A week later, Jess nervously pushed open the front door to the solicitor’s office. She walked tentatively up the creaky stairs. It always amazed her, that even with the fees that solicitors charged in general, their offices were usually dark and dank with a dying plant in the waiting room. Bennett, Howard and Oswaldson was no exception to this rule. Jonathan Bennett, the Beresford family solicitor, held out a reassuring hand as Jess got to the top of the stairs and greeted her. He was short and slight for a man, standing around five foot eight. He bore a perfect dark ring of hair around his head like a monk. Jessica noticed that he always wore immaculately tailored suits and smelt of a pleasant musky aftershave.
‘Take a seat, take a seat.’ Jonathan urged in his eccentric manner, as he ushered Jess into his office. His large green felt-covered desk was strewn with papers, and his red velvet curtains had seen better days. Shaking his head, he continued. ‘Terrible business, Jess, terrible business regarding Sam, I am so sorry.’
‘Yes it was, and still is, Jonathan.’ Jess took a deep breath. ‘Thank you for your condolences.’ She sat down. ‘There’s no room for sadness now though,’ she stated in a matter of fact manner. ‘I’m here to sort out my affairs and begin a future for myself and Freya.’
‘Yes, yes of course,’ Jonathan replied. He sat down opposite her as Jess continued. ‘So, were the police telling me the truth? Is it right I have no money to come from Sam?’ The solicitor ran his hands over his balding head and replied softly, ‘I’m afraid so, Jess. Sam was in a lot of debt and for some reason he stupidly didn’t insure the cottage.’
‘Too busy doing other things,’ Jess said bitterly, cringing at the thought of what those other things might be. She pulled herself together and continued. ‘And what about the Cornwall cottage?’
‘Now, for some reason I didn’t actually deal with the purchase of that one. I have no records,’ Jonathan replied. ‘Would you like me track down the deeds and any other necessary paperwork?’
‘Yes please,’ Jess said. ‘I think from memory we did have a solicitor in Looe. Sam always used to deal with everything and I would just sign if I had to. I have no recollection of which firm though, I’m afraid.’
‘No problem, Jess, no problem at all. Leave that with me.’
‘Thanks, Jonathan. That would be great.’ She sat back in her chair. ‘By the way, did he make a will? It was amazingly something we didn’t talk about. In hindsight with a young daughter, I should have insisted.’
Jess could almost see the man opposite her sink under his desk. His left eye began to twitch.
‘Are you OK?’ Jess enquired.
‘I was hoping you wouldn’t want to see it.’ Jonathan squirmed.
Jess screwed up her face, not knowing what on earth he meant. The troubled solicitor suddenly began to continue really fast, as if what he was about to reveal wouldn’t seem quite as bad if he spat it out in one go.
‘But legally as executor, even though there is no money at this stage to give to you, of course you must, yes, you must see it.’ Jonathan jumped up and pulled an envelope from a filing cabinet.
‘Sam was my friend, Jess, but really I don’t know what he was thinking. I tried to talk him out of it but he would have none of it.’
Jess was now really puzzled. With trembling hands, the solicitor handed over the last will and testament of Mr. Samuel James Beresford. She read slowly. On reaching the second line her hands began to shake too.
I bequeath sixty-per-cent to my wife, Jessica Ann Beresford. The remaining forty-per-cen, to be split equally between my three daughters – Charlotte Grace Beresford, Freya Ann Beresford and Evie Alexandra Meadows.
In a complete daze, Jess walked down the stairs of Bennett, Howard and Oswaldson’s. It was incomprehensible; Sam was the father of Dan’s child! How could that be?
She was fumbling around in her handbag, looking for her car keys, when she heard somebody call her name. She looked up with a start.
‘Jessica, can we talk?’ Jess didn’t recognize the greying-haired lady with elfin like features who stood in front of her.
‘Sorry, do I know you?’
‘It’s Alex, Ali Meadows. Please, we really do need to talk’