The Legacy ~ Part 1 of 3

The Legacy ~ Part 1 of 3

By Len Morgan

   It all began when my estranged grandfather died leaving me his house and its grounds.

We'd not been on speaking terms, for some years, so I was surprised to receive a letter from his solicitors inviting me to the reading of his will.   I remember it vividly, why didn’t I listen to my wife Elaine and tear it up?

"Clive Alexander Perry," intoned the solicitors’ clerk.   I was the only person left in the room yet he peered around with a questing myopic gaze.

"That's me," I said.

 He started reading... "To my indomitable grandson Clive I leave the family estate, which stands in one and one-half acres of private woodlands, and cultivated gardens.   The land and buildings have been under Perry stewardship, for a dozen generations.   I expect Clive will learn to love and cherish it, as I have, continuing a family tradition by becoming its custodian.   Should he choose not to do so, another will be appointed to take on the task.   To this end, I impose the following conditions.   Namely, that 'the custodian' should take up and prove permanent residence, on a daily basis, for a period of not less than three months, prior to taking up stewardship," He paused and peered over his spectacles in my general direction.    

 “Is that quite clear Mr Perry?"  He asked.  So, I nodded, but he continued to wait...

It wasn't exactly Buck house, but it certainly wasn’t a ruin.   The furnishings were serviceable; mostly antique and excellent quality.  Then there were one and a half acres of prime Essex countryside encircled by a forbidding six-foot granite wall; privacy assured.   It would certainly be worth a bob or two I thought.   Despite having been a complete ass-hole, to poor old Grandpa Perry, during his later years.  
It seemed I would not come out of this situation too badly after all.   
The silence and his questioning gaze persisted.
"Yes," I said.

"The estate had a book value of £1.2 million at last valuation," the clerk continued.  
"Mmm," my mind was far away, hatching schemes for spending 1.2 million.

"There will, of course, be inheritance tax, the current rate is 40%," he added.

I nearly choked; the reality of the situation was not as simple as I’d thought.   But, after some quick mental arithmetic, I cheered up.   Yesterday three-quarters of a million was beyond my wildest dreams.   All I had to do was to remain in residence for three months.   Just answer the phone, at 08:30am & midnight, and talk to the solicitors’ clerk.   Simple!

So, what could go wrong?   Well, I hadn't counted on Elaine’s reaction.  

"If you think I'm giving up my comfortable semi to live in that monstrosity for three months you can forget it!   It’s a cold, damp, rat-infested ruin!”

 She’s a little emotional, with a tendency to over-react, but her pronouncement had the ring of finality.   Well, that’s my wife…

 "My career is more important than a rundown estate out in the sticks; I need to be here, close to the city, where I can keep my fingers on its pulse--" she ranted.

"It's only thirty miles fer cry sake and you've never been closer to it than ten miles..." I interrupted her flow.  But, when her mind’s made up, nothing will budge her.   So I resigned myself to fulfilling the requirements of the legacy; alone.  

I walked outside, "Thank you, Grandpa Perry," I raged at the sky, assuming he'd headed off in that direction. 

.-…-. 

   I tied up the loose ends in my life a week later.  By dropping two suitcases inside the main hall, I effectively took up official residence.

  Opening the refrigerator, I sniffed gingerly at the milk, expecting the worst.  It smelt and tasted quite fresh.  The bacon, eggs, butter, cheese, and bread were fresh.  Maybe somebody had come in the previous day to restock, a neighbourly act?   But, as I recall, Perry hadn’t been very neighbourly.  I sat down and ate a hearty breakfast, it was good, so I helped myself to seconds.   Halfway through, I got to thinking about that refrigerator.   The more I thought the stranger it appeared.   It was incredibly large for domestic use; covering a third of the kitchen wall, extending from floor to ceiling, it was more like a bank vault or a hotel deep freeze.  There was no manufacturer’s name, logo, model or serial number on it, but it looked brand new.   Yet I knew for a fact, it had stood in that same spot for as long as I could remember, since before I was born, and I hadn't set foot over the threshold in eight years.   It had a brushed steel finish but did not feel cold to the touch.   On impulse, I took out my pocket knife and attempted to scratch my initials on it - a recessive vandalism gene at work - "so what?"   It would soon be mine anyway but, it resisted my worst efforts.   At this point, my hackles rose.   I was ready to run away.  From a refrigerator, I thought?   If my friends get wind of that I’ll be a laughing stock.  

‘Fight your Dragons’, was dad's favourite saying, so I walked right up to it and opening the door…

   A closer inspection of the contents showed they were quite normal.   They were fresh but, cool to the touch, nothing was actually cold.  There was milk, eggs, bacon, butter, cheese, bread, booze, cash boxes. 
"Cash boxes!?"   
Two of each I observed identical pairs.   I could swear there had only been two bottles of milk, but there were two inside and one-half empty on the kitchen table.   On impulse, I removed one of the cash boxes, surprised to find them there, the box was locked.   I searched the large bunch of keys the solicitor’s clerk had given me.   Sure enough, there was a small key…   
"Yes!” I said, as the box opened.   
My mind went wild at the sight; it was completely stuffed with cash.   Large-denomination notes, new crisp twenties and fifties,   Thirty neat packs (3'x2'x6') still bearing official treasury bands with the words 'Bank of England £1000' printed on them.   I counted each stack, without removing the band, my mouth was dry from licking my fingers, £30,000!   I was suddenly fearful and checked the serial numbers, watermarks, and holograms, this time my pessimism was unfounded, all the notes were genuine.   I recovered slowly and stashed the money in my briefcase.   I'd often dreamed…   But, I would have to spend three months here before I could consider fulfilling dreams.   Best not think about it, I can do patient.   Trembling with excitement, and feeling thirsty, I quaffed the remaining milk straight from the bottle.   It didn't have the desired effect; did I see beer in there? 

 "Yes,” I reached in and grabbed a large amber bottle, then stepped back in shock.   There were still two cash boxes inside.   A quick glance at the kitchen table confirmed, a third identical box sat on the table empty.

   I sat down and stared at it listening to an ancient timepiece ticking away tiny fragments of my life.   I drank the beer slowly and deliberately, it had warmed a little before I binned the empty bottle.   I was determined, not to be intimidated, I would ignore the red tin box on the kitchen table…   As an afterthought, it followed the bottle into the rubbish bin.  I returned to the refrigerator, for the second bottle, and there on the shelf were two!   I removed one and closed the door it wasn't going to spoil my evening.   Next time I looked there were only two bottles left, I ignored them, my math was correct, instead, I took a bottle of Glenfiddich single malt scotch whiskey and went in search of a glass.   “Two minus one equals two,” I recited.

   At sometime during the evening, I dozed off.   Just after midnight, I awoke vaguely aware the phone had been ringing for a spell.

"Yes," I said.

"Ah!   I was about to give up on you, just needed to know you are still there, I'll ring again in the morning goodnight," said the solicitor’s clerk.  

 I awoke in time to prepare and eat breakfast before the phone rang.

"Look here," I said, "you can hardly expect me to dash home every evening before midnight just to hear you bid me goodnight, I'm not Cinda-fella you know…"

"haha, very droll!  It was your grandfather’s stipulation."   He answered frostily, "you can stick with it or move on and give somebody else a chance, the choice is yours but, if you fail to comply even once, the legacy is forfeit."

"But, what if I had an accident and was taken to hospital…"

"Then you would lose everything!   Be there at midnight and at 8:30am for the next ninety-one days,” he said.  

"What would happen to it if I did default?"

"I imagine your grandfather has made a clear stipulation regarding our course of action in such an eventuality.   Next in line would have to meet the same stipulation."

"You have a list?"

"We will speak again tonight," he said and hung up. 

After breakfast, I placed £10,000 in each of three manila envelopes placing them in my briefcase.   I drove into the centre of Dorriton, and opened accounts for £10,000 each in the two main banks, and £5,000 in the Building Society.  Next, I visited a prestigious local jeweller where I purchased platinum and diamond ear studs and a matching pendant, on sale or return for £4,500, subject to my wife's approval.  I ordered a necklace and bracelet, with matching one and a half carat blue diamonds for £15,000 leaving a deposit of £500.  I ate at a local restaurant and bought a new Mercedes car at the local dealership.  I promised to pay cash the following morning, inferring I’d won a large sum on the lottery.   Back home I placed the jewellery in the refrigerator; I’ve decided, from now on, to call it ‘the box’.   Helping myself to a bottle of beer, I settled to watch horse racing on TV.   Later, I took one set of jewels.   I finished my beer and returned the jewellery to the store accepting a cheque for £4,500, which I deposited in one of the banks.   I drew £5,000 from each of my accounts and placed it in the box with a bottle of fine Cognac, noting as I did so there were two jewel cases in 'the box'.   I closed the door; reopened it to remove a bottle of Cognac.  I checked the serial numbers on the two stacks of £10,000, which confirmed my growing suspicion, stack for stack the numbers were identical.  I would have to bank the money in different locations and allow time for the notes to get well circulated; I could therefore not touch the two cash boxes, each containing £30,000 for at least a month.   I settled down to drink my Cognac in front of the TV and was again roused at midnight by my friendly neighbourhood solicitor’s clerk.

To be continued/...

Part 2:

Copyright Len Morgan