Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1093.

Printer-friendly version

Author: 

Audience Rating: 

Publication: 

Genre: 

Character Age: 

TG Themes: 

Permission: 

The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike)
Part 1093
by Angharad

Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
  
-Dormouse-001.jpg

The next morning I spoke with Andy Bond, explaining that I needed to gain access to the Drummond’s house so I could provide clothing to the undertaker. He went off and found some information about their solicitor, so I called them.

I spoke to a Mr Harper, who again consulted some documents. “Ah, Mrs Cameron, you wish to gain access to the property to provide the undertakers with clothing for the various funerals of my clients.”

“Yes, the police suggested you might have a key.”

“We do indeed, I also have an amendment to her will naming you as executrix of her estate and any surviving children as major beneficiaries. She asked me to attend her in hospital—she was much taken with you, Mrs Cameron, because she stipulates that any remaining children be awarded to your care and custody. In return, once her estate is liquidated, you should be paid ten thousand a year towards the cost of maintaining her child or children. On achieving the age of majority, they will then receive the remainder of her estate.

“We are charged with investing her assets to maintain a maximum return. If the child doesn’t achieve majority, the residue of the estate comes to you or your children.”

“I don’t need her money.”

“Possibly not, but on behalf of her surviving daughter, we are pursuing a claim against the driver who caused the deaths of her husband and elder daughter. It could be worth many thousands of pounds.”

“I’m sure little Catherine will be glad of it later, although I’m sure she’d have preferred to have her parents and older sister.”

“Quite, it’s a very sad case.”

“Anyway, if I call by, I can borrow the key.”

“As you will be disposing of the estate on her behalf, you can keep it—all we require are a copy of any accounts produced by disposal of her assets. You are entitled to claim expenses. Oh please bring some form of ID with you, preferably with a photograph.”

“Will my university ID badge do?”

“I’m sure that will be fine, we’ll need an address too, for correspondence.”

“Fine, I’ll bring over a letter heading.”

“Splendid, we look forward to meeting you, Mrs Cameron.”

I wasn’t sure if he was being snotty or just a professional reserve and distance. Oh well, did it matter? I can’t sack him anyway and I’ll bet he creams off loads from the investments—Simon could have got the bank to do it for far less—you can do that when you own it.

I asked Livvie during breakfast if she would mind helping me with Daisy’s dress and she agreed with enthusiasm. Trish was a bit put out that I was only taking Livvie with me as she felt some link with the family, having met Maria a couple of times. I told her she could help Stella feed baby Catherine if I wasn’t back in time. She huffed and puffed, but she acquiesced eventually.

Stella was being an absolute brick through all this and her recent practice with a baby was so useful, not to mention plenty of spare clothes which had hardly been used. Whilst I enjoyed playing with my new dolly, I had loads to do to try and deal with other issues and also with trying to keep her.

Of course social services called while I was out, but Stella dealt with them and they seemed happy with our care of the baby. I primed my own solicitor to start exploring if we could foster on a long term basis or adopt. Knowing how much he got paid last time, he was quite keen to accept the instruction.

I collected the key after I showed my University of Portsmouth staff ID badge, not realising that when they updated it after my marriage, they included the title Lady, not Mrs. It caused a few deep breaths, especially when they twigged just to whom I was married. ‘Oh that, Simon Cameron, the banker.’ Especially as I was wearing jeans, an old shirt and a denim jacket—I probably looked like any other punter who has access to assets of many billion pounds—it doesn’t sound so much if you say it quickly.

I rushed about the house with Livvie collecting the soiled wedding dress and a suit from Paul’s wardrobe. I hoped it fitted him; I added a shirt and tie and some shoes socks and underpants.

For Maria, I took the lingerie she’d been wearing when we found her and had washed them in the machine, they were dry now and I’d iron any wrinkles which had appeared. We dropped the dress at a cleaners who after checking it, said they could do it but it would need at least two days and would cost fifty pounds. I nodded my agreement, offering an extra ten if they could remove the stain completely from the back. They seemed happy to try, but on the grounds they didn’t damage the material. I got Paul’s suit cleaned as well, it seemed mean not to.

Then we went to some bridal shops. Stella and I had done this earlier so I knew what I wanted. I found a pretty pink long dress which fitted Livvie quite well. I phoned the undertakers on my mobile and they gave me the exact measurements I’d wanted—in fact, they emailed them to my Blackberry. The dress would fit without any alterations, and we bought some shoes to go with it and some pretty underwear. It seemed so ironic that the poor kid had to be dead to wear the wretched dress. At least I felt I’d made the effort. I paid for the dress which caused some excitement in the shop.

“That’s a lovely dress, isn’t it? You’re a very lucky girl.” The shop assistant said to Livvie.

“Oh it’s not for me, it’s for someone else,” answered my adopted daughter.

“Oh, well she’s very lucky then.”

“No she isn’t. She died last week and so did her daddy, her mummy died a couple of days ago.”

The woman blushed so red I almost posted a letter in her open mouth.

“We have to go,” I said snatching my card back and picking up the dress and other things. Back in the car I said to Livvie, “You don’t have to explain everything each time—it was too much information.”

“So what should I have said, Mummy?”

“Perhaps just agreed when she assumed it was for you.”

“But that would be dishonest, Mummy, and you said you hated it when we told lies.”

So there I was once again hoist by my own petard—wonderful. Still we were going home to see the others and feed the baby—my baby.

05Dolce_Red_l_0.jpg



If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudos!
Click the Thumbs Up! button below to leave the author a kudos:
up
210 users have voted.
If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudos! Click the "Thumbs Up!" button above to leave a Kudos

And please, remember to comment, too! Thanks. 
This story is 1173 words long.