The Shortest Way to Hades (2 page)

1. My daughter Petronella and my sister Lalage both died in a tragic accident when travelling in a motor-car driven by my sister’s said husband, who also suffered fatal injuries.
   
2. At the time of the tragedy Camilla was five years old and Deirdre was one year old. It was decided that both children should come to live at Fiske House, where I myself had resided with my mother since the death of my husband. They both still reside with my mother and myself at that address. Camilla is now 21 years of age and is in her second year at the University of Cambridge, where she is reading Law. Deirdre is now 11 years of age and accordingly still a minor and is in her last term at school.
   
3. My sister Dorothea is the youngest of the Testator’s daughters, being now 52 years of age, and has been married twice. Her first marriage, namely to George Edward Fairfax, ended in divorce. She now resides with her second husband, namely Constantine Demetriou, who is of Greek nationality, at the Villa Miranda near the village of Casiope in the island of Corfu. There are two children only of her first marriage, namely Lucian and Lucinda Fairfax, who are twins and are now 23 years of age. There is one child only of her second marriage, namely Leonidas Demetriou, who is now 16 years of age and accordingly still a minor. All three children normally reside with my sister in the said island of Corfu, though the twins engage extensively in travel and Leonidas is a pupil at Godmansworth College, an English boarding-school.
   
4. The Testator by his said Will—
   

“I say,” said Cantrip, “shouldn’t she say that someone’s just waved a copy of the Will at her marked J.F.-P. thingummy?”

From the scandalized response of his colleagues I gathered that this was a very shocking suggestion. The Probate copy of the Will—that was to say, the photographic copy made in the Probate Registry and bound up in the document confirming the title of the executors to administer the estate—the Probate copy was considered to form part of an order of the Court and to need no verification. The Probate would be among the papers already left with the Judge’s Clerk and would prove itself: to suppose otherwise was a grave solecism.

“It’s all very well you talking about solipsisms,” said Cantrip. “If I was poor old Loppylugs I’d rather have a few solipsisms than be made to plough through the Probate thingy. I bet it’s one of the old-fashioned kind, all in handwriting with no punctuation or paragraphs and running to umpteen pages.”

“No one is suggesting,” said Selena, “that Mr. Justice Lorimer should actually read the Probate. The solicitors, I devoutly hope, will have provided him with a nice typed copy, just like the ones we have ourselves. But that’s for convenience, you see, not as part of the evidence.”

I endeavored to look less perplexed than Cantrip by the fineness of this distinction.

—devised his residuary real estate (which principally consisted of certain agricultural land in the County of Wiltshire) to his trustees in strict settlement upon trust for his widow Lady Frances Remington-Fiske during her life with remainder to his eldest son James for life with remainder in tail to the eldest son of James to attain 21 with remainder in tail to the second and every other son of James to attain that age successively according to seniority with remainder in tail to the eldest daughter of James to attain that age or previously marry with remainder in tail—

“Selena,” I said, “is there any end to all this?”

“My summary,” said Selena, “is almost ruthlessly concise. If set out in full, these provisions would run to eight pages.”

“I expect it’s all this stuff about tails that’s getting you down,” said Cantrip kindly. “If a chap’s got a tail, you see, what it means is that everything’s got to be passed on to his eldest son, and then to his eldest son’s eldest son, and so on until the Last Trump. So the chap with the tail can’t get his paws on the loot and it might all be a bit sickening for him, but he can do a thing called barring the entail.”

Though a member of the Faculty of Laws in the University of Oxford, I am the first to admit that I am an historian rather than a lawyer. The concept of the entailed estate, however, was well developed by the end of the thirteenth century, and I may claim without immodesty to be familiar with it. I did not tell Cantrip this, for I knew he would not have believed me.

“It is the dearest hope of the English landowner,” said Selena, “to father an unbroken line of male offspring, all large and red-faced and fond of hunting. But when making his Will he has to contemplate the possibility of an elder son dying, leaving only daughters, and to decide whether, in that regrettable event, his property should pass into the incompetent hands of a daughter or to some person of the preferred sex in a junior branch of the family. Sir James may be said to have preferred seniority to sex—that is to say, daughters of an elder son come in before sons of a younger son. I suppose,” she added with a sigh, “that that’s really rather progressive.”

She continued inexorably to recite the remainders over in favor of each in turn of the Testator’s three sons and three daughters and their respective issue; but I cannot take so austere a view of the duties of the historian as to demand the attention of my readers for what failed to hold my own. I gathered, however, that the interests of the beneficiaries under the baronet’s Will were conditional on surviving his widow, and that the interests of his daughters were subject to protective trusts—they would be forfeited on bankruptcy or alienation: in these circumstances, it was impracticable for the Will to be varied without the assistance of the Court.

My attention was revived by a mention of the value of the settled funds: a fortune of five and a quarter million pounds somehow excites interest.

1. The property now subject to the trusts of the Testator’s Will consists of the agricultural land described in Part I of the valuation now produced and shown to me marked “J.F.-P.3” and the investments (representing the proceeds of sale of certain farms formerly comprised in the estate) specified in Part II of the said valuation. It will be seen that the present value of the said land is approximately £4,500,000 without vacant possession and that the value of the said investments on the day prior to the swearing of this affidavit was £753,000.
   

“That sounds,” I said, “like a very comfortable little nest-egg—who in the end is actually going to get it?”

“If you had been paying attention,” said Selena, “you would know that Camilla was going to get it, as the only descendant of the eldest daughter, provided she survives her great-grandmother. If she dies before Lady Remington-Fiske but leaves children, then her children will get it. If she dies without children, then Deirdre Robinson gets it, as the only child of the second daughter. If she also dies before the widow, then Lucian gets it, and so on. If all the Testator’s descendants predecease his widow there’s an ultimate remainder to the estate of his eldest son; but the eldest son, as it happens, left all he had to Camilla, so there’s no problem about that.”

“And which of you,” I asked, “is representing whom?”

“My client is Jocasta, but I’m going to be led at the hearing by Basil Ptarmigan. Technically, you see, though all this is really for the benefit of Camilla, it’s Jocasta who’s making the application. I thought the sums involved were large enough to justify her having leading Counsel.”

“And I,” said Timothy, “appear for the trustees—Mr. Tancred of our instructing solicitors and Camilla’s father, Rupert Galloway. My responsibility on their behalf is to consider the Arrangement from the point of view of any unborn or unascertained beneficiaries who may become interested in the settled fund. Ragwort is in a rather similar position—he appears for Dorothea Demetriou, who has been appointed guardian for the purpose of these proceedings of the two minor beneficiaries.”

“Mrs. Demetriou,” said Ragwort, “has made it clear that she herself does not wish to receive anything from the settled fund. It accordingly seemed quite proper and convenient for her to act as guardian
ad litem
for her niece and her younger son and for me to represent her in that and her personal capacity.”

“I’ve got Camilla,” said Cantrip, “but I couldn’t swing it that I ought to see her in conference. Absolutely sickening, having a fantastically attractive bird on one’s brief and not managing to meet her.”

“If you haven’t met her,” I said, “how do you know she’s fantastically attractive?”

“If a bird’s all set to come into five million quid,” said Cantrip, “you don’t need to meet her to know she’s fantastically attractive.”

1. I am advised that the settled fund will be exempt from capital transfer tax on the death of my mother but that if no action is taken before that time the tax prospectively payable on the termination of my own life interest at any time thereafter will be not less than three million pounds and may be substantially more. The purpose of the proposed Arrangement is to avoid this liability.
   
2. A draft of the proposed Arrangement is now produced and shown to me marked “J.F.-P.5.” It provides for my reversionary life interest to be extinguished in exchange for a capital sum of £200,000 to be paid to me on my mother’s death. It also provides for the reversionary life interest of my sister Dorothea, which would be unlikely ever to fall into possession, to be extinguished without payment.
   
3. The Arrangement further provides for two funds of £20,000 each to be set aside on my mother’s death and held upon the trusts therein mentioned for the benefit of the minor and unborn issue of Lalage and Dorothea respectively: in all practical probability, one such fund will be payable to my niece Deirdre Robinson absolutely and the other to my nephew Leonidas Demetriou absolutely.
   

“I don’t quite see,” I said, “why they should get anything. If they don’t inherit, the Arrangement will have cost them nothing: if they do, they have the benefit of the tax saving.”

“Absolutely right,” said Cantrip, much pleased by this remark. “Just what I said—‘Don’t give the little perishers a bean’ was what I said. But Timothy and Ragwort went all obstructive about it.”

“On behalf of the unborn and minor beneficiaries,” said Timothy, “we felt obliged to ask for some modest payment in respect of our negotiating position.”

“What they meant was,” said Cantrip, “that if the little varmints were of age they could stymie the whole thing by just saying no. So if Camilla didn’t want this thumping tax bill she’d probably have to slip them a few thousand quid to get them to cooperate. That’s what they call a negotiating position.”

“We thought it right,” said Ragwort, looking up from his sheaf of certificates, “to do no less for our young clients than they might, if of age, have reasonably done for themselves. Endeavoring to steer a moderate course between the avaricious and the quixotic, we suggested that a sum of forty thousand pounds, to be equally divided, would represent an acceptable douceur.”

I inquired whether Dorothea’s adult children did not also want a douceur.

“No,” said Selena, “they’re being all
noblesse oblige
—delighted to help Camilla save tax and wouldn’t dream of taking a penny for it. Their father, George Fairfax, is a successful merchant banker—I dare say they can afford to be high-minded. So we’ve simply put them on Cantrip’s brief along with Camilla. Now, Hilary, if you’ll stay quiet and not interrupt while we read the evidence about the protective trusts, explaining that there’s no danger of Jocasta or Dorothea going bankrupt or anything, we’ll all be able to adjourn to the Corkscrew.”

1. My solicitor has carefully explained to me the nature of the acts and events whereby I might incur a forfeiture of my protected life interest. I have conscientiously considered whether I have ever done so and am satisfied that I have not. I am not extravagant, and live without difficulty within my present income, which derives from a settlement made on the occasion of my marriage. My mother intends to leave to me by her Will the house where we now reside and the sum payable to me under the Arrangement will be sufficient to enable me to discharge those household expenses which are at present borne by her. I respectfully submit that the protective trusts no longer serve any useful purpose.
   
2. I further respectfully submit that the Arrangement is for the benefit of all minor, unborn and unascertained persons who may become interested in the settled fund and ask that the same may be approved on their behalf.
   

Sworn before me, a Commissioner for Oaths—

“And so forth,” said Selena. “Would you like to read Dorothea’s affidavit, Ragwort, as she’s your client?”

“I haven’t quite finished going through the birth certificates,” said Ragwort. “Would you be kind enough to read it for me?”

Dorothea’s evidence regarding her protected life interest closely resembled that given by her sister—naturally so, since Selena and Ragwort had used the same precedent. Her solicitor had explained to her with similar care the ways in which she might have forfeited her interest; she had considered with similar conscientiousness whether she might have done so; she was similarly unextravagant and able to live within her income. The house where she lived in Corfu was owned jointly by herself and her husband and she also owned a flat in Hampstead, used by her children and herself on visits to London. She earned a salary as artistic designer for a small ceramics factory near Casiope, of which she was part owner, and enjoyed a generous income—very generous, it sounded, in the circumstances—from the settlement made by her first husband on the occasion of their divorce. She respectfully submitted, and so forth.

“Ragwort,” said Selena, “you look anxious. Is something the matter?”

“Do you happen,” said Ragwort, “to know what the date is?”

“The twenty-sixth of February.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Ragwort in tones of gloom. “Deirdre’s birthday was on the twenty-third.”

“Oh well,” said Cantrip, “I don’t suppose she expected us to send her a present.”

“Her eighteenth birthday,” said Ragwort. “She’s of age.”

Without perfectly understanding why, I perceived that the prospects of adjourning to the Corkscrew had receded. Ragwort, I would have supposed, could as competently represent a girl of eighteen as one of seventeen. But no, it was out of the question—it was the duty of her Counsel, now that she was of age, to make clear to her the nature of the Arrangement and her right to give or withhold consent; she might instruct him, after receiving such advice, to negotiate other terms than those agreed by Ragwort: Ragwort, if still representing her, would be severely embarrassed.