.

  ‘How are they all?’

  ‘Sad, Susie, so sad. I had to try me hardest to keep me emotions at bay looking after those boys.’

  ‘Well done. It must be such a great help to Arthur and Asquintha you being there.’

  Nanny said the whole business had upset her much more than she thought.

  I was able to distract her by pointing out she wouldn’t want to miss the beginning of her favourite TV show, and before long she hurried to her front room.

  I don’t like watching telly; I never have – I’m not sure why – and consequently I find it difficult to engage with. The idea of nodding off on the sofa in front of something I could live without could never replace the joy of being in bed for me, and so I told Nanny I was turning in for an early night.

  It was a great relief when Monday morning arrived. Despite my conviction that my walk would send me straight to sleep, I’d spent most of the night awake with the realisation that when someone dies there is a dreadful limbo between death and burial. It’s a nonsense period which until concluded gives no allowance for moving on and learning to live with the loss.

  I got out of bed, almost tripping on my full-length nightie as I stood up. I crossed the small room to draw back the bedroom curtains and then wished I could do the same with the clouds. They looked particularly heavy, as if they were going to burst open at any minute and let cascade a downpour. I opened the window and put my hand out to test the temperature so I could dress accordingly. It was very cold outside, and thermal underwear was the order of the day.

  I love my luxury thermal underwear, which consists of an ivory, soft silk, underwired bodice with knickers to match. Last time I was in Paris I found a boutique selling polo-neck bodices and at this moment I was very pleased I had then spent an extortionate amount of money and bought one. Admittedly, a bit of a palaver to get into, but this set never fails to keep me warm all day. Over the top I wore a red wool jumper, a mauve woollen mini-skirt and thermal black tights. You’d have had to take me to the North Pole to get cold.

  I headed to the kitchen and called out to Nanny but there was no reply. She’d obviously gone back to the annex already. It was only 8am and too early for me to go over to Diana just yet.

  I stood in the kitchen a
nd for the first time in ages I didn’t feel remotely hungry. I made a cup of tea and carried it through to drink in Nanny’s front room overrun with spider plants. Its long window faced straight on to the rose garden. The herbaceous border – the upper-class’s description of a flower bed – had been trimmed back for winter and its dark earth looked particularly desolate as the rain began to fall.

  There was a copy of a trashy newspaper from yesterday on the trestle table beneath the window, so I picked it up and settled in one of the sunken armchairs. I rarely read a newspaper but now enjoyed passing a bit of time with a junky story of a minor celebrity’s wife’s devastation over her husband’s affair with a hairstylist. It was plastered over the front page together with a picture of the couple; the editor of the paper obviously felt it was a vital bit of news.

  I think I’d be more likely to read a newspaper if the majority of it were good news. Wouldn’t we all feel better if it was? But then I supposed that wall-to-wall good news would be unlikely to sell many copies. I wondered if Lord Greengrass’s death would be reported in today’s papers – I very much hoped not just yet.

  I took my empty teacup back to the kitchen, picked up my raincoat from the porch peg and flung open the front door of Rose Cottage. It was absolutely tipping with rain, so with my hand holding my hood tie tight, I ran for it. Out of the walled garden, across the yard in front of Beckenstale Manor and straight under the awning of the main porch.

  It was only once I pulled my hood down and looked up that I realised there was a stranger standing right in front of me. He was a tall, thin man, with polished loafers gleaming from beneath a dark, flannel suit, and he looked to be as startled by my sudden appearance as I was his. I smiled at him. He composed himself, stretched out a cold hand and we exchanged a ‘How do you do?’

  ‘Martin Jenkins. I am sorry we meet for the first time under such upsetting circumstances.’

  He must have mistaken me for Asquintha, I realised. ‘Oh no, I’m not Asquintha. I’m a friend of Diana’s, Susie Mahl.’

  He apologised and explained he was the family’s private client solicitor.

  As I reached for the door handle to let us in I explained that Arthur had rung me the previous afternoon to say that the family solicitor was coming first thing this morning. ‘I’m in the unusual position of being included in the family affairs despite being unrelated,’ I added.

  I hadn’t realised that Martin had in fact rung the doorbell before we’d shaken hands and consequently Arthur was walking through the hall towards us as we entered. There was no sign of Butler Shepherd, which was odd.

  ‘Good morning, Martin,’ said Arthur, shaking his hand, and then looking over the solicitor’s shoulder to nod a greeting at me.

  Martin offered his condolences.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Arthur. ‘Let’s go through. Mother and Asquintha are in the library. I’ll take your coats.’

  Martin removed his long trench coat and I took off my waterproof. Arthur hung them on pegs in the porch and then led the way to the library. He held open the door as we entered the musty room. Both walls either side of us were lined head to toe with books, and the cabinets that encased them were tall, thin and tidy; rather like Martin, I thought.

  Diana and Asquintha both stood up on opposite sides of the oval mahogany table. It was the first time I’d seen Asquintha since being here. Her dress sense had always amused me as she so routinely wore provocative clothing for a member of such a conservative English family. Her leopard-print leggings were a particularly strange choice this morning, considering the circumstances, but at least her good figure minimised the excess attention they drew.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Martin,’ said Diana as she walked towards him and shook his hand.

  I smiled at Asquintha to say hello. She had never been jealous of my relationship with Diana, and she didn’t seem the least bit disapproving that I was included in this particularly personal family meeting.

  Martin clasped Diana’s hand in both of his and said, ‘I am so dreadfully sorry that your dear husband has passed away.’

  I could tell by Diana’s stiffness that she felt Martin had overstepped an invisible line between solicitor and client.

  ‘You must be the Countess of Greengrass,’ said Martin as he turned to Asquintha, who was edging her way up the table.

  Diana rebuked, ‘Until my husband has been buried, we shall not be publicly using our newly acquired titles.’

  Asquintha shot a knowing look at Arthur. He was clearly torn between mother and wife, and so he smiled at both of them in an obvious effort to avoid disloyalty to either.

  Martin apologised for his presumption to Diana.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Lady Cornfield,’ he then said to Asquintha, and without an ounce of inhibition Asquintha kissed him hello on both cheeks at the same time as shaking his hand.

  ‘Please call me Asquintha,’ she added as she drew away.

  ‘I see you have met Susie Mahl,’ said Diana in a snappish tone. ‘I’ve asked her to stay with us for a while.’

  Martin spoke to the room. ‘This is a private meeting and therefore I must ask if it has been agreed by all members of the family present that Susie Mahl is in fact permitted to be present?’

  ‘She certainly is,’ announced Diana, without the slightest consultation with her son and his wife.

  ‘Well,’ said Martin easing the atmosphere. ‘It’s always good to have a close friend you can all call on.’

  This was a nice way of putting it; I decided I liked Martin.

  ‘She’s a trustworthy girl and is a great comfort to me,’ said Diana, to show that she had some personal differences with Asquintha.

  ‘Let’s sit,’ announced Arthur with an authority I’d not seen in him before. ‘Martin, you take the head of the table; Susie, if you could be beside mother.’

  I went around the table and sat down opposite Arthur and Asquintha.

  I wondered whether on the death of the head of a family comes not only title and estate to the eldest son, but with this an embedded sense of leadership. It certainly seemed to be the case here, as previously I had always thought Arthur quite mealy-mouthed.

  Martin laid his briefcase on the table. ‘This is the most difficult part of my job,’ he began, ‘and I am sorry we all have to come together to discuss the late Lord Greengrass’s affairs.’ I thought he must be a bit nervous as he was pushing the top of his biro in and out against the table, but fortunately it made no sound. ‘If at any point you want to stop the dialogue and continue at another time that is absolutely fine. I, as the executor of Lord Greengrass’s will, have twelve months’ grace from the end of this month to submit the inheritance tax forms. However, as there is going to be tax payable, and interest starts running on this sum from six months after date of death, it is advisable to submit the forms as soon as practical.’ The pen-action stopped and Martin looked down the table at us all with a serious expression. ‘In my experience the sooner legal requirements are conformed to the better it is for the peace of the family.’

  Without a second’s silence, Diana chivvied, ‘Arthur and I are well aware of what you are here to discuss. We have come prepared.’ She looked across the table and gave her son a nod. ‘And we’re hoping we can deal with the whole business today.’

  ‘Right, let’s begin.’ Martin shuffled through the papers in his briefcase, taking a large wodge out and dividing it up into two piles in front of him. ‘The main purpose of us meeting today is to go through Lord Greengrass’s will, trusts and any gifts he made. From this it will become clear how I calculate the inheritance tax due on his estate, as well as give you, Arthur,’ Martin looked up from his foray, ‘an understanding of the affairs in hand.’

  I knew that the word ‘estate’, when used in the context of a will, referred to the sum total of Alexander’s assets and liabilities, and not only Beckenstale Manor and its land.

  ‘Lord Greengrass’s affairs are reasonably easy to navigate,’ Martin said as he p
assed the substantial piles of papers down the table to Diana and Arthur. ‘He was a financially shrewd man and had no loans, debts or mortgages.’

  Arthur placed the papers between him and Asquintha. Diana looked up and then did the same for me.

  ‘Clarity is the most important element of our discussion,’ said Martin, ‘and matters of law are bound up with complicated conventions so you must forgive me if at times I go in to extended detail. I am afraid it is necessary for facilitating the paperwork which I will have to get in order soon after this meeting.’

  Martin had clearly mastered the skill of being both sympathetic and to the point with a bereaved family. His was a job that, I surmised, would usually be reserved for those later in their career. I also noticed that although Martin’s clothes blended in with his upper-class clients, his shoes gave away a more modest background. No gent would ever have countenanced brown shoes with a dark suit. Martin’s were a light shade of unmistakable brown.

  ‘Turning to page two of my summary of the position, you’ll see, Lady Greengrass, that your husband signed a trust document naming you as the sole beneficiary of his pension. In the appendices, which begin on page 62, are the details of its investments as well as the contact details of your fund manager. The full value of the pension will be passed on to you inheritance-tax free, but you will have to pay tax on income taken.’

  Diana seemed to know more about their personal finances than I gave her credit for, as she nodded knowledgeably.

  Martin went on. ‘Income tax is due on any withdrawals the beneficiary takes from the fund if the deceased was seventy-five or over at time of death. The beneficiary, in this case you, has to pay their highest marginal rate of tax, be it twenty, forty or forty-five percent as your financial adviser can explain. I should point out that you also have an option that instead of making withdrawals from the fund year on year, you could receive the pension as a single lump-sum payment, although this would be subject to a tax charge of forty-five percent.’