“I’m sorry I’m late,” I tell him. “Can I get you tea or coffee, or something to eat?”
“Psh.” Ashcroft waves my offer away, his blue eyes bright and full of life, even against the wrinkles of his old, weathered face. “You shouldn’t be fetching and carrying for anyone.”
“You sound like my friend, Justine,” I laugh, pulling up a chair.
“She’s right you know.” Ashcroft nods. “That mind’s too good to waste on these fools.”
“I’ll let the partners know you said hello.” I smile. “Ready to get started?”
“Wait a moment. Before we get down to business, I have something for you.” Ashcroft reaches into his jacket pocket.
“For me?” I frown. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Here.” He pulls out a slim, rectangular jewelry box and passes it to me. I open it, still confused.
Holy shit.
It’s a bracelet. An antique-looking piece laid with sparkling stones that couldn’t be...?
“Are these diamonds?” I ask, stunned.
Ashcroft chuckles. “Wouldn’t be any good if they weren’t. A token of my thanks for all your assistance on my case.”
“I can’t accept this.” I regretfully snap the box shut and place it back on the table. “But thank you, it’s so nice of you.”
“Why ever not?” Ashcroft looks surprised.
“I can’t,” I insist again, unsettled. “You’re a client. And a gentleman. But I wouldn’t feel right.”
“I send Cartwright whiskey every Christmas,” he argues. “I’m allowed to give you gifts if I damn please. How is this any different?”
“It just is.” I know he’s rich and eccentric, but this is too weird. I wonder if he is losing it. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, “but I wouldn’t be comfortable taking this. It looks like an heirloom.”
“But you should have it.” Ashcroft’s eyes turn watery. “You have to take it!” He reaches across, trying to push the box back into my hands. I resist, but he’s insistent. “Please,” he begs, then suddenly breaks into a cough, the spasms shaking his frail body.
“Oh God, are you OK?” I leap up to grab a glass of water. “Here, drink this.”
Ashcroft sips at the water, and slowly his gasping cough fades away.
“Can I get you anything?” I hover, worried. “Where’s June?” I look around for the nurse who’s usually nearby.
“I sent her to run errands.” Ashcroft shakes his head, recovering. “There’s no cure for old age, my dear,” he says, his voice still hoarse. He sips the water again, and looks around the room, his expression confused. “What were we talking about?”
“Your will,” I tell him, carefully moving the bracelet box out of sight. I’ll give it to June to take back later; with any luck, he’ll forget all about the strange gift.
“Ah, yes.” Ashcroft blinks. “Of course.”
I sit down again, but keep an eye on him, just in case. “It’s all fairly straightforward,” I say, turning to his file, the one I’ve been working on all month. “We’ve gone over your assets, and you’ve drawn up a list of charities.” I pause, still wondering about one thing. “Are you sure you don’t want to name any of your children? According to this document, they get nothing.”
Mr. Ashcroft scowls. “Spoiled, selfish bastards, all of them. Spent their lives using my money, and what do they have to show for it? Never even visited for the holidays, until I had my third stroke and it looked like I might not make it. Then they couldn’t fly in fast enough. Vultures.”
“OK,” I calm him, worried he’ll have another coughing fit. “I’ll finalize the will.”
“I bet you treat your folks better than my pack of disappointments do me.” Mr. Ashcroft gives me a look.
I pause. “My parents passed,” I tell him, feeling a pang.
Mr. Ashcroft looks shocked. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize. When did it happen?”
“A car crash, five years ago,” I reply.
“And you have other family?” he asks.
“Nope. Just me.”
“Terrible. Terrible.” Ashcroft coughs again, looking even more distressed. He’s still staring at me with sad eyes, so I force a smile.
“It’s fine,” I insist, not wanting to make him feel any more uncomfortable. “You couldn’t have known. Now, it looks like we’re all set here. I’ll have Mr. Abrams Jr. look over the papers, and you can sign them.”