False Wills

E Kellenberger J

Description

A family saga which reflects on the life and times of a matriarch who seems to be able to control the family long after her death. Will they ever be free of her? Set mostly in 2010, it touches on modern day mental health issues while scrolling through, posthumously, the remarkable life of love and endeavour of its guiding character. Despite the failings of her extended family members, blood lines prove thicker than water, and she is as much trapped by them as they are by her. The novel ends in March 2020 on a topical note.

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 28 mars 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781803138978
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

by the same author

Unsafe Deposit 2016
Rickie Raven’s Dilemma 2020






Copyright © 2022 J E Kellenberger

The moral right of the author has been asserted.


Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.


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ISBN 978 1803138 978

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.


Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd



To
Rene and Kelly







Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
The Letter
Chapter 2
The Memorial
Chapter 3
Reginald’s Tribe
Chapter 4
Twins
Chapter 5
Martin’s Tale
Chapter 6
Events
Chapter 7
Guernsey
Chapter 8
Parallels
Chapter 9
Weddings
Chapter 10
Reflections
Chapter 11
Hands, Face, Space



Prologue
The letter was lying face up on the doormat when Kit arrived home from work. She stared at it for a moment before picking it up. The quality of the stationery gave it an air of substance and authority. The postmark was Berwick-upon-Tweed which Kit thought was near the Scottish border. She wasn’t used to letters; emails and texts were now her norm. She would open it later after a refreshing shower and a bite to eat. She slipped a frozen pizza into the oven and headed for the bathroom. Her partner, Martin, was away on business and no proper cooking with its time-consuming preparation and clearing up afterwards was required. Later that evening, wrapped in a silky dressing-gown and fully relaxed with her feet up on the sofa, she opened the envelope and read its contents.
The next day, following instructions, she telephoned the office number on the letterhead of Newman, Wilson & Saddler. The letter was specific. She must ring between ten and twelve noon on a landline and not use a mobile. And she must ask to speak to Mr. Newman. From her small office just off the visual optics laboratory where the undergraduates did their experiments, on the third floor of the university building in central London, she obtained an outside line and punched the numbers for the location in Northumberland.
‘Good morning, Miss Irwin,’ said a sedate-sounding voice eventually over a rather crackly line. ‘I hope you can hear me well enough. I’m Thomas Newman, the person who sent you the letter and the joint-executor with you of the last will and testament of your distant relative, the late Kit Audrey Harrison.’
‘I don’t know anybody with that name or have any reason to believe that your client is related to me,’ answered Kit truthfully, after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Are you sure you have the right person?’
‘I am perfectly sure, Miss Irwin, as my client kept me fully apprised of your whereabouts and personal details.’
‘But I don’t know anybody with that name or anyone who lives in the Northumberland region,’ protested Kit repeating herself. ‘Is this some joke or a case of mistaken identity?’
‘Neither,’ replied the solicitor in an even voice. ‘I hope I can convince you that you are truly the person I seek when I tell you that the deceased told me that you had had a minor operation on the tip of your left thumb just before your sixth birthday which left a tiny scar.’
‘Oh. Gosh,’ murmured Kit, looking intently at the white scar line, now almost invisible, extending downwards from her thumb’s tip almost to the joint. ‘That’s true,’ she said finally into the mouthpiece.
‘In law, Miss Irwin,’ said Mr. Newman unhurriedly, allowing Kit a few milliseconds to recognise the new situation, ‘if you have been named an executor of a will but you are unwilling to act, then you can refuse the role and renounce as executor. I very much hope that you will not do this as it is in your interest, and to your advantage, to act as your late relative had planned. Under the terms of the will, I am not permitted to offer any further information before a face-to-face meeting in my office. Will you come? Your expenses will be covered including hotel accommodation. Trains run regularly from King’s Cross direct to Berwick and usually take just under four hours.’
‘I’m working full-time,’ replied Kit, somewhat irritated that she was not in charge of the conversation. ‘It’s term time at the university. I can’t just down tools and come even if I decide to co-operate.’
‘There is no rush. You may leave it several weeks. Just let me know your travel plans in advance and I will book overnight accommodation. My office is within walking distance of the station. Please bring your birth certificate and passport, and in the interim, refrain from discussing this matter with anyone else including your partner. I shall look forward to meeting you in due course. Goodbye.’


Chapter 1
The Letter
She thought she’d have plenty of time on the long train journey to consider the strange turn of events that were leading her to the northernmost tip of England, but the East Coast main line train sped through the countryside and whooshed through the stations at a breathless rate. Before long they were in the flatlands of Cambridgeshire and passing through the South Yorkshire station of Doncaster. The train was not full and after purchasing some sandwiches and coffee from the catering car she sat back and contemplated her life in general.
It was now more than three weeks since she had received the letter. Following Mr. Newman’s advice she had arranged a meeting with him after the end of the summer term and when she had marked and dealt with the examinations and results including the inevitable queries that arose therefrom. She had planned to accompany Martin on one of his lecture tours on the continent – he was in pharmaceutical research and development working in a university laboratory sponsored by a global company specialising in tropical remedies – but found a spare couple of days to journey north. They had first met as undergraduates at Oxford. She was reading physics and he, chemistry, but their paths crossed in shared lectures and practical work in a few subjects like laser light. They shared a similar sense of humour and soon became an item easy in one another’s company. They kept in contact after graduating and when Kit took up her post in London, with Martin working in Reading, it seemed logical to get on the property ladder by combining their financial resources. They had cohabitated now for more than five years in a happy and full relationship but one without any goals or planned future pathway. She sighed. She shouldn’t ask for more. She had no right to do so. She had so much already: her dream job in the subject she had adored ever since her primary school teacher had told her that the constant movement of those tiny dust particles caught in a shaft of light was named Brownian Motion. She’d read her first beginner’s guide to physics book even before she started secondary education. And she enjoyed teaching and sharing her knowledge and enthusiasm for the subject. University life as a don was good. A regular pay cheque and the prospect of advancement. And home life was good too. Martin was a kind and considerate companion. He loved his field hockey – something she didn’t, but forced herself to go and watch from the touchline with feigned pleasure on many cold and wet Saturday afternoons – and had recently taken on the onerous task of executive officer in one of his sport’s governing bodies. They shared a brilliant social life with her university formal dinners and his executive functions. She sighed again. In her heart she sensed that something was missing in their relationship.
Before she knew it, after a brief halt at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, the view from the window was of the spectacular north-east coastline with the normally menacingly grey and choppy North Sea shimmering placidly in the midday sun. She hastened to prepare herself for the interview ahead. She must be patient and polite and listen to what the solicitor had to say even though she felt sure that the trip was a wild goose chase. Sadly, she had few relatives left since the death of her parents many years before in a road traffic accident and the merciful demise some