A Town like Alice

afraid I'm terribly stupid. I understand you want some proof that Donald is dead. But after that is done, do you mean that I inherit everything that Uncle Douglas left?"
    "Broadly speaking-yes," I replied. "You would only receive the income from the estate until the year 1956. After that, the capital would be yours to do what you like with."
    "How much did he leave?"
    I picked up a slip of paper from the documents before me and ran my eye down the figures for a final check. "After paying death duties and legacies," I said carefully, "the residuary estate would be worth about fifty-three thousand pounds at present-day prices. I must make it clear that that is at present-day prices, Miss Paget. You must not assume that you would inherit that sum in 1956. A falling stock market affects even trustee securities.
    She stared at me. "Fifty-three thousand pounds?"
    I nodded. "That seems to be about the figure."
    "How much a year would that amount of capital yield, Mr Strachan?"
    I glanced at the figures on the slip before me. "Invested in trustee stocks, as at present, about £1550 a year, gross income. Then income tax has to be deducted. You would have about nine hundred a year to spend, Miss Paget."
    "Oh…" There was a long silence; she sat staring at the desk in front of her. Then she looked up at me, and smiled. "It takes a bit of getting used to," she remarked. "I mean, I've always worked for my living, Mr Strachan. I've never thought that I'd do anything else unless I married, and that's only a different sort of work. But this means that I need never work again-unless I want to."
    She had hit the nail on the head with her last sentence. "That's exactly it," I replied. "unless you want to."
    "I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have to go to the office," she said. "I haven't got any other life…"
    "Then I should go on going to the office," I observed.
    She laughed. "I suppose that's the only thing to do."
    I leaned back in my chair. "I'm an old man now, Miss Paget. I've made plenty of mistakes in my time and I've learned one thing from them, that it's never very wise to do anything in a great hurry. I take it that this legacy will mean a considerable change in your circumstances. If I may offer my advice, I should continue in your present employment for the time, at any rate, and I should refrain from talking about your legacy in the office just yet. For one thing, it will be some months before you get possession even of the income from the estate. First we have to obtain legal proof of the death of your brother, and then we have to obtain the confirmation of the executors in Scotland and realize a portion of the securities to meet estate and succession duties. Tell me, what are you doing with this firm Pack and Levy?"
    "I'm a shorthand typist," she said. "I'm working now as secretary to Mr Pack."
    "Where do you live, Miss Paget?"
    She said, "I've got a bed-sitting-room at No 43 Campion Road, just off Ealing Common. It's quite convenient, but of course I have a lot of my meals out. There's a Lyons just round the corner."
    I thought for a minute. "Have you got many friends in Ealing? How long have you been there?"
    "I don't know very many people," she replied. "One or two families, people who work in the firm, you know. I've been there over two years now, ever since I was repatriated. I was out in Malaya, you know, Mr Strachan, and I was a sort of prisoner of war for three and a half years. Then when I got home I got this job with Pack and Levy."
    I made a note of her address upon my pad. "Well, Miss Paget," I said, "I should go on just as usual for the time being. I will consult the War Office on Monday morning and obtain this evidence about your brother as quickly as I can. Tell me his name, and number, and unit." She did so, and I wrote them down. "As soon as I get that, I shall submit the will for probate. When that is proved, then the trust commences and continues till the year 1956, when you will inherit absolutely."
    She looked up at me. "Tell me about this trust," she asked. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at legal matters."
    I nodded. "Of course not. Well, you'll find it all in legal language in the copy of the will which I shall give you, but what it means is this, Miss Paget. Your uncle, when he made this will, had a very poor opinion of the ability of women to manage their own money. I'm sorry to have to say such a thing, but it is better for you to know the whole of the facts."
    She laughed. "Please don't