Writing for Fun
September 2020
A Turn For The Worse - Pete Norman
The emotions swept across Campbell’s face like a tsunami. Surprise and shock were followed by regret and sympathy (but for only a matter of seconds). Then relief surged through him, followed by confusion, followed by the warm sensation of delight. His thoughts were running wild as he tried to come to terms with the enormity of the information. However, as he hung up the call the most enduring emotion was one of determination and resolve.
On the telephone Ferguson had been his usual subservient, ingratiating, robotic self, every word straight from the Butlering Handbook, every word carefully rehearsed and even more carefully enunciated – an attitude which Campbell loathed and detested – but even he grudgingly had to accept that without the Man Friday dedication of Ferguson for all these years then Father would have required the regular and personal assistance of his two sons which would have rendered their own lives far more complicated. That would have been abominable.
Campbell was amazed how such a few carefully chosen words could be capable of making such an enormous impact on his life. His grin threatened to split his face from ear to ear. A life for a life!
‘Master Campbell,’ Ferguson had said, ‘It is with great regret that I have to inform you that the Master – your father – has taken a turn for the worse.’ At this point Campbell’s hand had been shaking so violently he had almost dropped the phone. ‘And he has directed me to inform yourself and Master Alasdair of the situation and to require your attendance at Cragside without delay.’
Without delay? Was the man serious? The most important thing on Campbell’s mind right now was reaching Cragside without delay – that is, before his brother turned up and destroyed everything.
He snatched up his keys and ran for the door. The BMW obediently started on the first kick and the tyres scattered gravel as he powered it out onto the road. Speed limit signs flashed by without compliance and within 20 minutes he was turning off through the huge wrought iron gates onto the sinuously undulating driveway which had been his playground for more years ago than he dared to count.
As he reached the final bend his heart sank; parked directly in front of the huge mahogany doors was a small nondescript grey car – however, this one meant absolutely nothing to him – it was the silver Lexus that was the problem. Parked at a careless angle, it looked as if it had been abandoned in a hurry.
Alasdair!
He parked the BMW close behind, effectively blocking the Lexus in and then tugged hard on the bell pull.
Then he hammered on the door.
Then, as he tugged on the bell pull for a second time the huge, studded oak door swung slowly open with just a trace of theatrical creak.
He charged through the narrow gap between a surprised Ferguson and two over enthusiastic Great Danes and rushed across the hallway. He took the stairs two at a time, swung around the top bannister and slammed open the Library door.
Alasdair did not even turn around, he simply said, ‘You took your time, Cameron,’ as he continued to rummage through the desk drawers.
Cameron quickly surveyed the desk and saw nothing incriminating and then he moved into a position from which he could clearly see what Alasdair’s hands were doing and whether his pockets were bulging.
‘Well? Have you found it yet?’ he sneered.
‘Found what?’ came the ‘innocent’ reply.
‘Don’t think for one moment that I don’t know what you are up to, you arse.’
Alasdair simply smiled. ‘Of course, dear brother. No, I have not found the will yet but I shall continue my search . . . with or without your assistance . . . and I will prevent you from destroying it.’
‘Destroy it?’ came the ‘innocent’ reply.
‘Just one word, dear brother, just one single cunning, malicious and avaricious word – primogeniture.’
Campbell immediately went on the defensive. ‘Good grief, Alasdair, do you really think that of me? Besides, no court in the land would enforce such an unfair and antiquated premise – it would be laughable.’
Alasdair summed up Campbell’s intentions with another single word. ‘Hilarious!’
Cameron snorted. ‘And tell me, how is the delightful Elizabeth?’
Alasdair smiled. ‘Elizabeth always says how fortunate it was that she chose me and not my profligate elder brother.’
Cameron leapt at Alasdair, seizing him firmly by the throat. A loud but deferential cough stopped him in mid-squeeze.
Ferguson maintained his civility but it was clear that his unflappable demeanour was close to breaking point. ‘Please excuse my untimely interruption, Masters but the physician requests your attendance on the Master’s – your father’s – bed chamber.’
Alasdair took a step backwards and rubbed his painful neck and then they both followed Ferguson – cautiously and maintaining a safe distance from each other – along the corridor to the large room at the end.
The enormous and elaborate four poster bed seemed to engulf the frail body of their father, who was lying serenely in the centre. Dr Robertson stopped fussing over him and turned around to face them. ‘Gentlemen, it is with the most solemn regret that I have to inform you that Lord Ballantine has passed – quietly, without suffering, in his sleep.’ He glanced towards Ferguson before adding, ‘With your permission, gentlemen, I will commence the necessary arrangements.’
Ferguson coughed. ‘Masters. The Master, your Father, left me with instructions that at the conclusion I was to hand this to you both.’
Cameron took the manilla envelope and carefully opened it. He scanned down the single sheet searching only for the salient points: . . . On my demise . . . house to be secured . . . anyone family or non-family . . . none shall be permitted . . . entrusted to Doughall and Frazier . . .
He handed the sheet to Alasdair. ‘Of course, he cannot ever have meant to exclude his two adoring offspring here, can he?’
Heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor outside. Cameron spun around. Completely filling the doorway were two of the largest men he had ever seen in his life. Ferguson somehow managed to remain respectful as he made the introductions. ‘Masters, with your permission I introduce Masters Doughall and Frazier.’
Doughall cracked his knuckles.
Cameron groaned.
Alasdair held up the sheet for Cameron to see. ‘You didn’t turn it over, dear brother. It says his will is being held in the safekeeping of Messrs Hamilton, Harvey and Harris and that they will institute the reading precisely seven days following his demise.’
At 10.00am precisely the office door opened. Cameron and Alasdair, followed by the few remaining staff members, took their seats. Finlay Harvey smiled professionally at the assembled mourners and then opened a large orange folder. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the Last Will and Testament of Lord Angus Ballantine.
Cameron was paying scant attention to the boring and, in his eyes, needless preamble . . . being of sound mind . . . bequeath and bestow . . . faithful retainers . . . he was waiting for the only bit of importance which he expected would be right at the very end.
Harvey thanked the staff for their attendance and attention and dismissed them. Cameron and Alasdair sat upright in their chairs – this was it; the moment had finally arrived; both were fired up with avarice and anticipation. Harvey glanced down at the document but he had little need to refresh his memory, the wording of this part was impossible to forget.
‘And the remainder of my estate both tangible and intangible I leave, completely and in its entirety . . .’
Cameron smiled to himself, it looked as if the old codger did believe in primogeniture after all.
Harvey looked up and surveyed the brothers carefully as he added ‘. . . to the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.’
They were stunned and neither was able to speak for a few moments but then Cameron exploded. ‘The miserable old bastard! I’m his son for Christ’s sake. It should all be mine!’
‘And mine!’ Alasdair added with venom. ‘He cannot be serious. This cannot be legal. I’ll challenge the miserly bastard in the courts.’
Harvey held up a hand for their attention. Gentlemen, one moment more, please. There is a codicil which has been added more recently.’
He selected another document and began to read. ‘I came from nothing to the point where I am now. The title itself is but the guinea’s stamp – without the financial wherewithal it is worthless. I have strived all of my life to achieve what I have – I am truly a self made man. I have tried to instil this industrial diligence on my two sons Cameron and Alasdair. To this end I have insisted throughout that they advance by their own efforts alone. They have indeed achieved certain financial status. However, Cameron is a gambler, a wastrel who trusts to the vagaries of the more dubious financial markets, coming close to collapse whenever they fail. Alasdair’s accountancy enterprise is merely a device for syphoning off the unguarded finances of those who, like me, have laboured diligently for that money. For this reason I did consider entrusting my estate to an organisation worthy of support. However, in the decline of years my attitude has become somewhat ameliorated and the last paragraph of my will shall now read: the remainder of my estate both tangible and intangible I leave, completely and in its entirety in equal portions to my two sons Cameron and Alasdair . . .’
Harvey glanced up at the elation on the faces of the brothers but he kept his resolve professional as he added, ‘However . . . respect is the only basis for true and familial cooperation and I do so decree that should either one of my sons respond with abuse to anything within the content of this will then the final paragraph will revert back in favour of the RSPCA.’