Cupcake Kissin’ 6 – Alex Ankarr

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Cupcake Kissin’ 6 – Alex Ankarr

He finds out quick enough. Though genial and expansive, bearing excellent aged Scotch and cigars, it seems that Mayhewlinson hasn’t the temperament to beat about the bush, to draw out the enjoyment of keeping a beneficiary in the dark. ‘Well,’ he’s saying, in quite a short while, leaning back in his fancy-pants hand-tooled leather… what the fuck, Caspar doesn’t even know. It’s nothing so vulgar as a swivel chair, not even a fancy recliner, not a regular armchair. Definitely fancy leather and hand-tooled, though. And swishing his Scotch around in the thick designer glass, nosing at it with a pleased grin.

‘So, your bequest, my boy,’ he begins, leaning forward a little, more businesslike. ‘You heard the bare details of it, of course, during the reading-‘

And at that, Caspar is of course really forced to interrupt with an admission. ‘Er, I think you’ll find that that’s stretching the truth, sir. I had a very long flight thirty-six hours ago, and I haven’t really caught up on my sleep yet, and, er, frankly…’

‘Oh, my dear boy, don’t worry about it,’ Mayhewlinson promptly jumps to reassure him, although Caspar is feeling rather young and foolish and extremely rude over it, for whatever silly reason. ‘You’re far from the first, and I doubt that you’ll be the last if it comes to that. Never the most scintillating occasions, will-readings, except for those who expect to be significant legatees, of course. Which perhaps was not the case with you – and you must have been very much taken aback if so, hey hey, my boy?’ he rumbles, clearly amused. Then he appears to collect himself. ‘Ah, if you’d been awake to hear anything about it, of course,’ he corrects himself.

‘Yes, hm, let’s run through it,’ he says decisively, and shuffles a couple of papers together on his desk, brings something up on the fancy-pants built-in screen on his massive desk. ‘Yeeees. Caspar Oxwalter Rockalde,’ he begins, and Caspar can’t at all restrain the wince, not one bit. His parents were good people. They would never have saddled him with a middle name quite as ghastly as that one, without feeling that they had damn good reason. And of course, with his family, the reason was a family one – an obscenely wealthy old uncle, who just might or might not have taken it into his head to leave Caspar something handsome, given some incentive.

Although when it came to the crunch – of metal on metal, it happened, since a car crash was how poor old Unka Ox met his end – he hadn’t. But it had been a nice try, for the most impecunious branch of this distinguished old family.

 

© Copyright Alex Ankarr 2014

No unauthorised reproductions allowed. All rights reserved to the author. No inspirations for characters drawn from real-life individuals, no resemblance to real individuals intended.

Photo credit: duncan johnston under Creative Commons licence modified for book cover use.

 

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