Мэри Элис Монро – The Four Seasons (страница 13)

In contrast, she hardly saw Rose all afternoon. Her shy sister had skirted through the rooms like Jeeves, quietly attending the buffet, discreetly collecting dishes and scurrying them off to wash. To the guests, she undoubtedly appeared the perfect hostess, but Birdie knew her sister would rather scrub the floor with her tongue than wag it in small talk with all these people.

As the last of the guests were leaving, Mrs. Kasparov, the real estate agent she’d selected, came forward to discreetly hand her a sales portfolio. She was a diminutive woman with gray-and-black hair and an overbite. With her aggressive manner, she reminded Birdie of a terrier.

“Here is the list of sales comps and the other information you requested.”

“Thank you. I should imagine we’ll put the house on the market right away, to take advantage of the spring market. We’ll call you,” Birdie said, nudging her toward the door. Blessedly, Mrs. Kasparov nodded then signaled her husband, who sighed in relief and rose with a cumbersome effort. The couple shook Jilly’s hand warmly at the door, then, after her gaze took a final, hawklike sweep of the room, Mrs. Kasparov left.

The whole house seemed to sigh when the door clicked shut. Birdie rubbed her neck, thinking she’d love nothing more than to prop her feet up and collapse. She caught Jilly’s eye and they shared a commiserating smile. Their lawyer, Mr. Collins, who had been sitting patiently in a wing chair by the front window, rose on cue.

“I think we’re all ready now,” she announced. “Mr. Collins, thank you for your patience. Shall we move to the dining room?”

Reaching out her arm, she placed it around Rose’s shoulder as she passed, and together they went to sit at the dining room table which had been cleared of the luncheon, linen and lace.

Mother’s mahogany table gleamed under the crystal chandelier. As Birdie sat, she idly wondered who would get the dining room furniture. The table would look lovely in her Tudor house. And who else would need such a big set? Jilly wouldn’t want to lug it to France and Rose would probably get a small condo.

Jilly took a seat at one end of the table, directly across from Mr. Collins, who was busy laying out papers. Her hands were folded neatly and she sat straight, her green eyes wide and alert, as though on stage. They waited patiently for Rose to take her seat. Her face stilled pensively when she caught sight of Mrs. Kasparov’s real estate portfolio on the table.

When at last they were all settled, Mr. Collins folded his hands on the table and smiled benignly at them. He was a tall, dignified gentleman who had been their father’s best friend. “Uncle George,” they’d once called him, though only Merry continued calling him that into adulthood. Today was a formal setting, however, and as he was acting as their legal adviser, he maintained a respectful reserve. Adjusting his eyeglasses, he proceeded.

“Your sister was a very special person to me, and your father was a dear friend. It was my pleasure, and my honor, to act as the co-executor of your father’s will and Meredith’s trust fund, as it has been to serve the interests of the entire Season family throughout the years.” He glanced briefly at Jilly, who met his eyes with equal reserve.

“You are all well aware of how your father wished his property handled and distributed after his death?”

The three sisters nodded to indicate their understanding.

“At the time he wrote his will, back in August of 1977, his chief concern was for the care and welfare of his youngest daughter, Meredith, once it became established that she would not be capable of providing for herself after he and your mother were gone. Your mother willingly chose to accept one-third of the estate for her own support, thus leaving the bulk of their joint estate in a trust fund in Meredith’s name. If you recall, after her death in 1990, what little was left of your mother’s estate was distributed equally to all four daughters. I believe the amount was forty thousand dollars?”

Jilly’s face remained impassive as she nodded. Birdie recalled her phone call from Europe, full of doubt and disappointment to learn how little was left from their mother’s estate. Birdie had been filled with resentment and her attitude toward her sister had changed that day.

Mr. Collins adjusted his glasses as he checked a figure on the paper. “It was also stipulated that, upon the occasion of Meredith’s death, the residue of the estate should be distributed equally among the remaining Season issue. As of this date, that would be Jillian, Beatrice and Rose Season. The estate includes all remaining monies, assets and real property, or in this case, this house, the summer home in Indiana having been sold in 1984. I’ve frozen the bank accounts and sold the few remaining stocks, and after the estimated taxes and funeral expenses, excluding the sale of the house, of course, I’m calculating approximately twenty thousand dollars will be left in the trust fund to be dispersed.”

“Is that all?” Jilly asked, sitting straighter. “I thought my father had left a considerable estate.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Birdie muttered, furious that Jilly was disappointed again.

“Your father left a fair-size estate,” Mr. Collins replied calmly. “One that diminished over time, considering the expense of upkeep for a house and property of this size, not to mention Merry’s considerable medical and educational expenses. If you wish, I can give you a detailed accounting afterward.”

“We were very careful with the spending,” Rose interjected, worried.

“That won’t be necessary,” Jilly replied to Mr. Collins. “I’m sure everything is in order, I’m just…surprised. How much would you say the house is worth?”

Birdie promptly opened the portfolio and sifted through the papers. “According to Mrs. Kasparov, the fair market value would be somewhere around five hundred fifty thousand dollars. Less the real estate commission, transfer taxes and such.”

“You can’t be serious.” Jilly looked devastated. “In this area? That can’t be right. It seems very low.”

Here we go again, Birdie thought. She cast a quick glance at Rose, not wanting to offend her with what she was about to say. “Mrs. Kasparov believes the house and property need quite a bit of work. Things she itemized in particular include the porch, which is rotting in places, pipes that have broken, and the walls haven’t been properly repaired. The paint and wallpaper need to be freshened. The grounds are completely overgrown and the filled-in pool detracts from the land value. And of course the kitchen and bathrooms are terribly outdated and would need to be totally redone. The bottom line is, the place is architecturally lovely and in a great location, but it’s what’s known as a handyman’s special.” She set down the papers and folded her hands over them. “I quite agree with the estimate. Under the circumstances, we can’t expect top dollar.”

“Regardless of the condition, it’s a double lot,” Jilly argued. “Within walking distance of the lake! The land alone is worth that much. Why, the house down the block is up for over a million.”

“Walk through the house, Jilly. You can’t compare the two.” Birdie hesitated. “There’s some question as to whether the house should be torn down.”

“No,” Rose gasped.

Jilly was indignant. “I want another opinion.”

“You can look at the comps,” Birdie said, handing the folder to Jilly. “We have to consider if we really want to do the work ourselves to fix the place up, or just sell it as is as quickly as possible. Frankly, I vote for the latter.”

Rose was shifting in her seat, wringing her hands. She stared at Mr. Collins in silence, then glanced at her sisters, cringing under the question shining in their eyes.

Mr. Collins cleared his throat. “Well, now, that is an issue that should be discussed between the three of you, privately. I wouldn’t presume to interfere, but I am at your service should you need my professional advice or—” he ventured a smile that revealed the affection accrued from a lifetime of association “—if you just want the advice of an old friend.”

“Thank you, Mr. Collins,” Birdie said.

Jilly echoed this but Rose remained silent, seemingly distracted.

“Is that everything, then?” Birdie was deeply flustered by Jilly’s disappointment. She began tucking back papers and closing up the real estate portfolio. She couldn’t imagine why Mr. Collins requested this meeting after the funeral when everything was perfunctory. They could have just as readily handled it between a phone call and a FedEx. Dear man, he was probably being thoughtful. She really didn’t know what she would have done without him all these years.

“There is one more rather delicate matter to discuss,” he replied.

Birdie looked up, surprised. Mr. Collins’s tone altered and he appeared to be treading on softer ground. “Oh? And what would that be?”

He slowly removed his glasses and tucked them into his breast pocket. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts. “I called this meeting today because I wanted to discuss something with you while all of you were still together, under this roof. This is a unique situation.” He cleared his throat and began again, glancing briefly at Rose.