Where there's a Will, there's a hoo-ha

Sunday Story Time again! It's a bit longer today - you might want to settle down with a cuppa and some cake. I would!

A month after Clive’s death, Willow Reginald kept her scheduled appointment with Minerva Thing and began to draw up a quotation for the work required to rejuvenate Satis House. Min, meanwhile,  had wasted no time envisaging the changes she wanted and was therefore able to furnish Willow with a comprehensive list of ideas when the young woman presented herself at the front door on a sunny day in July.

            'My goodness,' said Willow, scanning the two close-typed sheets of A4 Min handed her on arrival. 'You've been busy.'

            'Procrastination is the thief of time,' said Min, whose head had been buzzing with ideas since the funeral two weeks ago. Indeed, she’d had several ideas during the service itself, causing her to focus on the gargoyles in the church roof in order to help her commit them to memory so she could scribble them in a notebook as soon as she got to the wake. Also, the idea of running a business from Satis House had sat with her like a new and rather fascinating friend and she had made plans for that, too. The house had continued to whisper to her, to feed her ideas and to fill her with a hope for her future that she’d not felt for many years. 'Tea?' she said. 'Cake?'

            'I never say 'no' to cake,' said Willow.

            'I'll pop the kettle on, then,' said Min. 'You wander around and measure up, or whatever it is you need to do. Find me in the kitchen when you are done.'

            As Willow disappeared up the stairs escorted by a curious Halliwell, Min glanced at the clock on the hall table. Good. She still had a couple of hours before her appointment with the solicitor for the reading of Clive's Will. It would be a formality, of course  – when Mother had died, and left everything equally divided between Min and Clive, it seemed straightforward and obvious for the sister and brother to go ahead and make mirror Wills and leave their half portion of Satis House to each other upon their respective deaths. Still, Min thought, solicitors have to go through the formalities of these things, tie up the loose ends. And she supposed there might be some small, personal bequests to be dealt with. The hideous contents of Clive’s hobby room, for example.

            Willow appeared at the kitchen door just as Min was slicing into a deep and light a Victoria sponge sandwich.

            'Wow!' said Willow. 'Proper homemade cake.'

            'Of course,' said Min. 'Can't be doing with that shop-bought rubbish. Have you seen how many ingredients are listed on the packaging of a shop bought cake? Runs into the dozens, and most of them unpronounceable! It’s a personal rule of mine that if you can’t pronounce it, you shouldn’t eat it. There are only five in that cake,’ and she pointed at the sponge with a sense of pride. ‘Five! Butter, sugar, eggs, flour, jam. How did you get on with your measuring?'

            'All done,' said Willow, sliding onto a chair and placing her tablet device on the table. It's all in here.' She tapped the computer. 'Except I couldn't get into the box room...'

            Min paused mid-pour of the tea pot. 'Ah,' she said. 'Yes. Clive's hobby room. I think that might have to wait a while...'

            'Still too raw?' said Willow.

            Min nodded. Let the girl think as much if it kept the subject closed.

            'I had a decorating job last year,' began Willow, accepting the tea cup and saucer from Min. 'A bedroom. Hadn’t been touched by the homeowner for almost ten years, ever since her teenage son had died. Heart breaking, really, that it took her so long to feel she could move on.'

            Min placed a slice of sponge cake onto a plate, balanced a cake fork on the rim and passed it across the table. 'Each to their own,' she said, absent-mindedly licking a blob of jam from her finger. 'I shall get that room done, definitely. But not just yet. There's plenty for you to be going on with in the meantime.'

            'Of course,' said Willow. 'It's a beautiful house, Miss Thing. Classic architecture of its time. Are you still planning to turn it into a business?'

            'Indeed,' said Min. 'I think it’s going to be an artist retreat.'

            Willow widened her eyes. Min interpreted the reaction as a sign of encouragement and continued.

            'Yes,' she said. 'Satis House will become a place where painters, writers, artists of any kind can come to practise their craft in a creative atmosphere with like-minded people. I need one bedroom for my personal use which leaves three to let out to paying guests. I'm going to have a studio built in the garden and use the biggest reception room as a meeting place, where guest speakers can come, maybe run day courses or present pop up galleries to exhibit their work.'

My goodness, she thought, where did all that come from? She smiled. The house, of course.

            'Sounds amazing,' said Willow. She popped a forkful of cake into her mouth. 'As is this delicious sponge.’ She rested the fork on the plate and took a sip of tea. ‘So you'll be wanting a mix of calm and fresh colours, then? Something relaxing and not too obvious, yet at the same time clean and inspirational?'

            'I think so,' said Min. 'I want people to feel that this is an oasis, away from the noise and fuss of the modern world. I'll provide home cooked food and housekeeping.'

            'Are you an artist, Miss Thing?' said Willow.

            Min laughed. 'Me? Goodness no...well, I knit a bit and can pick out a tune on the piano, but that's as far as my creative talents go. Clive, though – he was a painter. Acrylics and oils, mostly. Odd subject matter – science fantasy, very niche. But he was never consistent enough to become a professional. Had the talent but lacked the work ethic.’

            ‘Then let me show you some ideas,’ said Willow, lighting up the screen of her tablet.

            As she turned her attention to Willow’s ideas, Min knew she had made the right decision for Satis House. No, not for Satis House – with Satis House. Yes – a creative retreat. Perfect. It would bring the old house back to life, give it, and her, a renewed purpose. Already, life was looking brighter.

                                                     *                                 *                             * 

           'Miss Thing!'

            Mr Burroughs stood in the doorway of his office and held out his hand. 'Lovely to see you again, although I think we both would have preferred happier circumstances, wouldn't we?'

            'Indeed,' said Min. 'Life goes on, though.'

            'It does, it does,' said Mr Burroughs, guiding her to a seat. He took up his own across the huge desk and laced his fingers together on top of a buff folder. 'Tea? Coffee?'

            'Can we just get on?' said Min. 'I assume this won't take long?'

            'You assume correctly, Miss Thing,' smiled Mr Burroughs. 'As soon as the other beneficiary arrives we can make a start and we’ll be finished in...'

            'Other beneficiary?' Min frowned. 'What do you mean 'other beneficiary'? I thought...'

            'Mr Thing...Clive...came to see me just before last Christmas,' said Mr Burroughs. 'He made a significant change to his Will meaning you are no longer his sole beneficiary.'

            For the first time in years, Min was speechless. Clive did what?

Her mind began to chunter angrily to itself. Oh this is typical, it said. Just when you think life is running smoothly, that you can actually start putting yourself first for a change, another ugly-headed problem crops up. He’s changed his Will? Why would he do that? To get back at you, that’s why, for all that nagging, which wasn’t really nagging, more like gentle encouragement to help him stop being such a lazy, sponging good-for-nothing parasite. But wait, Min. Perhaps you are jumping to conclusions? Maybe the changes are  a minor gift, or a token or two of personal belongings to close friends? Or a donation to charity? Min opened her mouth to speak, to interrupt this vitriolic diatribe within herself, then closed it again. Best keep quiet and let whatever was waiting to unfold just unfold. She stared at Mr Burroughs, who smiled and stared back, then coughed and looked at his pen as if it had become the  singularly most fascinating object in the world.

            A tap on the door broke the tension, causing Mr Burroughs to leap with relief from his seat. Min swivelled in her chair to face the door and deliver her best look of disapproval to the poor unfortunate about to enter. Audley Runcorn.

            'Afternoon, Min!' said Audley. 'How you bearing up, eh?'

            Min stood and Audley took her hand and pumped it enthusiastically with both of his.

            'I'm well, Audley,' she said, trying to keep her voice steady. Audley? A beneficiary? Really?

            'This is a right turn up, in't it?' said Audley, making himself comfortable in the chair next to Min. 'Young Clive thinking of the C.O.P.S in his Will?'

            'Well, it is certainly a surprise to me,' said Min. She felt her lips pinch together in irritation.

            Mr Burroughs, ever sensitive to tension and brewing storm clouds, coughed. 'Let's get on then, shall we?' he said.

            Min folded her hands in her lap and sat with poised stillness. Audley leaned forward, his left arm resting on his left knee, making him look like a man at a greyhound race, waiting for the stuffed hare to dash by on its runners and the dogs to fly from their traps.

            Mr Burroughs cleared his throat and began. 'This is the last Will and Testament of me, Clive Neville Chamberlain Thing, dated 13^th December 2018. I revoke all previous Wills. Subject to the payment of my debts, funeral expenses and administration expenses I give all my estate both real and personal to the Chelwood Operatic Performance Society.'

            'Flippin’ heck!' said Audley, leaning back in his chair.

            Mr Burroughs placed the document on his desk and directed a placatory smile at Min.

            'Is that it?' said Min, whose insides were seething quickly into a boiling mass of anger.

            'Yes,' said Mr Burroughs. 'That's it.'

            'All his estate, both real and personal?’ said Min, immediately thinking of the contents of Clive’s hobby room, because, quite frankly, at this moment in time, the C.O.P.S were bloody well welcome to them.

            ‘Indeed,’ confirmed Mr Burroughs.

‘And no note of explanation as to why he made these changes?' said Min.

            'No...no note of explanation,' said Mr Burroughs. Min's eyes narrowed and Mr Burroughs decided that the best line of defence was to say as little as possible. Besides, it really was that simple.

            ‘May I see the Will?' said Min. Mr Burroughs passed the offending document across the desk. Min took it and scanned her eyes across the brief paragraph and to the witness signatures at the bottom. One was the vicar. Traitor, she thought. And the other?

            'Sylvia Path!' she said out loud. ‘Isn’t she your treasurer, Audley? Isn’t this a conflict of interest, Mr Burroughs?’

            Min looked expectantly at the two men, who looked expectantly at each other. Mr Burroughs spoke first.

            ‘It is my belief that Mrs Path was not connected with the C.O.P.S in any financial capacity at the time the new Will was made,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that right, Mr Runcorn?’

            Audley nodded. ‘That’s right, Mr Burroughs,’ he said. ‘Mrs Path has only taken on t’ role of treasurer since beginning of this financial year…’

            ‘And how long has she been part of the C.O.P.S?’ interrupted Min, catching a whiff of something fishy, and it wasn’t the smell of a comforting fish finger sandwich either.

            Audley scratched his head. ‘Ah, now…let me think. She moved to Chelwood about five…no, six years ago. I think. The missus would know. She’s more observant about these things and…’

            ‘Was she his fancy woman?’ said Min, because it had to be said.

            ‘Heavens no, Min,’ said Audley, goggling his eyes in surprise. ‘And if she were, t’lad kept it quiet. No, they barely spoke. She’s one for the spotlight, is our Sylvia. Not ‘is type at all.’

            Well. There was nothing else to say then.

 'Thank you,' said Min. She returned the document to Mr Burroughs, and stood. 'Thank you,’ she repeated. ‘I shall be on my way.'

            Audley stood also. 'Min, d’ye fancy a coffee somewhere? So as we can discuss what happens now, like?'

            Min turned and stared at the representative of the now half-owners of Satis House. Her Satis House. Her home. Her business in embryo.

            'I think I need some time to think about what has happened,' she said. ‘I am not fully convinced I am happy to take this decision lying down, as it were.’

            Audley became very blustery. 'Aye. 'Course you do, lass. Bit of a shocker, eh?’ He paused. ‘Tell you what. Shall I pop by in a couple of weeks, mebbe? Or shall I wait to hear from you?'

            Min did not know how to reply without causing offence. A dull thrumming beat at her eardrums. She felt uncomfortably warm. She needed to get outside into the fresh air. Audley took her silence as agreement to his second suggestion. 'Aye, then. Good. I'll wait to hear from you, then...' he said, Min turned and left the room.

            'Well,' said Mr Burroughs, replacing the lid of his pen. 'That went well.'

            Out in the summer sun, Min marched along the pavement and towards town. She let her feet make decisions about direction, and wisely they took her to the cosy tea shop located in the upstairs space over her favourite book shop. The owner, the exotically named and one-of-a kind Amazing Hibiscus Park, greeted her with a smile.

            'Miss Thing!' she said, greeting as always her customers with their formal title. 'It is a delight to see you! You would like your usual, I am guessing?'

            'Yes, please, Mrs Park,' said Min, returning the courtesy. She headed to a table by the window which presented her a view across the rooftops of the town, and sat eye-to-eye with three curious pigeons who were perched the other side of the glass, hopeful of a few crumbs appearing through the partially open window.

            'Bloody Clive,' she muttered, picking up a discarded newspaper and flicking through it angrily. 'You did this on purpose, didn't you? You knew how much this would annoy me. I wouldn't be at all surprised if you dropped that tobacco tin on purpose and got yourself killed just to spite me.  I should contact that interfering Sergeant Phelps and tell him to direct his suspicious mind towards theories of malicious suicide.'

            'I am judging by your grumpy face, Minerva, and your heated muttering and ramblings that not all has gone well with your day,' said Amazing, appearing with a round tray upon which was arranged a white china teapot, cup and saucer, and, Min noted, an extra-large slice of moist and fragrant fruit cake on a white tea plate.

            'You judge correctly, Amazing,' said Min. 'And thank you. I knew I could count on you to restore to me some semblance of good humour.' She nodded towards the above average slice of cake.    

             Amazing shrugged. 'It is near the end of day. I do not like to have skinny slivers of end-of- cake beneath my domes over-night. I like tidy. Now, thanks to you, I can take my fruit cake dome and wash it, and polish the glass until it shines, ready to receive a new cake tomorrow!'

            Min smiled. It was so like Amazing to see the bright side of a situation. 'How has your day has been, Amazing?’ she said.

            'Ah now then,' said Amazing, pulling up a chair and dropping herself heavily onto the seat so the skirts of her turquoise and pink dress fluffed and settled around her like blowsy feathers. 'It seems it has been not the greatest day for either of us. My landlord has visited this morning. I have to move my tea shop away from here.' She swept her arm across the tables and chairs, her hand leading out towards the vista of rooftops.

            'No!' said Min, her own anger towards the malicious Clive abating. 'Why?'

            'I cannot afford his new increase in rent,' said Amazing, throwing both arms into the air in a show of dramatic despair. 'He tells me he has new plans for this beautiful space. New plans! He has received an offer from a company to turn this into a...' she frowned in her stumbling over the phrase, '...computer gaming station.'

            'A what?' said Min.

            'You know,' said Amazing, 'the computer gamings. All the noises and shootings and violence that the young people like so much these days. Bam! Bam! I kill you!!! For their fun. For their excitement.'

            'Blow that,' said Min. 'Give me peace, quiet and civilised tea shop any day.'

            'I know,' said Amazing. ‘It is a catastrophe. Even the idea brings turmoil to my thoughts.’ She sighed, but her sigh of sadness was momentary, like a butterfly landing briefly on a sweet pea and then fluttering on. 'But, Minerva Thing, my friend – eat your cake! Cake is joy! Come, come,' and she picked up the cake fork and presented it to Min.  'Something will make this day well again. I know this for true! All good will come to us.'

            And she smiled, rose from the chair,  pushed back her shoulders, and danced to the rhythm of calypso back to her station behind the counter. 

            That is the thing to do, Min decided. No point in reacting to this unexpected turn of events just yet. Just carry on regardless, until she was ready to make further investigations. One day at a time, Min, she told herself. Because for now, for this moment in time, everything is all it can be.