“You don’t need to, Lenny. Call it my good deed of the day. I’m sure you’d do the same if you found someone in a similar situation.”
“Lenny?” Leonard spat the word out and tried to look annoyed but his mouth grinning at the corner betrayed his humour.
“Oh, sorry. What do you prefer to be called?”
“No, Lenny sounds fine. The way you say it. And the truth is, I do want to have lunch with you, but I am also enjoying our conversation. So unless you have somewhere better to be, fancy joining me?”
Adrian started up the truck and grinned.
“I would be honoured.”
Chapter Five
Will
Leonard’s father had used the same solicitor for as long as Leonard could remember. Not that he had needed him that often in any official capacity. Once for conveyancing when they purchased their current home, another time for a dispute with a neighbour over a shared driveway, and, of course, for the writing of his last will and testament. Mr Dawson—neither Leonard nor his mother had any idea of his given name—used to be a sole practitioner, his office a single room above a newsagent on Norwich High Street, but had joined a larger legal firm some years back. Haven and Trollope, the new firm, stood in a modern characterless three-storey complex on the outskirts of town. One advantage to the location was the many parking spaces designated to the law firm clients. Leonard’s mother insisted he drive around the car park three times until she pointed out a parking space that met her approval.
Best of all, the drive barely took half an hour, during which time his mother sat quietly, listening to the car radio which she insisted be tuned to BBC Radio 4, to a topical political debate. Leonard’s mind had been elsewhere but he’d occasionally heard her tutting whenever she felt someone had made an inconclusive statement or had circumvented answering a simple question.
All day Sunday, while he had begun to tackle the back garden then cleared his business email, Leonard had mulled over his chance meeting with Adrian. By Sunday evening, he had almost called and invited him out for a drink. But he had no idea what Adrian did at the weekend, didn’t know if he would be intruding, felt sure such a good-looking guy would have other plans which probably included a boyfriend.
Strange, really, but even though they had only just met—because they had never been friends—he felt really at ease in his company, as though they had known each other for years. After heading to the Red Lion, they’d enjoyed a couple of drinks, both opting for the same pub lunch of home-made shepherd’s pie and fresh garden vegetables, and chatted about their old school.
Adrian had seemed purposely vague about his life after leaving the education system, deflecting with trite sayings such as ‘oh, you know, here and there’ and ‘a little bit of this and that’ which Leonard had taken to mean he didn’t want to talk in detail about his young adult life. Sensing the guardedness, and knowing from Eric about Adrian being gay, Leonard had pointedly avoided probing into Adrian’s romantic life and had noticed Adrian did the same with him.
What he had found out was that Adrian worked locally, although he had no jobs on right now. From stories of work he had carried out, Leonard could tell his popularity with the local community, including some regulars in the pub he had done work for at some time or another. As the afternoon wore on, Leonard had realised he liked Adrian and, before they’d parted ways, they’d swapped mobile phone numbers and agreed to meet up again after the weekend.
Inside the reception area of Haven and Trollope, after asking to see their identification, one of the two receptionists led them up a flight of stairs to a large glass conference room. Inside, Aunt Millicent and Matthew already sat there looking stiff and sullen and bored. After offering Adrian and his mother drinks which they both declined, the young girl left them. His aunt and cousin had already stood and after his mother had shaken hands with them, Leonard did the same. Once they took their seats, each pair on opposite sides of the table, the room fell back into an awkward silence.
To Leonard’s relief, Mr Dawson entered not long after. In his mid-to-late sixties, he reminded Leonard of one of his old college professors, with his olive-green tweed suit, black and white polka-dot bow tie, steel-rimmed glasses with thick lenses and full head of pure white wavy hair held firmly in place with either too much Vaseline or hair gel.
He carried a thick manila folder that had a large label on the front. Leonard could easily make out the full name of his father in capital letters.
Without shaking hands, he lowered himself into the seat at the head of the table, immediately opened the folder and took out a single sheet of paper from the top.
“Good. Well. Thank you all for coming here today and being so punctual. Apologies for my tardiness, but I had a call from another client that went on longer than I had expected. I am Hubert Dawson of Haven and Trollope and the deceased, Colin Montgomery Day, appointed me as the sole executor of his will. This is a simple enough matter and should not take long. Rather than read all the legal speak in the formal last will and testament, I’ve had a one-sheet summary put together, but naturally, all those named as beneficiaries will receive a full copy of the legal document. Is everyone present comfortable with this?”
Although nobody spoke aloud, everyone around the table nodded their assent.
“Excellent. Well, in summary, the deceased left almost everything to his wife, Mrs Geraldine Olivia Day, which includes their unencumbered residential home, 14 Collier Drive, and all investments, shares and possessions in Mr Day’s sole name, his pension and, of course, the proceeds from his life assurance policy.”
That his father had left him nothing came as no surprise to Leonard. His father, being a pragmatic man, had spoken at length about the eventuality of his death, during which time Leonard had emphasised his own financial independence and his desire for his father to make sure Leonard’s mother was taken care of by making her the principal beneficiary.
“There are two caveats to this under the General Provisions clause. The first is that he wishes to donate the sum of ten thousand pounds to the college research facility, and the second is that the family’s country home, Bryn Bach in Wales, changes ownership to his son and only child, Leonard Frederick Day.”
Leonard had never heard his father mention a holiday home before and began to turn to his mother for clarification. Before he could, Aunt Millicent let out a loud strangled gasp and sat forward in her chair, her hands grasping the arms of the chair. Only her son Matthew seemed unsurprised by her reaction.
“No! There must be some mistake. As the last surviving sibling in our family, I should be the one to inherit Bryn Bach. It’s what our mother and father would have wanted, and something Colin promised should anything happen to him.”
Mr Dawson sorted through the larger document, the full will, and flicked to a particular page marked by a yellow Post-it note.
“Mr Day’s instructions are clear. Specific, straightforward and unambiguous, Mrs Darlington. And unless you have any legal documentation that supersedes the terms of this will, then there is no mistake. Leonard’s father leaves in its entirety the farmhouse, Bryn Bach, in Disserth, Llandrindod Wells in Wales to his son, Leonard Frederick Day. He reviewed his will routinely at the end of each year, the last time being the December just gone. There is no mistake in—”
“Hepromisedme. We spent our school holidays there as children, my brother, Colin, our parents and me. Until he went off to college on the other side of the country and thought himself too high and mighty to associate with us, especially when he mether.” At that she glared pointedly at Leonard’s mother. “And when my ex-husband started a new job in sales, when we had barely enough money to survive on, we still managed to provide summer holidays for our children because my father let us use Bryn Bach. We have many fond memories there. And in return we have decorated, maintained and cared for the place without asking for a penny in return. Since our father passed and left the cottage to my brother, he has not once been there. I know this for a fact. We still have friends in Newbridge. And my Matthew checks the cottage every year for broken pipes and defects, even though the place is deserted now. Falling to rack and ruin.”
“This is all very well, Mrs Darlington. But legally the property now belongs—”
“What does he want with it, anyway? He’s never even been there. None of them have.”
