I
just can’t believe, Jessica thought to herself, that this is really happening to me.
Jessica Mallow was a little
over two hours into the flight from Perth to London. It was the first
opportunity she had had to gather her thoughts since she’d got the news of her
uncle’s death three days before. His solicitor had telephoned her from
Dorchester and told her that he had died in the nursing home where he had lived
for the past six months. As his only surviving relative and the single beneficiary
in his will, they had agreed that she should make the journey to the UK as soon
as could be arranged in order to see to the various matters for which she, as
executor, would be responsible. As it happened, it proved fairly
straightforward to put off a couple of social arrangements. It suddenly
occurred to her to ask how her uncle had died. Did she detect a slight
hesitation in the solicitor’s voice? And when he suggested that it was a matter
best not divulged until they met, she did not pursue it. At least Uncle Jim has
timed his departure conveniently: Jessica was a teacher, and the school holiday
has just begun.
It was just about the only
thing he had done that was in any way
convenient for Jessica. She had not known him that well, but what she did know
of him led her to conclude that he was stubborn, cantankerous and possessed of
a sense of humour that could only be described as cynical, even cruel. As a
child in England,
on the rare occasions when he had come to see her mother, who was his sister, he
and her father had argued bitterly. “Jim’s barmy,” her father would say, “plain
barmy. And he hasn’t a good word to say about anyone or anything. Except for
those bloody cats of his.”
Her mother was more
charitable in her view, although Jessica knew that she was often perplexed by
him. “I think you’re being a bit hard on him, David. Spending so much time on
his own has made him a bit, well, odd.
But I wouldn’t say it’s anything more than oddness. He’s eccentric – that’s it,
eccentric.”
Eccentric Uncle Jim
certainly was. And yes, any propensity for affection that lurked within his
psyche was focussed entirely and solely upon his two Burmese cats which were
admittedly beautiful, but spoiled rotten.
And then there was his Will.
When last she had returned to England
some five years previously he had asked her to pay him a visit, or rather, had
summonsed her to his presence.
“So, girl, tell me – do you
have any idea how much I’m worth?” He had glowered at her from beneath his
shaggy eyebrows as he sat in a dilapidated armchair, one Burmese cat on his
lap.
“I never gave it much
thought, Uncle,” she’d replied. But looking about her, she thought not very much given the mean state of
the room where he had taken to living for most of the time. But Jim had
something of a reputation of being a miser, at least so far as her father had
been concerned.
He had picked up her furtive
scan of the shabby living room. “Don’t be deceived by appearances. I need
little enough these days. I don’t live like this for want of means, you know.”
It had not occurred to
Jessica that he had called her to discuss any sort of inheritance that might
come in her direction. Since the death of her parents, within a year of each
other, she had a fair idea that she was his only remaining flesh and blood. She
had communicated with him rarely over the years that she had been in Australia,
because, well because she really didn’t like him. She’d guessed he must know
this. So why on earth would he want to leave anything to her?
“No matter,” he’d continued,
“the fact is that everything I have is coming to you when I die. Who the hell else would I leave it to? There is no-one else.” Observing to look of
confusion on his niece’s face he chuckled briefly, “I’m not the sort of fool
who’d leave it all to a cats’ home, you know. Too many damned cats ...”
“Uncle, I’ve never thought,
never expected ...”
“Oh, I know that. I’m not a
fool. I know you. The decision wasn’t
automatic, you know. I’ve been watching you.” She had wondered how on earth she
could have been watching her when she was on the other side of the world, but
she didn’t challenge him. “I don’t have much of an opinion of people in
general.” For a moment he had seemed to struggle. “But you ... I think you are …
well, you have a level head on your shoulders at least. Probably make less of a
pig’s ear of it than most.” He had actually, with great effort, paid her a
compliment. She was taken aback.
He reached over to a shelf,
the cat jumping off his lap with a growl of objection, and grasped a parchment
envelope. “But there are conditions,” he’d continued. He fixed her with a hard
gaze.
“Yes?”
“This is my Will.
Essentially it leaves everything, virtually everything, to you. I won’t tell
you how much, but it’s not to be sniffed at. One of the conditions is that you
do not open it until after I am dead. If you do, it will become invalidated.
The details are contained in it –what is to happen if you were to disobey me in
this respect. The other is that certain things, very straightforward things,
are to be done when I die. These instructions are to be carried out. If they
are not, then again, it will be rendered invalid and the estate goes
elsewhere.”
For a few moments Jessica
had remained speechless. She felt confused. He had seen, probably expected
this, and waited in silence while she took it in. “Do you understand?” he’d
said at last.
She nodded. “Yes. Oh, I’m
sorry, Uncle, to sit here like an idiot. I’d really not expected ... it’s
terribly good of you ...”
He had shaken his head.
“Well, best wait until I kick the bucket. You may be in for a bit of a ... a
surprise.” Had there been a touch of malevolence in the faint smile that has
crossed his face? It was that that had remained fixed in her memory of him, and
troubled her from time to time over the years. She never saw him again.
Back home, Jessica had put
the sealed envelope away in a secure box file where she kept other important
documents: her birth certificate, marriage certificate and the paperwork
relating to her divorce. She gave it little thought, and it never occurred to
her to break her undertaking to Uncle Jim.
With the passing of years
her memories of the old man dulled. She settled into the routine of her work
and occupied herself with friends and her various interests. She engaged in a
brief affair with a married man, which she herself ended when she sensed that
she was being used and she could see no future in it for her. Contact with her
uncle was occasional and brief, confined almost entirely to and exchange of
cards at Christmas. He gave her no news of himself, although she wondered
latterly if his health was failing. His few words seemed to be written by a
trembling hand. The Christmas immediately before his death brought no card at
all.
The telephone call from the
solicitor, while not entirely a surprise, provoked a spasm of guilt. She had
never really taken in that she was probably going to benefit, and quite
substantially, when he died. Should she have done more for him in his last
years? But he had never once asked her for anything, and had never said nor
written anything that suggested that he had the least interest in her.
When the news of his death
had sunk in, she recalled his insistence that she should not read his will
before the event. She wondered, had she done so, how she might be found to have
been in breach of his directive. And his making very clear the consequences of
failing to carry out his instructions stipulated in the will itself had made
her wonder just what it was that he had wanted done after his death. So when
she retrieved the envelope and slipped the paper knife under the flap, she had
felt a sense of trepidation.
Now, staring down at the shifting
cloudscape below her she remembered the sense of horror and disgust that had
nearly overwhelmed her when she had read and re-read her uncle’s will. Yes, he
had indeed left all his very considerable wealth to her. But the condition he
had set had provoked a flood of nausea, which returned to her in waves when she
thought about it. Could she go through with it? Would she be allowed to go through with it? Really,
she wondered, would any amount of money in the world compensate for having to
arrange something so utterly gross?
When she had convinced
herself that she had not misunderstood anything – it was certainly clear enough
– she had slipped the document back in its envelope. At this moment it was in a
pocket in the large case that had been stowed in the hold of the aircraft. But
she could recall the condition that Uncle Jim had set word for word:
On
the matter of the disposal of my bodily remains I give the following
instruction and make the leaving of my estate to my niece Jessica Mallow
conditional upon this being carried out: that my body be dismembered, rendered
and processed in such a way that it may be sealed and preserved in cans, and
used to feed my two cats until all the processed remains have been so disposed
in this way. There had been more, but even the briefest
reflection on it turned her stomach.
Just
what the hell did he imagine I was going to do? She
pondered, telephone the local Kittymeat
factory and ask them to do a special job for me? There’s surely got to be some
law against such … such depravity.
She shook her head. No. I don’t think I could go through with
this. For any money.
She spent the rest of the
flight and the twelve hour stop over in Hong Kong restless and troubled. She
pondered over what Uncle Jim’s solicitor would have to say about it. Might he
be able to find a way out of this? Could the will be deemed invalid on the
grounds of … of insanity?
It was not until she booked
into the hotel in London that she was at last able to rest. She slept for
almost twelve hours.
On the afternoon of the day
after her arrival she made her way to her uncle’s solicitor’s office in a
suburb of west London. After a brief wait she was ushered in to his office by
the receptionist. He greeted her with a smile and a handshake, enquired after
her journey, and motioned her to a chair. He introduced himself as David
Tilley.
“Well, firstly, Miss Mallow,
may I offer you my condolences on the loss of your uncle. I imagine it was
something of a shock to you.”
She shrugged. “Well, I
didn’t know him that well. We were only in touch once or twice a year. And,
please, call me Jessica. The ‘Miss Mallow’ thing … well …’
‘Of course – Jessica. So –
now I expect that you are anxious to discuss the content of your uncle’s Will.
My understanding is that he stipulated that you should not know the content of
it until after his death?’
The young woman nodded.
‘And – may I ask, have you
read it?’
‘I have. And I am – I am …’
David Tilley raised his
right hand, in a gesture clearly intended to preclude any elaboration she may
have intended. ‘Forgive my interrupting,’ he said, ‘but I think it best that we
leave the, er, detail of the
directives contained in it. There is something I need to talk to you about
first. You did ask me, when we spoke before you flew over here, about how your
uncle died …’
‘Yes. And you told me that
you thought it best that …’
‘Quite. Well, I can tell you
now …’ he looked down at his hands and seemed momentarily agitated, ‘I am sorry
to have to give you this news Miss Mallow – Jesicca – but your uncle died in a
fire in his room at the nursing home where he was a resident.’
‘Oh my God …’
‘As you may know, the home
is a converted manor house. It seems that he was trying to burn some of his
papers in the hearth. He had fairly advanced Parkinsons disease, you know. It’s
not difficult to see how the … accident … may have happened’.
‘The poor man. How dreadful’.
‘Yes. Dreadful indeed.
Fortunately the fire services attended very quickly. Although everything in his
room was destroyed, there was little damage outside it. And thankfully, no-one
else was injured.’
Jessica remained silent,
absorbing the impact of what she had been told. After some moments, a question
began to form on her lips. Once more the solicitor interrupted her. ‘I
understand that the heat was very, very intense. There was hardly anything left
– nothing recognisable’.
The young woman looked
across at him. And an understanding seemed to pass between them.
‘Perhaps I need to reassure
you,’ David Tilley continued, ‘that there is no reason than I can see why this
regrettable event in any way affects his leaving of his estate to you. Some –
other - things may be best put aside, if you follow me.’
‘But I just wonder …’
‘Yes, Jessica?’
‘His cats … what happened
…?’
‘Oh, his Burmese cats. No,
they weren’t there. They were very old in any event. Just two weeks before he
died the matron called in the vet. Because of his illness your uncle Jim wasn’t
able to care for them any more. Naturally he was very upset. But it was for the
best.’
‘Yes of course. For the
best’. And she rose to take her leave.