Pensive, Adam listened to the breeze stirring leafy branches. “What did my father say?”
Thomson pursed his lips, as though tasting something bitter. “I asked Ben why the hell she’d sign a document consigning her to economic serfdom, and why he’d want her to. His response-delivered in his most mordant tone-was that this was personal between husband and wife. And that I was his lawyer, not his priest.”
Adam could imagine his father at that moment-the icy voice, the chill in his eyes that made men look away. “Did you give him any advice about it?”
“I surely did.” Thomson shifted his weight, his voice becoming harsh. “Frankly, I viewed this entire episode with suspicion and distaste. Had I been Clarice’s lawyer, I’d have shot her before I’d let her sign. As it was, I told Ben that this miserable agreement might not hold up in court.”
Adam tried to sort through troubled thoughts. “Mom says she expected to inherit from her father. Is that how you recall it?”
Thomson’s eyes narrowed, crinkling their corners. “At some point,” he answered slowly. “I remember learning that Clarice’s father had lost everything. But I’m not sure when that happened. If she signed this postnup after her father’s ruin-which I frankly can’t imagine-then she left herself defenseless against whatever Ben might do.” He gave Adam a meaningful look. “That really would have given her a reason to stay with him, wouldn’t it? Whatever his adventures with other women.”
Adam considered this. “Do you know when he bought the house from my grandfather?”
“I think that was handled by a lawyer in Boston. But the date would help pinpoint when your grandfather Barkley’s fortunes went south.” He shot Adam a querying glance. “You’re not questioning your mother’s explanation, are you?”
“As you said, I’m simply curious. Including about why you told my father that the postnup might not fly.”
Thomson’s probing look persisted. “A central point, to be sure, given that it’s the basis for Ben giving all his money to Carla and Jenny. And, again, completely confidential except from his executor. No doubt you’re simply preparing to defend your father’s will against attack.”
“No doubt.”
A corner of Thomson’s mouth curled. “In any event, under Massachusetts law, the enforceability of a postnuptial agreement is less than that of a prenup-unlike a prospective bride, Clarice gave up marital rights she already possessed. The law views that with less favor. Which, in turn, raises a critical question: Exactly what ‘consideration’ did your mother receive for cutting her own throat? Promoting marital harmony may not be sufficient. Certainly any subsequent change in her father’s circumstances would at least get Clarice a more sympathetic hearing-”
There was a sharp sudden sound of branches cracking, a stirring in the bushes. Instinctively, Adam flinched, bending at the knees, head pivoting to look around him. Then a startled deer flashed across the trail. Catching himself, Adam stood straight again, laughing at himself. “I haven’t seen a deer in years. Where I’ve been working, they don’t have them.”
Thomson gave him a swift look of appraisal. “You’ve been assisting the forces of international beneficence, your mother tells me.”
“Attempted beneficence,” Adam said, and began walking again. “On that general subject, do you have any insight into Dad’s bequest to Jenny Leigh?”
“None. In all the years I knew him, I don’t recall Ben mentioning her at all.” Thomson seemed to ponder this, remaining silent as the trail ahead became wider, closer to the water. “Truth to tell, almost everything about his latest will bewilders me. It’s a fun house mirror of the one Ben instructed me to draft less than three years earlier. Clarice was its sole beneficiary. After she died, Teddy got everything.” Thomson gave Adam a reluctant glance. “You were specifically excluded, and the reason spelled out. Your estrangement from Ben.”
Adam shrugged. “I never wanted my father’s money, and he no longer wanted me as a son. It all makes perfect sense.”
“This new will doesn’t. I can’t begin to explain why Ben left Jenny a million dollars, and gave you a chunk of change along with making you executor. Why would Carla Pacelli want him to do that?”
“I haven’t figured that out. But one possibility is that my father lacked the mental capacity to execute a valid will. Or resist pressure from a striking and seductive woman half his age.”
Thomson frowned. “Why couldn’t he? It’s not like Ben was a virgin. Credit all the lore about him, and he slept with every beautiful woman around but Jackie Onassis.”
“Not at sixty-five,” Adam rejoined, “suffering from brain cancer and abusing alcohol. Those facts might create an opening for my mother.”
Thomson pondered this. “They could,” he replied cautiously. “But it’s more complex than you imagine. Including, I’m afraid, for you.”
Two
The path cleared in front of them, opening to a vivid blue swath of sky. After a few more paces the two men stopped at the edge of a sheer cliff, reminding Adam of the promontory from which Ben Blaine had fallen to his death. For a time, they scanned the Vineyard Sound, its aqua waters dotted with sailboats and glistening in the afternoon sun.
“As you suggest,” Thomson began, “your mother has two lines of attack based on Ben’s mental condition. The first is that he lacked the mental capacity to understand the consequences of this new will. The second is that Carla Pacelli exerted such control over your father that he lacked independent judgment in leaving her most of his money.
“Let’s take the first. Unfortunately for Clarice, to prove lack of capacity she’d pretty much have to show that Ben had the intellect of a termite. The legal standard is appallingly low: about all Carla’s lawyer needs to prove is that Ben knew who he was and who was getting his money-”
“Even if he was drunk when he signed the will?”
“Even so. Drunks are assumed to be sober at the moment of signing; bipolars to be rational; people with moderate Alzheimer’s to be enjoying a lucid moment. And the witnesses Ted Seeley found to watch Ben’s signing-his employees, I’d expect-will swear that he reminded them of Albert Einstein. Believe it or not, the law gives their testimony great weight.”
Though Adam had expected this, he found Thomson’s narrative disheartening. “What about the effects of brain cancer?”
Thomson gave him a long, speculative look. “That would require expert medical testimony, wouldn’t it? Most important, from the specialist in Boston that Phil Gertz referred Ben to-and who’s barred from revealing to Clarice the course of Ben’s treatment, or what he said and did.” He paused, then added, “Unless, as your father’s executor, you waived the physician-patient privilege. And why would you do that when your obligation is to see that Carla Pacelli gets Ben’s money?”
Adam met his eyes. “Suppose I allowed the doctor to testify in order to rebut attacks on my father’s mental state.”
Thomson gave him a wintry smile. “So find out what he’d say. You’ll also want the pathologist’s report on the nature and extent of the tumor.”
“I’ve asked. But George Hanley won’t give it up.”
“George always had a suspicious mind. When it comes to how and why Ben died, and whether someone killed him, this will doesn’t help your mother and brother, does it?”
“Not at all.”
“What a mess,” Thomson murmured. “Back to the subject of Ben’s mental state, Clarice could also use the testimony of a psychiatrist on how brain cancer might affect his powers of reason. Assuming that a shrink feels comfortable opining on a man he’d never met.”
Adam had considered this. “He could base his opinion on what our family says. My mother saw him every day; Teddy and Jack often enough. They can describe excessive drinking, memory loss, slurred speech, and erratic behavior of all kinds.”
Thomson looked at him narrowly. “I’m sure they can-and would. Just as Ms. Pacelli will describe a man of keen intelligence and the saintly temperament of the late pope John Paul. All of which will be regarded by the judge as self-serving bullshit.” Thomson’s voice became flinty. “If your mother has a prayer of showing that Ben’s synapses were shot, it’s through this neurosurgeon. As executor, you can stand in her way or not. I don’t need to reiterate your legal obligations, or the ethical dilemma they create. You can’t get caught helping her and remain as executor.”