La Maison du Maître: George Waterstone Investigations, #1

By Gordon Wallace

A story of family jealousies, greed, travel and new-found love in England and France. George Waterstone, recently retired, is completing the inventory of a property of a deceased, one Jacob Armitage. During the compilation of the inventory George finds what he thinks are the deeds of a house in a small village in South West France, Puivert. There is some uncertainty as to whether this house actually exists, whether the deed is current, and also where it fits into the interpretation of the will. Unravelling the intricacies of ownership leads to dispute amongst the family. Jealousy and greed raise their ugly heads and George sets out on a journey of discovery.

This is Gordon Wallace's debut novel, inspired by time spent travelling through France and exploring its chequered history.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gordon Wallace
• Release date: Jan 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393311010

Gordon Wallace

This is the debut novel of Gordon Wallace who has always wanted to write but never had the time to do it. Becoming disabled at the age of sixty eight has given him that time, an unexpected bonus at a difficult period in his life. For many years he has had a love of France, its geography, history, food, drink and culture which, hopefully, readers will also enjoy through the pages of his George Waterstone series.

Book preview

Chapter One

The cellar was cold and damp. The coldness seemed to be more than that caused simply by the previous night’s unusually early October frost. The walls were wet to the touch and the ageing distemper was flaking off and landing like snowflakes on the floor creating small drifts in the angle of the wall. The light was dim, emanating from a single bulb hanging from a thin wire in the centre of the room, reminiscent of the opening sequence of some corny 60s detective series.  As I sat there a shiver ran down my spine caused by a draught that seemed to have no source but just eddied in the centre of the cellar. I determined to get this job done as quickly as possible.

Being retired, having been made redundant at 55, and living alone since my wife had died in a road accident three years ago, from time to time I would do some work for a solicitor friend, Andrew Jameson, who dealt with wills and probate issues. He was in the process of sorting out the 'last will and testament' of one Jacob Armitage who had died leaving no immediate family. He had named Andrew as the executor. At the age of 92 Jacob had died of natural causes outliving his wife Dorothy, who had died of cancer, by 20 years. There were three beneficiaries, each of them only distantly related to the deceased. Jacob had specified in his will that his estate was to be split into three separate elements: his property (i.e. the house where I was now sitting), his money and investments, and the contents of this property including any residue. This third element is where I came in. Andrew had asked me to complete an inventory of the property so that this third element could be specified with some accuracy.

The house, Willow Grange, was large having six bedrooms, three bathrooms and five reception rooms spread over three floors. It was set in its own grounds and surrounded by tall elms which seemed to brood over it, keeping it discrete from the outside world. Although part of the village of Scarrington which was twelve miles east of Nottingham, the house was set alone up a long drive about a ten minute walk from the centre of the village. I had completed my work in the upper floors amassing a significant amount of information about the furniture, carpets, paintings, artefacts and general household accoutrements. Although I wasn't an expert, I thought that some of the furnishings could be quite valuable. I was not sure whether some of them were genuine Chippendale or Hepplewhite or just very good reproductions. I later learned that the Hepplewhite had to be reproductions as no originals were known to be in existence. The art work around the house also gave out an air of discrimination and taste with numerous paintings in the impressionist style. Again, I could not to determine whether they were originals, copies or works created in the styles of famous painters. We would need expert advice to determine their value.

I was now in the cellar. Surprisingly, there was very little in it, some old tools, a decaying bicycle, some musty books and a few remnants of where coal had once been delivered from an outside hatch. There was also an old kitchen table and chair at which I was now sitting. In front of me was a hatbox, similar to that which might hold a hat suitable for a smart wedding outfit.

I had discovered this box tucked away, out of sight as if it did not want to be found, on a shelf in a corner of the cellar. The box had a ribbon tied around it of indeterminate colour which as I pulled to undo it, fell apart in flakes of dehydrated silk and sending motes of dust into the orbit of the hanging light bulb. I gently lifted the lid to find inside a document, or rather a scroll also tied with an equally ancient silk ribbon. It was clear that the dampness in the cellar had not done the scroll any favours so as I took it from the box and placed it on the table I was very careful not to damage it. I noted in my inventory, ‘one old hatbox containing a scroll’. Thinking that the scroll needed further investigation I replaced it in the hat box and took both upstairs where it was both warmer and lighter.

Sitting at a desk in the study with light pouring in through south facing windows I was in a more comfortable position to explore the scroll further. I gently teased open the bow on the ribbon and unfurled the scroll, trying to lay it flat on the desk. It was very reluctant to cooperate! However, with the careful use of a paperweight, a bottle of ink, my iPhone and a stapler, one on each corner, I managed to coax it towards flatness. The writing was hard to make out as the damp conditions in the cellar had made the ink run into the paper causing the edges of the words to be fuzzy and blurred, and brown stains drifting from the corners to the centre of the document did not help its clarity. However, I could make out the heading which said, ‘La Maison du Maître, titre de propriété’. I managed to pick out some French words which I could understand, an address, the name of a small village, Puivert, which coincidentally I had visited on a holiday a few years before, a date 1948 and I could just make out a signature which seemed similar to that of the deceased, Jacob Armitage. Did Mr Armitage own another property? If so, would it go to the recipient of the property I was in or would it go to the recipient of the contents and residue as it was simply a scroll which had been found in this house? I would need to pass this information on to Andrew with some urgency.

Chapter Two

I rang Andrew and he suggested that we needed to meet and that I should bring the scroll with me. He was working on another case that day so suggested that we meet in his local pub, The Broad Oak, later that evening. I gathered together my documentation which included the full inventory of the house, running to fifteen tightly filled pages. In the study I found an old document tube so thought that this would be useful to prevent the scroll from damage. I placed it in the tube, put the top on and sealed it with sticky tape.

Having spent all day in the old house I was getting dusty and sticky so decided that my best move now would be to go home, have a shower and something to eat before meeting Andrew later on. On driving home I was conscious of the scroll sitting next to me on the car seat and wondered what impact its discovery might have on the beneficiaries of the will. Was the document current? If so, would it cause pleasure or disappointment? If it led to a property, would there be disagreement about its ownership?

When I arrived at the pub I parked my car beneath the tree which gave the pub its name, hoping that the local pigeons would not deem that spot to be too popular. On entering the pub I noticed that Andrew was already there, halfway through a pint and fiddling with his iPhone. I went to the bar, ordered myself a pint of Abbot and took it over to the corner where Andrew was sitting. While he continued to work on his iPhone I looked around the pub noticing that it was half empty with only a few, probably local, clients. Our corner was quite private being arranged around a settle with a high back and sides and a round oak table in front with a couple of windsor chairs. Having finished with his phone, Andrew greeted me with a ‘man hug’, the sort of thing which the French find easy and natural but which we English sometimes find difficult or embarrassing. He was not the kind of person to  be embarrassed by anything! He asked me how the inventory work had gone and I replied that it was now finished and deposited the paperwork on the table along with a memory stick containing a digital version. I also placed the document tube containing the scroll in front of him. He picked it up and rotated it in his hands is as if musing about its contents before opening it. He said to me, ‘Before we look at this I need to tell you something about the beneficiaries of the will.’

He went on to explain in some detail their relationships to Jacob Armitage. Jacob had died with no direct descendants having been childless much to his and his wife's distress. Jacob had a brother who had two sons. Each of these had also had a single child, one a son and the other a daughter, and these would be two of the beneficiaries; Harry Armitage who was 30 and worked as a sports psychologist and personal trainer, and Sarah Armitage who was 34 and a lawyer with an interest in property management. Jacob's wife, Dorothy, had a sister who was lucky enough to have three daughters. Two were childless and the other gave birth to Ellie Carter who was 37 and worked in publishing, specialising in translations from French literature also some more mundane commercial documents.  She was the third beneficiary. At the time of our meeting in the pub none of these knew of their good fortune.

By this time another drink was in order so Andrew wandered over to the bar and came back with two more pints. He placed them on the table being very careful not to spill any beer on the document tube. He sat down and started, gently, to take the tape off the cap of the tube.  He cautiously extracted the scroll and laid it on the table. This time it did not take so much effort to unroll it and a couple of empty glasses retrieved from the bar and our phones on each corner managed to hold it down. He pulled his reading glasses out of his pocket, cleaned them with the red silk handkerchief which he always seem to have hanging out of his breast pocket, and started carefully to examine the script. His French was a little better than mine and he managed to decipher a few more phrases despite the blurred nature of the letters.  He tried to translate as he went applying the benefit of his legal training and ‘A’ level French. ‘House with six bedrooms, built 1721, small paddock and stables, wine cellar,’ and so on. It also mentioned ‘Les Jardins’ which seemed to be some kind of address although not very specific. It was clear that the document related to a significant property. He said that next he needed to do two things, firstly give a call to the mayor of Puivert to check out whether the property still existed and who he felt had title to it and secondly, to bring together the beneficiaries and explain the situation to them. Because I had done the inventory work he asked if I would attend that meeting also. That would be no problem to me as I had a little else on my agenda at the moment.

Andrew said that he would arrange for the beneficiary meeting to be on the following Thursday, it being Friday today. He said that he would contact the mayor of Puivert and also check any details which might exist on the French land registry, which he indicated was a similar system to that in the UK. Having concluded our business we spent some time talking generally about our families, the forthcoming Rugby World Cup, recent and planned holidays and the general state of the nation. I reminded him that I had spent twenty four hours completing the inventory and would require some payment soon. He said that would be no problem and would I like the money in pounds sterling or in euros as he thought there might be a trip to France for me in the near future.

‘What do you mean by that?’ I queried.

‘Well,’ he replied, ‘I just have this strange feeling that things might to not be as clear and simple as they seem on the surface and I may need someone to check them out for me. We will know more when I have talked to the mayor but you may have to be prepared for a little trip if, indeed, you are willing.’

‘Not a problem at all,’ I responded, quite eagerly, as a little jaunt to southwest France would suit me admirably. I even started wishing that things would turn out a little complex so that such a trip would be necessary.

On that note we got up from the table and went our separate ways, with Andrew agreeing to brief me prior to the meeting with the beneficiaries about the outcome from his phone call to the mayor and his online research into the French land registry. As we emerged from the pub Andrew sauntered over to his Audi R8 and folded himself into it whilst I, deep in thought, strolled back to my ancient Landrover Freelander to see whether the spot had indeed been popular with the local pigeons. On this occasion they had been kind to me and only left one or two minor signatures.

On the drive home I found it hard not to ruminate about how things might turn out. What were these beneficiaries like? What were their private agendas? Did they have any life plans upon which these bequests would impact? Did they even know each other and if so did they get on? Did the house in France actually exist or was it just a red herring and a dead-end trail? Perhaps I should do a little research of my own in case I was sent on this ‘Tour de France’.

On arriving home I dug out my battered and dogeared copy of the Rough Guide to France and looked up Puivert. I refreshed my memory of the small village South of Carcassonne not far from the foothills of the Pyrenees. It had a small château dating back to about the 11th century, a small village square surrounded by traditional French townhouses, a park and a recreational lake. I could take my fishing gear and make a short holiday of it. It was also deep in Cathar country, an area of particular historical interest to me and also the source of many a conspiracy theory. I started to get almost excited about the prospect of this small trip. How would I go? Should I get a ferry or the tunnel and drive or I could fly to Carcassonne and hire car? The former sounded most attractive as I could pull in a number interesting stops en route and there would be plenty of room for the fishing tackle.

I don't know why, but I was expecting to go on this trip. I think I would have been very disappointed if Andrew had rung me and said that there were no problems, the details of the property were all sorted and that everything should go through like clockwork. If he did say this I hoped the clockwork would be like that of the clock on my mantelpiece which was permanently slow, needed the key wedged underneath it to keep it level and required a good shake every time it was wound up. That is, he would need me to go and sort things out.

On Monday evening I was watching a documentary about the Canal du Midi which I had retrieved from one of the catch-up channels. I was just trying to get myself back into the flavour of the area as the Canal du Midi ran through Carcassonne on its way to the Mediterranean at Agde. The phone rang, I dug the remote control from the depths of the cushions on the settee, paused the program and answered the phone. It was Andrew. I was not surprised because I anticipated an update as he had been going to talk to the mayor of Puivert that day. Andrew sounded rather guarded as he talked me through his conversation as though he did not quite know what to make of it. He said the mayor had been most unhelpful and had really not given him any information at all. He had prevaricated about the existence of the property and would not confirm any details about its current ownership or occupancy. Andrew felt that it was almost as if somebody had got to him and somehow persuaded him not to be cooperative or that he had some personal vested interest. Andrew said that there was not much more that he could do until the meeting on Thursday with the beneficiaries. As I would be there also I felt that I could do little more in the meantime than hope the situation would indeed be complex so that I could get my expenses paid jaunt to France.

Chapter Three

The Thursday meeting was at two pm so I arrived at the chambers in Nottingham with my account of the inventory just after one thirty so that I could be well prepared and also be ready to get some insights into the beneficiaries. I had a quick catch up with Andrew but he had no more information from France or indeed about the beneficiaries apart from what he had imparted to me already. Andrew had arranged the meeting fairly formally. It was in the meeting room which had a long table with eight chairs around it, a side table with coffee facilities and a screen at one end for presentations. Andrew and I were to sit on one side of the table and beneficiaries on the other. Ellie Carter arrived first and was shown in by Andrew’s secretary. She had come alone because in fact she did not know the other two recipients of the will’s contents, they being only distant cousins. She looked very businesslike in her blue tailored suit with a crisp white shirt and a red bow around her neck. She smiled confidently, tossing her blond hair back and showing two rows of almost perfect teeth, as we introduced ourselves and shook hands she held onto mine slightly longer than was absolutely necessary. I couldn't help but notice a certain glint in her eye and the makings of a cheeky grin behind the formality of our introduction. I thought to myself that in other circumstances, she could be an interesting person to get to know.

Andrew poured some coffee and we managed some small talk about the weather, her journey to the office and some minor pleasantries about her work in publishing which I was particularly keen to understand and find out about, as her language skills could be valuable in unpicking the French connection.

Ellie had only been with us for ten minutes when Harry and Sarah Armitage arrived together. This was not surprising as they were first cousins, born only four years apart. Despite the fact that Jacob Armitage had been their great uncle they had had very little contact with him as after his wife died he had become somewhat of a recluse, keeping to himself and not engaging with any family functions or celebrations. Harry shook hands with us with an almost crushing grip, as if he wanted to assert his dominance. His dark suit, white button-down shirt and flamboyant tie could not hide his underlying physique which showed that as a sports psychologist and trainer he practised what he preached. He smiled and showed a different personal confidence from that of his very distant cousin, Ellie. He seemed full of himself and over-confident in his abilities. Perhaps his tie reflected his personality. Sarah was almost hiding behind him, exuding diffidence which surprised me as her legal role must have required more confidence. However, I discovered later that her main role in the legal profession involved contracts, paperwork and legal research, not requiring her to have much face-to-face contact with clients or the public. Her diffidence was reflected in her attire and general demeanour. Her hair was short, straggly and mousy brown in colour. She wore no make up and looked at us through thick rimmed glasses. She wore a tweed suit which wouldn't have been out of place worn by the Queen on a grouse moor. I almost expected her to be followed into the room by couple of corgis! Her handshake, in total contrast to Harry’s, was weak and limp.

Coffees served, we sat down on our respective sides of the table, Andrew spreading out various documents in front of him. I similarly placed my inventory on the table in front of me. Andrew commenced by saying,

‘Let me introduce you formally to my colleague here, George Waterstone. He has been very helpful in pulling together an inventory of the contents of the property in question, so I would like him to be involved in this will reading if that is alright with you three.’

They all nodded, indicating their approval of my presence.

‘You all know why you're here and that is to learn of the final bequests of Jacob Armitage who was Harry and Sarah’s great uncle and a slightly more distant relative of Ellie, who died recently of natural causes at the great age of ninety two. The copy of the will I have in front of me which is dated only two weeks before he died says, omitting all the legal jargon, the following, please leave any questions until after I've finished the main points:

To Sarah Armitage I leave my property, Willow Grange.

To Harry Armitage I leave my financial assets after funeral and any other expenses are paid.

To Ellie Carter I leave  ALL the contents of Willow Grange, whatsoever they might be, and any residue, to be disposed of as she will.

Thank you. No doubt you will have some questions about how this might work out in practice.’

Harry was first to indicate that he wished to ask a question and it was the most obvious one.

‘How how much is involved in the financial assets, is it just useful or life changing?’

Andrew replied, ‘I obviously cannot give you an exact figure as there are still outstanding debts to be covered and there is also the issue of inheritance tax on the whole of the assets about which the three of you will need to agree your relative proportions based upon the value of the assets which you are each inheriting. However I think I can say with some confidence that when the dust settles the sum will be in the order of £2 million, mainly the remnants of Jacob Armitage's business which he sold some twenty years ago.’

Harry put a hand to his mouth to stifle a gasp of astonishment and the other two looked at him with some incredulity and not a little envy.

Sarah was the next to indicate tentatively that she would like to raise a question. She queried, ‘I do not need anywhere to live but could you indicate to me the possible value of the property? I have only seen it from a distance some years ago and it did then seem to be in some state of disrepair.’

Andrew responded that he had taken the liberty of consulting some estate agents and that in its current state it would be worth somewhere in the region of £1.5 million. However, the agents had suggested that with some upgrading and modernisation it could easily reach £2 million or more depending on the market at the time. At that information Sarah seemed to drift into a world of her own obviously musing the possibilities and bringing her legal mind to bear on what they might be.

It was now Ellie’s turn to gain some clarification and she asked what was actually meant by ALL of the contents as Andrew had emphasised the ‘ALL’ when he had summarised the will and what did the residue imply. Andrew went on to explain, ‘I have asked my friend George to complete a full inventory of the contents of the house and he has it in front of him. It is a significant document as many of the furnishings and other contents of the house are very old and have been collected from all over the world, therefore representing significant worth although the full value will only be known when experts have