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像爱丽丝的小镇|A small town like Alice

第一章|Chapter 1

属类： 双语小说 【分类】双语小说 阅读：[21179]
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1905年3月，四十七岁的詹士·麦法登在德里菲尔德的一次定点越野赛马中不幸丧生。

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他大部分财产由儿子道格拉斯继承。那时麦法登家和达尔豪西家都住在珀斯，达尔豪西家的佐克是道格拉斯的同学。佐克当时还很年轻，却已经是伦敦赞善里一家律师事务所——欧文、达尔豪西和彼得斯——的初级合伙人。这个律师事务所历史悠久，三位创始人都早已辞世，但我作为现任高级合伙人，从未想过要给它起一个新名字。

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佐克·达尔豪西顺理成章地成为了道格拉斯·麦法登的代理律师，并一直亲自处理好友的财产事务，直到1928年去世。在分摊达尔豪西的工作时，麦法登先生成为了我的客户，但我却忙于应付其他事务，渐渐把他的事情抛在了脑后。

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一直到1935年，麦法登先生从埃尔寄来一封信，我才重新想起这位客户来。信上告知，他的妹夫亚瑟·佩吉特在马来亚惨遭车祸，不幸罹难，因此他意欲修改遗嘱，以遗产托管的方式，将遗产转移到妹妹琴和她两个孩子的名下。作为他的代理律师，竟然对委托人孑然一身、无儿无女的情况一无所知，我不禁感到惭愧不安。信的结尾说，由于健康状况太糟糕，无法亲自到伦敦来，所以如果我们能够委派一名小职员去见他以安排相关事宜，他将不胜感激。

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这与我的行程不谋而合。收到这封信的时候，我正要动身去希尔湖度假，享受为期两周的钓鱼之旅。所以我写信告诉他，将在假期结束，南下返回的时候顺道去拜访他。写好信后，我把他的档案材料塞进旅行箱底，打算在度假时找一个晚上好好做做功课。

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到达埃尔后，我在车站酒店住了下来——既然信中只字未提我的食宿，我想麦法登先生也不会操这份心。我脱下灯笼裤，换上深色正装，去拜访这位素未谋面的客户。

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他的生活状况完全出乎我的意料。我不知道他的遗产具体有多少，但肯定超过两万英镑，所以我想这位先生应该会住在一幢体面的房子里，由一两名仆人伺候生活起居。但是，情况全然不是这样。他住在海边一个很小的私人旅馆里，在同一层里租了一个卧室和一个起居室。他才五十出头，比我还年轻十岁，但显然已过着病榻生活，起居不便。他跟一个八十岁的老太太一样弱如风烛，脸色死灰，似乎一半身子已经躺在了坟墓里。我刚刚从空气清新的湖边湿地回来，蓦地走进这个窗户紧闭、阴暗局促的房间，觉得浑身不自在。窗户上挂着一排鸟笼，养着许多虎皮鹦鹉，散发出来的味道使得这个房间越发令人窒息。从家具布置来看，这位先生已经在这个房间里生活了许多个年头。

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我们讨论遗嘱时，他谈到了他的生活。他亲切友善，对于我的亲自来访感到喜出望外。尽管他有浓重的苏格兰口音，但应该是一位知书识礼的先生。“我的生活波澜不惊，斯特拉坎先生，”他说，“健康状况不允许我出远门。天气好的时候，我会起个大早，在门前晒晒太阳。然后，玛姬——老板娘道尔太太的女儿——就会过来帮我坐上轮椅，推我出去散散心。她们对我真是照顾有加。”

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谈到遗嘱，他告诉我说他只剩下妹妹琴·佩吉特一位近亲了。“如果不算上我父亲在澳大利亚可能还有的一到两个所谓的私生子，”他说，“我不能确定有，尽管我一个都没见过，也没有收到过他们的来信。不过有一次琴向我提起过母亲曾为此事悲痛万分。这种事情最能刺激女士的神经，而且我父亲又是个精力旺盛的风流人物，去到哪里都闲不住。”

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他妹妹琴在一战期间参加了英国妇女后勤军团，并在1917年春天与一位佩吉特上校成婚。“有点出乎我们意料，”他和蔼地说，“要知道我妹妹在参军前没离开过苏格兰半步，后来又去了帕斯，而亚瑟·佩吉特却是从汉普郡南安普敦来的一位英格兰人。我对亚瑟倒是没什么意见，但我们一直都很自然地以为琴会嫁给一位苏格兰人。不过，话说回来，他们的婚姻还算美满——起码不比大部分夫妻差吧。”

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战后亚瑟·佩吉特在马来亚太平镇附近一个橡胶庄园找到了工作，琴当然也跟着他去了，从此便几乎从道格拉斯·麦法登的生命中消失。她只在1926年和1932年趁休假回家探过亲。她生了两个小孩儿，儿子唐纳德出生于1918年，女儿小琴出生于1921年。1932年的时候，琴把兄妹俩送到南安普敦的爷爷奶奶家，把他们留在那里上学，自己则回到了马来亚。我的客户与他们唯一一次见面就在那一年。

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现在的情况是，亚瑟·佩吉特在怡保附近出车祸去世了——他从吉隆坡开车回家时车速太快，滑出马路，撞到了树上。可能他当时睡着了。他的遗孀琴·佩吉特事发时在英格兰。亚瑟去世前大约一年，她回家给两个小孩找了一套房子，就在南安普敦边上的巴西特，以方便他们上学。这个安排还算合理，但是麦法登先生对此多少感到有些遗憾，因为兄妹俩没能够住得离彼此更近一些。我能看出来麦法登先生对此耿耿于怀，因为他不止一次地提到这件事。

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他想修改遗嘱。现在这份遗嘱只是很简单地把所有遗产都留给琴。“我还是会把遗产给她，”他说，“但是我写这份遗嘱的时候亚瑟·佩吉特还活着，而且我当时并没想到他会比我先走一步。我这身子骨一向很差，想是也活不长的，而他和琴风华正茂。我原以为他可以帮助我妹妹好好规划一下如何使用这笔钱。”

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他似乎顽固地认为所有女人都不谙世事，不善理财。她们没有责任心，而且投机商能轻而易举地把她们玩弄于股掌之中。所以，尽管决定了把全部财产都留给妹妹，他还是打算要找一位托管人，以保证唐纳德能够在她去世后分文不少地得到这笔遗产。要实现这个要求当然并不困难。作为例行公事，我向他列举了这个做法的种种利弊，同时指出，他在道尔太太的房子里住了这么多年，而且很可能会一直住到离世，如果不能留出一笔小小的遗赠给她，多少有点不妥。他认同我的说法。此外，由于已经没有其他近亲在世，他想委托我作为全权托管人和遗嘱执行人。那倒是家庭律师的分内事，但是我告诉他，鉴于我年事已高，最好找一位共同托管人。他同意由我们所的初级合伙人列斯特·罗宾逊来担任此职，对我们在这些事务上的收费条款，他也没有异议。

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这份遗嘱毕竟很简单，再敲定余下几个小问题就完成了。我问他，如果他和妹妹都在唐纳德未满二十一岁之前去世，我们该如何处理这笔遗产。我的建议是，在唐纳德成年时托管结束，所有遗产归他自由支配。麦法登先生同意了，我在便笺上记下来。

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“假设发生另外一种情况，”我说，“唐纳德先于他母亲去世，又或者母子俩都由于某种原因先于您去世，那财产就转由小姑娘小琴继承。我是否也可以认为，托管期同样地在她成年时结束？”

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“您是说，”他问，“在她满二十一岁的时候？”

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我点点头。“是的，和她哥哥一样。”

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他摇摇头。“我认为那太不周全了，斯特拉坎先生，请原谅我这样说。但是，没有一个二十一岁的姑娘能够管理好自己的财产。那个年纪的姑娘都很容易上男人的当，斯特拉坎先生。她们会上男人的当的。她的托管期必须要长很多，至少要到她满四十岁时才能结束。”

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过去种种经历让我不禁同意他这个观点。一个二十一岁的女孩子确实还太年轻，无法驾驭这样一笔巨款，但是我又觉得四十岁太老了。我对他说，二十五岁是一个比较合适的年纪，他很勉强地让步到三十五岁。那已经是他的底线了。他开始表现出明显的疲态，并且变得有点不耐烦，所以我只好接受那作为托管的最长期限。这意味着托管期可能长达二十一年，尽管这种情况不太可能发生，因为小琴生于1921年，而当时才1935年。我们的会面就到此为止了。我与他分别，回到伦敦起草遗嘱，并寄给他签字。从此，我就再没跟他见过面。

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与他失去联系是我的错。多年来，我养成了春天度假的习惯，跟妻子一道去苏格兰——通常是希尔湖——玩两周，享受钓鱼的乐趣。人常常会不自觉地以为，生活总是会一成不变地过下去。所以我想，明年此时，当我再度从北方南返时，还可以顺道拜访一下麦法登先生，看看有没有别的事情可以为他效劳。但世事无常，在1935年冬天，露茜去世了。我不愿沉溺其间，但我们是二十七年的老夫妻了——是的，那使我十分悲痛。当时两个儿子都在国外，哈利在驻中国英军基地的潜水艇上服役，马丁在巴士拉的石油公司工作。我无心再赴希尔湖，并从此再未踏进苏格兰半步。我拍卖了大部分家具，并卖掉了我和妻子在温布尔登公地共同居住过的房子。人在此情此境更须振作，不应埋首于往日幸福的灰堆。

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我在白金汉门租了一套公寓，在皇家马厩对面，与我在蓓尔美尔街的俱乐部只隔一个公园。我用从温布尔登带来的几件家具简单布置了一下新家，请了一位保姆每天早上来做早饭和打扫卫生。在这里，我渐渐过上了和俱乐部其他会员一样的生活：在公寓吃早饭，步行穿过公园，沿河岸街走到位于赞善里的办公室，工作一整天，在办公桌上吃一顿简单的午餐，六点到俱乐部去看看杂志，闲聊一会儿，吃晚饭，打一局桥牌。从1936年起，我就养成了这样的生活方式，直到现在，依然如此。

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上述一连串变故让我的心思离开了道格拉斯·麦法登。我将大部分精力放在处理私事上，工作上只能应付那些有急事的客户。不久，另一件事又更加吸引了我的注意。战争的硝烟开始弥漫，而俱乐部的一些会员——包括我在内——因年纪太大无法服兵役，便都积极投身空袭预防工作。长话短说，这项被称作民防的工作在接下来的八年里占据了我所有的闲暇时间。我成了一个民间防空员，负责在伦敦大轰炸期间以及其后漫长的战争岁月中在威斯敏斯特地区执勤。实际上我的下属都去服兵役了，我只能勉强独力支撑整个律师事务所的运营。那些年里，我从未休假，甚至连每晚五小时的睡眠时间也难以保证。待到战争终于在1945年结束，我已经白发苍苍，颤颤巍巍了。虽然接下来几年身体状况有所好转，我还是不可挽回地加入了老年人的行列。

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1948年1月的一个下午，我收到一封从埃尔发来的电报。上面写道：

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道格拉斯·麦法登先生昨夜去世深切哀悼请回复指导葬礼事宜

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道尔

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埃尔，巴勒莫尔旅馆

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恐怕我必须努力回忆起战前发生的事情，才能想起道格拉斯·麦法登先生是谁。我不得不翻查档案和遗嘱，让它们帮助我回忆起十三年前发生的点点滴滴。我觉得很奇怪，在埃尔居然没有一个人能够帮助麦法登先生料理后事。我马上打了一个长途电话到埃尔，很快我便和道尔太太通上了话。线路很差，但我勉强听懂了她说麦法登先生的亲戚她一个都不认识。很明显，已经很久没有人去看望他了。看来我必须亲自去一趟埃尔，或者派一个人去。接下来两天我手头没有紧急事务，而这件事情又有点棘手，于是我去找列斯特·罗宾逊商量此事，他是从战场上回来的陆军准将，我现在的合伙人。很快，我就清理好办公桌，吃过晚饭便坐卧铺车到格拉斯哥。第二天早晨，我已经坐上了开往埃尔的慢车。

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我到达巴勒莫尔旅馆时，看见房东夫妇穿着丧服，一脸悲伤。他们一直很喜欢这位古怪的房客，也许正是亏得他们的细心照料，麦法登先生才能这么长寿。死因并无可疑，我从医生那里了解到他身上的种种毛病。弥留之际医生就在他身边，他们的住所只隔了两扇门。死亡证明也已签妥。我简单确认了遗体并办理了各种与死亡有关的手续。一切都进行得很顺利——除了没有任何亲戚露面。

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“我想他一个亲戚也没有了，”道尔先生说，“有一次他妹妹还给他写信来着，还来看了他一回。好像是在1938年吧。她住在南安普敦。但这两年他好像再也没有收过信了，除了几张账单之外。”

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他妻子说：“他妹妹肯定已经不在了。你忘了他告诉过我们，说她妹妹在战争结束之前不久就去世了吗？”

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“哦，我不记得了，”他说，“那阵子发生了太多事情。也许她确实去世了。”

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不管麦法登先生还有没有亲戚，葬礼都要尽快举行。下午，安排好葬礼事宜后，我仔细地把麦法登先生桌子里的文件看了一遍。账簿上和支票簿里几个写在票根背后的数字引起了我的注意。很明显，明天早上我要做的第一件事情，就是和银行经理见面。我发现了他妹妹1941年写的一封信，是关于房屋租赁的。当然，这封信并未透露她死于何事——如果她确实已离世，但它提供了两个小孩的关键信息。他们那时候都在马来亚。儿子唐纳德那时应该已经二十三岁了，在瓜拉雪兰莪附近一个橡胶农场工作。他的妹妹琴1939年冬天去投奔他，那时任职于该农场在吉隆坡的办事处。

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五点左右，我站在旅馆狭窄的电话间里，给在伦敦的合伙人打了一个长途电话。“听我说，列斯特，”我说，“我告诉过你死者亲戚的问题有点棘手。很遗憾，我现在一筹莫展。我已经临时将葬礼安排好了，后天两点在圣伊诺克公墓举行。我目前所知道的唯一一个亲戚，就是在——或者曾经在南安普敦生活的妹妹亚瑟·佩吉特太太。1941年的时候，这位太太住在巴西特的圣罗南路十七号，就在南安普敦附近。那个地区还有佩吉特家的其他亲戚，比如说亚瑟·佩吉特的父母。亚瑟·佩吉特太太——她的教名是琴——是的，她就是死者的妹妹。她有两个孩子，唐纳德和琴·佩吉特，但他们1941年的时候都在马来亚。天晓得他们遇到了什么事情。我现在不会浪费太多时间在他们身上，但是能不能请你告诉哈里斯，让他尽量找到在南安普敦生活的佩吉特家人，告诉他们葬礼的事？他最好对着电话号簿逐个打给南安普敦姓佩吉特的人。应该没几个。”

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第二天早上，我刚从银行回来，列斯特就给我打电话了。“诺尔，很抱歉，关于你想找的人，我没有找到任何确切消息，”他说，“但我发现了一件事：佩吉特太太已经于1942年去世，所以不用再花力气找她了。她在防空洞中死于肺炎——哈里斯从医院查到的。其他姓佩吉特的人在电话号簿上有七个，我都打过电话了，可是他们跟你所提到的家庭一点关系都没有。但其中一个，尤丝缇丝·佩吉特太太，觉得你要找的应该是爱德华·佩吉特一家。他们在第一次南安普敦大轰炸后就举家搬到北威尔士去了。”

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“大概在北威尔士的什么地方？”我问。

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“毫无线索，”他说，“我想现在你能做的也就只有继续办葬礼了。”

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“你说得对，”我回答，“但还是请你让哈里斯继续调查吧，因为除了要办葬礼，我们还必须找到继承人。我刚刚去了银行，发现那可是一笔很可观的遗产呢。要知道我们可是托管人啊。”

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我利用那天余下的时间打包麦法登先生的个人物品和书信文件，以便带回事务所。那时候家具供应紧缺，我找了一个地方存放那两个房间的家具，因为继承人可能会用得上。我把衣物交给道尔太太，请她拿去施舍给埃尔的贫困居民。最后只剩下两只虎皮鹦鹉，我把它们留给了道尔太太，她似乎已经离不开它们了。第二天早上，我又跟银行经理见了一面，并打电话预订好卧铺票——我将乘坐夜班邮车回伦敦。下午，我们安葬了道格拉斯·麦法登先生。

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那是一月的下午，公墓里一片愁云惨雾，寒气刺骨。送葬的只有道尔一家——父亲、母亲和女儿，和我。记得我当时在想，这个葬礼真是奇怪，我们对眼前即将被自己掩埋的人，竟几近一无所知。经过与道尔一家的短暂相处，我已经对他们产生了深深的尊敬之情。之前我告诉他们，麦法登先生给他们留了一笔小小的遗赠，把他们惊呆了，第一反应就是不愿接受。他们说，这些年麦法登先生吃住在这里，从不曾亏待他们，他们为他所做的其他一切，纯粹出于真诚友爱。在那个灰冷的一月下午，有朋友送他最后一程，墓边的风景便少了几分凄寂。

40
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葬礼就这样结束了。我和道尔一家开车返回旅馆，和他们在厨房旁边的起居室喝茶。喝完茶后，我就起程去格拉斯哥，并于当晚坐火车回伦敦，带着两个手提箱的文件和个人物品。如果一时无法找到继承人，闲来无事之时还要细细查看，寻找线索。它们也是遗产的一部分，将来要交给继承人的。

41
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实际上，寻找继承人的过程并没有大费周章。杨·哈里斯不到一周就找到了继承人的消息，不久我们就收到阿加莎·佩吉特小姐的一封信，她是科尔温贝女子学校的校长，在马来亚车祸中丧生的亚瑟·佩吉特的姐姐。

42
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她证实了他的妻子于1942年在南安普敦去世，同时告诉了我们一个新消息：唐纳德也已经过世了。他在马来亚战争中成为了俘虏，在被俘期间死去。然而，她的侄女琴却仍然在世，现在就住在伦敦地区。这位校长不知道琴的确切地址，因为她住在租来的房间里，搬过一两次家，住所不固定，所以写给她的信通常都寄到公司去。琴现在在帕克和利维公司里做事，地址是：伦敦西北海德区佩里维尔。

43
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这封信夹在早班邮件里送来。我从一堆信件中翻出它，重新读了一遍，又让秘书把麦法登先生的档案拿给我，再看了一遍遗嘱、其他文件和关于遗产的笔记。最后我翻开电话号簿，找到帕克和利维公司，看看这个公司经营什么业务。

44
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不久，我从桌子旁边站起来，在窗前站了一会儿。窗外是伦敦一月份灰蒙蒙的寒冷街道。我喜欢三思而后行，从不鲁莽行事。然后，我回身出去，走进罗宾逊的办公室。他正在口述文件，所以我先站到壁炉前暖和一下身子。他完事后，做记录的女孩离开了办公室。

45
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“我找到麦法登的继承人了，”我开口说，“我一会儿会告诉哈里斯。”

46
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“太好了，”他说，“你找到那个儿子了？”

47
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“不，”我说，“我找到女儿了。儿子已经去世了。”

48
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他笑道：“真倒霉。这就是说，在她三十五岁之前，我们要一直当这笔遗产的托管人了，是不是？”

49
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我点点头。

50
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“她现在多大了？”

51
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我算了一下，说：“二十六七岁吧。”

52
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“这个年纪，足够给我们添麻烦的了。”

53
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“可不是。”

54
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“她现在在哪里？在干什么？”

55
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“她现在是一个文员或者打字员，在佩里维尔一个手提包厂工作，”我说，“我打算给她写一封信。”

56
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他微笑道：“你可真是她的天降贵人啊。”

57
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“一点不假。”我答道。

58
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我回到办公室坐下来，考虑如何写那封信。第一次给这位年轻的女士写信，似乎应该显得正式一些。最后我写道：

59
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亲爱的太太：

60
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我们非常悲痛地通知您，令舅道格拉斯·麦法登先生于1月21日在埃尔去世。作为其遗嘱执行人，我们一直在寻找其遗产继承人，此间遇到了一些困难。如果您是曾住在南安普敦和马来亚的琴（·妮·麦法登）和亚瑟·佩吉特的女儿，将很有可能对遗产享有继承权。

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请您在方便之时与我们电话预约见面，进一步商讨相关事宜。为了前期阶段工作的顺利进行，请您届时提供身份证明，例如出生证明，身份证，或者其他有效之证件。

62
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顺颂\u3000近佳！

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欧文、达尔豪西和彼得斯律师事务所

64
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N.H.斯特拉坎

65
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第二天早上她就给我打电话了。她的声音很悦耳，听起来像一位训练有素的秘书。她说：“斯特拉坎先生，我是琴·佩吉特。我收到您29日给我写的信了。请问您周六上午是否上班？我平时走不开，所以周六对我而言再合适不过了。”

66
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我回答道：“噢，是的，我们周六上午上班。你方便几点过来？”

67
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“十点半可以吗？”

68
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我在记事本上写下来。“没问题。你有出生证明吗？”

69
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“有的。我还有母亲的结婚证明，那有用吗？”

70
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我说：“有的，请一并带来。好了，佩吉特小姐，那我们周六见。报我的名字就能找到我，诺尔·斯特拉坎先生。我是高级合伙人。”

71
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周六早上十点半，她准时出现在我的办公室。她身材中等，头发乌黑，看不出来是否已经结了婚。她恬静漂亮，有一种淡定的风度。这种风度很难确切形容，是苏格兰后裔女性身上常见的那种从容优雅。她穿着深蓝色的外套和裙子。我站起身，与她握手，请她坐在我桌子前的椅子上，再回身在我自己的椅子上坐下。我已经把文件都准备好了。

72
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“我们开始吧，佩吉特小姐，”我说，“我通过你的姑姑找到了你——我想她是你的姑姑吧，在科尔温贝的那位？”

73
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她点点头。“雅姬姑姑给我写信了，告诉我她收到了您的信。没错，她是我的姑姑。”

74
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“我想，你就是曾经在南安普敦和马来亚生活过的亚瑟和琴·佩吉特的女儿？”

75
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她点点头。“是的。我带了我和我母亲的出生证明，还有她的结婚证明。”她从包里掏出这几份文件，连同身份证一起，放在我的桌上。

76
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我打开这些文件，仔细检查了一遍。毫无疑问，她就是我要找的人。我重新把身子靠到椅背上，摘掉眼镜。“请告诉我，佩吉特小姐，”我说，“你曾经见过你刚过世的舅舅道格拉斯·麦法登先生吗？”

77
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她犹豫了一下。“我一直在想这件事情，”她坦率地说，“我不能发誓说我肯定见过他，但是有一次，我母亲带我去苏格兰拜访过一个人，那个人肯定就是他。那个时候我好像只有十岁吧，母亲带着我和我哥哥一起去的。我记得好像是一个老人家，住在一个闷热的房间里，用笼子养了很多鸟。我想那就是道格拉斯舅舅吧，不过我不是很确定。”

78
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这与麦法登先生的说法相符。母子三人确实于1932年去拜访过他。这个女孩当时应该是十一岁。“能跟我说一下你的哥哥唐纳德吗，佩吉特小姐？”我问，“他是否还在世？”

79
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她摇摇头。“他1943年去世了，在被俘期间。我们投降的时候，他在新加坡被日本兵抓走，送到了铁路上。”

80
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“铁路？”我有点疑惑不解。

81
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她冷冷地看着我，目光中仿佛包含了一丝宽容——对战时留在英国的人所表现出来的无知。“日本兵迫使亚洲人和战俘建造的泰缅铁路。每安放一条枕木，就有一个人死去，而铁路大约有两百英里长。唐纳德就是其中一个。”

82
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接下来我们都没有说话。“我很抱歉，”我终于打破沉默，“但恐怕我还是要问你一件事——你有没有他的死亡证明？”

83
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她盯着我说：“我不可能会有吧。”

84
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“噢……”我重新把身子靠到椅背上，拿起遗嘱。“这是道格拉斯·麦法登先生的遗嘱，”我说，“我给你准备了一份复印件，佩吉特小姐，但是我想最好先用普通的语言来告诉你里面写了什么。除了两份小小的遗赠之外，你舅舅把所有剩余财产都以托管方式归到你哥哥唐纳德名下。托管的条件是，托管财产的收益归你母亲所有，直到她去世。如果她在你兄长满二十一岁前去世，托管将在他成年时结束，财产就归他任意支配。而如果你的兄长在继承财产前去世，你将在你母亲去世后，继承剩余的财产。但这样的话，托管期将一直延续到1956年，你满三十五岁的时候。我想你会希望我们取得你兄长的合法死亡证明的。”

85
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她犹豫了一下，然后说道：“斯特拉坎先生，恐怕我真是愚蠢透顶。我能够理解为什么您需要唐纳德的死亡证明。但如果您真的拿到了这份证明，是不是就意味着我可以继承道格拉斯舅舅留下来的一切？”

86
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“基本上——是这样的，”我回答，“但在1956年之前，你只能获得这笔遗产的收益。之后，财产就是你的了，你想拿来做什么都可以。”

87
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“他留下了多少钱？”

88
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我从面前的文件里拿起一张纸条，从上到下把数字扫了一眼，最后再检查一遍。“扣除税款和遗赠后，”我小心地说，“剩余的财产大约价值五万三千英镑——以目前的价格计算。我必须提醒你，这是按照目前的价格计算的，佩吉特小姐。不能保证到1956年的时候你就一定会继承这个数目。股市的低迷甚至会影响到信托证券。”

89
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她直直地盯着我，说：“五万三千英镑？”

90
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我点点头。“大概是这个数目。”

91
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“这样一笔资本每年可以产生多少收益，斯特拉坎先生？”

92
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我扫了一眼我面前纸条上的数字。“投资于受托公债的话，目前每年大约能有一千五百五十英镑的总收入。扣除所得税后，每年大概还能剩下九百英镑，佩吉特小姐。”

93
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“噢……”接下来是一阵长长的沉默。她坐在那里，目光落在前方的桌子上。忽然她抬起头来看着我，莞尔一笑。“我还没回过神来，”她说，“我是说，一直以来我都是自己挣钱养活自己，斯特拉坎先生。我从未想过我还能干点什么别的，除非嫁人——但那似乎只是换一种方式工作罢了。但是从今往后我再也不用工作了——除非我乐意。”

94
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最后一句话真是一针见血。“一点不假，”我回答，“除非你乐意。”

95
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“如果再也不用去办公室上班了，我不知道要做什么，”她说，“我几乎没有业余活动……”

96
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“那就应该继续去办公室上班。”我指出。

97
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她笑道：“我想我也没有其他事情可以做了。”

98
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我重新把身子靠到椅背上。“我已经是个老头子了，佩吉特小姐。我这一辈子犯了很多错误，并从中学会了一个道理，那就是：欲速则不达。我想你的生活会因为这份财产而变得很不一样。如果你问我的话，我会请你千万不要马上辞掉手头这份工作。现在，我先不跟你在办公室里谈遗产的事情。首先，就算是财产的收益，你也还要等几个月才能拿到。我们还没拿到你哥哥的合法死亡证明，苏格兰的遗嘱执行人也还没批准我们变卖部分证券来偿付财产税和其他税款。告诉我，你在帕克和利维公司做什么工作？”

99
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“我是速记员，”她说，“现在是帕克先生的秘书。”

100
-

“你现在住在哪里呢，佩吉特小姐？”

101
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她说：“我租了一个不含厨房的开间，在坎贝恩路四十三号，对面就是伊令公地。地方很方便，但自然要经常在外面吃饭了。附近就有一家里昂斯餐厅。”

102
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我想了想，说：“你在伊令有很多朋友吗？在那儿住了多久了？”

103
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“我认识的人不多，”她回答说，“一两家人吧，都是同事。我回国后就住在那里，有两年多了。之前我在马来亚，斯特拉坎先生。有三年半的时间，我基本上是一个战俘。回国后，我就在这家公司找到了工作。”

104
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我在记事本上记下了这个地址。“现在，佩吉特小姐，”我说，“请让我继续把接下来要做的事情告诉你。我周一早上会咨询陆军部，希望尽快获得你哥哥的死亡证明。请告诉我他的姓名、身份证号和分队编号。”我把她提供的信息一一记下来。“我一拿到证明，就会上交遗嘱，等待认证。遗嘱被批准执行后，托管就开始，直到1956年你能任意支配财产为止。”

105
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她抬起头来看着我。“请向我解释一下托管是怎么回事，”她问，“恐怕我对法律事务不怎么在行。”

106
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我点点头。“这很正常。我给你的遗嘱复印件都是以法律语言写成的。关于托管一事，其实是这样的，佩吉特小姐。当你舅舅立下这份遗嘱的时候，他对女性管理自己财产的能力抱有一种非常不合理的偏见。很抱歉说了这样的话，但是我想最好是能让你知道整件事情的来龙去脉。”

107
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她笑道：“请不必替他道歉，斯特拉坎先生。请继续。”

108
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“开始的时候，他觉得至少要等你满四十岁，才能让你自由支配遗产，”我说，“我提出了反对意见，所以现在遗嘱上写的是三十五岁，我无法让他缩短这个期限了。现在，托管的目标是这样：立遗嘱人指定托管人——在这里是指我和我的合伙人——尽其所能保护好这份财产，在托管结束时，把它完好无损地交到继承人——也就是你——的手里。”

109
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“我知道了。道格拉斯舅舅害怕我会一下子把这五万三千英镑花个精光。”

110
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我点点头。“他就是这样想的。他不了解你，当然，佩吉特小姐。所以他并不是针对你个人的。他只是有一个很笼统的概念，认为年轻女性控制巨款的能力不如男性。”

111
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她平静地说：“他可能是对的。”思考片刻后，又说，“所以，在我三十五岁之前，您将会一直帮我保管这笔钱，把它的利息给我，每年九百英镑，对吗？”

112
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“如果你希望我们帮助你处理所得税事宜的话，就是这个数目，”我说，“你能选择一种支付方式，比如季度或者月度支票。你将每半年收到一份账目明细表。”

113
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她好奇地问道：“你们为我做这么多事情，怎么收费呢，斯特拉坎先生？”

114
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我微笑道：“这是一个很精明的问题，佩吉特小姐。你会在遗嘱里找到一条相关的条款，好像是第八条吧。它赋予我们因提供专业的托管服务而收费的权利。当然了，如果你遇到任何法律上的麻烦，我们会很高兴成为你的代理人，并且尽一切努力帮助你。不过那样的话，我们会按照正常标准收费。”

115
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她出乎意料地说：“托付给您再好不过了。”她瞥了我一眼，调皮地说，“我昨天就查询过您这家公司。”

116
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“噢……希望结果让你满意？”

117
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“非常满意，”她说，“把事情交到您手中，我绝对放心，斯特拉坎先生。”不过她事后才告诉我，泄密者把我们描述成“牢如英格兰银行，黏如糖蜜”。

118
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我点点头。“希望如此。恐怕有时候你会觉得这个托管很烦人，佩吉特小姐，不过我会保证尽量避免发生这种情形。你会看到，立遗嘱人会在遗嘱里给予托管人一些权力，在对继承人确实有利的情况下，托管人是可以解冻一部分财产的。”

119
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“您的意思是，如果我真的需要很多钱——做手术或者什么的——只要您同意，我就可以预支这笔钱？”

120
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真是思维敏捷，这姑娘。“我想那是一个很好的例子。如果你生病时没有钱做手术，为了你的利益，我当然会解冻一部分遗产。”

121
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她向我微微一笑，说：“现在我是不是还挺像受大法官监护的未成年人？”

122
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这个比喻不知怎的触动了我。我说：“如果你愿意把我当成监护人，我将感到不胜荣幸，佩吉特小姐。这份遗嘱将无可避免地打乱你的生活，我愿意尽我所能帮助你尽快适应新情况。”我递给她遗嘱的复印件。“这就是遗嘱。我建议你带走它，找个时间安静地认真读读。我会暂时保留这些证件。等你过几天想清楚到底发生了什么事之后，肯定会生出很多问题，并且想要知道答案。到时你是否愿意再过来与我见一面？”

123
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她说：“我当然愿意。我一定会有无数的问题，但是我现在一个都想不出来。这一切太突然了。”

124
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我看看预约日志，道：“那——我们下周二或者周三再见一面如何？”我一边看着我的预约安排一边说，“当然了，你白天要上班。你几点下班，佩吉特小姐？”

125
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她说：“五点。”

126
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“周三晚上六点你方便吗？希望到时候有关你哥哥的事情会有些进展。”

127
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她说：“嗯，可以的，斯特拉坎先生。但是对您来讲不会太晚了吗？不耽误您回家吗？”

128
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我心不在焉地说：“我只去俱乐部。不耽误，周三六点对我来讲正合适。”我记下新的预约事项，犹豫了一下。“如果事后没有安排，你是否愿意跟我一起去俱乐部，在淑女馆餐厅吃晚饭呢？”我说，“恐怕那个地方算不上很时髦漂亮，但是菜不错。”

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她微微一笑，热情地说：“太好了，斯特拉坎先生。谢谢您的邀请。”

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我站起来。“很好，那么，佩吉特小姐，周三晚上六点。同时，请记住：三思而后行，欲速则不达。”

131
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她走了。我收拾好桌子，打车去俱乐部吃午饭。饭后，我喝了杯咖啡，在壁炉前的椅子里睡了十分钟。醒来时，我想活动活动，于是戴好帽子，穿上大衣出去遛弯。我漫无目的地沿圣詹姆斯大街往北走，再顺着皮卡迪利大街走到公园。一边走，我一边想那位突发横财的女士正在干什么。她是正在向好友炫耀这份好运气呢，还是正坐在一个温暖而安静的地方，酝酿着一个计划，好让我给她预支一笔财产？又或者已经在挥金如土、肆意狂欢了？她也可能正在和一位年轻有为的男士约会——她现在已经有足够的资本，可以从众多追求者中从容选择一位如意郎君，我讽刺地想着。然后，我突然意识到，她可能已经有很多男朋友了——她正值妙龄，待字闺中。实际上，她是那么漂亮迷人、温柔可亲，要是还没结婚才奇怪呢。

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那晚我在俱乐部跟一位内政部的朋友聊天，向他了解如何确认一位战俘的死亡事实。周一我打了好几个电话到陆军部和内政部咨询这个案子。不出所料，有一个例外程序可以证明战俘的死亡事实——如果战俘营里的俘虏去世时有医生在旁照料，这位医生就有权开具有效的死亡证明。在这个案子中，有一位名叫费里斯的全科医师，曾经在泰缅铁路沿线塔库南地区的第二〇六号营地当过随军医生，目下在贝肯汉姆开诊所。陆军部的官员说这位医生有权开具一份正规的死亡证明。

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第二天早上，我给这位医生打电话，但不巧他出诊了。我试着让他的妻子明白我需要什么，但是那对她而言似乎太过复杂了。她建议我等夜间应诊时间结束，晚上六点半再去找他。我犹豫要不要去，因为贝肯汉姆离我的公寓非常远。但我想尽快替这位姑娘拿到这份文件，所以当天晚上就去拜访这位医生了。

134
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他不到三十五岁，性格开朗，面色红润。他颇具幽默感，但是喜欢时不时拿死亡来开玩笑。这位乡村医生看上去健康结实，就像从未离开过英格兰一样。见到他时，他刚送走最后一位病人，正好有空与我说话。

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“佩吉特中尉，”他边想边说，“噢，是的，我知道他。唐纳德·佩吉特——他是叫唐纳德吗？”我说是，他接着说：“噢，当然了，我记得很清楚。没问题，我可以给他开一份死亡证明。我很乐意为他效劳，虽然我觉得他要这份证明也没有用。”

136
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“是给他妹妹的，”我说，“关乎她的继承权。正式手续办理得越快，对她越有利。”

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他伸手去取表格。“我真想知道她是不是和她哥哥一样胆色过人。”

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“他是个了不起的小伙子吗？”

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他点点头。“是的。他看起来有点弱不禁风，忧郁苍白，但他是个棒小伙。我想他原来是个农场主吧——总之，他后来参加了马来亚的志愿军。他的马来语说得很好，暹罗语也说得不错。当然了，他会这两种语言，真是帮了我们大忙。我们那时常常要跟村民们做黑市买卖，跟战俘营外面的暹罗人。而且他是那种特别讨人喜欢的军官。他的去世真是让我们损失惨重。”

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“他的死因是什么？”我问道。

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他停下笔。“这个——你可以从十几个原因里挑一个。我当时不可能有时间做尸检。实话告诉你，我并不能确定死因，反正他就是去世了。但是他已经熬过了足以杀死十几个普通人的病痛，所以我不知道在死亡证明上写什么是否那么要紧。死因并不会影响它的法律效力，是不是？”

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“啊，不会的，”我说，“有一个死亡证明就足够了。”

143
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他沉浸在回忆中，仍然没有动笔。“我们当时正在治疗他左腿上一块面积巨大的热带溃疡，那产生的毒素毫无疑问正在向全身扩散。如果溃疡继续恶化下去，就不得不截肢了。之所以被耽误到那么严重，就因为他是那种只要还能走得动，就不会告诉别人他生了病的小伙子。唉，当他因为溃疡住院的时候，又得了脑型疟疾。当时我们没有办法治疗那种该死的病，直到后来我们终于能腾出手来，自制奎宁溶液，给病人进行静脉注射。那是很冒险的一招，我们都很害怕，但别无选择。我们就这样帮助很多人渡过了难关，佩吉特就是其中之一。他战胜了疟疾。紧接着就爆发了霍乱。霍乱横扫了医院，势不可当。我们没有办法隔离病人，或者采取任何类似的措施。我再也不想看到那样的场面了。我们手头什么都没有，什么都没有！甚至连碱盐泻药都没有，更别提药物和设备了。我们只好用旧煤油罐来做便盆。佩吉特也得了霍乱。你能相信吗？他连霍乱也挺过来了。我们给他注射了一些预防药物，从日本人那里拿来的，可能起了点作用。至少，我们给他注射了那种药——不过我记不清了。当他从霍乱中康复过来之后，已经非常虚弱了。当然了，原来的溃疡并没有什么好转。大概一周后的一个晚上，他死去了。我想是心脏的原因吧。我会告诉你我将会怎么做。我会把死因写成——霍乱。好了，请收好。抱歉让你为它走了那么远的路。”

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我收下证明，好奇地问：“你有没有也得那些病？”

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他笑道：“我是幸运儿。我只得了普通的痢疾和疟疾，普通的那种疟疾，不是脑型疟疾。我的问题是超负荷的工作，不过其他人也一样。当时真是一团糟，没完没了的。我们把几百个病人放在地板上，或者放在棕榈树小屋的竹子吊床上——那会儿一直在下雨。没有床，没有床单，也没有设备，药物少得可怜。我们连喘口气的机会都没有，一直工作到倒头昏睡过去，醒来后又要马上继续工作，不知什么时候是个头。连松懈半个小时去抽根烟的机会都没有，去散个步也不可能，除非你把几个急需你医治的可怜蛋甩下不管。”

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他稍稍停顿了一下。我默默地坐着。相形之下，我所遇到的所谓战争是多么微不足道。“就那样熬了差不多有两年，”他说，“有时候会很抑郁，因为甚至连去听个讲座的时间都没有。”

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“你们还有讲座？”我问。

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“啊，有的，我们营里有很多小伙子，常常给我们做各种讲座。考克斯橙皮苹果的栽种方法啦，TT摩托车公路赛啦，好莱坞的生活之类的。这些讲座多少能开解一下大家。但我们这些医生经常没有时间去听。我的意思是，如果有病人发生抽搐，我们却在营地的另一头听别人讲考克斯橙皮苹果，似乎有点说不过去。”

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我说：“那肯定是很可怕的一段经历。”

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他顿了顿，回忆起当时的生活。“那里的景色太美了，”他说，“三塔边界肯定是世界上最可爱的地方。河流顺着广阔的峡谷流下来，还有茂密的热带森林和大山……有时候，我们坐在河边看日落，感叹这将是一个多么神奇的度假胜地。不管一个战俘营有多可怕，如果周围有美景，总会有点不一样的。”

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当琴·佩吉特周三晚上来看我的时候，我已经准备好向她报告我取得的进展。首先我大概介绍了几件在我们清理财产时发生的事情，给她看了看埃尔的家具清单。她对那些家具没有什么兴趣。“我想我应该把它们都卖掉，是不是？”她说，“我们可以拿它们去拍卖吗？”

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“也许还是先等等再说吧，”我建议道，“也许将来你要买新房子或者新公寓呢？”

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她蹙起鼻头，说：“即使是那样，我也不会用道格拉斯舅舅的家具来布置我的新家。”

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然而，她同意先不去处理它们，等确定好将来的计划再说。然后我们就去谈别的事情。“我拿到你哥哥的死亡证明了。”我说。但是，当我正准备进一步告诉她我是如何得到它的时候，她打断了我。

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“他因什么而死，斯特拉坎先生？”她问。

156
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我迟疑了一会儿。从费里斯医生那里听来的故事是如此令人不安，我不想把它讲给一个这么年轻的女士听。“死因是霍乱。”我最后说。

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她点点头。好像她等的就是这个答案。“可怜的人，”她轻声说，“不是一种很舒服的死法。”

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我感到一定要说点什么来减轻她的忧伤。“我跟照顾过他的医生聊了很久，”我告诉她，“他去世的时候很平静，在睡梦中。”

159
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她盯着我看。“哦，如果是那样的话，就不是霍乱，”她说，“霍乱引起的死亡不是那样的。”

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我本来是想帮她免除不必要的痛苦，但她一语戳穿了我的谎言，使我阵脚大乱。“他先是得了霍乱，但是好了。实际的死因可能是心脏衰竭吧，由霍乱引起的。”

161
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她仔细想了一会儿，道：“他还有没有得其他病？”

162
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好吧，在那种情况下，我只好老老实实将我所知道的和盘托出。我感到非常惊讶，因为她在听到这些令人不愉快的细节时，能保持一种就事论事的淡定态度，也因为她知道如何医治热带溃疡之类的疾病，直到我想起来，这位姑娘自己也曾经在马来亚当过日本人的俘虏。“真是该死，运气糟透了，溃疡扩散得快一些就好了，”她冷冷地说，“如果截了肢，他们就会让他从铁路上撤下来，那就不会得脑型疟疾或者霍乱了。”

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“他肯定有一副很强健的体格，才能熬了那么久。”

164
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“他没有，”她很肯定地说，“唐纳德总是咳嗽啊、感冒啊什么的。他有的是极强的幽默感。就因为这一点，我总以为他能够挺过来。不管遇到什么事情，他都能拿来开玩笑。”

165
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我年轻的时候，姑娘们都不懂霍乱或者大面积溃疡，所以我不知道应该怎样回答她。我把话题转回到法律事务上——我这方面的知识更巩固——告诉她遗嘱认证的进展情况。不久，我带她下楼，一起坐出租车去俱乐部吃晚饭。

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那是我们第一次晚上出去吃饭，我有充足的理由要好好款待一下她。很明显，接下来几年我将会经常和她打交道，加深对她的了解很有必要。实际上，当时我对她受教育的情况和人生背景一无所知，比如说，她对于热带疾病的丰富知识就让我感到很困惑。我想请她吃一顿不错的晚饭，请她喝一点酒，让她多说一些话。如果我了解她的兴趣爱好和思维方式，托管工作会变得容易很多。所以我带她到俱乐部的淑女馆餐厅，一个相当不错的地方。在那里我们可以不受音乐打扰，饭后在安静的环境中慢慢聊。普通餐厅混乱嘈杂，会使我无精打采，疲惫不堪。

167
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我告诉她洗手间的位置。在她梳洗的时候，我给她点了一杯雪利酒。看见她向我走来，我从客厅的桌子旁边站起身，递给她一根香烟，并替她点着。“周末干什么了？”她坐下来的时候我问她，“出去庆祝了吗？”

168
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她摇摇头。“我没做什么特别的事情。我之前约了办公室的一个女孩儿周六一起吃午饭，去可胜街看贝蒂·戴维斯的新电影。一切按计划进行。”

169
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“有没有告诉她你的当头红运？”

170
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她摇摇头。“谁我都没告诉。”她顿了顿，抿了一口雪利酒。她抽烟和喝酒的动作都相当娴熟。“听起来太不可思议了，”她笑着说，“我都不知道该不该相信那是真的。”

171
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我向她微微一笑。“任何事情在发生前都不会成为现实，”我说，“你会相信这是真的，当我给你寄去第一张支票的时候。不过，在那之前，如果太把它当回事，就大错特错了。”

172
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“我没有，”她笑道，“不过我能确定一件事。我相信你不会把时间浪费在一件毫无意义的事情上。”

173
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“一点不假。”我顿了顿，“再过几个月，你就能拿到托管财产的收益了，每个月的税后收入是七十五英镑。你有没有想过到时要做什么？应该不会还想继续做手头这份工作了吧？”

174
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“不了……”她盯着袅袅升起的香烟烟雾，“其实我不想停止工作。我一点也不介意在帕克和利维公司继续工作下去，就像什么都没发生过一样，如果那是一份很有意义的工作的话，”她说，“不过——唉，它不是。我们生产女装鞋子和手提包，斯特拉坎先生，还有专门用于高端贸易的精装小提箱——就是那种在邦德街的商店里卖三十基尼(10)一个的箱子，只有那些钱多得没处花的蠢女人才会买。我们还定做用珍稀皮革制成的小化妆包，反正净是那一类玩意儿。如果是为了谋生，在那种地方也还干得下去，了解一下那方面的贸易也很有意思。”

175
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“当你还处在学习阶段的时候，大部分的工作都很有趣。”我说。

176
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她转向我。“是这样的。我在那里过得挺快乐的。但是我现在有钱了，情况就不一样了。人应该做更有意义的事情，但我现在还没想到该做什么。”她又喝了一点雪利酒，“您瞧，我没有一技之长，只会速记、打字和一点簿记。我从没正儿八经上过学——我是指职业技术学校，拿一个学位什么的那种。”

177
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我想了想。“我可以问你一个比较私人的问题吗，佩吉特小姐？”

178
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“当然了。”

179
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“你觉得你短期内会结婚吗？”

180
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她微微一笑。“不，斯特拉坎先生。我觉得我甚至都不会结婚。当然了，话不能说得太绝对，但是——我觉得不会。”

181
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我没有对此作出评论，只是点点头。“好吧，那你有没有想过要攻读一个大学学位？”

182
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她睁大双眼。“不会的——我从没想过。我做不来，斯特拉坎先生。我不够聪明，考不上大学。”她顿了顿，“我一直成绩中等，而且连中学六年级(11)都没上过。”

183
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“这只是我的一个想法而已，”我说，“我想知道它会不会引起你的兴趣。”

184
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她摇摇头。“我现在没法再回去上学了。我太老了。”

185
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我向她微微一笑。“也不至于老成那样了。”我说。

186
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不知怎的，这个小小的奉承好像并没能令她愉快。“每次我拿自己和办公室里的姑娘们作比较，”她轻声说，不带任何开玩笑的口吻，“我就知道我已经差不多七十岁了。”

187
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我似乎开始了解她了。不过为了使气氛变得轻松一些，我提议先吃晚饭。点好菜后，我说：“请告诉我你在战争中的遭遇。你当时在马来亚，是吗？”

188
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她点点头。“我当时有一份办公室的工作，在霹雳一家种植园公司上班。我父亲原来就在那里工作，唐纳德也是那里的员工。”

189
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“你遇到什么事情了？”我问道，“成为了战俘？”

190
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“算是吧。”她说。

191
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“在战俘营里？”

192
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“没有，”她回答，“他们让我们过得挺自由的。”然后她果断地转移了话题，说道，“您呢，斯特拉坎先生？一直在伦敦吗？”

193
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如果她不愿意提及战争经历的话，我不能够强迫她。于是我告诉她我的经历——原原本本地。不久，我发现我在跟她谈我的两个儿子，在中国军事驻地的哈利和在巴士拉的马丁，他们的战争记录、家庭和孩子。“我已经当了三次爷爷了，”我幽幽地说，“相信不久就会再当一次。”

194
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她笑道：“那种感觉怎么样？”

195
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“还跟以前一样，”我告诉她，“不管年纪多大，感觉都是一样的。只是，能做的事情越来越少了。”

196
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不久我又把话题引回她身上。我向她描述了与九百英镑的年收入相符合的生活状态。我举了个例子，她可以在德文郡买一套乡村别墅和一辆小车，雇一个女仆，用剩下的钱作海外旅行。“在找到一个新的人生目标之前，我不知道应该干什么，”她说，“我一直在为某个目标努力着，一辈子都这样。”

197
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我知道有几个慈善组织正等待着上帝的恩赐——从天而降一个不收工资的速记员，就问她要不要考虑一下，但她似乎觉得这种幻想是需要批评的。“如果一件事物有价值，自然就是有价钱的，”她说，显示出强烈的商业本能，“这个世界不需要一个白干活的秘书。”

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“慈善组织喜欢把日常开支维持在低水平。”我说。

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“如果一个组织连秘书都请不起的话，我不认为它能为社会做什么贡献，”她说，“我希望能够为一个真正有价值的目标而奋斗。”

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我向她介绍一份医院的社工工作，她非常感兴趣。“这比较像了，斯特拉坎先生，”她说，“是那种值得为之付出时间精力的工作。但我不想和病人打交道。不知道您是否觉得自己对病人有一份天生的责任，我是不觉得的。不过这份工作值得考虑。”

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“嗯，慢慢来吧，”我说，“不必着急去做任何事情。”

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她向我笑道：“我相信您的座右铭就是——三思而后行。”

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我微笑道：“比它糟糕的座右铭有的是。”

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喝完饭后咖啡，我带她去艺术馆试探她的艺术造诣。她对音乐一窍不通，除了喜欢一边听收音机一边做女红；也不懂文学，除了爱看有着欢喜结局的小说；她喜欢看名画的复制品，她叫得出名字的那些，但从未去过皇家艺术学院；她还完全是个雕刻盲。作为一个生活在伦敦，年收入九百英镑的女士，竟然毫无艺术和社交修养，这在我看来多少有点遗憾。

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“你是否愿意找个晚上去看场歌剧？”我问。

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她微笑道：“我能看得懂吗？”

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“噢，你会看得懂的。我去查一下最近有什么可以看的，尽量挑简单易懂的英文剧。”

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她说：“您愿意邀请我真是太好了，但是我觉得，您还不如去打桥牌，那样您会快乐得多。”

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“完全不是这样，”我说，“我很多年没去看过歌剧什么的了。”

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她微微一笑。“好吧。我当然很乐意去，”她说，“我长这么大，还没去看过歌剧呢。我甚至都不知道歌剧是怎么演的。”

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我们坐在艺术馆里闲谈这些事情，不觉一个多小时过去了，转眼已经九点半，她起身要走。回到她在郊区的房间要走三刻钟，先要去圣詹姆斯公园车站坐车。我送她去车站，因为——怎么能让这么年轻漂亮的姑娘独自一人穿过深夜的公园呢？在车站，我们站在阴暗潮湿的人行道上，车站顶棚灯火通明。她向我伸出手。

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“真是太感谢您了，斯特拉坎先生。谢谢您的晚饭，还有您正在为我做的一切。”她说。

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“我很荣幸，佩吉特小姐。”我回答，并不是客套话。

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她迟疑了一下，然后微笑着说：“斯特拉坎先生，我们以后还要经常打交道。我的名字是琴。您要一直叫我佩吉特小姐的话，我会受不了的。”

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“你无法教会老狗新把戏。”我尴尬地说。

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她笑道：“您刚才还说，不管年纪多大，感觉都是一样的。请您尝试一下。”

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“谨遵教诲。”我说，“你确定现在一个人回去就可以了吗？”

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“当然了。晚安，斯特拉坎先生。”

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“晚安，”我说，把我的帽子举起来，逃避离别的场面，“我会约你去看话剧。”

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在接下来等待遗嘱公证审核的几周里，我带她去了许多地方。我们一起去阿尔伯特音乐厅看了几场周日下午上演的歌剧，还去美术馆看了几次画展。作为回报，她带我去看了几场电影。我不敢说她因此就养成了高雅的艺术欣赏水平。她喜欢绘画多于音乐会。如果一定要去欣赏音乐的话，她更愿意选择歌剧，而且越简单轻松越好。当耳朵被音乐灌满的时候，她不喜欢让眼睛也闲着。我们去了两次皇家植物园，因为春天的脚步越发近了。在此期间，她到我在白金汉门的公寓做过几次客。我告诉她厨房的位置，有几次一同外出归来后，她在那里沏茶。我从未在那所公寓里招待过任何姑娘，除了我的儿媳妇——她来伦敦办事的时候，会在空房间里住一两晚。

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她的事情终于在三月份都办妥了。我给她寄去了第一张支票。她并没有马上辞去工作，而是像往常一样继续去上班。她很聪明，打算在靠这笔额外收入生活之前，先用它攒起一笔小小的资本。况且那会儿她也还没有找到新的人生目标。

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四月的一个星期天，我为她安排了一次短途旅游。她将在中午的时候过来公寓吃饭，然后和我一起去南面的汉普顿宫。她从未去过汉普顿宫，但我想她一定会喜欢那里的古雅宫殿和明丽春花，我为此兴奋了好几天，对这次旅行充满期待。然后，当然——那天下雨了。

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她午饭前来到了公寓，拿着一把湿淋淋的雨伞，雨水顺着深蓝色的雨衣流淌下来。我帮她脱去外套，挂在厨房里。她进空房间收拾了一下，再到起居室里来，和我一起站在窗前，看着雨打在对面的皇家马厩上，考虑当天下午可以做什么别的事情。

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饭后，我们在壁炉前坐下来喝咖啡，还没做好决定下午要做什么。我提议了一两件事情，但她好像有点心不在焉。喝完咖啡后，她终于说道：

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“我已经决定第一步要做什么了，斯特拉坎先生。”

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“噢，”我问，“是什么？”

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她犹豫了一下。“我知道您会觉得这很奇怪。您可能会觉得我很愚蠢，把钱花在这上面。但是——嗯，这就是我想做的事情。我想最好在出门之前告诉您。”

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坐在壁炉前既温暖又舒适。外面天色阴沉，雨倾盆而下，拍打着湿答答的人行道。

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“别这样说，琴，”我回答，“我不会觉得你愚蠢的。你想做什么呢？”

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她说：“我想回马来亚，斯特拉坎先生，去挖一口井。”

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James Macfadden died in March 1905 when he was forty-seven years old; he was riding in the Driffield Point-to-Point.

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He left the bulk of his money to his son Douglas. The Macfaddens and the Dalhousies at that time lived in Perth, and Douglas was a school friend of Jock Dalhousie, who was a young man then, and had gone to London to become junior partner in a firm of solicitors in Chancery Lane, Owen, Dalhousie, and Peters. I am now the senior partner, and Owen and Dalhousie and Peters have been dead for many years, but I never changed the name of the firm.

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It was natural that Douglas Macfadden should put his affairs into the hands of Jock Dalhousie, and Mr Dalhousie handled them personally till he died in 1928. In splitting up the work I took Mr Macfadden on to my list of clients, and forgot about him in the pressure of other matters.

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It was not until 1935 that any business for him came up. I had a letter from him then, from an address in Ayr. He said that his brother-in-law, Arthur Paget, had been killed in a motor car accident in Malaya and so he wanted to redraft his will to make a trust in favour of his sister Jean and her two children. I am sorry to say that I was so ignorant of this client that I did not even know he was unmarried and had no issue of his own. He finished up by saying that he was too unwell to travel down to London, and he suggested that perhaps a junior member of the firm might be sent up to see him and arrange the matter.

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This fitted in with my arrangements fairly well, because when I got this letter I was just leaving for a fortnight’s fishing holiday on Loch Shiel. I wrote and told him that I would visit him on my way south, and I put the file concerning his affairs in the bottom of my suitcase to study one evening during my vacation.

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When I got to Ayr I took a room at the Station Hotel, because in our correspondence there had been no suggestion that he could put me up. I changed out of my plus-fours into a dark business suit, and went to call upon my client.

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He did not live at all in the manner I had expected. I did not know much about his estate except that it was probably well over twenty thousand pounds, and I had expected to find my client living in a house with a servant or two. Instead, I discovered that he had a bedroom and a sitting-room on the same floor of a small private hotel just off the sea front. He was evidently leading the life of an invalid though he was hardly more than fifty years old at that time, ten years younger than I was myself. He was as frail as an old lady of eighty, and he had a peculiar grey look about him which didn’t look at all good to me. All the windows of his sitting-room were shut and after the clean air of the lochs and moors I found his room stuffy and close; he had a number of budgerigars in cages in the window, and the smell of these birds made the room very unpleasant. It was clear from the furnishings that he had lived in that hotel and in that room for a good many years.

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He told me something about his life as we discussed the will; he was quite affable, and pleased that I had been able to come to visit him myself. He seemed to be an educated man, though he spoke with a marked Scots accent.“I live very quietly, Mr Strachan,”he said.“My health will not permit me to go far abroad. Whiles I get out upon the front on a fine day and sit for a time, and then again Maggie—that’s the daughter of Mrs Doyle who keeps the house—Maggie wheels me out in the chair. They are very good to me here.”

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Turning to the matter of the will, he told me that he had no close relatives at all except his sister, Jean Paget.“Forbye my father might have left what you might call an indiscretion or two in Australia,”he said.“I would not say that there might not be some of those about, though I have never met one, or corresponded. Jean told me once that my mother had been sore distressed. Women talk about these things, of course, and my father was a lusty type of man.”

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His sister Jean had been an officer in the WAACs in the 1914-1918 War, and she had married a Captain Paget in the spring of 1917.“It was not a very usual sort of marriage,”he said thoughtfully.“You must remember that my sister Jean had never been out of Scotland till she joined the army, and the greater part of her life had been spent in Perth. Arthur Paget was an Englishman from Southampton, in Hampshire. I have nothing against Arthur, but we had all naturally thought that Jean would have married a Scot. Still, I would not say but it has been a happy marriage, or as happy as most.”

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After the war was over Arthur Paget had got a job upon a rubber estate in Malaya somewhere near Taiping, and Jean, of course, went out there with him. From that time Douglas Macfadden had seen little of his sister; she had been home on leave in 1926 and again in 1932. She had two children, Donald born in 1918 and Jean born in 1921; these children had been left in England in 1932 to live with the Paget parents and to go to school in Southampton, while their mother returned to Malaya. My client had seen them only once, in 1932 when their mother brought them up to Scotland.

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The present position was that Arthur Paget had been killed in a motor accident somewhere near Ipoh; he had been driving home at night from Kuala Lumpur and had driven off the road at a high speed and hit a tree. Probably he fell asleep. His widow, Jean Paget, was in England; she had come home a year or so before his death and she had taken a small house in Bassett just outside Southampton to make a home for the children and to be near their schools. It was a sensible arrangement, of course, but it seemed to me to be a pity that the brother and the sister could not have arranged to live nearer to each other. I fancy that my client regretted the distance that separated them, because he referred to it more than once.

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He wanted to revise his will. His existing will was a very simple one, in which he left his entire estate to his sister Jean.“I would not alter that,”he said.“But you must understand that Arthur Paget was alive when I made that will, and that in the nature of things I expected him to be alive when Jean inherited from me, and I expected that he would be there to guide her in matters of business. I shall not make old bones.”

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He seemed to have a fixed idea that all women were unworldly creatures and incapable of looking after money; they were irresponsible, and at the mercy of any adventurer. Accordingly, although he wanted his sister to have the full use of his money after his death, he wanted to create a trust to ensure that her son Donald, at that time a schoolboy, should inherit the whole estate intact after his mother’s death. There was, of course, no special difficulty in that. I presented to him the various pros and cons of a trust such as he envisaged, and I reminded him that a small legacy to Mrs Doyle, in whose house he had lived for so many years, might not be out of place provided that he was still living with them at the time of his death. He agreed to that. He told me then that he had no close relations living, and he asked me if I would undertake to be the sole trustee of his estate and the executor of his will. That is the sort of business a family solicitor frequently takes on his shoulders, of course. I told him that in view of my age he should appoint a co-trustee, and he agreed to the insertion of our junior partner, Mr Lester Robinson, to be co-trustee with me. He also agreed to a charging clause for our professional services in connection with the trust.

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There only remained to tidy up the loose ends of what was, after all, a fairly simple will. I asked him what should happen if both he and his sister were to die before the boy Donald was twenty-one, and I suggested that the trust should terminate and the boy should inherit the estate absolutely, when he reached his majority. He agreed to this, and I made another note upon my pad.

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“Supposing then,”I said,“that Donald should die before his mother, or if Donald and his mother should die in some way before you. The estate would then pass to the girl, Jean. Again, I take it that the trust would terminate when she reached her majority?”

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“Ye mean,”he asked,“when she became twenty-one?”

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I nodded.“Yes. That is what we decided in the case of her brother.”

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He shook his head.“I think that would be most imprudent, Mr Strachan, if I may say so. No lassie would be fit to administer her own estate when she was twenty-one. A lassie of that age is at the mercy of her sex, Mr Strachan, at the mercy of her sex. I would want the trust to continue for much longer than that. Till she was forty, at the very least.”

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From various past experiences I could not help agreeing with him that twenty-one was a bit young for a girl to have absolute control over a large sum of money, but forty seemed to me to be excessively old. I stated my own view that twenty-five would be a reasonable age, and very reluctantly he receded to thirty-five. I could not move him from that position, and as he was obviously tiring and growing irritable I accepted that as the maximum duration of our trust. It meant that in those very unlikely circumstances the trust would continue for twenty-one years from that date, since the girl Jean had been born in 1921 and it was then 1935. That finished our business and I left him and went back to London to draft out the will, which I sent to him for signature. I never saw my client again.

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It was my fault that I lost touch with him. It had been my habit for a great many years to take my holiday in the spring, when I would go with my wife to Scotland for a fortnight’s fishing, usually to Loch Shiel. I thought that this was going on for ever, as one does, and that next year I would call again upon this client on my way down from the north to see if there was any other business I could do for him. But things turn out differently, sometimes. In the winter of 1935 Lucy died. I don’t want to dwell on that, but we had been married for twenty-seven years and—well, it was very painful. Both our sons were abroad, Harry in his submarine on the China station and Martin in his oil company at Basra. I hadn’t the heart to go back to Loch Shiel, and I have never been to Scotland since. I had a sale and got rid of most of our furniture, and I sold our house on Wimbledon Common; one has to make an effort at a time like that, and a clean break. It’s no good going on living in the ashes of a dead happiness.

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I took a flat in Buckingham Gate opposite the Palace stables and just across the park from my club in Pall Mall. I furnished it with a few things out of the Wimbledon house and got a woman to come in and cook my breakfast and clean for me in the mornings, and here I set out to re-create my life. I knew the pattern well enough from the experience of others in the club. Breakfast in my flat. Walk through the Park and up the Strand to my office in Chancery Lane. Work all day, with a light lunch at my desk. To the club at six o’clock to read the periodicals, and gossip, and dine, and after dinner a rubber of bridge. That is the routine that I fell into in the spring of 1936, and I am in it still.

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All this, as I say, took my mind from Douglas Macfadden; with more than half my mind upon my own affairs I could only manage to attend to those clients who had urgent business with my office. And presently another interest grew upon me. It was quite obvious that war was coming, and some of us in the club who were too old for active military service began to get very interested in Air Raid Precautions. Cutting the long story short, Civil Defence as it came to be called absorbed the whole of my leisure for the next eight years. I became a Warden, and I was on duty in my district of Westminster all through the London blitz and the long, slow years of war that followed it. Practically all my staff went on service, and I had to run the office almost single-handed. In those years I never took a holiday, and I doubt if I slept more than five hours in any night. When finally peace came in 1945 my hair was white and my head shaky, and though I improved a little in the years that followed I had definitely joined the ranks of the old men.

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One afternoon in January 1948 I got a telegram from Ayr. It read,

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Regret Mr Douglas Macfadden passed away last night please instruct re funeral.

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Doyle, Balmoral Hotel, Ayr.

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I had to search my memory, I am afraid, to recollect through the war years who Mr Douglas Macfadden was, and then I had to turn to the file and the will to refresh my memory with the details of what had happened thirteen years before. It seemed rather odd to me that there was nobody at Ayr who could manage the funeral business. I put in a trunk call to Ayr right away and very soon I was speaking to Mrs Doyle. It was a bad line, but I understood that she knew of no relations; apparently Mr Macfadden had had no visitors for a very long time. Clearly, I should have to go to Ayr myself, or else send somebody. I had no urgent engagements for the next two days and the matter seemed to be a little difficult. I had a talk with Lester Robinson, my partner, who had come back from the war as a brigadier, and cleared my desk, and took the sleeper up to Glasgow after dinner that night. In the morning I went down in a slow train to Ayr.

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When I got to the Balmoral Hotel I found the landlord and his wife in mourning and obviously distressed; they had been fond of their queer lodger and it was probably due in a great part to their ministrations that he had lived so long. There was no mystery about the cause of death. I had a talk with the doctor and heard all about his trouble; the doctor had been with him at the end, for he lived only two doors away, and the death certificate was already signed. I took a brief look at the body for identification and went through the various formalities of death. It was all perfectly straightforward, except that there were no relations.

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“I doubt he had any,”said Mr Doyle.“His sister used to write to him at one time, and she came to see him in 1938, I think it was. She lived in Southampton. But he’s had no letters except just a bill or two for the last two years.”

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His wife said,“Surely, the sister died, didn’t she? Don’t you remember him telling us, sometime towards the end of the war?”

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“Well, I don’t know,”he said.“So much was happening about that time. Maybe she did die.”

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Relations or not, arrangements had to be made for the funeral, and I made them that afternoon. When that was done I settled down to look through the papers in his desk. One or two of the figures in an account book and on the back of the counterfoils of his cheque book made me open my eyes; clearly I should have to have a talk with the bank manager first thing next morning. I found a letter from his sister dated in 1941 about the lease of her house. It threw no light, of course, upon her death, if she was dead, but it did reveal significant news about the children. Both of them were in Malaya at that time. The boy Donald, who must have been twenty-three years old at that time, was working on a rubber plantation near Kuala Selangor. His sister Jean had gone out to him in the winter of 1939, and was working in an office in Kuala Lumpur.

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At about five o’clock I put in a trunk call to my office in London, standing in the cramped box of the hotel, and spoke to my partner.“Look, Lester,”I said.“I told you that there was some difficulty about the relations. I am completely at a loss up here, I’m sorry to say. Provisionally, I have arranged the funeral for the day after tomorrow, at two o’clock, at St Enoch’s cemetery. The only relations that I know of live, or used to live, in Southampton. The sister, Mrs Arthur Paget, was living in 1941 at No 17 St Ronans Road, Bassett—that’s just by Southampton somewhere. There were some other Paget relations in the district, the parents of Arthur Paget. Mrs Arthur Paget—her Christian name was Jean—yes, she was the deceased’s sister. She had two children, Donald and Jean Paget, but they were both in Malaya in 1941. God knows what became of them. I wouldn’t waste much time just now looking for them, but would you get Harris to do what he can to find some of these Southampton Pagets and tell them about the funeral? He’d better take the telephone book and talk to all the Pagets in Southampton one by one. I don’t suppose there are so very many.”

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Lester came on the telephone to me next morning just after I got back from the bank.“I’ve nothing very definite, I’m afraid, Noel,”he said.“I did discover one thing. Mrs Paget died in 1942, so she’s out of it. She died of pneumonia through going out to the air raid shelter—Harris got that from the hospital. About the other Pagets, there are seven in the telephone directory and we’ve rung them all up, and they’re none of them anything to do with your family. But one of them, Mrs Eustace Paget, thinks the family you’re looking for are the Edward Pagets, and that they moved to North Wales after the first Southampton blitz.”

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“Any idea whereabouts in North Wales?”I asked.

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“Not a clue,”he said.“I think the only thing that you can do now is to proceed with the funeral.”

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“I think it is,”I replied.“But tell Harris to go on all the same, because apart from the funeral we’ve got to find the heirs. I’ve just been to the bank, and there is quite a sizeable estate. We’re the trustees, you know.”

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I spent the rest of that day packing up all personal belongings, and letters, and papers, to take down to my office. Furniture at that time was in short supply, and I arranged to store the furniture of the two rooms, since that might be wanted by the heirs. I gave the clothes to Mr Doyle to give away to needy people in Ayr. Only two of the budgerigars were left; I gave those to the Doyles, who seemed to be attached to them. Next morning I had another interview with the bank manager and telephoned to book my sleeper on the night mail down to London. And in the afternoon we buried Douglas Macfadden.

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It was very cold and bleak. and grey in the cemetery, that January afternoon. The only mourners were the Doyles, father, mother, and daughter, and myself, and I remember thinking that it was queer how little any of us knew about the man that we were burying. I had a great respect for the Doyle family by that time. They had been overwhelmed when I told them of the small legacy that Mr Macfadden had left them and at first they were genuinely unwilling to take it; they said that they had been well paid for his two rooms and board for many years, and anything else that they had done for him had been because they liked him. It was something, on that bitter January afternoon beside the grave, to feel that he had friends at the last ceremonies.

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So that was the end of it, and I drove back with the Doyles and had tea with them in their sitting-room beside the kitchen. And after tea I left for Glasgow and the night train down to London, taking with me two suitcases of papers and small personal effects to be examined at my leisure if the tracing of the heir proved to be troublesome, and later to be handed over as a part of the inheritance.

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In fact, he found the heir without much difficulty. Young Harris got a line on it within a week, and presently we got a letter from a Miss Agatha Paget, who was the headmistress of a girls’ school in Colwyn Bay. She was a sister of Arthur Paget, who had been killed in the motor accident in Malaya. She confirmed that his wife, Jean, had died in Southampton in the year 1942, and she added the fresh information that the son, Donald, was also dead. He had been a prisoner of war in Malaya, and had died in captivity. Her niece, Jean, however, was alive and in the London district. The headmistress did not know her home address because she lived in rooms and had changed them once or twice, so she usually wrote to her addressing her letters to her firm. She was employed in the office of a concern called Pack and Levy Ltd, whose address was The Hyde, Perivale, London, NW.

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I got this letter in the morning mail; I ran through the others and cleared them out of the way, and then picked up this one and read it again. Then I got my secretary to bring me the Macfadden box and I read the will through again, and went through some other papers and my notes on the estate. Finally I reached out for the telephone directory and looked up Pack and Levy Ltd, to find out what they did.

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Presently I got up from my desk and stood for a time looking out of the window at the bleak, grey, January London street. I like to think a bit before taking any precipitate action. Then I turned and went through into Robinson’s office; he was dictating, and I stood warming myself at his fire till he had finished and the girl had left the room.

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“I’ve got that Macfadden heir,”I said.“I’ll tell Harris.”

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“All right,”he replied.“You’ve found the son?”

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“No,”I said.“I’ve found the daughter. The son’s dead.”

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He laughed.“Bad luck. That means we’re trustees for the estate until she’s thirty-five, doesn’t it?”

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I nodded.

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“How old is she now?”

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I calculated for a minute.“Twenty-six or twenty-seven.”

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“Old enough to make a packet of trouble for us.”

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“I know.”

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“Where is she? What’s she doing?”

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“She’s employed as a clerk or typist with a firm of handbag manufacturers in Perivale,”I said.“I’m just about to concoct a letter to her.”

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He smiled.“Fairy Godfather.”

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“Exactly,”I replied.

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I went back into my room and sat for some time thinking out that letter; it seemed to me to be important to set a formal tone when writing to this young woman for the first time. Finally I wrote,

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Dear Madam,

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It is with regret that we have to inform you of the death of Mr Douglas Macfadden at Ayr on January 21st. As Executors to his will we have experienced some difficulty in tracing the beneficiaries, but if you are the daughter of Jean (née Macfadden) and Arthur Paget formerly resident in Southampton and in Malaya, it would appear that you may be entitled to a share in the estate.

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May we ask you to telephone for an appointment to call upon us at your convenience to discuss the matter further? It will be necessary for you to produce evidence of identity at an early stage, such as your birth certificate, National Registration Identity Card, and any other documents that may occur to you.

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I am,

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Yours truly,

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for Owen, Dalhousie and Peters,

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N. H. Strachan

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She rang me up the next day. She had quite a pleasant voice, the voice of a well-trained secretary. She said,“Mr Strachan, this is Miss Jean Paget speaking. I’ve got your letter of the 29th. I wonder—do you work on Saturday mornings? I’m in a job, so Saturday would be the best day for me.”

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I replied,“Oh, yes, we work on Saturday mornings. What time would be convenient for you?”

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“Should we say ten-thirty?”

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I made a note upon my pad.“That’s all right. Have you got your birth certificate?”

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“Yes, I’ve got that. Another thing I’ve got is my mother’s marriage certificate, if that helps.”

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I said,“Oh yes, bring that along. All right, Miss Paget, I shall look forward to meeting you on Saturday. Ask for me by name, Mr Noel Strachan. I am the senior partner.”

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She was shown into my office punctually at ten-thirty on Saturday. She was a girl or woman of a medium height, dark-haired. She was good-looking in a quiet way; she had a tranquility about her that I find it difficult to describe except by saying that it was the grace that you see frequently in women of a Scottish descent. She was dressed in a dark blue coat and skirt. I got up and shook hands with her, and gave her the chair in front of my desk, and went round and sat down myself. I had the papers ready.

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“Well, Miss Paget,”I said.“I heard about you from your aunt—I think she is your aunt? Miss Agatha Paget, at Colwyn Bay.”

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She inclined her head.“Aunt Aggie wrote and told me that she had had a letter from you. Yes, she’s my aunt.”

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“And I take it that you are the daughter of Arthur and Jean Paget, who lived in Southampton and Malaya?”

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She nodded.“That’s right. I’ve got the birth certificate and mother’s birth certificate, as well as her marriage certificate.”She took them from her bag and put them on my desk, with her identity card.

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I opened these documents and read them through carefully. There was no doubt about it; she was the person I was looking for. I leaned back in my chair presently and took off my spectacles.“Tell me, Miss Paget,”I said.“Did you ever meet your uncle, who died recently? Mr Douglas Macfadden?”

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She hesitated.“I’ve been thinking about that a lot,”she said candidly.“I couldn’t honestly swear that I have ever met him, but I think it must have been him that my mother took me to see once in Scotland, when I was about ten years old. We all went together, Mother and I and Donald. I remember an old man in a very stuffy room with a lot of birds in cages. I think that was Uncle Douglas, but I’m not quite sure.”

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That fitted in with what he had told me, the visit of his sister with her children in 1932. This girl would have been eleven years old then.“Tell me about your brother Donald, Miss Paget,”I asked.“Is he still alive?”

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She shook her head.“He died in 1943, while he was a prisoner. He was taken by the Japs in Singapore when we surrendered, and then he was sent to the railway.”

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I was puzzled.“The railway?”

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She looked at me coolly, and I thought I saw tolerance for the ignorance of those who stayed in England in her glance.“The railway that the Japs built with Asiatic and prisoner-of-war labour between Siam and Burma. One man died for every sleeper that was laid, and it was about two hundred miles long. Donald was one of them.”

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There was a little pause.“I am so sorry,”I said at last.“One thing I have to ask you, I am afraid. Was there a death certificate?”

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She stared at me.“I shouldn’t think so.”

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“Oh...”I leaned back in my chair and took up the will.“This is the will of Mr Douglas Macfadden,”I said.“I have a copy for you, Miss Paget, but I think I’d better tell you what it contains in ordinary, non-legal language. Your uncle made two small bequests. The whole of the residue of the estate was left in trust for your brother Donald. The terms of the trust were to the effect that your mother was to enjoy the income from the trust until her death. If she died before your brother attained his majority, the trust was to continue until he was twenty-one, when he would inherit absolutely and the trust would be discharged. If your brother died before inheriting, then you were to inherit the residuary estate after your mother’s time, but in that event the trust was to continue till the year 1956, when you would be thirty-five years old. You will appreciate that it is necessary for us to obtain legal evidence of your brother’s death.”

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She hesitated, and then she said,“Mr Strachan, I’m 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?”

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“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.”

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“How much did he leave?”

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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.”

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She stared at me.“Fifty-three thousand pounds?”

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I nodded.“That seems to be about the figure.”

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“How much a year would that amount of capital yield, Mr Strachan?”

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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.”

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“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.”

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She had hit the nail on the head with her last sentence.“That’s exactly it,”I replied.“Unless you want to.”

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“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...”

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“Then I should go on going to the office,”I observed.

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She laughed.“I suppose that’s the only thing to do.”

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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?”

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“I’m a shorthand typist,”she said.“I’m working now as secretary to Mr Pack.”

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“Where do you live, Miss Paget?”

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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.”

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I thought for a minute.“Have you got many friends in Ealing? How long have you been there?”

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“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.”

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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.”

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She looked up at me.“Tell me about this trust,”she asked.“I’m afraid I’m not very good at legal matters.”

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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.”

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She laughed.“Please don’t apologize for him, Mr Strachan. Go on.”

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“At first, he was quite unwilling that you should inherit the capital of the estate till you were forty years old,”I said.“I contested that view, but I was unable to get him to agree to any less period than the present arrangement in the will. Now, the object of a trust is this. The testator appoints trustees—in this case, myself and my partner—who undertake to do their best to preserve the capital intact and hand it over to the legatee—to you—when the trust expires.”

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“I see. Uncle Douglas was afraid that I might spend the fifty-three thousand all at once.”

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I nodded.“That was in his mind. He did not know you, of course, Miss Paget, so there was nothing personal about it. He felt that in general women were less fit than men to handle large sums of money at an early age.”

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She said quietly,“He may have been right.”She thought for a minute, and then she said,“So you’re going to look after the money for me till I’m thirty-five and give me the interest to spend in the meantime? Nine hundred a year?”

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“If you wish us to conduct your income-tax affairs for you, that would be about the figure,”I said.“We can arrange the payments in any way that you prefer, as a quarterly or a monthly cheque, for example. You would get a formal statement of account half-yearly.”

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She asked curiously,“How do you get paid for doing all this for me, Mr Strachan?”

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I smiled.“That is a very prudent question, Miss Paget. You will find a clause in the will, No 8, I think, which entitles us to charge for our professional services against the income from the trust. Of course, if you get into any legal trouble we should be glad to act for you and help you in any way we could. In that case we should charge you on the normal scale of fees.”

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She said unexpectedly,“I couldn’t ask for anybody better.”And then she glanced at me, and said mischievously,“I made some enquiries about this firm yesterday.”

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“Oh... I hope they were satisfactory?”

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“Very.”She did not tell me then what she told me later, that her informant had described us as,“as solid as the Bank of England, and as sticky as treacle.”“I know I’m going to be in very good hands, Mr Strachan.”

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I inclined my head.“I hope so. I am afraid that at times you may find this trust irksome, Miss Paget; I can assure you that I shall do my utmost to prevent it from becoming so. You will see in the will that the testator gave certain powers to the trustees to realize capital for the benefit of the legatee in cases where they were satisfied that it would be genuinely for her advantage.”

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“You mean, if I really needed a lot of money—for an operation or something—you could let me have it, if you approved?”

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She was quick, that girl.“I think that is a very good example. In case of illness, if the income were insufficient, I should certainly realize some of your capital for your benefit.”

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She smiled at me, and said,“It’s rather like being a ward in Chancery, or something.”

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I was a little touched by the comparison. I said,“I should feel very much honoured if you care to look at it that way, Miss Paget. Inevitably this legacy is going to make an upset in your condition of life, and if I can do anything to help you in the transition I should be only too pleased.”I handed her her copy of the will.“Well, there is the will, and I suggest you take it away and read it quietly by yourself. I’ll keep the certificates for the time being. After you’ve thought things over for a day or two I am sure that there will be a great many questions to which you will want answers. Would you like to come and see me again?”

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She said,“I would. I know there’ll be all sorts of things I want to ask about, but I can’t think of them now. It’s all so sudden.”

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I turned to my engagement diary.“Well, suppose we meet again about the middle of next week.”I stared at the pages.“Of course, you’re working. What time do you get off from your office, Miss Paget?”

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She said,“Five o’clock.”

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“Would six o’clock on Wednesday evening suit you, then? I shall hope to have got somewhere with the matter of your brother by that time.”

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She said,“Well, that’s all right for me, Mr Strachan, but isn’t it a bit late for you? Don’t you want to get home?”

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I said absently,“I only go to the club. No, Wednesday at six would suit me very well.”I made a note upon my pad, and then I hesitated.“Perhaps if you are doing nothing after that you might like to come on to the club and have dinner in the Ladies Annexe,”I said.“I’m afraid it’s not a very gay place, but the food is good.”

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She smiled, and said warmly,“I’d love to do that, Mr Strachan. It’s very kind of you to ask me.”

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I got to my feet.“Very well, then, Miss Paget—six o’clock on Wednesday. And in the meantime, don’t do anything in a great hurry. It never pays to be impetuous...”

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She went away, and I cleared my desk and took a taxi to the club for lunch. After lunch I had a cup of coffee and slept for ten minutes in a chair before the fire, and when I woke up I thought I ought to get some exercise. So I put on my hat and coat and went out and walked rather aimlessly up St James’s Street and along Piccadilly to the Park. As I walked, I wondered how that fresh young woman was spending her weekend. Was she telling her friends all about her good luck, or was she sitting somewhere warm and quiet, nursing and cherishing her own anticipations, or was she on a spending spree already? Or was she out with a young man? She would have plenty of men now to choose from, I thought cynically, and then it struck me that she probably had those already because she was a very marriageable girl. Indeed, considering her appearance and her evident good nature, I was rather surprised that she was not married already.

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I had a little talk that evening in the club with a man who is in the Home Office about the procedure for establishing the death of a prisoner of war, and on Monday I had a number of telephone conversations with the War Office and the Home Office about the case. I found, as I had suspected, that there was an extraordinary procedure for proving death which could be invoked, but where a doctor was available who had attended the deceased in the prison camp the normal certification of death was the procedure to adopt. In this instance there was a general practitioner called Ferris in practice at Beckenham who had been a doctor in Camp 206 in the Takunan district on the Burma-Siam railway, and the official at the War Office advised me that this doctor would be in a position to give the normal death certificate.

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I rang him up next morning, and he was out upon his rounds. I tried to make his wife understand what I wanted but I think it was too complicated for her; she suggested that I should call and see him after the evening surgery, at half past six. I hesitated over that because Beckenham is a good long way out, but I was anxious to get these formalities over quickly for the sake of the girl. So I went out to see this doctor that evening.

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He was a cheerful, fresh-faced man not more than thirty-five years old; he had a keen sense of humour, if rather a macabre one at times. He looked as healthy and fit as if he had spent the whole of his life in England in a country practice. I got to him just as he was finishing off the last of his patients, and he had leisure to talk for a little.

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“Lieutenant Paget,”he said thoughtfully.“Oh yes, I know. Donald Paget—was his name Donald?”I said it was.“Oh, of course, I remember him quite well. Yes, I can write a death certificate. I’d like to do that for him, though I don’t suppose it’ll do him much good.”

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“It will help his sister,”I remarked.“There is a question of an inheritance, and the shorter we can make the necessary formalities the better for her.”

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He reached for his pad of forms.“I wonder if she’s got as much guts as her brother.”

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“Was he a good chap?”

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He nodded.“Yes,”he said.“He was a delicate-looking man, dark and rather pale, you know, but he was a very good type. I think he was a planter in civil life—anyway, he was in the Malay volunteers. He spoke Malay very well, and he got along in Siamese all right. With those languages, of course, he was a very useful man to have in the camp. We used to do a lot of black market with the villagers, the Siamese outside, you know. But quite apart from that, he was the sort of officer the men like. It was a great loss when he went.”

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“What did he die of?”I asked.

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He paused with his pen poised over the paper.“Well, you could take your pick of half a dozen things. I hadn’t time to do a post mortem, of course. Between you and me, I don’t really know. I think he just died. But he’d recovered from enough to kill a dozen ordinary men, so I don’t know that it really matters what one puts down on the certificate. No legal point depends upon the cause of death, does it?”

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“Oh, no,”I said.“All I want is the death certified.”

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He still paused, in recollection.“He had a huge tropical ulcer on his left leg that we were treating, and that was certainly poisoning the whole system. I think if he’d gone on we’d have had to have taken that leg off. He got that because he was one of those chaps who won’t report sick while they can walk. Well, while he was in hospital with the ulcer, he got cerebral malaria. We had nothing to treat that damn thing with till we got around to making our own quinine solutions for intravenous injection; we took a frightful risk with that, but there was nothing else to do. We got a lot through it with that, and Paget was one of them. He got over it quite well. That was just before we got the Cholera. Cholera went right through the camp-hospital and everything. We couldn’t isolate the cases, or anything like that. I never want to see a show like that again. We’d got nothing, nothing, not even saline. No drugs to speak of, and no equipment. We were making bed-pans out of old kerosene tins. Paget got that, and would you believe it, he got over cholera. We got some prophylactic injections from the Nips and we gave him those; that may have helped. At least, I think we gave him that—I’m not sure. He was very weak when that left him, of course, and the ulcer wasn’t any too good. And about a week after that, he just died in the night. Heart, I fancy. I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll put down for Cause of Death—Cholera. There you are, sir. I’m sorry you had to come all this way for it.”

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As I took the certificate I asked curiously,“Did you get any of those things yourself?”

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He laughed.“I was one of the lucky ones. All I got was the usual dysentery and malaria, the ordinary type malaria, not cerebral. Overwork was my trouble, but other people had that, too. We were in such a jam, for so long. We had hundreds of cases just lying on the floor or bamboo charpoys in palm huts—it was raining almost all the time. No beds, no linen, no equipment, and precious few drugs. You just couldn’t rest. You worked till you dropped asleep, and then you got up and went on working. You never came to an end. There was never half an hour when you could slack off and sit and have a smoke, or go for a walk, except by neglecting some poor sod who needed you very badly.”

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He paused. I sat silent, thinking how easy by comparison my own war had been.“It went on like that for nearly two years,”he said.“You got a bit depressed at times, because you couldn’t even take time off to go and hear a lecture.”

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“Did you have lectures?”I asked.

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“Oh yes, we used to have a lot of lectures by the chaps in camp. How to grow Cox’s Orange Pippins, or the TT motorcycle races, or Life in Hollywood. They made a difference to the men, the lectures did. But we doctors usually couldn’t get to them. I mean, it’s not much of an alibi when someone’s in convulsions if you’re listening to a lecture on Cox’s Orange Pippins at the other end of the camp.”

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I said,“It must have been a terrible experience.”

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He paused, reflecting.“It was so beautiful,”he said,“The Three Pagodas Pass must be one of the loveliest places in the world. You’ve got this broad valley with the river running down it, and the jungle forest, and the mountains.... We used to sit by the river and watch the sun setting behind the mountains, sometimes, and say what a marvellous place it would be to come to for a holiday. However terrible a prison camp may be, it makes a difference if it’s beautiful.”

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When Jean Paget came to see me on Wednesday evening I was ready to report the progress I had made. First I went through one or two formal matters connected with the winding up of the estate, and then I showed her the schedule of the furniture that I had put in store at Ayr. She was not much interested in that.“I should think it had all better be sold, hadn’t it?”she remarked.“Could we put it in an auction?”

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“Perhaps it would be as well to wait a little before doing that,”I suggested.“You may want to set up a house or a flat of your own.”

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She wrinkled up her nose.“I can’t see myself wanting to furnish it with any of Uncle Douglas’s stuff, if I did,”she said.

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However, she agreed not to do anything about that till her own plans were more definite, and we turned to other matters.“I’ve got your brother’s death certificate,”I said, and I was going on to tell her what I had done with it when she stopped me.

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“What did Donald die of, Mr Strachan?”she asked.

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I hesitated for a moment. I did not want to tell so young a woman the unpleasant story I had heard from Dr Ferris.“The cause of death was cholera,”I said at last.

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She nodded, as if she had been expecting that.“Poor old boy,”she said softly.“Not a very nice way to die.”

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I felt that I must say something to alleviate her distress.“I had a long talk with the doctor who attended him,”I told her.“He died quite peacefully, in his sleep.”

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She stared at me.“Well then, it wasn’t cholera,”she said.“That’s not the way you die of cholera.”

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I was a little at a loss in my endeavour to spare her unnecessary pain.“He had cholera first, but he recovered. The actual cause of death was probably heart failure, induced by the cholera.”

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She considered this for a minute.“Did he have anything else?”she asked.

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Well, then of course there was nothing for it but to tell her everything I knew. I was amazed at the matter-of-fact way in which she took the unpleasant details and at her knowledge of the treatment of such things as tropical ulcers, until I recollected that this girl had been a prisoner of the Japanese in Malaya, too.“Damn bad luck the ulcer didn’t go a bit quicker,”she said coolly.“If there’d been an amputation they’d have had to evacuate him from the railway, and then he wouldn’t have got the cerebral malaria or the cholera.”

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“He must have had a wonderfully strong constitution to have survived so much,”I said.

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“He hadn’t,”she said positively.“Donald was always getting coughs and colds and things. What he had got was a wonderfully strong sense of humour. I always thought he’d come through, just because of that. Everything that happened to him was a joke.”

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When I was a young man, girls didn’t know about cholera or great ulcers, and I didn’t quite know how to deal with her. I turned the conversation back to legal matters, where I was on firmer ground, and showed her how her case for probate was progressing. And presently I took her downstairs and we got a taxi and went over to the club to dine.

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I had a reason for entertaining her, that first evening. It was obvious that I was going to have a good deal to do with this young woman in the next few years, and I wanted to find out about her. I knew practically nothing of her education or her background at that time; her knowledge of tropical diseases, for example, had already confused me. I wanted to give her a good dinner with a little wine and get her talking; it was going to make my job as trustee a great deal easier if I knew what her interests were, and how her mind worked. And so I took her to the Ladies Annexe at my club, a decent place where we could dine in our own time without music and talk quietly for a little time after dinner. I find that I get tired if there is a lot of noise and bustling about, as in a restaurant.

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I showed her where she could go to wash and tidy up, and while she was doing that I ordered her a sherry. I got up from the table in the drawing-room when she came to me, and gave her a cigarette, and lit it for her.“What did you do over the weekend?”I asked as we sat down.“Did you go out and celebrate?”

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She shook her head.“I didn’t do anything very much. I’d arranged to meet one of the girls in the office for lunch on Saturday and to go and see the new Bette Davis film at the Curzon, so we did that.”

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“Did you tell her about your good fortune?”

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She shook her head.“I haven’t told anybody.”She paused, and sipped her sherry; she was managing that and her cigarette quite nicely.“It seems such an improbably story,”she said, laughing.“I don’t know that I really believe in it myself.”

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I smiled with her.“Nothing is real till it happens,”I observed.“You’ll believe that this is true when we send you the first cheque. It would be a great mistake to believe in it too hard before that happens.”

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“I don’t,”she laughed.“Except for one thing. I don’t believe you’d be wasting so much time on my affairs unless there was something in it.”

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“It’s true enough for that.”I paused, and then I said,“Have you thought yet what you are going to do in a month or two when the income from the trust begins? Your monthly cheque, after the tax has been deducted, will be about seventy-five pounds. I take it that you will hardly wish to go on with your present employment when those cheques begin to come in?”

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“No...”She sat staring for a minute at the smoke rising from her cigarette.“I don’t want to stop working. I wouldn’t mind a bit going on with Pack and Levy just as if nothing had happened, if it was a job worth doing,”she said.“But—well, it’s not. We make ladies’ shoes and handbags, Mr Strachan, and small ornamental attaché cases for the high-class trade—the sort that sells for thirty guineas in a Bond Street shop to stupid women with more money than sense. Fitted vanity cases in rare leathers, and all that sort of thing. It’s all right if you’ve got to earn your living, working in that sort of place. And it’s been interesting, too, learning all about that trade.”

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“Most jobs are interesting when you are learning them,”I said.

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She turned to me.“That’s true. I’ve quite enjoyed my time there. But I couldn’t go on now, with all this money. One ought to do something more worth while, but I don’t know what.”She drank a little sherry.“I’ve got no profession, you see—only shorthand and typing, and a bit of book- keeping. I never had any real education—technical education, I mean. Taking a degree, or anything like that.”

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I thought for a moment.“May I ask a very personal question, Miss Paget?”

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“Of course.”

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“Do you think it likely that you will marry in the near future?”

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She smiled.“No, Mr Strachan, I don’t think it’s very likely that I shall marry at all. One can’t say for certain, of course, but I don’t think so.”

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I nodded without comment.“Well then, had you thought about taking a university course?”

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Her eyes opened wide.“No—I hadn’t thought of that. I couldn’t do it, Mr Strachan—I’m not clever enough. I couldn’t get into a university.”She paused.“I was never higher than the middle of my class at school, and I never got into the Sixth.”

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“It was just a thought,”I said.“I wondered if that might attract you.”

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She shook her head.“I couldn’t go back to school again now. I’m much too old.”

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I smiled at her.“Not quite such an old woman as all that,”I observed.

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For some reason the little compliment fell flat.“When I compare myself with some of the girls in the office,”she said quietly, and there was no laughter in her now,“I know I’m about seventy.”

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I was finding out something about her now, but to ease the situation I suggested that we should go into dinner. When the ordering was done, I said,“Tell me what happened to you in the war. You were out in Malaya, weren’t you?”

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She nodded.“I had a job in an office, with the Kuala Perak Plantation Company. That was the company my father worked for, you know. Donald was with them, too.”

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“What happened to you in the war?”I asked.“Were you a prisoner?”

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“A sort of prisoner,”she said.

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“In a camp?”

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“No,”she replied.“They left us pretty free.”And then she changed the conversation very positively, and said,“What happened to you, Mr Strachan? Were you in London all the time?”

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I could not press her to talk about her war experiences if she didn’t want to, and so I told her about mine—such as they were. And from that, presently, I found myself telling her about my two sons, Harry on the China station and Martin in Basra, and their war records, and their families and children.“I’m a grandfather three times over,”I said ruefully.“There’s going to be a fourth soon, I believe.”

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She laughed.“What does it feel like?”

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“Just like it did before,”I told her.“You don’t feel any different as you get older. Only, you can’t do so much.”

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Presently I got the conversation back on to her own affairs. I pointed out to her what sort of life she would be able to lead upon nine hundred a year. As an instance, I told her that she could have a country cottage in Devonshire and a little car, and a daily maid, and still have money to spare for a moderate amount of foreign travel.“I wouldn’t know what to do with myself unless I worked at something,”she said.“I’ve always worked at something, all my life.”

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I knew of several charitable appeals who would have found a first-class shorthand typist, unpaid, a perfect god-send, and I told her so. She was inclined to be critical about those.“Surely, if a thing is really worth while, it’ll pay,”she said. She evidently had quite a strong business instinct latent in her.“It wouldn’t need to have an unpaid secretary.”

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“Charitable organizations like to keep the overheads down,”I remarked.

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“I shouldn’t have thought organizations that haven’t got enough margin to pay a secretary can possibly do very much good,”she said.“If I’m going to work at anything, I want it to be something really worth while.”

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I told her about the almoner’s job at a hospital, and she was very much interested in that.“That’s much more like it, Mr Strachan,”she said.“I think that’s the sort of job one might get stuck into and take really seriously. But I wish it hadn’t got to do with sick people. Either you’ve got a mission for sick people or you haven’t, and I think I’m one of the ones who hasn’t. But it’s worth thinking about.”

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“Well, you can take your time,”I said.“You don’t have to do anything in a hurry.”

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She laughed at me.“I believe that’s your guiding rule in life—never do anything in a hurry.”

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I smiled.“You might have a worse rule than that.”

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With the coffee after dinner I tried her out on the Arts. She knew nothing about music, except that she liked listening to the radio while she sewed. She knew nothing about literature, except that she liked novels with a happy ending. She liked paintings that were a reproduction of something that she knew, but she had never been to the Academy. She knew nothing whatsoever about sculpture. For a young woman with nine hundred a year, in London, she knew little of the arts and graces of social life, which seemed to me to be a pity.

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“Would you like to come to the opera one night?”I asked.

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She smiled.“Would I understand it?”

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“Oh yes. I’ll look and see what’s on. I’ll pick something light, and in English.”

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She said,“It’s terribly nice of you to ask me, but I’m sure you’d be much happier playing bridge.”

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“Not a bit,”I said.“I haven’t been to the opera or anything like that for years.”

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She smiled.“Well, of course I’d love to come,”she said.“I’ve never seen an opera in my life. I don’t even know what happens.”

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We sat talking about these things for an hour or more, till it was half-past nine and she got up to go; she had three-quarters of an hour to travel out to her suburban lodgings. I went with her, because she was going from St James’s Park station, and I didn’t care about the thought of so young a woman walking across the park alone late at night. At the station, standing on the dark, wet pavement by the brightly lit canopy, she put out her hand.

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“Thank you so much, Mr Strachan, for the dinner, and for everything you’re doing for me,”she said.

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“It has been a very great pleasure to me, Miss Paget,”I replied, and I meant it.

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She hesitated, and then she said, smiling,“Mr Strachan, we’re going to have a good deal to do with each other. My name is Jean. I’ll go crackers if you keep on calling me Miss Paget.”

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“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks,”I said awkwardly.

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She laughed.“You said just now you don’t feel any different as you get older. You can try and learn.”

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“I’ll bear it in mind,”I said.“Sure you can manage all right now?”

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“Of course. Goodnight, Mr Strachan.”

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“Goodnight,”I said, lifting my hat and dodging the issue.“I’ll let you know about the opera.”

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In the following weeks while probate was being granted I took her to a good many things. We went together to the opera several times, to the Albert Hall on Sunday afternoons, and to art galleries and exhibitions of paintings. In return, she took me to the cinema once or twice. I cannot really say that she developed any very great artistic appreciation. She liked paintings more than concerts. If it had to be music she preferred it in the form of opera and the lighter the better; she liked to have something to look at while her ears were assailed. We went twice to Kew Garden as the spring came on. In the course of these excursions she came several times to my flat in Buckingham Gate; she got to know the kitchen, and made tea once or twice when we came in from some outing together. I had never entertained a lady in that flat before except my daughters-in-law, who sometimes come and use my spare room for a night or two in London.

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Her business was concluded in March, and I was able to send her her first cheque. She did not give up her job at once, but continued to go to the office as usual. She wanted, very wisely, to build up a small reserve of capital from her monthly cheques before starting to live on them; moreover, at that time she had not made up her mind what she wanted to do.

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That was the position one Sunday in April. I had arranged a little jaunt for her that day; she was to come to lunch at the flat and after that we were going down to Hampton Court, which she had never seen. I thought that the old palace and the spring flowers would please her, and I had been looking forward to this trip for several days. And then, of course, it rained.

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She came to the flat just before lunch, dripping in her dark blue raincoat, carrying a very wet umbrella. I took the coat from her and hung it up in the kitchen. She went into my spare room and tidied herself; then she came to me in the lounge and we stood watching the rain beat against the Palace stables opposite; wondering what we should do instead that afternoon.

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We had not got that settled when we sat down to coffee before the fire after lunch. I had mentioned one or two things but she seemed to be thinking about other matters. Over the coffee it came out, and she said,

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“I’ve made up my mind what I want to do first of all, Mr Strachan.”

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“Oh?”I asked.“What’s that?”

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She hesitated.“I know you’re going to think this very odd. You may think it very foolish of me, to go spending money in this way. But—well, it’s what I want to do. I think perhaps I’d better tell you about it now, before we go out.”

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It was warm and comfortable before the fire. Outside the sky was dark, and the rain streamed down on the wet pavements.

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“Of course, Jean,”I replied.“I don’t suppose it’s foolish at all. What is it that you want to do?”

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She said,“I want to go back to Malaya, Mr Strachan. To dig a well.”

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序号 英文/音标 中文解释 更多操作

solicitor

[sə'lɪsɪtə(r)]

n.律师

Jock

[dʒɒk]

n. 苏格兰士兵

Jean

[dʒiːn]

n.斜纹布(复数)jeans:牛仔裤.

unmarried

[ˌʌn'mærid]

adj.未婚的;独身的

Loch

[lɒk]

n.湖;狭长的海湾

suitcase

['suːtkeɪs]

n.手提箱

correspondence

[ˌkɒrə'spɒndəns]

n.通信;信件;相符，相似;一致，相当

loch

[lɒk]

n.湖;狭长的海湾

Moor

[mɔː(r)]

n.荒野;旷野Moor: 摩尔人.

unpleasant

[ʌn'pleznt]

adj.使人不愉快的;讨厌的;不合意的;不友好的，粗鲁的

furnishing

['fɜːnɪʃɪŋ]

n.供给(装备)

scot

[skɒt]

n.【英史】估定的款项;税金;

distressingly

[dɪ'stres]

令人苦恼地；悲惨地

thoughtful

['θɔːtfl]

adj.深思的;体贴的

Scot

[skɒt]

n.【英史】估定的款项;税金;

fancy

['fænsi]

n. 【C】设想；幻想；空想;

incapable

[ɪn'keɪpəbl]

adj.无能力的;不胜任的

irresponsible

[ˌɪrɪ'spɒnsəbl]

adj.不负责任的;不可靠的;没有承担能力的

mercy

['mɜːsi]

n.仁慈;怜悯;恩惠;宽恕

con

[kɔn]

n.骗局;反对;反对的理由

trustee

[trʌ'stiː]

n.受托人;理事

clause

[klɔːz]

n.条款;【语】从句

terminate

['tɜːmɪneɪt]

v.结束;终止;满期;达到终点

twenty-one

['twentɪˌwʌn]

num.二十一

past

[pɑːst]

a. 过去的;

recede

[rɪ'siːd]

vi.后退;减弱

irritable

['ɪrɪtəbl]

adj.易怒的;急躁的

duration

[dju'reɪʃn]

n.持续时间

dwell

[dwel]

vi.居住;存在;冥想;详细阐述

Harry

['hæri]

vt.不断骚扰;打扰;侵扰;侵掠

submarine

[ˌsʌbmə'riːn]

n.潜水艇

Martin

['ma:tɪn]

n.马丁(男子名)

gossip

['ɡɒsɪp]

n.流言蜚语;爱说长道短的人;闲话

dine

[daɪn]

v.用正餐;进餐

leisure

['leʒə(r)]

n.闲暇;休闲

Westminster

['westmɪnstə(r)]

威斯敏斯特

telegram

['telɪɡræm]

电报;

recollect

[ˌrekə'lekt]

v.回忆;回想;记起

sleeper

['sliːpə(r)]

n.睡眠者;枕木;卧铺;爆冷门;耳环

landlord

['lændlɔːd]

n.地主;房东

mourning

['mɔːnɪŋ]

n.悲痛;孝服;服丧期

queer

[kwɪə(r)]

a. 古怪的，奇怪的;

ministration

[ˌmɪnɪs'treɪʃən]

n.帮助;服务;行宗教仪式

formality

[fɔː'mæləti]

n.礼节;程序;拘谨

bill

[bɪl]

①帐单；清单;

counterfoil

['kaʊntəfɔɪl]

n.(支票;收据等的)存根;票根

lease

[liːs]

n.租约

cramp

[kræmp]

n.抽筋;痉挛;夹钳(复)cramps: 绞痛.v.束缚;使痉挛;用夹钳夹紧

provisional

[prə'vɪʒənl]

adj.暂时的

pneumonia

[njuː'məʊniə]

n.肺炎

directory

[də'rektəri]

n.目录

Wales

[weɪlz]

n.英国威尔士(英国的一部分;位于大不列颠岛西南)

heir

[eə(r)]

n.继承人

needy

['niːdi]

adj.贫穷的;缺乏的

mourner

['mɔːnə(r)]

n.悲伤者;吊唁者;送葬者;忏悔者

unwilling

[ʌn'wɪlɪŋ]

adj.不愿意的

inheritance

[ɪn'herɪtəns]

n.遗传;遗产;继承;继承物

Levy

['levi]

n.征税;召集

pick

[pɪkt]

采摘，挑选；

precipitate

[prɪ'sɪpɪteɪt]

vt. 猛抛；猛然扔下；使...突然陷入(某种形势或状态);

packet

['pækɪt]

n.小袋

typist

['taɪpɪst]

n.打字员

Fairy

['feəri]

n.仙女;小精灵

Madam

['mædəm]

n.夫人;女士;太太

executor

[ɪɡ'zekjətə(r)]

n.(遗嘱)执行人

beneficiary

[ˌbenɪ'fɪʃəri]

n.受惠者;受益人

Registration

[ˌredʒɪ'streɪʃn]

n.注册;登记;挂号

Noel

[nəʊ'el]

n.诺埃尔(姓氏;男子名;女子名)

descent

[dɪ'sent]

n.下降;下坡;家世;血统;侵袭;衰落;继承

Agatha

[ˈægəθə]

n.阿加莎(女子名)

Aggie

['ægɪ]

n.农校;农业院校学生;玩具弹子

spectacle

['spektəkl]

n.景象;场面;奇观;壮观;公开展示;表相，假相

candid

['kændɪd]

adj.率直的;坦诚的;公正的;偷拍的

Singapore

[ˌsiŋgə'pɔ:]

n.新加坡

railway

['reɪlweɪ]

n.【C】铁路

ignorance

['ɪɡnərəns]

n.无知;愚昧

labour

[ˈleɪbə]

n. 劳动;劳动力

bequest

[bɪ'kwest]

n.遗产;遗赠物

residue

['rezɪdjuː]

n.残渣

deduct

[dɪ'dʌkt]

vt.扣除;演绎

succession

[sək'seʃn]

n.连续;继承权;继位

repatriate

[ˌriː'pætrieɪt]

n.被遣返回国者

probate

['prəʊbeɪt]

n.遗嘱查验;遗嘱查讫证

expire

[ɪk'spaɪə(r)]

vi.终止;期满;失效;呼气;断气

felted

['feltɪd]

v. 把 ... 制成毡(使 ... 粘结)

quarterly

['kwɔːtəli]

adj.季度的

mischievous

['mɪstʃɪvəs]

adj.调皮的;恶作剧的;有害的

sticky

['stɪki]

adj.粘的;闷热的;困难的;令人不满意的

utmost

['ʌtməʊst]

adj.极度的;最大限度的

ward

[wɔːd]

n.病房;行政区;监护;守卫;受监护人

annex

[ə'neks]

vt.并吞;附加;获得

warmly

[wɔːmli]

adv.亲切地;温暖地;热烈地

impetuous

[ɪm'petʃuəs]

adj.冲动的;猛烈的;轻率的

aimless

['eɪmləs]

adj.无目的的;没有目标的

cherish

['tʃerɪʃ]

vt.珍爱;抱有;抚育

anticipation

[ænˌtɪsɪ'peɪʃn]

n.预期;预料;期待，希望

cynical

['sɪnɪkl]

adj.愤世嫉俗的;悲观的;恶意的

conversation

[ˌkɒnvə'seɪʃn]

n.谈话;会话

invoke

[ɪn'vəʊk]

vt.援引;引起;求助;请求

decease

[dɪ'siːs]

n.【U】死;死亡

certification

[ˌsɜːtɪfɪ'keɪʃn]

n.证明

chap

[tʃæp]

vt. 使(皮肤)裂口，裂开；变粗糙;

planter

['plɑːntə(r)]

n.种植者;耕作者;殖民者

villager

['vɪlɪdʒə(r)]

n.村民

poise

[pɔɪz]

n.平衡;姿态;镇静

recollection

[ˌrekə'lekʃn]

n.回忆;记忆力;记忆;回忆起的事物

ulcer

['ʌlsə(r)]

n.溃疡

poison

['pɔɪzn]

n.毒药;毒害;败坏道德之事

cerebral

['serəbrəl]

adj.大脑的;理智的

quinine

[kwɪ'niːn]

n.奎宁

frightful

['fraɪtfl]

adj.可怕的;吓人的

cholera

['kɒlərə]

n.霍乱

Cholera

['kɒlərə]

n.霍乱

saline

['seɪlaɪn]

adj.含盐的;咸的

kerosene

['kerəsiːn]

n.煤油

tin

[tɪn]

n.锡;罐头;听头

Nip

[nɪp]

vt. 夹；钳；掐；捏;

dysentery

['dɪsəntri]

n.痢疾

Overwork

[ˌəʊvə'wɜːk]

n.过度操劳;过度工作

bamboo

[ˌbæm'buː]

n.竹子

linen

['lɪnɪn]

n.亚麻布;亚麻线;亚麻制品

slack

[slæk]

a. 松弛;

convulsion

[kən'vʌlʃn]

n.抽搐;震动;动乱

pagoda

[pə'ɡəʊdə]

n.(尤指佛教或者印度教的)宝塔，佛塔，舍利塔;浮屠

alleviate

[ə'liːvieɪt]

vt.减轻;使 ... 缓和

distress

[dɪ'stres]

n.不幸;危难;苦恼;痛苦

endeavor

[ɪn'devə]

n.尽力;努力

amaze

[ə'meɪz]

vt.使吃惊;使惊异

amputation

[ˌæmpju'teɪʃn]

n.截肢

downstairs

[ˌdaʊn'steəz]

adj.楼下的

entertain

[ˌentə'teɪn]

v.娱乐;使有兴趣;招待;考虑;抱有;容纳

bustle

['bʌsl]

n.喧哗;匆忙;裙撑;衬垫

drawing-room

['drɔːɪŋruːm]

①客厅，休息室;

sip

[sɪp]

n.啜饮

ornamental

[ˌɔːnə'mentl]

adj.装饰的

shorthand

['ʃɔːthænd]

n.速记;缩写

compliment

['kɒmplɪmənt]

n.称赞;恭维;(复数)致意

rueful

['ruːfl]

adj.悲伤的;怜悯的;悔恨的

Devon

[ˈdevn]

n.(英国)德文郡

charitable

['tʃærətəbl]

adj.仁慈的;(为)慈善事业的;宽恕的

appeal

[ə'piːl]

①[U][C]呼吁，要求;

unpaid

[ˌʌn'peɪd]

adj.未付款的;没有报酬的

latent

['leɪtnt]

adj.潜伏的;潜在的

Charitable

['tʃærətəbl]

adj.仁慈的;(为)慈善事业的;宽恕的

sew

[səʊ]

v.缝合;缝纫

reproduction

[ˌriːprə'dʌkʃn]

n.再现;生殖

Academy

[əˈkædəmɪ]

高等(专科)院校研究院(所)

lodging

['lɒdʒɪŋ]

n.寄宿处;借宿

pavement

['peɪvmənt]

n.人行道

canopy

['kænəpi]

n.天篷;遮篷;苍穹

cracker

['krækə(r)]

n. 爆竹;

Goodnight

[ˌɡʊd'naɪt]

int.晚安;再见

dodge

[dɒdʒ]

v.避开;躲避

Albert

[ˈælbət]

n.艾伯特(男子名)

assail

[ə'seɪl]

v.使苦恼，纠缠;猛烈攻击;言语抨击

excursion

[ɪk'skɜːʃn]

n.远足;短途旅行;【物】偏移，漂移，偏离;偏差，偏振

jaunt

[dʒɔːnt]

n.远足

lounge

[laʊndʒ]

n.休息室;候机室;起居室

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