Cynthia's Inheritance

A small girl has a bad start in life but finishes well.

CYNTHIA’S INHERITANCE

 

Cynthia had been born when her parents weren’t quite adults. They had no idea of what to do with her, Cynthia’s mother soon got tired of the baby routine and being left alone with her baby daughter all day long. Cynthia’s father, Ainsley, was always at work and he was a good provider, well, that’s what his wife thought. It was inevitable that Cynthia’s mother would fall for someone else who would prove to be a better catch. One day she met an Australian who really took her fancy, and she fell for him as he was so different from any man she had ever known. Ainsley was ignorant of his wife’s extra-matrimonial activities, until she asked him for a divorce. He was confounded by that piece of news, and went straight to his mother to let her in on the sad situation. Margaret, his mother, had advised him against marrying his wife, and had told him she didn’t trust her. She knew her son wasn’t the brightest spark on the planet, but she knew why he had been hooked so young.

It was Margaret who had money, and where they lived everyone knew it, but it had never caused problems. Nevertheless, Margaret had been money-savvy ever since she was young. Ainsley was asked to attend a meeting with his lawyer and his soon to be ex-wife and her lawyer. The man representing the wife, pushed a sheet of paper over to Ainsley and his lawyer. The woman wanted half the market price of the house, custody of Cynthia, and maintenance for the child till the age of eighteen years.

Ainsley, following instructions from his lawyer, stayed silent. His lawyer simply took out the deeds of the marital home from his briefcase, and pushed them towards the other side of the large shiny desk. Ainsley saw the fury build up on his almost ex-wife’s face. She turned to her lawyer and said, screaming like a banshee, “Is this possible?”

Her lawyer said, “Yes, it is. It also says that the house is to be held for Cynthia, if her grandmother dies before she’s reached eighteen. It’s perfectly legal. There’s nothing to be done as regards the property. All we have to do is negotiate the child’s maintenance and, of course, your own.”

Ainsley wasn’t very happy about the divorce but had nothing he could do, so he said nothing. Not long after the first divorce in the family, Ainsley’s ex told him she was off to Australia. Her new man didn’t want Cynthia, he wanted his own children and not a hanger on from a previous relationship. Cynthia’s mother agreed, and as she reckoned he loved her so much, left Cynthia to be brought up by her ex-husband she loathed the sight of. After the disappointment of losing out on a hefty sum from what she had hoped would be the sale of the house she had shared with Ainsley, and then the attitude of her new man as regards Cynthia, Ainsley found himself being left in charge of an eighteen month old baby girl.

For eighteen months Ainsley made an enormous effort to do what was right for his daughter, but one day he cracked, he couldn’t take it any more, always being the one in charge. He applied for a job overseas, and a few days before leaving to take up his new post, he arrived at Margaret’s house with Cynthia and all her gear. She was then three years old.

At that time Margaret was married to her second husband and enjoying a very happy lifestyle. There were exotic holidays and many nights they ate out in the best restaurants. They were living a dream, but with the advent of Cynthia in their lives, that dream was shattered.

 

“Hello, Mum. I’ve come to tell you that I’ve accepted work abroad, and that I’d like you to look after Cynthia for me, please,” Ainsley said.

Margaret was a statuesque blond, and her life with small children had finished many years ago. Her husband, Hubert, had entered the room at that moment, and said, “I say, don’t you think you’re pushing things a bit. Your mother isn’t some kind of servant for you to order around at your bidding.”

Margaret, in an effort to try and calm things down before they got out of control, said, “It’s all right, Hubert, the child needs members of the family to look after her till she can look after herself, or till Ainsley gets back from wherever he’s going.”

Hubert wasn’t at all keen on Cynthia going to live with them and he made no bones about it. He wanted the idyll between himself and Margaret to go on interminably, without any interruptions from relatives, children, or grandchildren.

 

Cynthia was given her father’s old room, which was most unsuitable for a small girl. Margaret called her lawyer, and Ainsley signed the papers giving custody of Cynthia to his mother. That went to the court, was approved, and the subject forgotten.

 

When all the dust had settled on the paperwork referring to Cynthia, Hubert, who was by that time more than fed up with the changes in his life, drove his high powered car over a cliff. The police were unable to say whether it was an accident or a fault with the vehicle itself. That was Margaret’s second widowhood. The house got darker and darker. The only joy in the place was Cynthia. She was the giver of light.

 

Although seven years had passed since Margaret had started on her second widowhood, she was still grieving and suffering from depression after being left alone for the second time in her life. Then, one day, she didn’t feel quite so bad and looked around her home. It was obvious to anyone who visited her, the house needed paint-work done, new furnishing fabrics for reupholstering chairs and sofas, and new curtains. Margaret was the outstanding beauty of the family. She had heavy blonde hair and dark blue eyes, but above all, she was tall and slim. When she was happy, she was a treasure for the eyes. Margaret looked up all the names of decorators who carried out more jobs than just painting walls. After working her way through the list on the web, she wrote down a couple of possible decorators.

The day Margaret went into the city to have a look at her first choice, was cold but sunny. She drove down from the hilly area where she lived, and parked her car not far from the shop. The large windows full of heavy brocade, displayed over what appeared to be antique tables, was a splendid sight to her sad eyes, that still held the watery gaze, showing that she had recently been spending her time crying a lot.

Carston was in the backroom when he was told by one of his assistants that a lady had rung the doorbell. Margaret was belled in, and Carston, who was devoted to business, drew in his breath at the sight of the lovely sad lady.

“How may I help you, Madam?” Carston asked.

“My house needs refurbishing, especially downstairs. It’s so long ago since it was last done, I don’t remember.”

“Please sit down. Now let me have some particulars, for example, what is your name and where is the house?”

Margaret sat down on an ancient sofa that was in excellent condition. She stared around her as if trying to memorise the interior of the shop. Carston had seen that look many times before when people saw his shop for the first time.

“Have you any idea of the colours you’d like?” Carston asked her, wondering why she looked so sad.

“I think it would be better if you came to the house to take the measurements and help me with your expertise. I’m a bit confused at the moment, and as I’m not thinking straight, I’d probably make a disastrous mistake.”

Carston said, “Would you like to take a walk round the shop and see what we have in stock?”

“Yes, I’d like that. Do you buy and sell antiques?”

“Yes, I do. Are you interested in buying any?”

“No, but I might be keen on selling some.”

Carston followed Margaret round the shop, pointing out what he considered to be the best pieces of antique furniture. She stopped at the jewel-coloured brocades and for a moment didn’t feel quite so sad. She was able to imagine what they would look like in her house, after all the sombreness that was there. Some of the cloths she gently touched with her long slim fingers, and felt happy. Carston was unable to remove his eyes from her face. “When shall I pass by your house to take measurements, and for you to state what colours you’d prefer?”

Margaret said, “Whenever it’s easiest for you. I’m at home most of the time, and therefore you won’t inconvenience me. Have you got a special day for visiting prospective clients?”

Carston wanted to get the job underway, and they arranged that Wednesday would be a good option. He took her to the door and let her out of the shop. He watched Margaret as she walked to her car, got in and drove off.

 

Margaret drove to the school where Cynthia was busy getting herself educated. Margaret waited in the car till she saw her granddaughter leave the school yard. Then she called her over to the car. The child scrambled inside, and asked her grandmother, “Where’ve you been? You don’t normally meet me from school in the car.”

“I’ve decided to decorate the house. It really is in a disgusting state. It might cheer us up a bit, after all the sadness that has passed through it. What do you think?”

Cynthia sat and thought for a short while, and then offered, “Are you going to decorate the whole house?”

“Not if I can help it,” Margaret said clearly.

Cynthia said nothing at all. She had lived with adults long enough to understand that her opinion was of no account.

When they got home, Cynthia went to the kitchen for milk and biscuits. Then, that finished, she ran to her bedroom to play with her toys. Margaret knew she wasn’t the best company for her granddaughter, and just let her do what she wanted. Margaret wandered round the house trying to imagine the furnishings in bright jewel colours. She wanted to pull down the old curtains, but was afraid they would be too heavy for her alone to handle.

 

Carston was a careful man, and his mother had always commented that it could be a grave error. He lived in one of the flats that were above the shop. It was, of course, beautifully laid out and his mother had pushed her argument that it needed a woman’s touch. Carston took no notice of his mother’s ramblings, and continued working in the shop downstairs and living upstairs. He had given permission to one of his assistants to use the second flat as his abode, till he found another one he preferred, or buy a house. He started sorting out some small pieces of cloth for Margaret’s house. He wanted her to see it in miniature before deciding on the colours she thought would be more permanent.

 

Wednesday afternoon arrived, and with it Carston with his swatches of colours. Margaret felt happy on seeing a man she hardly knew standing on her doorstep. Carston felt shy, he was a bachelor and was a little afraid of women - especially pretty ones. Margaret opened the front door and showed him into the house. Carston stared around him, and noticed that it all had a shabby air to it.

“I’ve brought some swatches for you to hold up against your furniture to see how the colours match.” Carston handed her the swatches and she gazed at them in wonder.

“The main problem is that my husband chose the decoration, and so I’m rather at a loss about what goes with what.” Margaret felt a little nervous and wasn’t quite sure what to say.

Just then the doorbell rang. Margaret went to open it. Cynthia burst into the room and said, “Who’s this man, Grandma?”

“This is Carston, and he’s come to measure the house for curtains and other things.”

Cynthia held out her hand, and said, “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Carston,” and Carston shook her hand.

“She’s very sure of herself, isn’t she? Have you got any more grandchildren?”

“No, I haven’t. Have you got any children or grandchildren?” Margaret asked him, staring directly at his face.

Carston was amused by Cynthia’s mature air. “May I go to the other rooms and see what it is that I have to cover?”

“Why, yes, of course. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Cynthia was fascinated by Carston and his swatches, and she tried to see what he wrote down in his little notebook.

He thought the furniture was not all that good and it might be a good idea to replace it, and sell off the old stuff on the ebay. Margaret made tea for them both and Cynthia, and asked him what he could do with the old furniture.

“A lot of it is just rubbish, and you’d be better off buying new stuff.” Whenever he told a client about the parlous state of her furniture, he was never sure of what might happen. Some women burst into tears, and others told him that they didn’t want to know. At the time Carston and Margaret met, seven years had passed since Hubert’s demise and the grandmother and granddaughter had become firm friends. The house was rather large for just the two, and a girl who went in every day to do some housework, but Margaret wasn’t too keen on selling.

 

When the heavy curtains were finally taken down, the whole house seemed to be flooded with light. Cynthia loved it and asked her grandmother, “Can we keep it like this, with no curtains?”

“Then all the neighbours and anyone who walks by will be able to see into the house and watch us,” Margaret explained.

“Why don’t you ask Carston? He knows everything about decorating,” Cynthia said.

Carston and Cynthia became very close, and Margaret often asked herself what they could find to talk about. She often said to Cynthia, “Don’t disturb Carston when he’s working. He needs to keep all his concentration on his work.”

Carston enjoyed working at Margaret’s house as she let him have carte blanche, and he always had Cynthia’s support in his choice of colours. Bit by bit, the lovely colours overtook the gloomy decoration of before. Carston had managed to convince Margaret to let Cynthia have a new bedroom, after all she was ten years old, and the room was older than her. Cynthia was, of course, as pleased as Punch, especially when she was able to choose everything that went in it. Margaret was always worried about Carston getting distracted by Cynthia and her chatter.

Carston heard her say this on several occasions, and said to Margaret, “Please let Cynthia stay, she’s not causing any trouble. I like her chatter. If I find her too much of a good thing, I’ll let her know, but for the time being she’s no trouble at all.”

Carston stared at Cynthia, who seemed to be in tune with him. They were friends and collaborators in the nicest sense. Little by little Carston made inroads into the house. It was Cynthia who was the catalyst, she liked Carston and adored her grandmother. Ever since she had been left to live with her grandmother, she had felt a little lost. She had no idea where her parents were living and, as it had taken place so long ago, she knew that she had to spice things up a bit, to get her grandmother to marry Carston - and then they would be a family.

Some days, Cynthia went to visit the shop and Carston would show her the work his assistants were doing. She wanted to have a go at most things, especially the stripping down of upholstered pieces like sofas, armchairs, and the seats of dining chairs. When the doorbell rang it was Cynthia, if she was there, who would open the door.

 

One day, Carston invited Margaret and Cynthia to tea with his mother. The fact that he was ten years younger than Margaret was of no consequence to his mother. The elderly lady, who answered to the name of Sonia, was delighted at having Cynthia visit her. The two got on famously, and were laughing and joking. Margaret was happy for Cynthia. Carston made up his mind there and then he would ask Margaret to marry him.

 

Carston soon got round to asking Margaret if she would marry him. She said to him, “Where shall we live?”

“Why, here in this house of course, after all the work it’s taken me and my assistants to get it up to a high standard. I wouldn’t even think of living anywhere else, but apart from all that - it’s Cynthia’s home.

 

The wedding was simple and quiet, in a church in the evening of a cold winter’s day. There was a light covering of snow on the ground but it added to the unusualness of the occasion. Cynthia was the bridesmaid, and Carston had bought her a white fur jacket for the event.

Cynthia wore it as often as she could till she was far too big for it. From that day on, Cynthia referred to Carston as ‘Grandpa’. She had what she wanted - a proper family. Sonia wasn’t to be left out, and asked Cynthia if she could be considered as her great-grandmother.

 

For some years peace reigned in the beautifully furnished house. Cynthia was a regular down at the shop, and the assistants became her friends too. Back at the house, life was orderly and without any problems. Carston had often asked himself how he had gone so long in his life without falling in love, and then he would answer his own question, because he hadn’t met Margaret. Carston’s mother, Sonia, was enraptured by Cynthia. She was for her the grandchild she had never had. 

Life was nice and comfortable in the large house. The colours chosen by Carston even in the carpets, created a terrific harmony.

 

Cynthia’s leaving for college was hard for both Carston and Margaret to accept easily but they did so in, order to let Cynthia have independence. She went home every weekend to keep her grandparents happy. The visits to the shop were less frequent, due to her having exams to swat for. So she tried to make an effort.

 

One day she received a call from Carston, “Cynthia, your grandmother is very ill. Can you make it here for the weekend - if only for a day?”

“Yes, Grandpa. I’ll come down right away. See you in a short time.”

“Thank you, Darling. I knew you wouldn’t let us down. See you later then.” And Carston rang off.

 

When Cynthia got home, there was a sadness that reminded her of when she had first gone there to live. Somehow the lovely jewel colours were not so bright and happy. Carston opened the front door and let her in, he gave her a huge hug, and she thought she saw tears in his eyes. “What’s wrong with my grandmother?”

“She’s got pneumonia and has trouble breathing, and coughing makes her weak.”

“Why is she here and not in hospital?”

Carston breathed in deeply, and said, “There’s nothing to be done for her in hospital. She’s better off here in her own room with her things around her, than in a room full of strangers. I’ve stopped going to the shop to care for her. There are two nurses who come here to help me, and we now have another two to help clean the house.”

“Is it all right if I go and see her?”

Carston put his arm around Cynthia, “What a thing to ask! Come on, let’s both go up and give her a surprise.”

They walked up the stairs and Carston opened the door of the bedroom he had decorated for Margaret and himself ten years before. How had time gone by so quickly?

Carston walked over to the grand bed, and said gently in Margaret’s ear, “Darling, look who’s here to see you.”

Cynthia tried to hide her shock at her grandmother’s deterioration in just two weeks. The two smiled at each other, and then Cynthia said, “What do you call this, loafing around in bed?” trying to make light of the situation.

Margaret smiled up at Cynthia, who had given her so much happiness, and said, “Sorry, I’m not setting a very good example, am I?”

Carston stepped up to the bed, and asked, “Would you like some tea or a fruit drink?” to his wife.

“Just a glass of water, please. My mouth seems rather dry.”

Carston went to the small cupboard he used for drinks while he was on sick duty. He pulled out some boxes of juice, and offered one to Cynthia.

“No, thanks. I’ll go downstairs for some tea. I’ll come back up after supper, when she’s more rested.”

Cynthia didn’t want either of her grandparents to see how shocked she was by their saddened condition. She went downstairs to the kitchen, to where a lady who had to be one of the helps employed by her grandfather, was busy preparing filleted fish.

“Hello, I’m Cynthia. I hear you’re looking after the house.”

“Hello, I’m Mrs. Hornsby. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“You’re busy, so I’ll do it.”

 

That was Cynthia’s first introduction to sickness in her close family, and it disturbed her. All the other people in her life who had departed were not close, and seemed to be much older than Margaret. She remembered how handsome they were, and how lovely they had both looked on their wedding day. Now they both looked like waxworks. Carston looked in a better state physically, but was also rather delicate in himself.

 

After that day of seeing her grandparents so sad, Cynthia made an effort to go to the large house more often. During the next months her life was spent between her home and her college.

 

Carston never left the house when Margaret was ill, and spent the afternoons reading, looking at his laptop, and sending messages to his two young assistants. He was afraid that if he left the house, Margaret would call him and he wouldn’t be there. At times he would go over in his mind how he had met her, and how his life had changed for the better. He felt life had been much too brutal with Margaret and Cynthia. It hadn’t played fair - but perhaps it never did.

 

Carston dozed off while he was reading. He woke up, and saw by the time that he had slept far longer than he had wanted to. He went to the bed, and looked down on Margaret’s face and he knew she was dead. He couldn’t believe it. Now there was a long agony of missing her before him. He rang the doctor, and then Cynthia. And then went and sat by the bed.

 

Cynthia told the college bursar that she would have to go home to see to the details of her grandmother’s funeral. That done, she arrived home as soon as she could. She went upstairs to see Carston with his hands on her grandmother’s hands sitting by the bed.

“Don’t get up, Grandpa, stay there with her. I’ll get you something to eat and drink if you like,”

“No, thanks, Cynthia. I don’t feel like anything. Thank you for coming so soon. How long will you stay?”

“As long as I’m needed. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. She looks very peaceful, doesn’t she?”

“Your grandmother is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. The shop assistants should be here soon to help me, and the doctor too.”

“I’ll be downstairs, just call if you want anything.”

 

Cynthia went down and began preparing food for those who would be in the house for supper. Every day for a week there was activity of some sort in and out of the house. Carston took some clothes down to the undertakers for Margaret to be buried in. His face never lost that grim look it had on it when he looked down on her, and saw that she had gone out of his life forever.

The funeral was busy but overly so, mostly people from Carston’s world who had got to know Margaret after their wedding. Cynthia said she would stay for about two weeks.

But two weeks after Margaret’s passing away, Carston died in the same bed as she had. The doctor told Cynthia that he had a weak heart, and that caring for her and trying to keep the business going all those years, had finally got to him.

 

So there she was, back in the graveyard again only two weeks later.

Cynthia didn’t have any reason to hang around, so she went back to college, finished what she had to do, and then spent a few years travelling. She vaguely hoped she would find her father, but she realized that it was hardly likely to happen.

Carston’s lawyer had informed her that she was a wealthy young woman, having been the only heiress to all of Carston’s and Margaret’s possessions. Cynthia was in no hurry to return after all the sadness she had witnessed, but deep down she had to face up to her responsibilities, and see what state her possessions were in.

 

After ten years away, Cynthia had returned to see whether she wanted to go back and stay, or sell up and move away for good.

Her first stop was the shop, that now had ‘CYNTHIA’ painted on a signboard above the door. As she was about to enter, someone came up behind her. She turned her head, and saw it was one of Carston’s assistants she had met when she was ten years old, and Carston and Margaret had only just met.

“Can I help you?” said the man, who was holding a small girl by the hand.

“Don’t you remember me? I’m Cynthia,” and she held out her hand to the assistant.

“I’m Cynthia too,” said the little girl, who had been named after her.

 

Cynthia decided to stay.

 

They had been waiting for her.