Chapter 48
John hadn't seen Vera since the funeral. She had appeared at the graveside, stood by his side, waited until the other mourners had left, and then had said something about seeing him again soon, and walked away. He needed to see her. John had hoped to take her to luncheon, or tea, to discuss their situation, but he had not been quick enough. He moved a pile of linen. They needed to resolve things. His mother had removed her will from her bedside table and hidden it. John sighed. They needed to have a calm, civil conversation. She had likely moved it when Vera arrived. His mother had never trusted her. John smiled. He put the linens back in the drawer.
Vera had arrived at the house a few hours ahead of John. He suspected she was drawn by the potential of an inheritance. He stood. She had always maintained his mother had money hidden away they didn't know about. She was going to be disappointed. That paper had to be somewhere. For all the years of drinking, and living heaven only knew how, Vera was still a handsome woman. A very handsome woman.
John was, if not pleased, relieved to see Vera. It wasn't the will. John knew where that was. He stood. The will was barely important. He was the only heir, and there simply wasn't much aside from the house and contents. Vera clearly was ready for a change. It was the list his mother had made of what niece should get what. John just knew it existed. He had no idea what was important in the house, and his mother had threatened to haunt him over inappropriate disposal of certain items. They hadn't really talked much, but he knew where to find her. Perhaps it was inside of a book. He knew where to find Vera if she stayed in one place. He didn't want his mother to haunt him.
The house and contents wouldn't be worth enough to get rid of Vera. John's back hurt. He stood, and stretched. He was hot. He wasn't sure why he was still wearing his jacket, and tie. No one else should be coming to the house. It was getting dark. John went across the landing to his room. It was small, and faced the street, with an alcove around the window, filled with his old books. He threw his jacket on the bed, and quickly untied his tie. He turned his head from side to side. His neck felt tense and stiff. He could do with some tea.
John's mother never changed his room after he left home. The same old coverlet on the bed, the same prints on the wall, the same rug. His well-loved bear sat on the rocking chair. John picked it up and sat, affectionately scritching the bear's ear. What was its name? He missed Anna. Bedevere. Bedevere the Bear. He should write her. He had just written her yesterday. He should write Vera.
He turned to the bookcase. These were his old friends. Editions of King Arthur, Robin Hood, Scottish ballads, for boys. Jules Verne, Robert Lewis Stevenson, Mark Twain, all battered and dirty. Daniel Defoe, Jonathan Swfit, Nathaniel Hawthorne, barely holding to their covers. He picked up A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, and settled into the chair, Bedevere still snug under his arm. He had so many other things he needed to do. John put his feet on the trunk at the end of his bed, and leaned back in the chair. He groaned. He also needed to write his uncle in Cork. He was drifting. He hadn't slept properly in a week. He was floating with the cool wind and the smell of the sea and the green and blue and grey of the sea and the sky and he heard a gull shrieking and there were stones and Gaelic had a word for a sandy beach and a pebbly beach but did Irish and which did his mother know he'd ask her and he was floating when he was a boy he cut his hand on a seashell and had hidden behind his mother's skirt but hadn't cried but it had hurt so and it was so cold and windy and he had such a large family and someone was laughing and saying Johnny was such a good boy and the King sat in Dunfermline town drinking the blude red wine and he was floating and he smelled bacon a bacon sandwich on warm soda bread and tea so mellow it was golden-red and then he jolted forward to keep from falling. John gasped, darkness whirling around him as he pitched forward in the chair. The book hit the floor, pages scattering. The room was so hot. Bedevere was still under his arm. John stood, and opened the window, and lit the lamp.
His back popped as he sat. The pages didn't look right. John moved the lamp closer. They didn't look right because they were banknotes. Several banknotes. He paused, and looked into the darkness. He placed the book back on the shelf, and removed The Illustrated Treasury of Scottish Ballads. As soon as he opened it, paper scattered to the floor. More cash. He tried another, and another. In no time, there was a small fortune in cash on the floor of his bedroom. She was an amazing woman. Money from the sale of the house, or in the bank, would have to be split with Vera. Money Vera didn't know about could be used to rid himself of her.
John leaned back, and rubbed his eyes. What a remarkable woman. He had doubted her. John laughed. He should have known better by now.