Chapter Three
At that, Bo could take no more. She leaped from her chair in a fury, looking Max directly in the eye.
“Don’t you ever knock?” she asked, thoroughly indignant. “This is Mr Crags’s office, you know. You can’t just barge in here like that.”
Max stared back at her, looking genuinely stunned. “Bo?” he finally uttered, his voice amazed. “Bo, what are you doing here?”
Bo crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m here to camel ride across the Sahara desert,” she scoffed. “What do you think I’m doing here?”
Max blinked at her as realization slowly dawned in his eyes. “You don’t mean to say that you’re . . . ?”
“Yes, I am.” She nodded. “I’m Jacobien Armstrong. Your gold-digging cuckoo in the nest.”
* * *
Max was staring at her from across the table.
He looked exhausted, with dark shadows under his eyes and an unhealthy pallor to his skin. His hair looked unwashed, his body seemed tense and he kept flexing his hands and fingers, over and over, again and again, as though working his stress out through them.
Surprisingly, Bo wasn’t afraid to meet his angry stare. In fact, she decided he could be angry with her all he liked.
I’ve done nothing wrong, she reminded herself firmly. I was kind to an old man, and he was kind to me. It isn’t my fault that he left me something in his will, and it certainly isn’t my fault that this gift came at his nephew’s expense.
The way Max was looking at her though, you’d have thought she’d forced Geoffrey to sign the new will with his own blood before poisoning him in his sleep.
Max’s eyes were narrowed at her, his brow furrowed and there was a repressed wrath about him which threatened to erupt at any moment.
An eruption Hugo Crags deftly avoided by talking nearly constantly, filling the angry silence in the room with informative chatter.
“Sir Geoffrey’s property in London, specifically that of number 12 Orchard Drive, Blackheath, is an interesting case,” Hugo told them knowledgeably. “Interestingly, it’s actually comprised of two properties, not just one.”
“Two?” Bo asked, thinking of Geoffrey’s home and running through in her mind where a second house could possibly be. “How can it be two? There’s only one building.”
“That’s true. You see, the first property consists of the house where Sir Geoffrey resided until his death. The second property consists of the garden.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Max scoffed. “The house came with the garden when Geoffrey bought it back in the late sixties. I know that for a fact. I’ve seen the deeds.
So, I’m sorry to burst Miss Armstrong’s inheritance bubble, but there’s no second property for Geoffrey to gift.
I inherit everything, and this will,” Max said, scowling at the paperwork on Hugo’s desk, “is nothing more than fiction.”
“You’re both correct and incorrect, Mr Fitzroy.
Number 12 Orchard Drive came with a small rear garden when Sir Geoffrey originally purchased the property,” Hugo replied easily.
“It was never large enough for his needs however, so, when a neighbouring property was put up for sale in 1976, Sir Geoffrey purchased the land outright. So, while you’re correct that the house did come with a garden, you’re incorrect in this will being fictitious.
You’ve seen the deeds for 12 Orchard Drive, Mr Fitzroy, but you haven’t seen the deeds for number 13 Orchard Drive. ”
For a moment, both Max and Bo were rendered silent.
“What does this have to do with Geoffrey’s will?” Bo asked quietly, and she felt Max’s eyes narrow on her again.
“You know exactly what this has to do with Geoffrey’s will,” he muttered bitterly. “Don’t act as though this is a surprise to you.”
“It is a surprise to me,” Bo instantly retorted. “I haven’t even seen the will yet.”
Max shook his head at that, crossing his arms over his chest. “I find that incredibly hard to believe.”
“Believe what you want, it’s true,” Bo argued. “I had no idea Geoffrey had left me anything in his will until I walked into this room today. In fact, I still have no idea exactly what it is he’s left me now.”
“That’s easy to rectify,” Hugo interjected, giving her a warm smile. “Ms Armstrong, Sir Geoffrey has gifted you the deeds to number 13 Orchard Drive.”
For a moment, Bo felt both her heart and stomach plummet in her chest. “I’m sorry?” she stammered. “What did you just say?”
“Number 13 Orchard Drive. The garden side of the property,” Hugo replied slowly, carefully enunciating his words. “Sir Geoffrey left it to you. Number 12 Orchard Drive goes to Max, but number 13 . . . it’s all yours.”