Past Tense by Catherine Aird Page B

grandmother’s family and this inheritance.’
    â€˜I was told that the family tried to cut Granny out of her share of her own grandmother’s estate but they found they couldn’t. By the provisions of some old trust – I don’t know anything more about it than that – when Granny’s own mother died all that was held in it had to be divided up between her descendants per …’ He stopped and looked uncertainly at the solicitor.
    â€˜ Per stirpes? ’ suggested Simon Puckle. He coughed and explained that the distribution would therefore be equally shared between the immediate heirs and not according to the number of children they had if they had predeceased the testator.
    â€˜That’s it. I didn’t know what it meant, but anyway I know Granny was entitled to her fair share all right, just like the rest of her grandmother’s descendants – all her own sisters and brothers.’
    The solicitor nodded and added pedantically, ‘And cousins, if any.’
    â€˜They – well, all but one of them, her brother, William – tried to stop her having it but you didn’t know Granny.’ Joe Short’s face broke into a smile for the first time that day. ‘She was a fighter. She took them to court and won her share. Her family found out the hard way that they couldn’t do her out of the money in that trust however hard they tried.’
    The solicitor glanced down at the will and said wryly, ‘She seems to have put it to very good use.’
    Joe Short was still smiling. ‘There were no flies on Granny, Mr Puckle. I can tell you that. No flies at all. That money bought her house and put my father through university and then some.’
    â€˜Your father…’ said Simon Puckle. ‘Let me see now, his name was…’
    â€˜George Peter Arden Short,’ supplied Joe Short. ‘Inevitably known as “Lofty” at school.’ He grimaced. ‘When I was at school they used to say “Short by name and tall by nature”.’
    â€˜Ah, I was going to ask you about your schooling, too.’ Simon Puckle’s pen was poised over the notepad on his desk.
    â€˜Here, there and everywhere,’ said Joe Short cheerfully. ‘Dad was working all over the world – he was an engineer, like me – and Mum didn’t want me sent back to some boarding school thousands of miles away so I got sent to school wherever they happened to be at the time.’
    Simon Puckle made a note and then went on, ‘Presumably this money that your grandmother inherited was the basis for her…er…shall we say – future prosperity?’
    Joe Short said, ‘That’s what I’ve always been led to believe. My father told me that she went into property a bit earlier than most people.’
    â€˜A lot earlier, I should say,’ said the solicitor approvingly, ‘judging by the size of her estate. She would appear to have been very far-sighted.’
    Again the man in the client’s chair did not say what Simon Puckle had expected. Instead he shook his head sadly and said, ‘After my parents died Granny said money didn’t matter. All the money in the world wouldn’t bring them back.’
    â€˜It’s the hardest lesson of all,’ murmured Simon Puckle, a man trained to be the interface between money and life.
    Joe Short started to get to his feet. ‘There was one thing, though, that I’d rather like to know…’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜Suppose I’d died before Granny – what would have happened then? You know, another plane accident – not, I can assure you, that I’ll ever travel by Lasserta Airlines again. Ever. But working with querremitte can sometimes be dangerous, too.’
    The solicitor scanned the pages in front of him. ‘Let me see, now…ah, yes, here we are. Any wife and children of yours would take first, then someone called