“‘To dear Sooty Stevens I leave the last of my very rare Berkeley Estates cider, as well as control of the Berkeley Estates brand, should he wish at any point to re-start brewing.
“‘To Dougal McIntyre, whom I have long seen as my protégé, I leave all of my tobacco, my collection of pipes, my own dear father’s Rolls Royce, all of my livestock, and half of my fortune.
“‘To my wife Consolata I leave my home and the remains of my fortune. May it serve her well.’ And that’s all, at least as pertains to those of you here.”
It’s awkward to know how to react. If Dougal wasn’t already set for life I suppose he’d be crying with happiness at coming into such a vast fortune, even half of it.
“What the bloody hell am I going to do with all of his chickens?” he whispers to me. I stifle a laugh. “Con
