— Of course, Miss Bast, it’s all… quite commendable. Now, returning to this question of property…
— That’s what we’re discussing, if you’ll be a little patient. Why, Uncle Dick, Father’s older brother, had walked all the way back to Indiana, every step of the way from the Andersonville prison.
— And after that business of the violin, Father left home and went to teaching school.
— The one thing he’d wanted, all his life, was to own as far as he could see in any direction. I hope we’ve cleared things up for you now.
— We might if he came back here and sat down. He won’t find anything gazing out the window.
— I had hoped, said Mister Coen from the far end of the room, where he appeared to steady himself against the window frame, — I expected Mrs Angel to be with us here today, he went on in a tone as drained of hope as the gaze he had turned out through evergreen foundation planting just gone sunless with stifling the prospect of roses run riot only to be strangled by the honeysuckle which had long since overwhelmed the grape arbor at the back, where another building was being silently devoured by rhododendron before his eyes.
— Mrs Angel?
— The daughter of the decedent.
— Oh, that’s Stella’s married name isn’t it. You remember, Julia, Father used to say…
— Why, Stella called earlier, you told me yourself Anne. To say she was taking a later train.
— That name was changed from Engels, somewhere along the way…
— I’m afraid I’ll miss her then, I have to be in court…
— I scarcely see the need for that, Mister Cohen. If Stella’s husband is so impatient he’s hiring lawyers and running to court…
— You’re losing a button here, Mister Cohen. Thomas had the same trouble when he got stout. He couldn’t keep a crease in anything either.
— Miss… Bast. I’m afraid I haven’t made myself clear. My court appearance today has nothing whatsoever to do with this matter. There is no reason for any of this to ever come into court. In fact, believe me Miss Bast… both of you ladies, the last thing I would wish would be to… to see you ladies in court. Now. You must understand that I am not here simply as Mister Angel’s attorney, I am here as counsel for General Roll…
— You remember back when Thomas started it, Julia? And we thought it was a military friend he’d made?
— Of course it was James who had friends in the military.
— Yes, he’d run off to war, you know, Mister Cohen. A drummer boy in the Spanish war.
— The… Spanish war? he murmured vaguely, braced against the back of the Queen Anne chair before the empty hearth.
— Yes. He was only a child.
— But… the Spanish war? That was ’thirty-seven, wasn’t it? or ’thirty-eight?
— Oh, not so long ago as that. I think you mean ’ninety-seven, or ’ninety-eight was it, Anne? When they sank the Maine?
— Who? That’s one I never heard. Do you feel unwell, Mister Cohen?
— Yes, Thomas ran off right after James did, but he was too small for the war of course. He joined a Tom show passing through town, playing clarinet in the entreact and they also let him look after the dogs, finding livery stables to put them up in. You might have noticed his scar, Mister Cohen, where one of the bloodhounds tore open his thumb. He carried it with him right into the grave, but you’re not leaving us so soon, Mister Cohen? Of course if we’ve answered all your questions, I know you must be a busy man.
— Mister Cohen might like a nice glass of cold water.
— No, it isn’t… water that I need. If you ladies, you… just for a moment, if you’ll give me your undivided attention…
— We have no objection at all, Mister Cohen. We’re telling you everything we can think of.
— Yes but, some of it is not precisely relevant…
— If you’ll simply tell us what it is you want to know, instead of wandering around the room here waving your arms. We want to see this settled as much as anyone.
— Yes… thank you, Miss Bast. Precisely. Now. As we are all aware, the bulk of your brother’s estate consists of his controlling share in the General Roll Corporation…
— Share! I think Thomas had at least forty shares, or forty-five was it Anne? Because we have…
— Precisely, Miss Bast. Since its founding, General Roll has been a closely held company owned by members of your family. Under the guidance of the decedent, and more recently that of his son-in-law Mister Angel, General Roll has prospered substantially…
— You certainly wouldn’t know it from the dividends, Mister Cohen. There simply have not been any.
— Precisely. This is one of the difficulties we face now. Since your brother, and more recently his son-in-law, have wished to build the company larger rather than simply extract profits from it, its net worth has grown considerably, and with that growth of course have come certain obligations which the company right now is being hard pressed to satisfy. Since no buy-sell arrangement had been made with the decedent prior to his death, no cross-purchase plan providing life insurance on each of the principals or an entity plan that would have allowed the company itself to buy up his interest, in the absence of any such arrangements as these, the money which will be required to pay the very substantial death taxes…
— Julia, I’m sure Mister Cohen only is complicating things unnecessarily…
— Crowned by the complications inherent in any situation in which the decedent dies intestate…
— Julia, can’t you…
— Further complicated by certain unresolved and somewhat delicate aspects of the family situation which I have come out here today to discuss with…
— Mister Cohen, please! Do sit down and come to the point.
— Yes, after all Julia, you remember. Charlotte died without leaving a will and Father simply sat down and parceled things out. Of course I think that James always felt…
— Yes, James made it quite clear how he felt. Do sit down here, Mister Cohen, and stop waving that piece of paper around.
— It’s… simply the waiver. I mentioned, he said giving it up and seating himself in the Queen Anne chair whose arm came off in his hand.
— Julia? I thought Edward had fixed that.
— It was the side door latch he fixed, Anne.
— It didn’t work when I let Mister Cohen in. He had to come round by the back.
— I thought you came in at the side, Mister Cohen.
— Well I let him in, Julia. After all.
— I thought Edward had…
— Let him in?
— No. Fixed the latch.
Mister Coen, finished fitting the arm of the chair back into place, leaned carefully away from it. — That is the waiver I brought out for your nephew Edward to sign, he said resting his elbows on the scarcely more firm support of his knees. — A, a mere formality in this case. Of course, where there’s a will…
— There’s a way. You’re quite witty today Mister Cohen, but believe me Anne I think this is Thomas’ will, the tangle things are in right now.
— Yes, just look at these obituaries, and why Mister Cohen ever brought them out unless to tangle things up still further. To read them it’s hard even knowing who’s dead. Did you see this one? It’s all about James. James, and no mention of Thomas at all.
— I simply included it because… he began in a tone that seemed to echo the deep, as he fixed the newspaper streamer flown before his glazed eyes. — Word comes in to a newspaper of a death, if someone there is in a hurry and just hears the last name, he might grab the obituary that’s already written on someone like your brother James, as prominent as your brother James, they keep one written and up to date against the day…