Day 31

So, the papers were laid out on the old wooden table. It had once been the centre of attraction in a country cottage belonging to Mr Baines Snr. A large, rectangular dining table. Solid oak and could seat six easily. Mr Baines Snr frequently regaled captive listeners with the tale of the year, when it was Christmas and they were snowed in and it had to seat fourteen. The children had given up pointing out that it was in two sittings.

And here it was now, taking up its proud position centre-stage in Baines, Bowes and Brammall tucked away in offices in an unfashionable part of Wembley. Neither Mr Baines nor Mr Bowes, in spite of being considered ‘young’ by Mr Brammall who was happily ensconced at home with a bottle of single malt, had really come fully to terms with electronic copies.

Yes, the documents were all on-line. But there was something satisfying for the older generation to touch and feel the legal papers. Laid out before them, like a judicial mood board, it pleased them that everything was correct.

Alles in Ordnung.

“Just finish this ginger and I’ll phone the Executor. What’s her name again?”