Free Dead Heading by Catherine Aird Page B

that?’
    Simon Puckle said, ‘Certainly not.’
    ‘Copper-bottomed at Lloyds and all that?’ persisted Feakins.
    ‘I assure you that everything is quite in order.’ The solicitor was not prepared to state in so many words that the firm Puckle, Puckle and Nunnery were not in the habit of finding last minute snags in their work. Instead he made the point more subtly by moving swiftly on. ‘Now we come to the peripheral matters, particularly the transfer of such securities as were held in your late father’s name to yours. This, of course, will take time.’
    ‘Everything always seems to take time,’ complained Feakins wearily. ‘The law’s delays and all that. Shakespeare was dead right there.’
    Simon Puckle did not rise to this either. ‘There is alsothe important point that the liability for the insurance of the property is now your responsibility rather than that of the executors and,’ he added sternly, ‘there can be no delay about that.’
    ‘Are we talking big money?’ asked Benedict Feakins warily. ‘About the insurance, I mean?’
    Simon Puckle glanced down at the contents of the file in front of him. ‘Nothing inordinate.’
    ‘I’m a bit strapped for cash at the moment, that’s all,’ admitted Feakins. ‘Moving expenses and all that. But I expect I could raise a loan.’
    ‘Perhaps an overdraft would be better,’ suggested the solicitor mildly.
    ‘We’ve reached our limit,’ interrupted Mary Feakins. ‘The bank won’t let us have any more,’ she explained naively. ‘We went there first this morning.’
    ‘I see.’ Simon Puckle gave the young couple a long hard look. ‘It is in my opinion a little early to be thinking of raising money against the property if that is what you had in mind and,’ here he raised his eyebrows, ‘if I may say so, a little unwise at this stage.’
    Benedict Feakins was saved from answering this by the arrival of the solicitor’s secretary with a tray of coffee. Mary Feakins gazed hungrily at a plate of digestive biscuits and half-rose in its direction.
    ‘Ah, thank you, Miss Fennel,’ said Simon Puckle pleasantly, as she poured out the coffee and handed it round. ‘Perhaps you would be kind enough to stay as we shall need you as a witness to Mr Feakins putting his signature on these papers.’
    ‘Of course, Mr Puckle,’ she murmured, following thecoffee with an offer of biscuits all round. Mary Feakins took two.
    ‘Now,’ said Simon Puckle to his clients, ‘do either of you have any other questions?’
    ‘How long will it be before we – that is, I – can sell any of these assets?’ said Benedict Feakins, his coffee untouched.
    ‘When you have title to them,’ said Simon Puckle crisply.
    ‘And when will that be?’ persisted Benedict.
    ‘I think the correct answer,’ said the solicitor, ‘is that it will be in the fullness of bureaucratic time.’
    Benedict Feakins groaned but whether this was from pain or disappointment at his answer Simon Puckle was unable to tell.
    After his clients had left his office the solicitor sat at his desk thinking for a minute or two then he rang for his secretary. ‘Would you please see if the manager of the Calleshire and Counties Bank is free to have lunch with me today, Miss Fennel?’

    ‘The police are back, Jack,’ announced Mandy Lamb unceremoniously as she ushered Detective Inspector Sloan and Detective Constable Crosby into the office.
    ‘Come along in, Inspector,’ said Jack Haines heartily. He pushed his chair back and came forward to greet them with every sign of pleasure.
    It was Sloan’s experience that a visit from the police was only ever welcomed by the victims of an offence. Villains seldom greeted him with the enthusiasm that met their return to Jack Haines’ nursery at Pelling. Sincethe nurseryman and his other visitor were facing each other like a pair of warring dogs, it was obvious, too, that he and Crosby had arrived at a most opportune moment.
    ‘And meet Mr Anthony