Inheritance

Chapter Sixty-six. Rachel's Negotiations.

Chapter Sixty-six

Rachel's Negotiations

The sign above the entrance indicated that the tea room had been established in 1892. The oaken tables and chairs scattered haphazardly around the room could quite well have been original furnishings. Rachel occupied a small round table situated directly in front of a huge cast iron fireplace set in a natural stone wall. The flickering flames of the coal fire offered little respite from the chill of early autumn. Rachel still wore her lamb's wool coat. From time to time she warmed her hands under the cosy covering the tea pot.

A blast of cold air and the ringing of a bell heralded the opening of the tea room door. Her mother, more matronly after the move from the farm to Kilner Park, entered carrying two hat boxes. She was obviously still undecided about her choice of head gear for the upcoming christening. Spotting Rachel, she sidled towards her, holding the hat boxes aloft.

"Waiting long?"

"Not really," Rachel lied. Her mother was almost half an hour late.

Normally, Rachel would have left, but she was desperate to speak with her mother - alone. All week Rachel had attempted a meeting, but her mother's social commitments, the demands of two teenage daughters, and an increasingly dependent husband had made it impossible.

"Would you like to order ma'am?" asked the waitress. She was wearing a uniform that may have been de rigueur in 1892, but the black silk dress, black stockings, white frilly apron and lace cap now seemed ostentatious.

" Aye lass. A nice cuppa and a couple of crumpets." Life in Kilner Park had failed to eliminate the rustic accent. "Could you make it quick, luv?"

"Why do you have to be in such a hurry, mother?"

"The Parish Church. There's a W.I. meeting to start organizing the Christmas fete."

"Well you might have to be a bit late. I have something much more important to discuss."

Her mother paused, obviously mulling over what might be bothering Rachel. Without saying a word, she removed her brown leather gloves and placed them in her voluminous handbag. Her florid face broke into a beaming smile as the truth dawned.

"You're getting married? To that nice lad, Peter Constable? He's so polite, good looking and has a nice secure job in the bank."

"Sorry to disappoint you, mother. P.C. and I are just friends."

"Such a shame," said her mother, with a tut-tut and a shake of her head. "You could do a lot worse."

Maybe she was about to do so. It all depended on the availability of her funds.

"This has nothing to do with marriage, Mum. It's about my inheritance. Is it possible for me to withdraw funds early?"

"Why do you want your money, now?"

" I think it's time I left home, Mum. I would like to buy my own house and I found the perfect place in Birchwood Gardens, just behind Trinity Church."

"Aren't they bungalows specially built for the disabled? Why would you want such a place?"

Rachel decided it was time to come clean.

"Mum, you remember John, John Gregson."

"How could I forget God's gift to women? Isn't he the one that left you in the lurch?"

Rachel chose to ignore her mother's snide remarks. He may have dumped her in a callous way but Rachel now knew the main reason - he had already suspected the onset of the disease.

"Well he has just returned from Texas and is suffering from ALS."

Mrs. Gregson had never heard of the debilitating disease and her gruff reaction to news of John's return softened as Rachel filled in the details.

"You see, Mum. There is no way John can cope in his flat. One of these bungalows would be perfect for him. I could sell the place when it's all over."

Rachel's mother pondered as the waitress poured her some freshly brewed tea.

"There's a problem."

"I know. I'm only 23. Surely that won't make much of a difference."

"I'm not so sure. Your money has been managed by Boswell Hart, the solicitor in town. You will be breaking the terms of the trust and there will be quite a penalty. Your father will not like that. Also there's the cost of care. From what you have told me he is going to eventually need round the clock help. That is expensive."

"He won't need outside help. I'm going to stay and look after him."

The spluttering in the teacup, and the rising flush from jaw line to forehead heralded her mother's reaction. After glancing over her shoulder she whispered," Your father would never go for such an arrangement, and what would the women at the W.I. think?"

"There is an alternative, Mum. One that would keep Dad and those old biddies happy."

Mrs.Gregson, knowing full well the nature of the alternative, reached over and clasped both of her daughters hands. Looking directly into Rachel's eyes she asked "Would it make you happy?"

"Mum, I think I have loved John ever since I was a little girl. Right now, all I want is to be with him, to comfort him in his last days."

Mrs. Gregson, her eyes brimming with tears responded with a squeeze of the hands.

"I'll speak to your father."