THE INSURANCE POLICY

THE INSURANCE POLICY

Eric J Drysdale

Margaret Peterson approached the task of going through Charles’ desk and personal effects with some degree of ambivalence. On the one hand she knew that sooner or later she would have to sort things out, cull things out and get on with her own life; a life that now did not include her husband of 30 years. But his influence, his impact upon her life, her days, was still there as tangible as the imprint of his large foot beside her small one in the sand when they had walked along the beach on many occasions. Even her sensory memories; a touch, a smile, a smell, drifted in and out of her mind like unbidden but not unwelcome guests and just as the high tide had washed away their footprints in the sand so too had the high tide of life in the form of cancer washed the tangible form that was Charles from her life. In the short time that they had into which was compressed the diagnosis, the pain, the anger, the frustration and the acceptance, they had discussed the situation on various occasions but one time in particular stayed in her mind after his death.

She was sitting beside his bed in the palliative care ward at the hospital holding his hand, just being there.

“You’ve been a good wife, Margaret. I want you to know I appreciate that. You’ve been a good mother to the kids too; still are. You put up with a lot at times. You tolerated my liking for the horses, going to the TAB or the track every Saturday, my dreaming. You hung in there when others would have walked away.”

“You can always find a reason to be unhappy, Charles.” It was always Charles to her when everyone else called him Charlie. “We made a life together. If things didn’t turn out quite how we would have liked sometimes, that’s how it is. We’ve got three fine kids and we had a lot of good times together and I thank you for that, Charles,” she said simply.

He squeezed her hand, tears coming to his eyes, then continued: “I want you to hear what I say and remember it later. If this is an end for me or at least and end of things as they are, it is also a new beginning for you. You’re only fifty-five, you’re a fine, strong, healthy woman, Margaret. There is no reason that you won’t live to seventy-five or eighty or more and there’s no reason you should be lonely in your old age.” He paused for a moment, “I’m vain enough to want all your love but generous enough to want you to be happy and lead a full life after I’m gone. Things will change as you will understand more when you go through my desk drawers. Just be careful and be happy.”

They embraced for a long time after that, tears in their eyes and love in their hearts. She thought about what he had said again now as she sat at his desk, and if there was an acknowledgement of a central truth there was also a resistance to changing or disturbing anything that had been his. Somehow it seemed that while ever things remained the same that Charles would still be with her or at least that his memory would be fuller and more complete. However, now circumstances had forced her to act and she had to sort through the drawers to find what bank accounts there were and how much money was in them so she could pay the rates and a couple of other bills that had come in during the past week.

Margaret felt like an intruder, an interloper, sitting at the desk where she had so often seen Charles’ large frame bent forward over the monthly bills or more frequently the Saturday form guide. A lifetime in clerical jobs and a meticulous nature was reflected in a clean and organized desk. Margaret quickly found the bank accounts. She knew two of them were in joint names but was mildly surprised to find that there was in excess of $5,000 in these accounts. When she looked further she found another two accounts in Charles’ name and these had about $8,000 in them. She didn’t understand that but continued sorting through the files. Charles had only been in his last job for a little over twelve months and because of the length of service and his age the death benefit and superannuation accumulation had been less than $10,000.

Next there was a file that had “Super-Rollovers” printed along the top edge. On opening this she found the statements relating to superannuation contributions for his two previous jobs. A quick estimate indicated there was about a further $10,000 in these. She recalled that Charles had said she could claim this amount tax free as his nominated beneficiary.

Leaving this file on the desk to be followed up after, she then went to the suspension files on the left hand side. At the front was a manila folder with three asterisks along the left hand top edge but no wording. Inside was some sort of racing form analysis sheet that Charles had developed showing the race venue, the horse number and name, the last four starts and a host of form detail from jockey and trainer to barrier draw and track conditions. Behind these arranged in date order were copies of The Weekend Sportsman with Best Bets tucked inside. There was close to a year’s supply as the first one in the drawer was the first issue for the year.

This would be where she would start culling. There was no reason to keep the analysis forms or the form guides as she had no interest in or knowledge of horseracing. Also she suspected that psychologically, at least, it was a victory for her over what had been a somewhat boring issue over the years. She had always felt that the money Charles spent on the horse races could have been better and more profitably channelled into the needs of the family. In fairness to Charles though, she readily acknowledged that a couple of fifty or sixty to one winners had accelerated the purchase of a new fridge and a new washing machine. The fact remained, however, that there was no point in cluttering the house up with old form guides and analysis sheets so without delaying further she bundled the entire contents of the suspension files in the left hand drawer into a large green garbage bag and lugging it outside, threw it in the bin which, as it happened, would be emptied first thing next morning. Before she could return to the desk to go through the remaining files the phone rang.

“Hi Mum”, the exuberant voice of her older daughter greeted her as she picked up the receiver. “We thought it would be a good idea if you got out of the house for a while so we booked a table for dinner. We’ll pick you up in an hour.”

She paused for a long moment, then said with a slight smile, “that’s very kind of you, dear. I’ll be ready.”

Although she would not have chosen to go out it ended up being an agreeable evening and she was pleased she had not declined. It was just after eleven when they dropped her home, by which time she did not feel like sorting the remaining files in Charles’ desk.

Next morning she was woken by the sounds of the garbage compactor outside and had a momentary twinge of guilt over the form guides and analysis sheets, then rolled over and closed her eyes again. However, sleep eluded her and after an hour’s unsuccessful striving she arose, showered and made her first cup of tea for the day.

There was a chill edge on the spring morning making her glad of the heavier gown she was wearing. She sat at the table drinking her tea and watching the sparrows hopping in the branches of the tree outside the kitchen window. It was then she suddenly wondered about the mortgage and any payments that were due. To the best of her recollection she estimated there should be about a $50,000 balance. She would ring the building society to find out the current position after nine o’clock. She didn’t have the loan number but presumed that the name and address would suffice.

After a couple of minutes the girl came back on the line: “You’re sure this is a current loan, Mrs Peterson?”

“Yes of course. If it makes it easier I’ll find the number and ring you back.”

“No, just give me a moment.” There was a musical pause while Margaret listened to Strauss and the girl evaluated the information on the VDU. Another couple of minutes passed, then the girl returned with a slightly impatient tone. “There was a loan secured by this property, Mrs Peterson, but it was paid out a couple of months ago.”

Margaret wrestled with this information for a long moment, then asked slowly: “You mean, there’s no mortgage?”

“No, the mortgage has been paid in full. Maybe your husband paid it out and didn’t tell you”, she suggested in a more affable tone.

“If I come down to the branch would you give me the details of when it was paid out, who paid it out and the amount?”

“Of course. My name is Julie. Just ask for me.”

“Thank you, Julie, I’ll be down in about an hour. Bye.”

Margaret slowly replaced the handset and sat there in total bewilderment. How could this be? It must have been paid out by Charles but it wasn’t as if it was $500 or even $5,000. It was $50,000! Surely if he had that amount of money he would have told her about it. She quickly changed into a more suitable frock and was about to leave when a thought occurred to her. Going into Charles’ study she flicked through the files until she located one inscribed: home mortgage. Opening it she saw a recent statement which showed a figure of $50,680, however there were two lines in red Texta running diagonally across the page with the words Balance Nil printed underneath in Charles’ neat hand. Below these two words in larger capitals was one word: Bingo! and a date approximately two months before. Shaking her head she picked up the file and walked out to the garage.

Less than an hour later Julie had confirmed that the mortgage had been discharged by Charles on the date indicated in the file. The transaction had been completed with a bank cheque for $45,000 and the remaining $5,000 odd in cash.

“Mrs Peterson, would your husband have had a life insurance policy he could have drawn on?”

“Only as part of his super and that was less than $50,000.”

“He may have had a policy that you didn’t know about”, she offered.

“But how could he get the money before he died?”

“Some policies have a benefit that if the person is terminally ill and a doctor certifies they have less than twelve months to live the policy will pay out part of the money in advance.”

“I don’t think he had a policy like that. He wasn’t one for insurance. Also, when he paid the mortgage out he didn’t know he was dying.”

They were sitting at a desk in an interview room and Julie reached out her hand and squeezed Margaret’s. “Maybe he knew but didn’t tell you, Mrs Peterson.”

Julie was a pretty little thing, about twenty-five years old, mid-way between Margaret’s two daughters and she appreciated the gesture of concern and compassion. Margaret nodded slowly. “Maybe he didn’t, Julie, Maybe he didn’t. Do you mind if I make a phone call?”

Julie pushed the phone across the desk to her. “Go right ahead, Mrs Peterson, just dial zero to get an outside line. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No.” Margaret shook her head with a slight smile. “Thank you very much, Julie, you’ve been most kind.” She picked up the phone and dialed their doctor’s number as Julie turned to leave. Tom Stevens had been both their doctor and friend for close to thirty years.

“Good morning, Dr Stevens’ surgery. Angela speaking.”

“Good morning, Angela, it’s Margaret Peterson. Could I have a quick word to Tom please?”

“Good morning Margaret, how are you?”

“Getting by, Angela, one day at a time.”

“That’s what we all should do, Margaret, live one day at a time. Just hang on for a moment and I’ll see if I can interrupt Tom for you.”

There was a moment of music, then Tom’s familiar deep voice came on the line. “Good morning, Margaret, how are you doing?”

“I’m OK Tom, thank you, but I wondered if I could call in and see you today?”

“Are you sure you’re OK, Margaret?”

“Yes I’m fine Tom, but I wanted to talk to you about Charles.”

“Give me a moment; I’ll just check my appointments with Angela.”

More music, then he was back on the line: “At this short notice, Margaret, the diary’s fully booked. Why don’t you come at 1:30. You might need to wait for ten minutes or so but I’ll be finishing with the last patient before lunch. Then we can go and have a sandwich and a cup of coffee across the street.”

“Thank you Tom. Thanks for making the effort.”

“Any time, Margaret, I’ll see you about 1:30.”

By 1:50 they were seated in the coffee shop across the road and had ordered their selections from the blackboard menu. Tom leaned forward earnestly: “Now, Margaret, what can I do for you?”

She hesitated, then spoke slowly, deliberately: “Tom, you and Elizabeth and Charles and I were friends for many, many years. If I ask you some questions will you be frank and honest with me?”

He looked into her eyes for a long moment, then nodded, “Yes Margaret, I will.”

“Thank you Tom. When did Charles first learn that he was dying?”

“About four months before he died.”

She absorbed this information, then nodded slowly. “I see. So he didn’t tell me for nearly three months.”

“He delayed telling you until it became obvious he wasn’t well.”

“Did you know he paid out the mortgage on the house?”

Tom nodded, “yes, and the loan on the car as well.”

“The car too?” Margaret asked in surprise for she had not thought of the car.

“Yes, he paid both of them out a couple of months ago.”

“Do you know how he did that, where he got the money from? Was it some sort of an insurance policy?”

Tom laughed, “No, you know Charles, he didn’t really believe in insurance,” he paused, then smiled reflectively, “although in some ways Charles may have thought of it as insurance, as it turned out. You see, Charles paid out the house and the car with what he won using his horse racing system.”

Margaret was completely stunned and a full minute passed before she was able to absorb the significance. “But that’s over $60,000!”

Tom laughed again gently. “More like $100,000.”

“But how?”

“I don’t know, Margaret, he never told me. All he said was that his secret was going to pass on to you and you would be able to live a good life. I’m sure if you look in the files in his desk you will find a letter telling you the details of his system, or something.”

Margaret just shook her head and before she could say anything the coffee and sandwiches arrived.

An hour later she sat down at Charles’ desk to go through the remaining files in search of a letter, an information sheet or something that would reveal the relevant details.

Had she started with the drawer above the suspension file drawer on the left hand side of the desk, all the information would have been supplied, the questions answered. She would not have had the hours of confusion and uncertainty and she certainly would not have thrown the details on how to make half a million dollars a year on the horse races into the bin. As she opened the drawer, the first thing she saw was an envelope marked for her attention: For my darling Margaret, loving wife, wonderful mother, best friend. Not to be opened until after my death.

Her hands trembled as she opened the envelope and she read the contents through tear-filled eyes. “My darling Margaret, it is early morning a week after I told you I had terminal cancer. I’m writing this now because I cope better in the mornings and I suspect it will not be long before I go into hospital and I may not have the opportunity to say these things later on. Let me start by saying how much I love you and appreciate you for the fine woman and fine human being you are. You certainly made the major contribution in the rearing of our children and shaping them into the good citizens they are today. You have given me a very happy life and if it is now shorter than I would have liked, the quality has been first class. After all, a bottle of fine delicate wine is much to be preferred to a bucket of jockstrap red. You put up with a lot with my gambling over the years and although I didn’t spend money I didn’t have the money invested on losing horses would have better gone into the family coffers than those of the TAB. We didn’t travel as much as we might have and certainly some of the money lost on the track could have gone towards paying for holidays however, think of it as an apprenticeship, a learning experience, because it has now all paid off. At the front of the suspension file drawer below the one where you found this envelope is a manila folder with three asterisks (***) in red on the top left-hand edge. In that folder you will find a form analysis sheet plus a step-by-step procedure to implement my system. This works, and works consistently, Margaret. On projection I estimate it will yield in excess of half a million dollars a year tax free. That estimate is the result of an exhaustive study of historical data and is supported by the fact that in a little over two months I have won in excess of $100,000. As you may already know the mortgage and car loan have both been paid out. In the small envelope there is $5,000 and the key is for a safe deposit box at the bank. In that you will find about $35,000 in cash. This represents your $10,000 base bank and two reserve banks of $10,000. Don’t be daunted by this. You are an intelligent person, Margaret, and if you just follow the procedure as detailed in the manila folder you will understand it quickly and have no problems. You have a lot of years ahead of you, Margaret. Get on with your life and enjoy them. Even if you don’t flaunt it (and you’re not that type) it will be obvious that you have money so beware of gold diggers and don’t trust too easily. Thank you for your love and support over the years and particularly in these last days. All my love, Charles.”

Margaret read the letter through again, then opened the smaller envelope and shook out the safe deposit key and fifty $100 bills. She sat looking at the letter, key and the money for some time; then suddenly laughed at herself and the situation. Yes, Margaret, very intelligent. Must be the most expensive clean-up in history. In one burst of enthusiasm you throw out details on how to win half a million dollars a year. She shook her head. Well at least, thanks to Charles, the house and the car were paid off and with the safe deposit box, the bank accounts and the superannuation policies there would be something over $70,000. Things could be a lot worse, and they were for many people. She went out to the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. Then, as there was still time she decided to go to the bank and check the safe deposit box. When she opened the metal container the first thing she saw was an envelope with red lettering: “Margaret, do not burn this, it is worth half a million dollars a year”. Inside was a note from Charles. “My dear Margaret, as you know I have never been one for insurance but this seemed an appropriate time to at least have a contingency plan or if you like, an insurance policy, just in case you threw out or burned the contents of the manila folder before realizing their significance and value. Attached is a photocopy of all the information you need to use the racing system I developed. Using this system you will be able to consistently earn in excess of half a million dollars a year. Make the most of it. Get on with your life and enjoy it. Do some of the things we would have if we’d had money. Have one for me. All my love, Charles.”

THE END