A Wife on Paper

He hadn’t realised just how much weight she’d lost. Her hair was paler too. More grown up than the corn gold he remembered. Maybe that hadn’t been her natural colour, either, but he preferred it.

That night she had been all vibrant colour, now she was monochrome, the pallor of her skin emphasised by dark hollows beneath her eyes, at her temples. It made the quick angry flush as she saw him all the more noticeable.

‘Why is he here?’ she said, ignoring him completely and looking directly at Tom Palmer, the family lawyer, who’d come around his desk to welcome her.

‘Guy is your…is Steven’s executor, Fran. It’s his responsibility to see that the will is properly executed.’

Now she turned those lovely grey eyes on him. ‘So that’s why you raced back from the back of beyond,’ she said. ‘To secure your assets.’

‘I have no doubt that Steven left everything he possessed to you and Toby. It’s my sole responsibility to ensure that his wishes are carried out and I will do that, no matter what they are.’

Tom, who had undoubtedly witnessed family discord on such occasions many times over a long career, intervened with a quiet, ‘Please, come and sit down, Fran. Would you care for some coffee…tea, perhaps?’

‘Nothing, thank you. Let’s get this over with. I’ve a full day ahead of me.’

‘Of course. The will itself is a simple enough document.’ He opened a file. ‘First, Guy, Steven left this letter for you.’

He pocketed it without comment.

‘Aren’t you going to read it?’ Francesca demanded.

‘Not now,’ he said. If Steve, the least organised person in the world, had chosen to write him a letter when he knew he was dying, he wanted to be alone when he read it. ‘Tom?’

Prompted, Tom Palmer began to read the will.

While he’d been in a position to make conditions, Guy had insisted that Steve make a will in favour of Francesca. It had not been altered, and her relief, though contained, was nevertheless evident for those with eyes to read the small signs. The briefly closed eyes, the slightest slump in her posture as the tension left her.

‘Is that it?’ she asked.

‘It’s little enough,’ Tom said. ‘Unfortunately, as you know, Steven surrendered his life assurance to raise some capital last year.’

‘He did?’ The shocked words slipped out before she could contain them. ‘Yes. Of course. He discussed it with me,’ she continued, swiftly covering her slip.

That had been the other condition. The life policy. So much for his best intentions.

‘When I asked if that was it, I just meant, can I go now? I want to go to the office, make a start on sorting things out.’

She was incredible, he thought. She’d just received a monumental blow but she’d absorbed it and, but for those two words, no one would believe it was anything other than what she’d expected to hear.

‘Not quite all,’ Tom said, clearly relieved that he hadn’t had to deal with hysterics. ‘I just need your signature on here so that I can set about organising a valuation of the estate. It shouldn’t take too long.’

‘Valuation?’ She looked up from the document he’d placed in front of her.

‘Of the company. For tax purposes.’ She looked blank. ‘Inheritance tax?’ he elaborated. ‘I did warn Steven of the situation when he originally signed the will. At that time there was no urgency, of course, but I did suggest he talk it over with you. Maybe consider going through the motions. Just a ten minute job at the local Register Office would do.’ Guy could see that Tom was beginning to founder in the face of Francesca’s incomprehension. Clearly she had never had that conversation with Steven, and he wondered just how many more shocks she could take. ‘Just to satisfy the legalities,’ Tom ploughed on. ‘Perhaps after the baby was born…’

‘Inheritance tax?’ she repeated, ignoring the waffle.

‘Is the company likely to exceed the inheritance tax threshold?’ Guy asked, giving Tom a moment to catch up. Work out for himself exactly how much in the dark she was.

‘I have no idea,’ the lawyer said.

They both looked at Francesca for an answer, but she dismissed their query with an impatient little gesture.

‘Tell me about inheritance tax,’ she said rather more sharply.

‘I don’t imagine it will be too much of a problem, unless the company is doing substantially better than it was at the last audit,’ Tom Palmer said, clearly unsure which would be preferable. ‘However, since you weren’t married to Steven any legacy will be subject to inheritance tax.’

She sat and digested this for a moment, then said, ‘So if we’d been married I wouldn’t have to pay inheritance tax?’

‘No, but as I said—’

‘And because we didn’t go through some totally meaningless ceremony I will? Have to pay it?’

‘Well, yes. That’s the present situation, I’m afraid.’

‘But that’s outrageous! We’ve lived together for nearly three years. We have a child…’

‘If you’d lived together for twenty-three years and had ten children it would make no difference, I’m afraid.’

After the brief stunned silence she asked, ‘What’s the liability threshold?’

‘£250,000. After that forty percent of the estate goes to the Inland Revenue.’

‘But…’ Guy had thought she looked pale. He had been wrong. Colour leached from her skin, leaving her ashen. ‘But surely the house alone is worth ten times that?’

‘You don’t have to worry about the house, Fran.’

‘You mean the house is free of inheritance tax?’ Francesca asked.

‘I mean that Steven did not own the house.’

She shook her head. ‘No. That’s not right. Steven bought it from Guy. Three years ago.’ She turned to him. Looked up at him. ‘We’ve lived there for three years. Tell him.’

‘There seems to be some confusion, Francesca. I don’t know what Steve told you, but he didn’t buy the house from me. It was sold to a property company about ten years ago, along with a lot of other property.’

‘But he said—you said…’ He saw her trying to recall the conversation in the restaurant that night. ‘He was going to come and see you. To talk about it. He asked you. That night…’

‘He asked me for help with a deposit for the house, that’s all. I didn’t know until yesterday that you thought I had owned it. And I had no idea he hadn’t gone ahead and bought it.’

‘But why would he need to borrow from you? He had money…’ She stopped. ‘How much?’

He didn’t want to go there.

‘How much did you give him?’ she demanded.

‘Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds.’

‘But he didn’t buy it?’ This to Tom Palmer.