A Town Like Alice

Chapter 1-3

“Well, Miss Paget,” I said. “I heard about you from your aunt—I think she is your aunt? Miss Agatha Paget, at Colwyn Bay.”

She inclined her head. “Aunt Aggie wrote and told me that she had had a letter from you. Yes, she’s my aunt.”

“And I take it that you are the daughter of Arthur and Jean Paget, who lived in Southampton and Malaya?”

She nodded. “That’s right. I’ve got the birth certificate and mother’s birth certificate, as well as her marriage certificate.” She took them from her bag and put them on my desk, with her identity card.

I opened these documents and read them through carefully. There was no doubt about it; she was the person I was looking for. I leaned back in my chair presently and took off my spectacles. “Tell me, Miss Paget,” I said. “Did you ever meet your uncle, who died recently? Mr. Douglas Macfadden.”

She hesitated. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” she said candidly. “I couldn’t honestly swear that I have ever met him, but I think it must have been him that mother took me to see once in Scotland, when I was about ten years old. We all went together, Mother and I and Donald. I remember an old man in a very stuffy room with a lot of birds in cages. I think that was Uncle Douglas, but I’m not quite sure.”

That fitted in with what he had told me, the visit of his sister with her children in 1932. This girl would have been eleven years old then. “Tell me about your brother Donald, Miss Paget,” I asked. “Is he still alive?”

She shook her head. “He died in 1943, while he was a prisoner. He was taken by the j**s in Singapore when we surrendered, and then he was sent to the railway.”

I was puzzled. “The railway?”

She looked at me coolly, and I thought I saw tolerance for the ignorance of those who stayed in England in her glance. “The railway that the j**s built with Asiatic and prisoner-of-war labour between Siam and Burma. One man died for every sleeper that was laid, and it was about two hundred miles long. Donald was one of them.”

There was a little pause. “I am so sorry,” I said at last. “One thing I have to ask you, I am afraid. Was there a death certificate?”

She stared at me. “I shouldn’t think so.”

“Oh...” I leaned back in my chair and took up the will. “This is the will of Mr. Douglas Macfadden,” I said. “I have a copy for you, Miss Paget, but I think I’d better tell you what it contains in ordinary, non-legal language. Your uncle made two small bequests. The whole of the residue of the estate was left in trust for your brother Donald. The terms of the trust were to the effect that your mother was to enjoy the income from the trust until her death. If she died before your brother attained his majority, the trust was to continue until he was twenty-one, when he would inherit absolutely and the trust would be discharged. If your brother died before inheriting, then you were to inherit the residuary estate after your mother’s time, but in that event the trust was to continue till the year 1956, when you would be thirty-five years old. You will appreciate that it is necessary for us to obtain legal evidence of your brother’s death.”

She hesitated, and then she said, “Mr. Strachan, I’m afraid I’m terribly stupid. I understand you want some proof that Donald is dead. But after that is done, do you mean that I inherit everything that Uncle Douglas left?”

“Broadly speaking—yes,” I replied. “You would only receive the income from the estate until the year 1956. After that, the capital would be yours to do what you like with.”

“How much did he leave?”

I picked up a slip of paper from the documents before me and ran my eye down the figures for a final check. “After paying death duties and legacies,” I said carefully, “the residuary estate would be worth about fifty-three thousand pounds at present-day prices. I must make it clear that that is at present-day prices, Miss Paget. You must not assume that you would inherit that sum in 1956. A falling stock market affects even trustee securities.”

She stared at me. “Fifty-three thousand pounds?”

I nodded. “That seems to be about the figure.”

“How much a year would that amount of capital yield, Mr. Strachan?”

I glanced at the figures on the slip before me. “Invested in trustee stocks, as at present—about £1,550 a year, gross income. Then income tax has to be deducted. You would have about nine hundred a year to spend, Miss Paget.”

“Oh...” There was a long silence; she sat staring at the desk in front of her. Then she looked up at me, and smiled. “It takes a bit of getting used to,” she remarked. “I mean, I’ve always worked for my living, Mr. Strachan. I’ve never thought that I’d do anything else unless I married, and that’s only a different sort of work. But this means that I need never work again—unless I want to.”

She had hit the nail on the head with her last sentence. “That’s exactly it,” I replied. “Unless you want to.”

“I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have to go to the office,” she said. “I haven’t got any other life...”

“Then I should go on going to the office,” I observed.

She laughed. “I suppose that’s the only thing to do.”

I leaned back in my chair. “I’m an old man now, Miss Paget. I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my time and I’ve learned one thing from them, that it’s never very wise to do anything in a great hurry. I take it that this legacy will mean a considerable change in your circumstances. If I may offer my advice, I should continue in your present employment for the time, at any rate, and I should refrain from talking about your legacy in the office just yet. For one thing, it will be some months before you get possession even of the income from the estate. First we have to obtain legal proof of the death of your brother, and then we have to obtain the confirmation of the executors in Scotland and realise a portion of the securities to meet estate and succession duties. Tell me, what are you doing with this firm Pack and Levy?”

“I’m a shorthand typist,” she said. “I’m working now as secretary to Mr. Pack.”

“Where do you live, Miss Paget?”

She said, “I’ve got a bed-sitting-room at No. 43 Campion Road, just off Ealing Common. It’s quite convenient, but of course I have a lot of my meals out. There’s a Lyons just round the corner.”

I thought for a minute. “Have you got many friends in Ealing? How long have you been there?”

“I don’t know very many people,” she replied. “One or two families, people who work in the firm, you know. I’ve been there over two years now, ever since I was repatriated. I was out in Malaya, you know, Mr. Strachan, and I was a sort of prisoner of war for three and a half years. Then when I got home I got this job with Pack and Levy.”

I made a note of her address upon my pad. “Well, Miss Paget,” I said, “I should go on just as usual for the time being. I will consult the War Office on Monday morning and obtain this evidence about your brother as quickly as I can. Tell me his name, and number, and unit.” She did so, and I wrote them down. “As soon as I get that, I shall submit the will for probate. When that is proved, then the trust commences and continues till the year 1956, when you will inherit absolutely.”

She looked up at me. “Tell me about this trust,” she asked. “I’m afraid I’m not very good at legal matters.”

I nodded. “Of course not. Well, you’ll find it all in legal language in the copy of the will which I shall give you, but what it means is this, Miss Paget. Your uncle, when he made this will, had a very poor opinion of the ability of women to manage their own money. I’m sorry to have to say such a thing, but it is better for you to know the whole of the facts.”

She laughed. “Please don’t apologise for him, Mr. Strachan. Go on.”

“At first, he was quite unwilling that you should inherit the capital of the estate till you were forty years old,” I said. “I contested that view, but I was unable to get him to agree to any less period than the present arrangement in the will. Now, the object of a trust is this. The testator appoints trustees—in this case, myself and my partner—who undertake to do their best to preserve the capital intact and hand it over to the legatee—to you—when the trust expires.”

“I see. Uncle Douglas was afraid that I might spend the fifty-three thousand all at once.”

I nodded. “That was in his mind. He did not know you, of course, Miss Paget, so there was nothing personal about it. He felt that in general women were less fit than men to handle large sums of money at an early age.”

She said quietly, “He may have been right.” She thought for a minute, and then she said, “So you’re going to look after the money for me till I’m thirty-five and give me the interest to spend in the meantime? Nine hundred a year?”

“If you wish us to conduct your income-tax affairs for you, that would be about the figure,” I said. “We can arrange the payments in any way that you prefer, as a quarterly or a monthly cheque, for example. You would get a formal statement of account half-yearly.”

She asked curiously, “How do you get paid for doing all this for me, Mr. Strachan?”

I smiled. “That is a very prudent question, Miss Paget. You will find a clause in the will, No. 8, I think, which entitles us to charge for our professional services against the income from the trust. Of course, if you get into any legal trouble we should be glad to act for you and help you in any way we could. In that case we should charge you on the normal scale of fees.”

She said unexpectedly, “I couldn’t ask for anybody better.” And then she glanced at me, and said mischievously, “I made some enquiries about this firm yesterday.”

“Oh... I hope they were satisfactory?”

“Very.” She did not tell me then what she told me later, that her informant had described us as, “as solid as the Bank of England, and as sticky as treacle.” “I know I’m going to be in very good hands, Mr. Strachan.”

I inclined my head. “I hope so. I am afraid that at times you may find this trust irksome, Miss Paget; I can assure you that I shall do my utmost to prevent it from becoming so. You will see in the will that the testator gave certain powers to the trustees to realise capital for the benefit of the legatee in cases where they were satisfied that it would be genuinely for her advantage.”

“You mean, if I really needed a lot of money—for an operation or something—you could let me have it, if you approved?”

She was quick, that girl. “I think that is a very good example. In case of illness, if the income were insufficient, I should certainly realise some of your capital for your benefit.”

She smiled at me, and said, “It’s rather like being a ward in Chancery, or something.”

I was a little touched by the comparison. I said, “I should feel very much honoured if you care to look at it that way, Miss Paget. Inevitably this legacy is going to make an upset in your condition of life, and if I can do anything to help you in the transition I should be only too pleased.” I handed her her copy of the will. “Well, there is the will, and I suggest you take it away and read it quietly by yourself. I’ll keep the certificates for the time being. After you’ve thought things over for a day or two I am sure that there will be a great many questions to which you will want answers. Would you like to come and see me again?”

She said, “I would. I know there’ll be all sorts of things I want to ask about, but I can’t think of them now. It’s all so sudden.”

I turned to my engagement diary. “Well, suppose we meet again about the middle of next week.” I stared at the pages. “Of course, you’re working. What time do you get off from your office, Miss Paget?”

She said, “Five o’clock.”

“Would six o’clock on Wednesday evening suit you, then? I shall hope to have got somewhere with the matter of your brother by that time.”

She said, “Well, that’s all right for me, Mr. Strachan, but isn’t it a bit late for you? Don’t you want to get home?”