“He was. Let me also make one thing quite clear. If ever in the process of our business we need to serve an eviction notice, we don’t call people into our office to do so. We might be lawyers, but we aren’t cruel.”
Bo dabbed at her eyes again. “Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “Is his . . . his gift to me really that substantial?”
Hugo nodded. “It really is. When Geoffrey drafted his will to me, I asked him repeatedly if he was certain about the changes he was making. He told me that he’d never been surer of anything.”
“Does Max know?” Once again, Bo recalled the phraseother interested parties.Geoffrey had always told her that following his death, Max was to have everything. If he’d changed his will in any way in her favour, it meant something was being taken from Max. Bo felt a rush of nervousness run through her at the thought.
“Like I said earlier, Mr Fitzroy has received a copy of the will this morning by email, so I imagine he does know by now. I’m sure he’ll be fine about it though. He’s always been a reasonable man.”
“Has he?” Bo struggled to equate her knowledge of Max — that petulant, argumentative and almost downright unpleasant individual — with Hugo’s description of him as “reasonable”.
“Yes. Very reasonable. Besides, given that his inheritance from Geoffrey is still quite sizeable, I’m sure he’ll have no reason to complain. Rest assured, Ms Armstrong, Geoffrey is taking care of his nephew in much the same way as he’s taking care of you.”
“That’s good,” Bo replied, nodding, and Hugo gave her another kind smile.
“Look, why don’t you start reading the will while we wait for Mr Fitzroy? I’m sure he won’t be too long now. Can I get you that coffee or tea? A glass of water?”
Bo opened her mouth to reply, to thank Hugo for his kindness. Before the words could leave her lips however, the door to Hugo’s office slammed open, and Max thundered in. He looked livid, fury written into every fibre of his being, and Bo watched as he stalked towards Hugo’s desk, slamming his hand upon the polished redwood and leaning across to Hugo with an angry snarl.
“All right, where is she?” Max demanded, slamming his hand on the table again. “Where is she?”
“Who?” Hugo replied, his voice calm and level, even as Bo cowered in her seat.
“Who do you think? The bloody cuckoo in Geoffrey’s nest, Jacobien Armstrong. Where is she?”
“Mr Fitzroy, if I could just explain—”
“No, don’t ‘Mr Fitzroy’ me, and don’t try and explain. Just tell me where this gold-digging Jacobien Armstrong is, so I can see her for myself before I sue her for every penny of what she’s stolen from me.”
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’mJacobien 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 ather, 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 oftwoproperties, 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.”
