With the worst will in the world

Meanwhile, Seth Tobias, a 44-year-old hedge fund financier found dead in his swimming pool, has his four brothers not only fighting his late wife for his estate but accusing her of his murder.

Then there is the most high-profile case of all: the trial in Manhattan District Court of Tony Marshall, 83, the son of the late New York philanthropic and cultural legend Brooke Astor, who died this summer, aged 105. Marshall and his lawyer are accused of adding codicils to Mrs Astor's will, transferring many millions in Marshall's favour, while she suffered from Alzheimer's. Prosecutors also argue one codicil bears a forged signature.

The Astor case is the one with which I have a personal connection since I know Tony Marshall and his wife, Charlene, 62, a little. The verdict at most salons is highly critical of the duo. People think Tony suffered from what is known as "Prince Charles syndrome" and grew tired of waiting for an inheritance. Others think he feared Brooke might outlive him and wanted to ensure security for Charlene, whom Brooke and her set considered socially inferior. The plot, as alleged by the District Attorney, is something out of Edith Wharton.

But family squabbles over inheritance are seldom black and white, and people neither so evil nor so saintly as prosecutors and defence attorneys make out. Parents live far longer than they used to and familial relationships keep shifting.

Marshall may be right to claim his mother wanted to atone for her earlier neglect of him. She admitted she was a dreadful mother. Who knows how this played out in her mind as she aged? There is no question that one of the three codicils, transferring property to Tony in 2003, was made when she was very clear what she was doing.

Being handcuffed publicly has made Tony Marshall, a proud, well-dressed man, cry. I've been asking myself this: were his mother alive, is this what she would have wanted for her only son?

We live, we die. A minority, like Brooke Astor, achieve fame for good works. But if we leave our affairs in such a way that our heirs suffer, what, really, was the point?

Vicky Ward is a contributing editor to Vanity Fair.