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

I love my sister. There it was again. He didn't like to think what relations would be like if she hated her. 'The thing is Elspeth, the executors made some investigations before my firm got involved and they couldn't find anybody who seemed to know for certain. Even your old aunt, your father's sister, didn't seem to know.'

'Well Aunt Grace is rather old and doddery, so that's no surprise. Although she is lovely.' It sounded like exactly what it was, an afterthought for his benefit.

'Look, I don't want to press you on this,' he said, which was precisely what he was doing, 'but is there anything or anyone you are aware of that could support your claim? It's really important Elspeth I'm afraid. Really important.'

'It's not a claim. I've told you already, I'm the eldest.' For the first time, Jimmy detected an element of doubt buried beneath the petulant tone.

'Well, of course I have to take your word for that,' he said, trying not to sound disrespectful, 'but it's going to be difficult to prove, that's all I'm saying. So is there really no way you could come to an agreement with your sister? I don't know the place of course, but I'm guessing Ardmore House is big enough to be divided into two very acceptable homes, and the grounds are lovely too. And that shouldn't breach old Sir Archie's covenant because the house and the estate would remain in the family. And wouldn't it be quite nice to live in such a beautiful place with your sister?'

She gave him a contemptuous look. 'Do you really think I would want to live next door to them? Her and Mr Perfect with their perfect loved-up life and their perfect little brat?'

If her bitterness left him temporarily speechless, he recognised instantly what had prompted it, something he hadn't previously considered to be a factor in the twins' relationship. Jealousy. For unlike her sister, Kirsty Macallan was married, to a handsome ex-international rugby player, and they had a daughter, a two-year old sweetheart blessed with the perfect genes of her parents. All of this was, he suspected, absolute gold-dust from a business point of view, taking Kirsty into areas where her sister could not yet venture. Now in his mind, he was already rehearsing what he was going to say when Maggie asked him how the meeting had gone, and finding himself unable to decide between a simple not well or a more accurate total disaster. He hoped to god she had fared better with Alison Macallan, otherwise the case was dead in the water before it had even got properly started.

'Well, I really don't know where we can go with this Elspeth,' he said, giving a sigh, 'but we're duty-bound to continue our investigation and see where it leads.' Nowhere was what he suspected, but he couldn't really say that to her.

She gave him a piercing look, then suddenly said, 'I remember you. I didn't say before but I do. You were at that party in the village hall, for Dr McLeod's birthday. You see, I watched you and Flora all night. Every second.'

It was an odd thing to say and he wasn't sure where she was going with it. But it didn't take long for him to find out.

'And now you're not together any more, that's what I've heard?' she said.

'No. No, I'm afraid we're not.' They were just a few words, but they didn't convey how bitterly he regretted the fact they were true.

'Things change. People change.' She looked into his eyes, holding a steady gaze. 'So I was wondering, will you have dinner with me? I'm sure we could have a lot of fun together.'

What sort of fun she had in mind, she didn't say, but at least she'd been rather more delicate in her proposition than her sister had been all these years ago. Then, Kirsty Macallan had asked him, quite outright and quite shamelessly, to make love to her up against the wall of Lochmorehead's old village hall, although she'd expressed it rather more agriculturally. Shocked, he'd said no, but that didn't mean he hadn't been tempted.

But now Elspeth was staring at him impatiently, her lips shaping into a seductive smile.

'So come on Jimmy Stewart, what do you think? It'll be fun, you know it will.'

And then, unthinking and probably without malice, she plunged the metaphorical knife into his heart.

'I don't know what's stopping you. After all, Flora's seeing someone now, isn't she? And I've heard it's quite serious.'

Chapter 8

Now that he'd set wee Eleanor Campbell off and running at the tricky Geordie case, Frank could finally turn his attention to the other equally perplexing matter that had recently thumped into his in-tray. The one that had been sent down from the north side of Hadrian's wall in an armoured security van guarded by a squad of armed officers in full riot gear, battering down the M74 with sirens a-wailing and lights a-flashing. At least, that was the comic vision that had immediately filled his mind when his boss DCI Jill Smart had, with exaggerated subterfuge, handed him the single sheet of paper containing the case briefing. A case briefing so sensitive that she had determined it had to be delivered in person, causing her to battle through the frightful early-morning London traffic between Paddington Green nick to his own wee Atlee House office. A case briefing she considered too toxic to trust to either the internal post or to e-mail.

'This is one-hundred-percent weapons-grade dynamite Frank,' she had said, giving her little speech before handing over the sheet of paper, as if still uncertain whether she was doing the right thing. 'Even by the standards of epic cop screw-ups, this is the dial turned up to eleven.'

The dial turned up to eleven. He smiled to himself as he acknowledged the cultural reference to Spinal Tap, definitely one of his favourite films