Caroline Graham - A Ghost in the Machine

In fact they were only slightly late for their appointment. It was 10:35 when they entered the light and elegant reception area, to be welcomed by a smartly dressed buxom woman with a slightly too gracious manner. An inscribed wooden Toblerone explained that she wished to be known as Gail Fuller. Next to the sign was a large bouquet of roses and creamy lilies in a crystal vase. Polly was impressed. She had pictured Dennis all on his own in a poky little hole surrounded by dusty box files and a prehistoric Amstrad.

Her impressedness deepened as they were led through the main office, which was large and open plan, taking up the whole floor of the building. Here were lots more desks, all personalised in some way: photographs, a smart executive toy, a plant, a stuffed animal, a cartoon. Each supported an iMac, the keyboards of which were pretty busy. A photocopier hummed. At diagonal corners of this space were two quite large glassed-in enclosures. Gail Fuller opened the door of the one with Dennis’s name on and announced them.

Polly apologised prettily to Dennis as soon as they were all seated. She said their late arrival was all her fault and he must forgive her. This was said with much eyelash fluttering which, to Kate’s secret satisfaction, hardly seemed to register.

“This is so exciting,” trilled Polly, thinking Dennis must be older than he looked. She remembered him, of course. As a child she had rather admired his red-gold, close-cropped hair, freckly countenance and chestnut-brown moustache. He had reminded her of Squirrel Nutkin. Now the gingery paws were opening a heavy crimson envelope; easing out the will. Dennis smoothed the heavy parchment, pinning it down under a butterfly paperweight. In spite of her totally negligible expectations Polly couldn’t help a sudden tightening in her throat. It was like a scene in one of those old-fashioned crime stories that turned up sometimes on the box. Except then there would’ve been a murder first. Now that would liven things up. Dennis had started speaking.

“As I know you are already aware,” he smiled directly at Mallory, “Appleby House and all the grounds pass without entail directly to yourself. I hope the arrangement with Pippins Direct will continue.”

“We’ve already spoken,” said Mallory. “They’re happy to carry on. And I’ll be confirming it in writing later this week.”

“The rent at ten thousand pounds is modest but they are a small firm, organic and deeply conscientious. Your aunt would have been pleased at your decision.”

Polly wondered what profits this “small firm” were actually raking in. It sounded to her as if the old lady had been a pushover and they were now creaming it. Maybe she could get her dad to take a closer look.

“There follows a number of small bequests,” continued Dennis, “which, as executor, I will be glad to undertake.”

He started to list these in a droning monotone. Polly switched off and began to look about her, observing the activity outside. She pictured herself this time next year in the heart of the City in just such an environment and wondered what she would put on her desk. Something cool, certainly. No clacking silver balls – that was for sure. No photographs either – who would she want a photograph of? And if there was any green stuff it would definitely not be some run-of-the-mill garden centre takeaway.

As she mused along the lines of what form her rare exotic plant might take – weren’t orchids rather common? And didn’t they need a particular environment? – the door of the other private office opened. A man came out and strode across the room. A shortish dark man, somewhat younger than Dennis as well as much better-looking. She recognised him from the funeral where he had been laughing immoderately and drinking too much. She could see papers in his hand and watched as he gave them to a girl at the photocopier with a wide smile. All his actions appeared vigorous and lively, yet there was a strange artificiality about them as if he were acting a vitality he didn’t really feel.

Polly wondered about him but in a detached, disinterested way. No man could possibly attract her at the moment. Overnight she had become immune to that particular virus.

Tuning back into the meeting (surely it must be her turn soon?) Polly heard Dennis say, “After these bequests have been paid the residue of your aunt’s estate, including her portfolio of investment trusts, is valued at just over three hundred thousand pounds.”

“I had no idea…” Mallory stumbled over the words. “That is…thank you.”

“Regarding Benny Frayle—”

“Shouldn’t she be here with us?” asked Kate.

“I’ve already talked to Benny, soon after Miss Lawson’s death. Although Carey frequently attempted to reassure her as to her future, you know how…um…”

Utterly stupid? suggested Polly silently. Like, dim as a camel.

“…apprehensive she can be. I was able to reassure her. For as long as she wishes she may live in her flat over the stables. Should conditions arise that necessitate the sale of the house…” Dennis ended on an upwards inflection, his eyebrows twitching into auburn crescents.

“There’s no question of that.” Kate reached out and took her husband’s hand. “We have plans.”

“Excellent. But should it ever come about, funds must be found to purchase comparable accommodation, which must then be put in her name.”

Mallory said, “I understand.”

Polly gave a soft whistle.

Kate glared at Polly.

“Her pension fund, even allowing for the somewhat volatile market, is still very healthy. She should be able to live in a reasonable degree of comfort on the annuity. There is also a sizeable sum available in blue chips. In the case of her—” Dennis stopped speaking and stared bleakly for a moment into space. Then cleared his throat to continue – “shall we say, demise, this money will revert to the estate.

“Finally, Polly.” He smiled at her and waited a moment before speaking. He had the air of a man with one hand behind his back and that hand holding an exciting surprise. If he had not been such a nice person one would have said he looked sly.

Polly smiled back and, in spite of herself, felt again that flicker of excitement. She knew what the chances were of getting any serious money but even a mouldy old cameo brooch might fetch something. What if it turned out to be incredibly rare and famous, like that timepiece in Only Fools and Horses ?

“Just over five years ago I advised your aunt to realise a portfolio of shares which were offering only mediocre returns and to invest the proceeds in pharmaceuticals. These have succeeded almost beyond my wildest expectations.”

There was an hiatus. No one liked to ask how wild these expectations had been in the first place. Not even Polly.

“Your aunt’s instructions were that these shares, valued as to the market’s closing index on the day of her death were to go to her great-niece—”

Polly sucked in air, a great indrawn gasp. Then apologetically covered her mouth with her hand. She did not breathe out.

“– on the occasion of her twenty-first birthday. The sum presently stands at a little over sixty thousand pounds.”

No one spoke. Dennis beamed kindly at Polly. Mallory smiled too, overwhelmed by this example of his aunt’s generosity. Kate did not smile. Even as she chided herself for meanness of spirit her heart sank. Polly exhaled with a “whoosh,” then started to laugh.

“God…” She thrust her hands through the air, reaching above her head. A triumphant winner’s gesture, seizing a crown. “I don’t believe it! Sixty K…”

“Congratulations, my dear,” said Dennis.

“And as I’m nearly twenty-one—”

“You were twenty last month,” snapped Kate.