Guilty Pleasures. Tasmina Perry

      She paused as she noticed her Uncle Roger beckoning them into Winterfold’s study. Walking into the room with Tom she glanced around. It was a small room for a house of such size. There was barely enough space for the wide desk by the bay window and the two Chesterfield sofas on either side of the marble fireplace, but it certainly had all the trappings of the gentleman’s retreat: there were leather-bound books lined up neatly along oak shelves, heavy midnight-blue velvet swags hung at the windows, and a creaky red wing-back club chair completed the picture. Outside it was gloomy and the wind made a whirling racket though the lime trees.

      Tom nudged Emma as Roger walked in, taking his place in Saul’s old club chair with an air of natural authority.

      ‘I think someone else fancies his chances of getting his paws on Milford,’ he whispered.

      Anthony Collins, Saul’s solicitor, had made the journey from Pimlico especially for the reading and was rather flustered. Sitting at Saul’s desk and taking a sheaf of papers out of his briefcase, he fussed for a while, laying them in complicated piles and arranging his notes. Finally he looked up at Roger who inclined his head as if to indicate his permission to begin.

      ‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for taking the time to come to this meeting,’ began Collins. ‘I know it’s not ideal having this meeting straight after the funeral, but Roger seemed to suggest it was the only time that we could guarantee everyone being here.’

      Emma looked around at the family. Cassandra was perched on the arm of a Chesterfield, a high black stiletto dangling off one foot. Her mother was poised and dignified; Roger, regal and in control. They all had neutral, interested expressions, but she knew they must all be churning inside. And much as they tried to hide it, the buzz of expectation charged the air. Like vultures circling. The thought made Emma feel a little sick.

      ‘Well, I’ll keep it as brief as possible,’ said Collins, shuffling his papers again and putting on a pair of reading glasses.

      ‘The will is fairly straightforward. Of course I will answer any questions you have afterwards or you can always pop along to my office in London.’

      Emma saw Cassandra give an impatient sigh, prompting Collins to clear his throat and peer intently at his notes. ‘There are a few small bequests of watches, cuff-links, and smaller financial gifts. I needn’t bother you with those. I will inform the beneficiaries first thing in the morning. Now. To the main part of the will …’

      Collins paused, then began.

      ‘My 1967 Aston Martin DB7, 1956 Mercedes gull-wing coupé, 1983 Alfa Romeo Spider, 1966 E-type Jaguar and 1963 Ferrari 250 have all brought me immense pleasure in life and I give them to someone who I know will experience the same sense of joy. I therefore bequest them to my nephew Tom, to be held in trust by his aunt Virginia until Tom reaches the age of 30.’

      ‘Thirty!’ cried Tom, unable to contain himself. ‘What’s supposed to happen until them?’

      Anthony cleared his throat. ‘Well, they are to be held by your aunt,’ he said simply.

      ‘Is that legal?’ he asked, dismayed.

      ‘Tom, please,’ said Roger sternly. ‘We’d all like to get this over as soon as possible.’

      I bet you would, smiled Emma to herself. Whoever was the majority shareholder was invariably the chief executive of Milford, and as Winterfold was officially a company asset, whoever was CEO of the company would be its de facto owner and resident. She could see Roger’s wife Rebecca looking at the walls and carpets, no doubt planning what she was going to say to her interior decorators first thing in the morning.

      ‘To my darling niece Cassandra,’ continued Collins, ‘I give Les Fleurs, my Provence villa, knowing how stylish she will keep it and that she will continue the tradition of throwing the most fabulous parties in Europe.’

      Emma saw Cassandra smile and nod, but she was sure she had also gone a shade whiter.

      ‘To my brother Roger, now head of the family, I bequest the chalet in Gstaad in the hope he will continue the tradition of a family Christmas in the snow.’

      Roger looked straight at Collins, a frown on his brow. He looked as if he was about to speak, but thought better of it and simply nodded. A hush had now fallen over the room, as if everyone was holding their breath. The hiss and pop of the fire seemed unnaturally loud and Emma could hear Roger breathing through his nose.

      ‘To my niece Emma, I give all my shareholding in Milford Industries. Over the years I have quietly watched her mature into a businesswoman of such force and reputation I feel safe in the knowledge that she will take the company to even greater heights than I have dared to dream. The wine cellar and art I also give to her in the hope that she will also find time to stop work once in a while and enjoy life.’

      Emma felt stunned, then embarrassed and then a horrible creeping sense of guilt. She looked around to see the room shell-shocked. They were all staring at the fire, out of the window, at the floor; everyone was avoiding Roger’s gaze. Roger, meanwhile, had turned pink.

      ‘The residue of my estate, I give to my sisters Julia and Virginia,’ concluded Collins. ‘And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my client’s last will and testament.’

      ‘And you are absolutely sure this is the most up-to-date will in existence?’ asked Roger, his brows compressed anxiously.

      ‘Quite sure,’ said Collins decisively, averting his eyes momentarily when he saw the fury in Roger’s face.

      ‘And what about this place?’ asked Tom.

      ‘Winterfold is officially a company asset,’ said Collins. ‘The CEO of the company has traditionally lived here.’ He looked over at Emma encouragingly who just looked at the ground and shook her head. Suddenly, everyone started talking at once. The family had started breaking into small splinter groups, whispering intently. To Emma they were deafening.

       ‘He can’t be serious, can he … ?’

       ‘I can’t believe he would’

       ‘What on earth was he thinking… ?’

       ‘I felt sure he would have’

      Roger was standing over Collins, his eyes scanning the will keenly. Cassandra walked over to the window, pulled out her mobile phone and pressed it to her ear. Emma walked to Saul’s club chair and sat down heavily.

      ‘Wow, Em! Well done to you!’ said Tom. ‘I mean, I have to say I’m surprised, but hey, it’s his money. So when’s the party begin?’

      Emma laughed nervously. ‘I’m not sure everyone’s in the mood to party,’ she said quietly. She looked down and saw her hands were trembling.

      ‘So?’ Emma looked up to see Roger had moved over to her. He was a big man and his physical presence would have been enough to intimidate most people on a good day, but today he was bristling with barely-checked emotion, a little boy who has not been given the train set he had been promised. When she had been a little girl, Emma had always seen her Uncle Roger as a grown-up, as a rather strict figure of authority. But she was not a little girl now. Over the last few years, Emma had faced some of the world’s most powerful men, telling them in so many words why their companies were failing, listing their shortcomings and weaknesses. She was not easily scared.

      ‘Roger, please,’ she said, ‘I am as surprised as you. I can tell you that this certainly was not in my five-year plan.’

      ‘So you’re not interested in the shareholding?’

      She bristled. Did he expect her to give it to him?

      ‘Not in so much that I have time to run the company,’ she said diplomatically, not denying to herself the prickle of excitement. ‘I have my life in Boston, as you know.’

      ‘So how much is it going to cost us?’ chimed Rebecca, attempting a smile, but baring