The Inheritance
by Joyce Walker

 

 

“I always thought you were mum and dad’s favourite,” Kevin said, “and now I’ve been proved right.  You’ve been left the house and what did I get?  A lousy dog and a box of autographed photographs and assorted tat from one of Dad’s long forgotten hobbies.  What am I supposed to do with the mutt anyway?  I live in a flat for God’s sake, I’m not even allowed pets.  Well I can’t keep him so he’s going to have to go to a rescue centre and take his chances with all the other abandoned animals.”

Sam the dog lay forlornly at his feet, chin on paws, as if knowing he was the topic of the conversation.

“And as for the box, what can its contents possibly be worth?  It’s just a load of pictures of once famous stars who’ve long since been forgotten.  They can’t be worth anything otherwise they’d have left that to you as well.”

Janice rifled through the box’s contents, “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, “Some signatures are worth a fortune if they’re genuine.  Why don’t you get them valued?”

“Because I don’t want them, you’ve been left the house and garden, you might as well have Sam and the other stuff too.  I wash my hands of the whole stupid inheritance.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a dog?” she asked.  “I spend far too much time working away to be able to look after him properly.  At least you’re at home all the time and as for the box, well, it was left to you for a reason, so I can’t possibly take it.”

She continued to go through its contents and was staggered to come across a historical document signed by Henry VIII and another by Charles Dickens.

“These at least must be worth something,” she said, “not to mention the autographed photos of James Dean and Marilyn Munro.  Why don’t you google them and see what kind of money they’re fetching.”

“Probably not enough to keep the dog in food and biscuits for a year,” he replied, but he reached for his phone and proceeded to price up the items anyway, starting with Charles Dickens.

Looking at the figure in front of him his eyes widened and Janice who knew her brother well enough to recognise a look of surprise when she saw it, asked,

“Well?”

“It seems I may have misjudged them.  A similar document sold for £15,000 not long ago and a Henry VIII went for a staggering £65,000.”

“And James Dean and Marilyn Munro?” she asked.

“A James Dean sold for £14,500.  It would take me ages to go through the rest and come up with a rough figure, but it looks like I’m sitting on a goldmine.  Can I trust you not to run off with them while I’m out?”

“Why, where are you going?”

“To take the dog for a walk, keeping Sam is a small price to pay for discovering I’m heir to a small fortune.”

 

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