Justin Go - The Steady Running of the Hour

Ashley sits down on a buttoned leather chair. Twyning clears a space at the center of his desk, shifting a stack of papers to a pile behind him. He shakes his head.

— I must say, Ashley, I thought we had an understanding. God knows I’ve tried not to pester you while you were away. But it doesn’t follow that I should manage things in utter ignorance of your aims, only for you to turn up at the last moment demanding wild changes. When do you go?

— Friday. We’ve the Wayfarers Club dinner in Liverpool tomorrow, then we sail the next morning.

Twyning sighs. — Look here, it’s your money to do with as you like. But it’s my job to make these arrangements work perfectly, and no matter how we arrange this, it’s bound to look suspect by reason of the timing. That makes it vulnerable to lawsuit. What do your people say about this?

— I haven’t told them.

— And you don’t intend to?

— No.

Twyning raps his pen on his blotter. He shakes his head.

— This may surprise you Ashley, but I didn’t get into this line to be the architect of the twentieth century’s Jarndyce and Jarndyce. Is the expedition really so dangerous? I’d no idea you entertained the notion of not returning.

— None of the climbers have been killed on the last two expeditions. Some porters have been. I thought you were all for keeping the papers up-to-date.

Twyning flashes a smile. — I shan’t argue with that. To give her a reasonable legacy, fine. When you put her in years ago, I uttered not a word of protest. But to do as you have now — it raises legal and moral issues, if I may say so.

— Moral issues?

A clerk comes in carrying a black metal deed box painted G. RISLEYon the front. Twyning takes the folders from the box and unties their ribbons, arranging the papers on his desk. He glances up at Ashley.

— Do you imagine this is what he intended for the estate? Tossed outside the family within a generation?

— I don’t know what he intended. I suppose he’d be surprised. What are the legal issues?

Twyning throws an empty folder onto his desk.

— Drastic changes before an event such as you’re undertaking — your testamentary capacity could be challenged. It’s made doubly worse by your choice of beneficiary. One could argue you weren’t mentally sound—

— Who would argue? My mother?

— She could.

— She will not.

— It would be a terrible mess if she did.

Twyning walks to the window, his hands clasped behind his back.

— Not to mention the issue we haven’t discussed. Why in God’s name leave money to a missing person? Even supposing she is alive, it seems exceedingly unlikely she shall ever collect it.

— She’s alive.

Twyning looks at Ashley. — You know that for a fact? If so, you must tell me. Otherwise, frankly it smacks of delusion, which is itself a legal issue. Indeed, if you know anything with regard to her whereabouts—

— I know nothing. But I don’t believe she’s dead.

— If we can’t find her, Twyning insists, it makes no difference whether she’s alive or not.

— Can’t you put it in trust?

— We can. It’s all been drawn up. But it’s complicated. It requires a good deal of paperwork. And even if it’s never contested in court, the administration of the trust will siphon money from the estate so long as it goes on. Which is fine by me. But I doubt your people will be happy about it.

— They’ve enough money.

— And she doesn’t? If she’s alive?

Ashley looks at Twyning. — Thank you for the legal advice. It is perfectly sound and I understand it. Now may I please sign the papers?

Twyning shakes his head. — I simply don’t understand this eleventh-hour rush. Why couldn’t you have told me sooner? Why yesterday?

— It struck me I ought to get my affairs in order.

— For Heaven’s sake Ashley, you can’t be serious. If she’s turned up to ask you to do this—

— She hasn’t.

— Or if she has turned up at all, you must tell me.

— She hasn’t.

— And if she hasn’t and she’s alive, you’ll excuse me but she’s probably got a castle of her own. And has no need for yours.

— May I sign the papers or not?

Twyning sits in the chair beside Ashley. He turns the documents around to face them.

— I shall explain to you what we’ve done and how the trust works. But let me repeat that when you sign these pages, you create a knot that’s not easily untangled. One shudders to think of the myriad—

— I understand.

Twyning sighs. — You know this is a mistake.

— Perhaps.

— You wish to do it anyway.

— That’s right.

Twyning describes the purpose of each document. When he has finished he calls in two young clerks to witness the execution of the will and the trust. Ashley takes Twyning’s pen and begins to sign them quickly, one page after another, the witnesses watching over his shoulder.

— Without a moment’s hesitation, Twyning murmurs.

Ashley continues to turn the sheets and sign them.

— Do they often hesitate?

— On occasion, Twyning says, when making drastic changes. In a case like yours, I couldn’t say. It’s without precedent.

The witnesses countersign the signature pages. They shake Ashley’s hand and wish him luck on the expedition, then they go out. Ashley stands up before Twyning, grinning to himself.

— Nothing is without precedent. Have those fellows take a look in all those books of yours, I’d wager someone has done exactly as I have. Aren’t you chaps meant to do that sort of thing?

— When we’re given the time.

Twyning pages through the signed documents, setting aside the duplicates. Ashley looks around the room with a faint smile, admiring the silver inkstand on Twyning’s desk, the perpetual calendar by the window. Tuesday 26 February . Ashley walks to the calendar, turning the brass knobs to Wednesday and 27 .

— Busy morning?

Twyning sighs, shaking his head. He taps Ashley’s copies into a neat stack and puts them in a blue solicitor’s envelope.

— Not even a moment for a cup of tea. Not with clients like you.

He shakes Ashley’s hand, offering the envelope.

— Send a postcard from Bombay. It’s Bombay you’re sailing to, isn’t it? And cable if you change your mind about all this. We can set things back in order quickly.

— I shan’t change my mind.

— And look after yourself, Twyning says, ignoring Ashley’s remark. I don’t like this business of eleventh-hour changes. It’s not the right spirit. When do you return?

— August.

— Call here as soon as you can. We’ll see how you feel about this then. And best of luck. I saw your picture in The Times . They say you may be the one to finally crack Everest.

Ashley shrugs. — There are eight climbers on the expedition. We’ll be lucky if two of us reach the top, and I’ve no Himalayan experience at all. Three of the fellows are damned fit and have been there before—

— So it won’t be you?

Ashley only smiles. The two men shake hands again. Ashley leaves the office and hails another motorcab from the sidewalk.

— Jermyn Street, please. To Fagg Brothers, the bootmakers. I don’t know the number.

Ashley takes a seat in the enclosed compartment behind the driver. He flips his watch open, wondering if they will be able to refit the boots and get them to Darjeeling before he arrives. Then he realizes that he has forgotten to bring the boots.

— Driver, he says through the window. Rather, we’ll have to stop by Lansdowne Terrace first. Number nine.

— Sir.

Ashley stretches in his seat, yawning contentedly. He takes the telegram from his pocket and unfolds it. It is only the third time he has looked at it today.