Part One
The sign read 'Hawkins Agency', but not very clearly, for the gold lettering was badly faded and had practically merged into the dull green background. The door to the agency was situated in a small back street in a quiet section of the business city.
James Harland sighed as he surveyed the door on which the paint was as badly faded as on the sign. So this was his inheritance: And only last week he had heard that Bernie Tall from his college days had inherited a sweet three million pounds from his uncle; that Charlie Sweeney now owned and managed Mid-Northern Tire Company, so with the good news of fortunate friends raising his expectations he had hurried down to inspect his own legacy. 'Thank you, Uncle John.' he thought ruefully as he pushed open the door. And it even squeaked a small protest from ancient hinges.
The inside seemed just as neglected as outside. There was a small reception area which contained a desk, filing cabinet and a door, which presumably, led to the main office. The only relief from the air of resigned dinginess which pervaded the place was in the bright colors of the clothes of the girl who rose to greet him as he entered.
“Good morning,” she smiled pleasantly. “Can I help you?”
James looked at her approvingly. “I hope so,” he answered cheerfully. “I hope someone can help me, because,” he looked around and shook his head, “I think I shall need a lot of help.”
The girl smiled again, but less expansively this time, and looked efficient and inquiring. Actually, behind the cool exterior, she was wondering why this place seemed to attract such strange types. Perhaps, she reflected, it was because it was quietly tucked away from the main thoroughfare. Why, only last week there had been that man who had wanted her to find him a full grown aspidistra because, he said, aspidistras reminded him of his favorite aunt and he was lonely. He had also been a little drunk. And it was very hard now that John Hawkins was not.... she thrust away the thought and the sadness it brought and gave her full attention to the young man who was now staring about him with an amused smile on his lips.
“Well, If we knew just what it was you required, perhaps we could help you,” she said briskly. He turned to her and chuckled. “If I knew what was required perhaps I might even help myself.”
She smiled wanly back at him. Oh, it was definitely going to be one of those days, she sighed inwardly.
“Is that the door to the office?” he asked, and without waiting for her reply, he strode toward it.
“You can‘t go in there.” she said, recovering from her surprise to quickly move into his path. Which was a bit silly, she realized immediately, for he was at least six feet tall and he seemed as broad as a house as he towered above her. He gazed down at her with amusement. She stared defiantly back at him, although she didn't feel half as defiant as she looked.
“My name is James Harland,” he informed her helpfully.
“And I'm sure that‘s very nice for you, but you still can't go in there,” she said doggedly. How she missed John Hawkins: if only he were here now.
“I can see that they haven't kept you very well informed,” James laughed. "Didn't Uncle John ever mention me?”
“Mr. Hawkins never.....” she paused. Harland? She seemed to recall, very vaguely, something about a Harland. John Hawkins had spoken once or twice about a nephew: a restless, thoughtless, ne'er do well was how he had described him. But a cheerful soul. John had chortled, and the only one in the family with the courage to do exactly what he wanted to do. Which, according to John Hawkins, was precious little.
James brought her out of her reverie as he thrust a letter into her hand.
“This is from Uncle John's trustee's. It will explain everything while I take a look around.” And he stepped around her and went into the office, leaving her feeling rather foolish and a little indignant.
The office was not much bigger than the reception area outside. In front of a high, wide window was a desk accompanied by two chairs, a battered old safe was pushed into a corner, and that, as far as furnishing was concerned, was that.
James sat in the chair behind the desk and swiveled around. At least the chair was comfortable, he thought idly. “Lord of all I survey.” And he smiled because all that he surveyed did not induce a very lordly feeling, quite the opposite.
He tried the drawers in the desk and they were all empty, as was the safe when he looked there, having found the keys on the desk. The whole place seemed cold and bare, and that didn't seem like Uncle John. James felt a little depressed. He had been very fond of his uncle, but this place did not hold a trace of his pleasant, slightly eccentric character. It was just an empty room and James did not find it very welcoming.
He was deep in thought and frowning slightly when the girl entered. She placed the letter on the desk and stood silently looking down at him. It was a few moments before James became aware of her presence and when he did he started and smiled guiltily.
“I'm sorry, I was miles away. Thinking of Uncle John,” he apologised. “Though why I should I don't know, there is nothing here to remind me of him.” he added.
“That was your uncle's idea,” she explained. “He wanted to leave the place exactly as he had found it twenty years ago, so he left instructions that everything was to be removed. Everything,” she emphasized. “Although, if I had known it was to be you taking over I might have kept a few things. He had one or two items another man might