Liz Fielding - A Wife on Paper

‘Is that it?’ she asked.

‘It’s little enough,’ Tom said. ‘Unfortunately, as you know, Steven surrendered his life assurance to raise some capital last year.’

‘He did?’ The shocked words slipped out before she could contain them. ‘Yes. Of course. He discussed it with me,’ she continued, swiftly covering her slip.

That had been the other condition. The life policy. So much for his best intentions.

‘When I asked if that was it, I just meant, can I go now? I want to go to the office, make a start on sorting things out.’

She was incredible, he thought. She’d just received a monumental blow but she’d absorbed it and, but for those two words, no one would believe it was anything other than what she’d expected to hear.

‘Not quite all,’ Tom said, clearly relieved that he hadn’t had to deal with hysterics. ‘I just need your signature on here so that I can set about organising a valuation of the estate. It shouldn’t take too long.’

‘Valuation?’ She looked up from the document he’d placed in front of her.

‘Of the company. For tax purposes.’ She looked blank. ‘Inheritance tax?’ he elaborated. ‘I did warn Steven of the situation when he originally signed the will. At that time there was no urgency, of course, but I did suggest he talk it over with you. Maybe consider going through the motions. Just a ten minute job at the local Register Office would do.’ Guy could see that Tom was beginning to founder in the face of Francesca’s incomprehension. Clearly she had never had that conversation with Steven, and he wondered just how many more shocks she could take. ‘Just to satisfy the legalities,’ Tom ploughed on. ‘Perhaps after the baby was born…’

‘Inheritance tax?’ she repeated, ignoring the waffle.

‘Is the company likely to exceed the inheritance tax threshold?’ Guy asked, giving Tom a moment to catch up. Work out for himself exactly how much in the dark she was.

‘I have no idea,’ the lawyer said.

They both looked at Francesca for an answer, but she dismissed their query with an impatient little gesture.

‘Tell me about inheritance tax,’ she said rather more sharply.

‘I don’t imagine it will be too much of a problem, unless the company is doing substantially better than it was at the last audit,’ Tom Palmer said, clearly unsure which would be preferable. ‘However, since you weren’t married to Steven any legacy will be subject to inheritance tax.’

She sat and digested this for a moment, then said, ‘So if we’d been married I wouldn’t have to pay inheritance tax?’

‘No, but as I said—’

‘And because we didn’t go through some totally meaningless ceremony I will? Have to pay it?’

‘Well, yes. That’s the present situation, I’m afraid.’

‘But that’s outrageous! We’ve lived together for nearly three years. We have a child…’

‘If you’d lived together for twenty-three years and had ten children it would make no difference, I’m afraid.’

After the brief stunned silence she asked, ‘What’s the liability threshold?’

‘£250,000. After that forty percent of the estate goes to the Inland Revenue.’

‘But…’ Guy had thought she looked pale. He had been wrong. Colour leached from her skin, leaving her ashen. ‘But surely the house alone is worth ten times that?’

‘You don’t have to worry about the house, Fran.’

‘You mean the house is free of inheritance tax?’ Francesca asked.

‘I mean that Steven did not own the house.’

She shook her head. ‘No. That’s not right. Steven bought it from Guy. Three years ago.’ She turned to him. Looked up at him. ‘We’ve lived there for three years. Tell him.’

‘There seems to be some confusion, Francesca. I don’t know what Steve told you, but he didn’t buy the house from me. It was sold to a property company about ten years ago, along with a lot of other property.’

‘But he said—you said…’ He saw her trying to recall the conversation in the restaurant that night. ‘He was going to come and see you. To talk about it. He asked you. That night…’

‘He asked me for help with a deposit for the house, that’s all. I didn’t know until yesterday that you thought I had owned it. And I had no idea he hadn’t gone ahead and bought it.’

‘But why would he need to borrow from you? He had money…’ She stopped. ‘How much?’

He didn’t want to go there.

‘How much did you give him?’ she demanded.

‘Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds.’

‘But he didn’t buy it?’ This to Tom Palmer.

The lawyer shook his head. ‘As far as I know it wasn’t even on the market at the time. He has been renting it on a yearly lease.’

‘But it’s our home,’ she said. ‘Toby’s home. Matty spent thousands of pounds on the studio extension, converting the place into a flat she could use. If I’d known we only had a lease I’d never have encouraged her to do that.’ She caught her breath. ‘They don’t know about that, do they? The people who own the house?’

‘I would think it’s highly unlikely,’ Guy said gently.

To say that she looked stunned, confused, was an understatement. It was hardly surprising. He felt as if he’d taken a body blow, but she had been under the impression that she’d inherited a house worth upwards of two million pounds. Even taking into account the taxman, that would have meant she could sell up and have a million plus change to set up home somewhere else. Suddenly she owned nothing except a company that no one seemed wildly optimistic about and a short-term lease that might not be renewed. That she probably couldn’t afford to renew…

Fran discovered that reaction was beyond her. It was as if she was under water, sinking very slowly, and she was completely paralysed, unable to do anything to stop herself from drowning.

One moment it had seemed as if she could relax, shake off the nagging sense of impending disaster. Now—

‘There is one other thing.’

‘There’s more?’ She turned and looked at Tom Palmer. Until now he had been wearing the grave expression of the average family lawyer. Now he looked positively uneasy.

How much worse could it get?

‘The last time I saw Steven he asked me to add a codicil to his will. I had to tell him that it was a bequest I was not prepared to add to that document. We came to a compromise. He dictated his wishes to me and I promised to read them out at this point.’

‘You mean after you’ve told me that my son and I are homeless and penniless?’

‘Francesca—’

She glared at Guy, daring him to say another word.

‘I’ll read it now then, shall I?’ Tom waited briefly, but neither of them said a word and he took a letter from the file in front of him.

‘Before I start I want to say that there is nothing in this document that is binding,’ he said, clearly unhappy about something. ‘These are no more than Steven’s…’ He stopped.

‘Last wishes?’ she finished for him.

‘Just read it,’ Guy said.

‘Very well.’ Tom cleared his throat. ‘Well, Guy, here we are again. It’s in his own words, just as he said it,’ he explained.

‘Tom!’

‘Sorry. Right…

Well, Guy, here we are again. Me messing up and you doing your big brother bit and saving my hide. Except this time my hide is well beyond saving. It’s Fran and Toby who need you now.

‘Not this side of hell,’ she muttered.

‘First the confession. Well, you’ll have worked this out for yourself by now, but I used your money for the lease on the house for some diamond earrings for Fran—since she didn’t want a ring. Oh, and to pay the bill at that fancy private maternity hospital. Nothing but the best for mine. Something I learned from you. I just didn’t have the cash to pay for it. But you never let me down.’