Free Vintage Babes by Elizabeth Oldfield

obituary of your husband. I interviewed him once and we got along fine. I’d also like to say I’m sorry and I understand how devastated you must be feeling.’
    I did understand. Until it happens to you, you don’t realise how harrowing it is when someone you love dies. My mother’s death had created such feelings of desolation inside me and for months I was bereft. And I still haven’t recovered from the pain of a much earlier death I suffered. Don’t think I ever will.
    ‘Thanks,’ Tina muttered.
    ‘So how about me making you that g and t?’
    She eyed me warily, then she nodded. I had, I knew, caught her at a weak moment. After the jibes and nastiness of her stepsons, she needed to be with someone sympathetic, needed to talk to someone sympathetic. Anyone. Later she might regret being so open about her husband and his finances, might regret inviting me in, but right now it was comfort. A thumb and a blanket.
    ‘Please, and have one yourself. I’ve just returned from seeing the solicitors in London about Duncan’s will. My stepsons brought me back,’ Tina explained, as we went into a small kitchen with dark brown Formica worktops and a chipped enamel free-standing cooker from the Sixties. ‘I only realised yesterday that Duncan’s pension ended with him, but I’d taken it for granted the share portfolios were mine and I was going to sell them, quickly. But Giles and Simon have scuppered that idea.’ She gave her head a bewildered shake. ‘The only cash I have is about five hundred pounds which I found in Duncan’s trouser pocket. But there are bills to pay. The undertakers and Garth House, where we went after the funeral. The claret they served cost hundreds. Giles and Simon chose the wine, as they chose the hotel and invited all the people, but left it to me to settle up.’
    And stung you regally, I thought.
    ‘What about money in a bank account?’ I said.
    ‘Don’t have an account. I just used to tell Duncan when I wanted to shop and he’d provide the necessary. He was so kind. There’s a few thousand in his bank account, but it seems I can’t have that until the will’s gone to probate. Whatever that means. And until then –’ her voice rose in a plaintive wail ‘– what am I going to do?’
    ‘Sell something. Where’re the glasses and the gin and tonic?’
    ‘Glasses?’ She looked blank. ‘They’re in there. I think,’ she said, indicating an upper cupboard. ‘Mrs B did everything in the kitchen, prepared the meals and our drinks, and she bought the food. But she’s gone to work for Giles. Mrs B was our live-in housekeeper and –’ the wail came again ‘– he’s stolen her. Maybe – yes, the gin and the tonic are in here,’ Tina decided, opening another cupboard and lifting out bottles. She delved into a large fridge/freezer, American style but ancient. ‘Mrs B usually kept slices of lemon in the freezer.’
    I poured the gin and tonics, added the frozen lemon, then handed her a glass. No wonder she was distressed. Her husband appeared to have worked along the lines of her ‘not worrying her pretty little head’ about money matters and she hadn’t. The nay-sayers and Jeremiahs may have insisted she had married him purely for his wealth, but she was not the sharpest tool in the box when it came to finance.
    ‘Let’s get this straight,’ I said. ‘You have possession of the house for the rest of your life and then it passes to your stepsons?’
    ‘Yes. Duncan and I had discussed it, and I’d agreed. It’s in his will. I don’t have any children, pregnancy can ruin the figure, so –’ She made an aimless gesture.
    ‘What about the contents, the furniture and such?’
    I hadn’t noticed anything which looked to be of value, but perhaps there were items the woman could sell. Antiques, silverware, a collection of Ming vases?
    ‘It all stays and is for my use until I die. Though the things which are mine – clothes, shoes, jewellery – I shall leave… to