Past Tense by Catherine Aird Page A

therefore advise you of its contents.’ Something of a specialist in reading body language, he waited for any increase in tension in the man opposite, but there was none that he could observe. Joe Short seemed very relaxed and so the solicitor deduced that what was to come was probably not news to him.
    â€˜As her only grandchild, you are her residuary legatee,’ said Simon Puckle formally, ‘and subject to the obtaining of probate and paying the necessary inheritance tax and, of course, making the small bequests she listed, to the Rowlettian Society and so forth, and seeing to a gravestone for her in Damory Regis churchyard – she wanted your parents’ names on it, too, by the way, as well as the old-fashioned plumb line—’
    â€˜Plumb line?’ said Joe Short, a bewildered look on his face.
    â€˜A medieval symbol meant to represent the expression “Death levels all”.’
    His face cleared. ‘I see.’
    â€˜â€¦the remainder of the estate will be coming to you. In due course.’ He added the caveat carefully.
    Joe Short nodded. ‘Poor Granny.’
    It wasn’t what the solicitor had expected him to say. At this stage most legatees only wanted to know how much money would be coming to them.
    â€˜Subject, naturally,’ continued Simon Puckle fluently, ‘to your also providing satisfactory evidence of identity.’
    Joe Short jerked his head. ‘Of course. I quite understand that.’ He fumbled in his jacket pocket. ‘I’ve got my passport here if you want to see that,’ he said, putting it on the desk.
    â€˜Thank you.’ The solicitor picked it up, glanced at the man and the photograph, made a written note of its number, and then rang for a clerk and asked her to make a photocopy of it. She was back in minutes and he handed it back to Joe Short, who stowed it away in his inside jacket pocket.
    â€˜Let me see now,’ said Simon Puckle, delicately casting a fly with all the finesse of an experienced freshwater fisherman, ‘I am not sure if the source of your late grandmother’s money is known to you.’
    Joe Short frowned. ‘And I’m not sure that I know all the details myself. I can only tell you what my father told me.’
    â€˜Which was?’
    â€˜That round about the time when Dad had just left school Granny’s own mother died…’
    â€˜Ah, I see, an inheritance…’
    â€˜No, no. Well, not exactly. Only in a way. Her mother didn’t leave Granny any money at all. In fact, believe it or not, the family actually tried to cut her off with a shilling…’
    As it happened Simon Puckle had no difficulty in believing this: that the making of testamentary dispositions didn’t always bring out the best in people was a lesson learnt early in the legal profession.
    Joe Short was still looking at him across the desk. ‘That bit about a shilling’s an old saying, isn’t it? At least someone once told me it was.’
    â€˜Indeed, it is, and one with some legal significance.’
    Joe Short looked up. ‘Tell me.’
    The solicitor rested his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers before he said, ‘To be cut off with a shilling is to be disinherited. To be left a shilling in a will indicated that the testator had not forgotten or overlooked the person concerned but had intentionally disinherited him or her by bequeathing them a trifling sum.’
    â€˜There was plenty of room on Granny’s side for hurt feelings,’ Joe Short sniffed, ‘so in my opinion it should have been the other way round: Granny cutting them off.’
    â€˜Ah,’ said the solicitor alertly.
    â€˜It must have been like rubbing salt into an old wound as far as Granny was concerned,’ said Joe Short heatedly, ‘her own mother trying to do her out of what was rightfully hers.’
    â€˜Indeed, but do go on. You were telling me about your