Presentiment

Presentiment This is the start of a new novel I am attempting to write straight to the computer.  I find this medium much harder as the words do not flow as easily.  I wonder if it is because my thought patterns are overlaid by the need to type everything properly.  I welcome your comments. 

Agitated thoughts brewed and billowed in my mind, one skewed idea leading to the next, expanding and twisting reality as though it were taffy; a distorted form that my mind could more easily comprehend; a form that wouldn’t hurt as much; a form that would allow me to preserve my sanity as well as my dignity… a form as far removed from the truth as it could possibly get.

But there is no escape from reality.

Something of my mental torment must have shown on my face as I sat rock-still in one of the deeply upholstered chairs of the McGraw and Garth Solicitors’ office.  The solemn quiet of the room was intermittently broken by the squealing creak of an old leather swivel chair currently occupied by the solicitor, the McGraw half of the business, as he shifted uncomfortably.  He too was agitated by the faxed letter that had been received only that morning to the query he’d telephoned through 24 hours ago.

‘My Dear, I know this has come as something of a shock…’ he began before his words petered off.  Even he could find nothing comforting to say in light of the extraordinary news he’d had to impart.  ‘I’m sure that there has been some mistake, and I have tried to personally get hold of your grandfather-‘

‘Thank you,’ my voice was husky as it I stopped him.  I wanted to hear nothing more of the old man who’d shattered my last hope.  A single sheet of crisp fax paper bearing the Markham family crest fluttered under the powerful fan of the office’s air conditioning unit.  It struggled to beat back the heat of another sweltering July day, which even the swirling breezes coming in off the Cornish coast hadn’t been able to combat.

The flimsy sheet curled over submissively as another waft threatened to lift it off the table, before succumbing and flying off its perch to land in my lap.  Grandfather’s – not, not grandfather, Lord Markham’s – thick scrawl of a signature, underscored with an unforgiving slash, blurred as the tears I could no longer hold back washed across my vision.

‘I am very grate-grateful for your assistance,’ my quavering voice broke and I had to gulp back another wave of tears before continuing.  ‘Please inform my– Lord Markham that his terms are unacceptable and I shall not be disturbing him again.’

Pushing back the chair, unable to do more than jerk a silent nod to Mr. McGraw, I stood and watched as that cowardly scrap of parchment slid gently to the floor, warring silently with the sudden urge to grind the hateful contents into the woolen threads of the green carpet.  From somewhere deep within me rose a revulsion at even that small a contact with the estate of Lord Markham.  I was careful to avoid treading upon it as I turned and left the offices.

My hopes had slithered as helplessly out of my control and lay just as useless at my feet.