Sea of Glass (Valancourt 20th Century Classics) by Dennis Parry Page A
Authors: Dennis Parry
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said, mumbling.
Cedric’s face hardened, but he maintained a surface of bluff patient good-humour.
‘Now, now,’ he said. ‘We must keep to the point. One thing at a time. We want to straighten out the legal aspect first—don’t we, Mother? Don’t we?’
‘Very well,’ said Mrs. Ellison wearily.
Cedric said: ‘Shall I pose our problem or will you?’ Without waiting he answered the question in his own favour, and began to address me. ‘Supposing a man were to leave a part of his estate to X for life and after her death as X should appoint between the children of Y and Z—that would be quite a usual form of gift, wouldn’t it?’
‘It’s an ordinary Special Power,’ I said, relieved to be asked anything so easy.
‘Correct me if I’m wrong,’ said Cedric, ‘but isn’t it called a Special Power, as contrasted with a General one, because X cannot give the money to anybody except that one limited class of persons, the children of Y and Z.’
‘That’s right.’
I saw that he already knew as much as, and possibly more than I did, about the subject. It was crazy to suppose that if he had really wanted information he would not have gone to an accredited lawyer.
‘And it would be rather a serious thing if X tried to dispose of the property outside that class—eh?’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘the disposition would be void. Presumably there would be a gift over in default of appointment and that would take effect.’
It was evident that in some way I had run contrary to his puppeteering and had given the wrong answer. I had the impression that he wanted me to help in making his mother believe that there was something near-criminal in exercising a Power of Appointment invalidly. But he abandoned this tack for the time being.
‘Now, here’s where we really want your assistance, David. In the context of a case, such as the one I’ve imagined, how would the law interpret children?’
I was baffled by the seeming pointlessness of the question.
‘The usual way,’ I said.
He gave a cough of pretended embarrassment. Then assuming a sort of roguishness, he said:
‘I’m sure we can be frank here. It can’t be any secret to you at your age or to mother at hers that children are born outside marriage as well as within it.’
I could have kicked myself for appearing so naïve. But I retrieved a little self-respect by giving the text-book answer.
‘ “Children” in a will or other legal instrument means prima facie “legitimate children”. Unless there was something unusual in the will which created the Power of Appointment X couldn’t give any share to an illegitimate child of Y or Z.’
‘There, Mother,’ said Cedric. ‘That’s just what we wanted to know.’
The old lady sat fumbling with a gold fountain-pen. I had a moment of insight in which I felt the air of the little room grow heavy with the distillations of enormous wealth. She seemed weighed down, logged by the vapour of gold, and its concomitants of greed and jealousy and hatred.
‘Cedric,’ she said with an effort, ‘you can’t prove a person a thief—you can’t prove a person—you can’t—’
‘For God’s sake, Mother,’ he interrupted harshly, ‘who’s talking about thieves?’
I was disgusted, but I had not the self-assurance, nor even the knowledge, of how older people treated each other to dare to interfere. But Mrs. Ellison could manage without my support. Unsticking her tired mind from its groove, she tried again successfully.
‘You can’t prove a person a thief simply by reading out the law on theft.’
I suppose she made her point in this oblique form because she did not like referring to bastardy. At any rate she made it. At the same time I belatedly realized what was afoot and at whom all these manœuvres were aimed. Even then it was a shock to me, for I had never shaken off my first impression that Varvara was a melodramatic creature who saw a conspiracy behind every accident.
Cedric was saying:
Cedric’s face hardened, but he maintained a surface of bluff patient good-humour.
‘Now, now,’ he said. ‘We must keep to the point. One thing at a time. We want to straighten out the legal aspect first—don’t we, Mother? Don’t we?’
‘Very well,’ said Mrs. Ellison wearily.
Cedric said: ‘Shall I pose our problem or will you?’ Without waiting he answered the question in his own favour, and began to address me. ‘Supposing a man were to leave a part of his estate to X for life and after her death as X should appoint between the children of Y and Z—that would be quite a usual form of gift, wouldn’t it?’
‘It’s an ordinary Special Power,’ I said, relieved to be asked anything so easy.
‘Correct me if I’m wrong,’ said Cedric, ‘but isn’t it called a Special Power, as contrasted with a General one, because X cannot give the money to anybody except that one limited class of persons, the children of Y and Z.’
‘That’s right.’
I saw that he already knew as much as, and possibly more than I did, about the subject. It was crazy to suppose that if he had really wanted information he would not have gone to an accredited lawyer.
‘And it would be rather a serious thing if X tried to dispose of the property outside that class—eh?’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘the disposition would be void. Presumably there would be a gift over in default of appointment and that would take effect.’
It was evident that in some way I had run contrary to his puppeteering and had given the wrong answer. I had the impression that he wanted me to help in making his mother believe that there was something near-criminal in exercising a Power of Appointment invalidly. But he abandoned this tack for the time being.
‘Now, here’s where we really want your assistance, David. In the context of a case, such as the one I’ve imagined, how would the law interpret children?’
I was baffled by the seeming pointlessness of the question.
‘The usual way,’ I said.
He gave a cough of pretended embarrassment. Then assuming a sort of roguishness, he said:
‘I’m sure we can be frank here. It can’t be any secret to you at your age or to mother at hers that children are born outside marriage as well as within it.’
I could have kicked myself for appearing so naïve. But I retrieved a little self-respect by giving the text-book answer.
‘ “Children” in a will or other legal instrument means prima facie “legitimate children”. Unless there was something unusual in the will which created the Power of Appointment X couldn’t give any share to an illegitimate child of Y or Z.’
‘There, Mother,’ said Cedric. ‘That’s just what we wanted to know.’
The old lady sat fumbling with a gold fountain-pen. I had a moment of insight in which I felt the air of the little room grow heavy with the distillations of enormous wealth. She seemed weighed down, logged by the vapour of gold, and its concomitants of greed and jealousy and hatred.
‘Cedric,’ she said with an effort, ‘you can’t prove a person a thief—you can’t prove a person—you can’t—’
‘For God’s sake, Mother,’ he interrupted harshly, ‘who’s talking about thieves?’
I was disgusted, but I had not the self-assurance, nor even the knowledge, of how older people treated each other to dare to interfere. But Mrs. Ellison could manage without my support. Unsticking her tired mind from its groove, she tried again successfully.
‘You can’t prove a person a thief simply by reading out the law on theft.’
I suppose she made her point in this oblique form because she did not like referring to bastardy. At any rate she made it. At the same time I belatedly realized what was afoot and at whom all these manœuvres were aimed. Even then it was a shock to me, for I had never shaken off my first impression that Varvara was a melodramatic creature who saw a conspiracy behind every accident.
Cedric was saying:
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