Will; Christopher Rush, Beautiful Books Limited, 2007, £15, ISBN 1905636148

Shakespeare is dying, but he still has one good story left in him '“ that of his own life; but it is only through the unlikeliest of muses, his estate lawyer, that the story can be told.

Will, by Christopher Rush, may at first glance appear to be a historical novel about the life of William Shakespeare, but to the private client practitioner, it is a suspense thriller '“ a familiar scenario in which the path to drafting the client's will leads through a recollection of his life's story. What will can fit the bill? Aye, there's the rub.

Private client lawyer

Every time I see a reference to Shakespeare and lawyers I flinch. But Will is not about the 'first thing we do' it is about the last '“ the last will and testament, that is, and for that assignment, William Shakespeare turns to his lawyer (and, as it turns out, his friend), Francis Collins.

We all know a Francis Collins. We may even be one. A good private client lawyer is a good listener, and an elicitor. He also likes his food and wine '“ and especially his pie.

Francis does all of the above, perhaps to excess. Which is why his client calls him 'the fat lawyer' (probably one of the kinder references to members of our profession attributed to the Bard, see the prologue).

Francis indulges in the stories of his famous client, patiently listening to him recall his family, his youthful experiences, and his evolution into the playwright he became. He encourages revelations on his loves and lusts. Like a boy pulling on kite strings, he occasionally tries to reign in the Bard to get 'back to the will' only to send the story soaring higher, racking up over 400 pages of personal history.

In the pauses, and between Francis' frequent meal breaks (over many sessions), they begin to piece together a legacy '“ parcels are doled out haphazardly, if not purposefully (£10 for the poor of Stratford; nothing for the church), with his daughter Susanna gaining the lion's share (perhaps she doth love him best). But could it be that Anne Hathaway gets nothing?

Inheritance tax overlooked

The estate lawyer's suspense lay in how the will evolves '“ who gets what, for how long, and by what means. After sprinkling bequests through much of the first half of the book, Shakespeare himself articulates some fairly intricate contingent and life interest provisions, prompting Francis to observe, 'You should have been a lawyer after all, Will.'

Of course, Shakespeare is no James Kessler (and you know how I revere Kessler), so he completely overlooks the inheritance tax implications and, sadly, our hero, Francis Collins does not rise to the occasion, although we keep holding out hope that there is still one more revision of the will to be made before the end of the book.

Death haunts the story, from Shakespeare's recollection of plague, through the deaths of family, friends, rivals '“ and his own characters. Of course, no death is more looming than that of the title character. As that death nears, the opportunity for a revised will disappears.

But the failings of Will's will are easily overlooked by the triumph of the story. Through Will Shakespeare set the record straight, from his date of birth and the cruelty of April to his singular identity.

And, while there are no apologies for smearing the legal profession (indeed, full of sound and fury, there are no apologies for anything), the fact remains, this is a tale told to a lawyer.

That should signify something.