The Wilt Inheritance Read Free

Mayfield’s scuppered. I’m going to have another Scotch. No, don’t move. I’ll get them.’
    This time he ordered triples.
    ‘I’d love to have seen Mayfield go white. He’s no more a professor than I am. Let’s drink to the V-P … and to Dr Board.’

Chapter 2
    Despite the row with Henry the previous night Eva had had one of her better days. In fact, it had been her best day for a long time. For some months now she had been cultivating a very upper-class woman who regularly visited the Harmony Care and Community Centre where Eva helped out. Lady Clarissa came down once a week from North Fenland to see her uncle, a retired colonel who had lost a leg in the Second World War.
    ‘I’ve found a perfect home for Uncle Harold,’ she told Eva when she arrived. ‘It’s called the Last Post. It’s quite near here in Clarton Road, and a doctor lives just two doors down the street. But, best of all, it’s especially for retired officers and the woman whoruns it has a son who was in the army. Obviously he wasn’t in the army during Uncle’s war because he was far too young if he was even born at the time … but he was definitely some sort of officer in a war somewhere. He works in the Black Bear Hotel now. In fact, he’s the manager according to Matron, but he still puts his old uniform on from time to time and she’s awfully proud of him.’
    The old man sitting in the wheelchair beside her, a tartan rug draped over his knees, looked up at her with a livid expression and swore that he wasn’t going anywhere called the Last Post because that was what the buglers played when they buried the dead, and he’d seen too much of that in his time.
    ‘Well, it’s a lot better than some of the other places I’ve visited and the Matron there was only too pleased to take you in. She’s got a son who was an officer in some county regiment or other so you’ll have special treatment.’
    Lady Clarissa turned to Eva to explain, ‘Uncle lost his leg at Arnhem.’
    ‘At the crossing of the Rhine, damn it,’ grumbled the old man. ‘Can’t you get anything right?’
    ‘Oh, well, somewhere in Europe.’
    Uncle Harold raised his voice.
    ‘In Germany, confound you!’ He scowled. ‘What about women? I suppose that place is crawling with old hags. I see enough of them here already.’
    Lady Clarissa sighed and shook her head.
    ‘There are no female residents. Well, except for Matron, of course.’
    But the old man still wasn’t satisfied.
    ‘Trust you to choose a nursing home in Clarton Road. There’s a graveyard there, you know.’
    ‘Well, it was a choice between that or one called Journey’s End which, come to think of it, is conveniently close to the Crematorium. Perhaps you’d prefer that,’ Lady Clarissa suggested sweetly.
    ‘The Crematorium, damnation!’ squawked Uncle Harold. ‘I wonder why you don’t call it the Incinerator. I don’t want what remains of my body crisped up, thank you very much. Bad enough that the ruddy Hun barbecued my leg when they blew it up.’
    ‘Oh, all right, I’ll see to it that you aren’t cremated then. And since we’re on the subject, where exactly do you want to be buried? Not that I hope it is any time soon, Uncle dear.’
    ‘Hmm, you must think I was born yesterday. I know you have a very good reason for coming to visit me … damned if I can work out what it is, though. God knows, I haven’t got two pennies to rub together. But I’ve been thinking about this and I want to be buried in Kenya, where I was born and brought up.’
    ‘But that’s in Africa! It would cost a fortune to get you there … and anyway it’s too far for the family to visit.’
    ‘As though I care! Not one of them has visited me for years and years while I’m still alive. What could it possibly matter once I’m dead?’
    ‘Well, I must say, that’s not a very nice thing to say and anyway it’s not even true,’ protested Lady Clarissa. ‘I come all the way down here, week after week,