The Ardmore Inheritance by Rob Wyllie (reading the story of the .txt) 📕

She gave Maggie a doubtful look. 'They both hate me, so I would be very much surprised if they agree to anything that benefits me.'

'Hate you? I wasn't aware of that,' Maggie said, surprised. 'But irrespective of that, it's still in everybody's interests to come to an amicable settlement.'

'But they'll never agree to that,' she said, her tone betraying further scepticism.

'Well, that's to be established. But if I was to put it to the twins that a family court might for example rule that you as Roderick's wife was entitled to half his estate, and that you should be allowed to live in Ardmore House until your death, well that might get them around the negotiating table, don't you think?'

Her eyes brightened. 'Do you think a judge might say that?'

Maggie frowned. 'No, that's on the improbable side of improbable. But it's not totally impossible either, so it might focus the twins' minds on the risk to them of letting your legal challenge go ahead.'

'So what are you suggesting?' Alison asked.

'I need a proposal from you. In other words, what you would accept in return for dropping the formal claim.'

It didn't even take a second for her to reply.

'I want this place. And outright ownership too, not just to live in. And I want an annual income of forty grand from the investments. For life. Inflation-proofed.'

Maggie had to hand it to Mrs Macallan. She really had it all worked out.

'Well, it's a good starting point, thank you. My colleague is meeting with one of the twins today, Posy I think it is. After that meeting we should have a better idea of the prospects of a settlement. But yes, this has been very helpful Alison, it really has.'

Flossie the labrador had sidled into the room unnoticed and now flopped down at Maggie's feet before looking up at her expectantly.

'Sorry missy,' she said, patting her on the head, 'if I'd known you'd be here I'd have kept you a sausage and a bit of haggis.'

And now it was almost time for her doctors' appointment. But first, a quick visit to Active Outdoors beckoned.

◆◆◆

'Mrs Brooks is it? Mrs Magdalene Brooks?'

The young receptionist called out her name, loud enough for everyone in Lochmorehead to hear. Maggie assumed that everyone knew everyone else's business in this lovely little village, obviating the need for privacy and discretion.

'Yes, that's me,' she replied brightly, even if she was not being quite truthful. But she had been Mrs Magdalene Brooks once, and as far as she was aware, there was no law against using your old married name even if you were now both divorced and widowed.

'D'you have any underlying health conditions or are you on regular medication?' She didn't have and she wasn't, but had she been so, everyone for thirty miles around would have got to know about it. It had been a similar story up at the outdoor store, where the sales assistant had greeted her like a long-lost friend, and in addressing her as miss rather than madam, had instantly gone up a notch in her estimation. He looked no more than eighteen years old, but was already built like a lumberjack, the effect accentuated by the full red beard and thick checked shirt.

'You'll be a fell runner I'm guessing from the accent,' he had said pleasantly. 'Yorkshire isn't it? I love the Dales, from what I've seen on telly.'

She hadn't wished to disappoint him.

'Was once,' she had said, lying. 'But it gives the old knees a pounding, doesn't it? So I've switched to hill-walking, although I'm still relatively new to it.' As in, never having done it before in my life.

'Well that's no problem, we can get you kitted up with everything you need,' he had said, before immersing her in an enthusiastic barrage of techno-speak which seem to involve base layers and wicking performance and breathability ratings and a hundred other things she didn't understand.

'Actually, I really just wanted a jacket,' she had said.

'Ah, outerwear. Of course. Get that. So if you'd just like to come with me miss.......'

Which is why she had left the store wearing a down-filled, three-layer, fully-wind-and- waterproof item of leading-edge mountain technology, in a fetching shade of royal blue. An example of which, according to the young lumberjack, had already been up Everest, which would at least make it a talking-point the next time she saw Jimmy and Frank in the pub. And she had gained a hat too, which had come free with the jacket, perhaps poor compensation for the two-hundred-and-fifty quid she was down on the transaction.

'Definitely not on any medication?' the young receptionist shouted, sounding slightly disappointed.

'No, none.'

'Ok, Dr Stewart will see you now,' she said, pointing behind her. 'Room two, just along the corridor there.'

Reaching the half-closed door, Maggie knocked then tentatively poked her head through.

'Come in please.'

Dr Flora Stewart was standing by her examination bed with her back to her, about five-eight, slim but broad-shouldered, with striking flame-red hair braided in a French plait and reaching down almost to her waist. Having completed the rearrangement of the bed which was the task that been occupying her, she turned and smiled at Maggie. And god, she was beautiful. Piercing blue-green eyes, a wide mouth and perfect pale skin, sparingly freckled in harmony with her colouring. And in that moment, she understood why winning back this woman had become Jimmy Stewart's life work.

'Take a seat please Mrs Brooks. What can we do for you today?'

So Maggie related the elaborately made-up story of splitting from her husband and taking up hill-walking in way of catharsis and the fainting turns she had experienced these last three days and not wanting to venture into the hills if it was likely to endanger her own life and that of her rescuers. Doctor Stewart had taken her