A New Georgy-Girl

Seeing that stuff answered a question that had occasionally nagged at me since mum had passed away. I remembered my mother wearing some of the pieces Georgy was looking at, but after her death they were gone.

I'd just assumed they were lost and gone forever, stolen and fenced by that fat little fuck-weasel, but thankfully my mother had been astute enough to get them out of his reach before he or anyone else could get their mitts on them. Good on you, Mum!

I had to smile at the sight of Georgy playing once again with the baubles and glittery brooches Mum used to dress her up in when she was a little girl. Of course, back then she couldn't possibly have known what they were or how valuable they were; they were just sparklies to make her look like a princess.

I looked in wonder at the rows and rows of huge white, blue, yellow, and pink antique-cut Edwardian diamond rings and pendants, emerald and ruby-encrusted bracelets, platinum tiaras set with spray upon spray of white diamonds, gold necklaces made of cascades of sky-blue sapphires, pearls, diamonds, and rubies set in elegant and artistic gold and platinum rings, necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and huge, glittering brooches, and stunning diamond, sapphire, and emerald bracelets.

All of those fabulous, incredibly beautiful examples of the jeweller's art just stashed in the house blew my mind.

I did a quick costing in my head, and whistled; there had to be several million pounds sitting in that tray; just the matching gold, emerald, diamond, and guilloche enamel bracelet, necklace, brooch, and earrings set Georgy was playing with, from a green sharkskin case with " Фаберже " stamped on it must have been worth something in the high six-figure range, I'd watched enough "Antiques Roadshow" to work that out, and there were more than a dozen similar cases.

Georgy was busy opening boxes and smiling at pieces she remembered playing with when she suddenly stopped and stared at me.

"Will, this is all your family's heirlooms, we can't just keep this here, it's not really ours, is it? This is for you to pass along to your descendants, this is the Wilmot legacy!"

Aunt Kay stepped up and put her hand on Georgy's shoulder.

"Lift the tray, please baby-girl, there's more in there."

I noticed a pair of recessed handles in the sides of the case, so Georgy and I lifted it out, and gasped again: stacked in the trunk immediately under the jewellery were bundles and bundles of banknotes packed in so tight there was almost no room to move them. I whistled as I flipped through one slim stack of crisp banknotes: two hundred £50 notes bound together, and the others all looked to be the same, so £10,000 per stack.

There must have been several hundred bundles stacked up and crammed in there, taking up all the spare space in that enormous trunk. I did a quick calculation based on the number of bundles in a single stack and whistled again: I guessed there were maybe six hundred and fifty or more bundles of notes, which meant there was something over six million in cash staring at us.

Together with that tray of amazing antique and Art Nouveau jewellery, especially those Fabergé and Lalique pieces, and the incredibly ornate Tudor and Renaissance pieces it meant that somewhere around ten or twelve million pounds had just been handed to us.

When I told Georgy my best guesstimate of what was sitting in front of us she slumped back in stunned amazement.

"Where... how... when... " she stammered, completely lost for words. Aunt Kay slipped down next to her and hugged her, calming her down.

"Why didn't mother just leave this lot in the bank? It would have been safer there, surely?" I asked, wondering why this fortune in gems and cash had been stashed in the house at all, it wasn't exactly the most secure place in England.

"Think, Will," chided Aunt Kay; "If this had been left in the bank it might have been listed and taxed as being your poor mother's personal assets and not part of the trust at all. Your mother and her original firm of investment counsellors and solicitors made use of some unique, but perfectly legal conditions and tax exemptions to sidestep the costs that might otherwise be levelled against this estate. She knew what she was doing when she settled the family trust on you, and the way she did it, otherwise the Inheritance Tax might have taken all of this away from you. This estate is worth many millions, but your family didn't actually have very much cash money compared to the value of the trusts; it's all tied up in investments and linked trusts that you can't touch until probate is proved."

She paused, her eyes far away, and her expression sad, but determined.

"Right now, Will, the land rents and farmland leased out to farming is what keeps this place afloat. If your mother hadn't named you as a trustees of your respective family trusts in such a unique way the tax man would be totting-up how much this place is worth right now so he can come calling, and he would have stuck you with an Inheritance Tax bill based on forty percent of the gross value of the entire Wilmot estate, this house, all the land, everything that would have been your inheritance, Will. Plus all your mother's own family holdings, which should go to both of you, plus what Georgy would inherit in her own right from her father's Lassiter family trusts."

She waved a hand at the trunk, at the jewellery.

"All this would have been eaten up, plus more you just don't have."

She looked pensive.

"Right now, the estate, your mother's investment trusts, and the various family trusts, both Wilmot and your Lassiter family trusts, Georgy, all the offshore accounts that... that animal was trying to get his hands on, and all their incomes are being tabulated and investigated by the Court of Probate, and because of the value of all those trusts and all the trust holdings, it might take a couple of years to prove both your inheritances. The tricky part is going to be releasing those offshore accounts; they're held in places like the Cayman Islands and Barbuda, and include all the cash investments your mother made to keep you children solvent in the case of her death. They're all tied to provenance of the trusts; once you get them, all the other cash accounts become yours too, all you have to do is show up, hand over the papers from the courts, and the money becomes yours, because your mother made sure of that."

She smiled wistfully.

"Your mother and I spent a lot of time with her investment advisors and private bankers getting this all in place; trusts this large don't prove overnight, which is why all this money is here right now; it's to keep you going until probate is proven. Once they rule, the Wilmot family trust will devolve to you, Will, it's a family trust with only one named trustee, you, and the same with Georgy's inheritance and her own family trusts, so no inheritance tax attaches. You will each just take over administering the various family trusts held in your names from your mother's stewardship according to those unique, but completely legal, conditions and processes I told you about. Your mother knew the value of what you see here might conceivably have been assessed as true income apart from the trust by both the Court of Probate and the tax-man and gobbled up, so your mother removed it from possible scrutiny and kept it intact for you."

She patted my arm reassuringly.

"The safest place for it was right here, sweethearts. The estate can't be sold off piecemeal to generate income, it's held in trust for you and future generations by covenants and deeds that predate Magna Carta, it would take an act of Parliament and Royal Assent to stand them down, and you can't do anything until the Court rules anyway, so this jewellery and cash, for now this is your real inheritance, the jewellery to keep safe and pass along, and the money to spend as you see fit. Hopefully this money will keep you and your home afloat until you can assume full rights and access to the family trusts."

I watched Georgy absently fondling some of the more beautiful pieces, beautiful toys she obviously remembered from her childhood, and wondered what we were going to do with this stuff. If the jewellery was indeed my family's legacy, then I couldn't sell any of it any more than mother could have done.

It was being left to me to guard and pass down the generations, not squander, so the best thing to do to preserve it for future generations was to lock it up again and put it somewhere safe. For now, we'd both have to live off just the money instead; it was the only possible solution.

"Let's put this back for now and go back downstairs, okay?" offered Aunt Kay, "you children need to make some decisions now, let's see what we can come up with."

*****

As we trooped down the stairs Georgy once again held my hand, but it felt... different, not like me leading my little sister around, it was somehow more... adult, intimate, almost, and that confused me. Georgy seemed to be feeling something similar, if her sidelong glances and periodic tightening of her fingers around mine were any indication.

I found myself studying her features more closely, noting the play of her lips as she smiled or spoke, the extraordinary length of her lashes, the fairness of her skin, the way she tossed her hair over her shoulder as she spoke, the deep midnight blackness of her hair. I'd been seeing all these things for years, but suddenly now I was focusing on them, on her, and I really didn't know why.

When we got down to the floor where our bedrooms were Georgy peeled off, saying she was going to get dressed, and Aunt Kay and I continued on down to the sitting room. After the morning's revelations I felt like some coffee was in order, so we retired to the kitchen to sit and drink coffee together like families do. Aunt Kay smiled at me over the rim of her coffee mug.

"Okay Will, I've seen that face before, tell me what's going on with you. Is it the money? Don't feel guilty about it, sweetheart, it's yours, left to you to take care of you and Georgy; maybe now you can pay interior decorators and proper tradesmen to finish renovating your house. You know you're going to need help, sweetheart, you can't run this place and try and do all that work there as well, so what's your take on all this?"

I frowned at my coffee, trying to get all my thoughts in a row.

"It's not that simple, Aunt Kay; I realised one thing while we were upstairs. All those jewels and gems, those are not really mine, they've just been put in my safekeeping. They may be worth millions, but they're not my millions to sell and spend, are they? I haven't really inherited anything except a huge headache!"

I grinned, but there was very little humour in it.

"On the other hand, that money may look like a lot, but split between the two of us and the bills we'll have to pay it doesn't really come to a lot, not when you consider how much this place costs to run; it's a Grade One listed historic building, I have to maintain and repair it exactly the same way the original builders constructed it."

I ran my fingers through my hair, suddenly tired and completely daunted by what was being required of me.

"The Orangery roof is going to need replacing very soon, can you imagine how much all that hand-cut Welsh slate is going to cost to replace, and craftsmen to do it? I don't even want to think of the cost, but now I have to. I know the income from the estate covers most of the upkeep, but not all of it, there's probably going to be a huge shortfall. If Georgy and I don't put our heads together and come up with a way to make this a paying concern we may end up losing it.

My family has been here for over nine hundred years, they held this place though the Crusades and the Black Death, the Wars of the Roses, the Reformation, the Civil War, the Great War, and The Blitz, and I really don't want to be the one who loses it all."

Aunt Kay looked at me fondly.

"Will, what have I always told you? Don't borrow trouble from tomorrow. You're a smart, resourceful man, you and Georgy will make this work; I believe in you, so should you. Just be careful, spend wisely, and relax, sweetheart, and you'll be fine. Once the Courts rule on the trust all that additional accrued income becomes yours, be patient and spend carefully. It will work out, I promise you."

I really hoped so, because a couple of million each sounded like a lot of money if you piled it up in a heap, but when confronted with the kind of expenses a large old listed building and estate like this incurred it soon paled into nothing; we really had to get that money working for us because this place was going to eat it up at warp speed.

I went up to my room to basically worry and try and work out the 'worst-case' weekly, monthly, and annual budgets for the house but I was distracted by the sight of Georgy leading one of her horses across the courtyard. I was immediately entranced by her looking so coolly competent with her long legs and taut bottom in her skin-tight white Jodhpurs and elegant English riding boots, with a figure-hugging polo shirt and suede riding gloves, her long hair plaited and tied back in a riding queue, and the whole outfit topped off with a stylish riding helmet.

As I leaned over to get a better look, she glanced up and saw me, and immediately grinned and, before I could work out what she was doing, yanked the back of her Jodhpurs down and wiggled her bare bottom at me!

I jerked back, hearing her laughter pealing out, and feeling my face burn as I blushed furiously, but I knew I had to look at her again (and a small, quiet part of me was hoping she'd do it again, if I'm honest) but she was already mounted-up.

I did get to see her in the saddle though, and had a quick thought about how good girls can look in the saddle when they have just the right bum for it!

Georgy clattered sedately away across the cobbled yard and I got down to pondering our financial woes. Tried to, I should say; my mind was too full of images of pretty dark haired girls with tight young bodies and spectacular bottoms flexing and rippling as they trotted by on horseback.

I know, I should have been disgusted with myself, and I was, but a deep down part of me wasn't at all, it liked those thoughts, and that scared me, or perhaps 'scared' is not the right word; perhaps 'made me apprehensive' was more accurate, and I didn't know why.

All through the day, as I watched her without seeming to, she'd glance meaningfully at me, although I didn't know why, or what she was expecting me to do. Georgy seemed to sense the inner conflict in me, though; whenever I looked at her, or caught her eye, she'd give me a tiny, sly little smile.

She was definitely teasing me. Every move she made incorporated a subtle little wriggle, like she was basking in my attention, and it was becoming harder and harder to not stare and daydream about her, to imagine her in some slinky pose or activity, to stare at her tight young curves and long, perfect legs.

She'd lost the jodhpurs, and was drifting around the house in just her polo shirt (her tight, clingy polo shirt, my overactive imagination supplied) and short, revealing little skirt, one I'd never seen before, and the fact it clung to and clearly outlined her perfect bottom was just one more distraction in a day of unsettlement.

Dinner was just as unsettling; I'd tried to make dinner, I wanted to do something for Georgy and Aunt Kay, but my mind was on other things, like trying to work out why Georgy was suddenly so fascinating and taking up all my available head-space, and I'd basically wasted my time bumbling around getting nothing done.

Eventually she and Aunt Kay shouldered me aside and took over, and we finally sat down to eat all my favorite things: lemon and thyme roasted chicken with sausage, sage and onion stuffing and bread sauce, crispy goose-fat roasted potatoes, Brussels sprouts baked with bacon, olive oil, and chestnuts, and honeyed parsnips, and Mum's special white wine gravy, and for dessert a steamed jam Roly-Poly with vanilla custard.

The scents rising from the table reminded me sharply of Mum and a breath of sadness and deep loss blew through me; these were the very things mum would make for me when I came home on leave, knowing how much I'd missed them. Georgy saw my face fall, and reached across the table to squeeze my hand.

"Eat up and think of Mummy, Will, I know she's gone now, but we're still here. Enjoy your meal and remember her Will, you know that's what she liked most in the world, watching you eat like you'd been starved in a cellar somewhere!"

I grinned at her, knowing she was right, and tucked into that wonderful meal, the one thing that said "home" to me most perfectly. As I ate I noticed Georgy kept glancing and smiling at me; ordinarily this wouldn't even have registered, but in my newly heightened awareness of her it suddenly seemed significant.

Aunt Kay also seemed to be more than interested in what was going on, whatever it was; her enigmatic smile never wavered as her glance constantly flicked between us, like she was checking and comparing something.

Georgy and I cleared the table after dinner and packed the leftovers in the fridge while Aunt Kay loaded the dishwasher, and, by mutual agreement, we refrained from discussing money and how to get some; right then my head hurt to even think about it and Georgy seemed similarly disinclined.

So we sat or lounged in the family room, Georgy curled up on the couch with her legs tucked under her (but still managing to give me a good eyeful of her sleek thighs and cute little feet) flicking through channels on TV while I slouched in the worn, comfortable armchair mum used to sit in with Georgy on her lap, watching cartoons or reading to her.

I smiled at the memory of six year-old Georgy following Mum's finger on the page and sounding out the words of "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" or "The Cow Who Fell in the Canal."

I was just beginning to doze off when a cushion hit me in the face, and I jerked awake to see Georgy grinning at me.

"If you're sleepy, Will, go to bed." she giggled, "It's so hard to wake you when you sleep there, you start snoring and then you moan and complain all day about your stiff neck. Just go to bed!"

I was just about to heave the cushion back at her when a distant rumble of thunder cut off anything I might have said; Georgy immediately froze, her eyes wide and scared, and Aunt Kay hurried to her side and enfolded her in her arms. Georgy has been terrified of thunder since she was tiny, and from the way she froze and her expression I knew it hadn't abated with time; suddenly she was that terrified little girl again.

"It's okay sweetheart, it's nothing, it's gone, relax baby, you're safe," soothed Aunt Kay, rocking her gently as another muted rumble of thunder muttered overhead and then died away. Georgy stared at me, her eyes wide and frightened, and I did what I'd done for her since she was a toddler and the thunder scared her: I held out my arms to her and she literally bounded across the room and jumped into my lap.

I held her close, feeling her quivering in terror, wrapping my arms tightly around her and smoothing her hair while rocking her and making low, soothing noises, slowly calming her panic.

My sister may have been a grown, beautiful woman, but right then she was six years old and she needed her fearless big brother to keep her safe from the loud, scary noises.

Georgy quivered and trembled as further soft rumbles of thunder rolled away into the distance until all was quiet again, but she clung to me, and the trembling didn't really abate. Poor Georgy was truly phobic about thunder, she wasn't playing to the crowd, and I knew it would be a long time before the panic subsided, so I held her close and kept gently rocking her the way I had been doing since she was a toddler.