in my job: that in following one human being’s life, you can pick up embedded clues about eternal truths, about what endures and what vanishes, what’s important and what isn’t.
Harold read on, in a dignified murmur that had an insistent quality like a drumbeat, and his voice took on a momentum, in the tone of a high priest murmuring incantations: “I, Penelope Laidley, being of sound mind and body...”
I focused on decoding the formalities as he announced that Great-Aunt Penelope had left this apartment that we were sitting in and all its contents to my mother, and some hefty English bank assets to Rollo. He and his mother appeared satisfied with this. They did not contest the English will, and everything seemed hunky-dory, perfunctorily dispensed with—but there was nothing for Jeremy, which bewildered me...at first.
When it got round to the French will, however, all five of their party raised their heads in alertness and sat closer to the edges of their chairs expectantly. It signalled to me that the French assets were perhaps the more valuable, and this was what the fight was all about.
“My villa in France, including the house and all the property, I leave to Jeremy Laidley.The contents of the house, that is, all remaining furniture, I leave to my nephew Roland Laidley, Junior.The garage and its entire contents I leave solely to my great-niece and namesake, Penelope Nichols.”
After the briefest of pauses, everybody started talking all at once. The earlier high-priest incantations were replaced with overlapping spell-casting, and voodoo cursing as Dorothy and Rollo’s lawyers objected to the French will, and Jeremy and his team retaliated with polite warnings of time limits to contest it and procedure and other calm but fierce words. Then suddenly it all came to a stop. It was over—at least for now. Like a round in a boxing match.
Harold neatly arranged the papers of the will in their leather folder. A butler hired for the occasion arrived with a tray of coffee and china cups, cream pitcher and sugar bowl, which he put on the round table near the fireplace.This seemed to be a signal, for Jeremy and Severine went over to fill and pass the cups around. But Rollo’s lawyers, after murmuring to Dorothy, got up as one and stalked out the door. Dorothy rose majestically and contemptuously. Rollo cast a regretful look at the coffee, but helped his mother across the room.
I was still puzzling out why Aunt Penelope had mentioned me in such a whimsical way. Hmm, I thought. For some strange reason she thought of me as a garage person.
Before I had a chance to mull this over much, I was distracted by the tense figure of Great-Aunt Dorothy, passing by me on her way out. I could feel her pent-up fury, even before I looked up and saw it in the rigid way she was carrying herself. Although her face had a blank, stony expression, her breath gave her away, coming out in sharp little gasps. She paused at the lawyers’ table, and as if unable to contain herself a moment longer, she poked her walking stick at Harold’s leather folder, knocking it off the table and scattering the pages of Great-Aunt Penelope’s will all over the floor.
“We’ll just see!” she spat out with a look of triumphant glee, as if somehow by messing up the actual pages she had dispensed with their contents as well. I was horrified and embarrassed for her, as if she’d suddenly and publicly lost her mind. “We’ll just see!” she repeated to Jeremy, who had instinctively come to my side. Rollo hastily took hold of her arm to steer her out of the room.
Nobody else seemed the least bit surprised—except me. Harold sighed, and they all merely picked up the papers and reassembled them, then went right on about their business.
As they sorted it out, Severine began a rapid conversation sotto voce with Jeremy. She called him “Zheremy” in her lilting French accent, acting very correct the whole time, impeccable, efficient, and not
Harold read on, in a dignified murmur that had an insistent quality like a drumbeat, and his voice took on a momentum, in the tone of a high priest murmuring incantations: “I, Penelope Laidley, being of sound mind and body...”
I focused on decoding the formalities as he announced that Great-Aunt Penelope had left this apartment that we were sitting in and all its contents to my mother, and some hefty English bank assets to Rollo. He and his mother appeared satisfied with this. They did not contest the English will, and everything seemed hunky-dory, perfunctorily dispensed with—but there was nothing for Jeremy, which bewildered me...at first.
When it got round to the French will, however, all five of their party raised their heads in alertness and sat closer to the edges of their chairs expectantly. It signalled to me that the French assets were perhaps the more valuable, and this was what the fight was all about.
“My villa in France, including the house and all the property, I leave to Jeremy Laidley.The contents of the house, that is, all remaining furniture, I leave to my nephew Roland Laidley, Junior.The garage and its entire contents I leave solely to my great-niece and namesake, Penelope Nichols.”
After the briefest of pauses, everybody started talking all at once. The earlier high-priest incantations were replaced with overlapping spell-casting, and voodoo cursing as Dorothy and Rollo’s lawyers objected to the French will, and Jeremy and his team retaliated with polite warnings of time limits to contest it and procedure and other calm but fierce words. Then suddenly it all came to a stop. It was over—at least for now. Like a round in a boxing match.
Harold neatly arranged the papers of the will in their leather folder. A butler hired for the occasion arrived with a tray of coffee and china cups, cream pitcher and sugar bowl, which he put on the round table near the fireplace.This seemed to be a signal, for Jeremy and Severine went over to fill and pass the cups around. But Rollo’s lawyers, after murmuring to Dorothy, got up as one and stalked out the door. Dorothy rose majestically and contemptuously. Rollo cast a regretful look at the coffee, but helped his mother across the room.
I was still puzzling out why Aunt Penelope had mentioned me in such a whimsical way. Hmm, I thought. For some strange reason she thought of me as a garage person.
Before I had a chance to mull this over much, I was distracted by the tense figure of Great-Aunt Dorothy, passing by me on her way out. I could feel her pent-up fury, even before I looked up and saw it in the rigid way she was carrying herself. Although her face had a blank, stony expression, her breath gave her away, coming out in sharp little gasps. She paused at the lawyers’ table, and as if unable to contain herself a moment longer, she poked her walking stick at Harold’s leather folder, knocking it off the table and scattering the pages of Great-Aunt Penelope’s will all over the floor.
“We’ll just see!” she spat out with a look of triumphant glee, as if somehow by messing up the actual pages she had dispensed with their contents as well. I was horrified and embarrassed for her, as if she’d suddenly and publicly lost her mind. “We’ll just see!” she repeated to Jeremy, who had instinctively come to my side. Rollo hastily took hold of her arm to steer her out of the room.
Nobody else seemed the least bit surprised—except me. Harold sighed, and they all merely picked up the papers and reassembled them, then went right on about their business.
As they sorted it out, Severine began a rapid conversation sotto voce with Jeremy. She called him “Zheremy” in her lilting French accent, acting very correct the whole time, impeccable, efficient, and not
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