Days Without Number by Robert Goddard Page B

mead.'
    'Can't say I do. But, don't worry, I'll find it.'
    'Until six, then.'
    'Yeah. Until six.'
    Baskcomb and Co. shared a Georgian terrace house with a dental surgery in The Crescent, on the western fringe of the city centre. Maurice Baskcomb, Michael Paleologus's solicitor, was the grandson of the founder of the business. He was in his sixties now, Nick calculated, though he looked about fifty-five, just as he had in his forties, a ruddy-cheeked, bald-pated, plain-mannered man of the law who valued efficiency and economy and attracted clients of like mind.
    Elegant accommodation and stylish attire did not figure in Baskcomb's mental landscape. He received the Paleologus siblings in his skew-ceilinged junk-room of an office, dressed in a suit that had seen better days but so long ago that they had passed from memory. The gathering of sufficient chairs seemed to strain the firm's resources of furniture close to breaking point. And Baskcomb's offer of sympathy verged on the perfunctory. But that, Nick bore in mind, was the nature of the man. Michael Paleologus would probably have approved mightily. Maurice Baskcomb was no more an ambulance-chaser than he was a skirt-chaser.
    T've been in touch with the police and coroner as you requested, Mrs Viner,' he announced, with a nod to Irene. 'You'll be pleased to know that your father's death is not being treated as suspicious. The postmortem raised no cause for concern and your father's body has now been transferred to
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    the care of the undertaker. The coroner will grant a disposal certificate tomorrow, so you may proceed with funerary arrangements as soon as you wish.'
    'But there'll still have to be an inquest?' asked Andrew.
    'In due course, Mr Paleologus, yes. A mere formality, though. Its only real significance is that it will delay the final settlement of your father's estate.'
    'By how long?'
    That depends on the coroner's schedule.'
    'What my brother is concerned about,' Irene began, 'as I think you're aware . . .'
    'Is the offer for Trennor.' Baskcomb grinned at them in that way he had of conferring his blessing on his clients' pecuniary preoccupations. 'I quite understand, Mrs Viner. But the law is hard to hurry. Believe me, I speak from experience. Your father's will is a straightforward document, sharing his estate equally between the five of you and appointing his sons as joint executors along with me, as I believe you know. I gather his financial affairs were uncomplicated. The estate amounts in essence to Trennor, on which there is no mortgage or secured loan, plus a modest amount of savings. I foresee no difficulties. Even so, it will be several months before probate is granted. And that assumes the coroner proceeds expeditiously, which . . .' His grin became a wry smile. 'Which is not invariably the case.'
    'Well,' said Irene. 'I suppose it can't be helped.'
    'Does that mean we have to wait several months - at least before selling the house?' asked Anna in her no-nonsense fashion.
    'Technically, Miss Paleologus, yes,' Baskcomb replied. 'But there would be nothing to prevent you entering into a provisional agreement to sell, which is something I could discuss with the vendee's solicitor if you so instructed me. The agreement would come into effect as soon as you obtained title. Of course, you would all need to be party to such an arrangement. I'm sure you can appreciate that.'
    'Yes,' said Irene. 'Naturally.'
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    'Well, you'll want to discuss that amongst yourselves before coming to any decision. Just let me know.'
    'We will.'
    'Good. Now, the only other thing I should mention is that I require sight of any and all financial documentation kept by your father. Bank statements, chequebooks, shares and savings certificates, tax demands and so forth. The sooner I have all the details to hand, the sooner I can finalize matters. To which end . . .' Baskcomb ferreted in the drawer of his desk. The police have asked me to pass these on to you.' He laid a bunch of keys