by Rob Wyllie
'I did,' Alison said, giving a sad smile. 'He was just six when his mother died and he was terribly traumatised by it of course. He never really got over it to be honest. That's why he liked animals much more than people. In the years before he died I often thought Flossie was his only friend.'
'She was Peter's dog?'
'Yes, and much loved. Of course, there was no one to care for her after the... well you know... so I brought her here.'
Maggie saw the chance to steer the conversation back towards the main objective of her visit.
'And so when you married Roderick, you took on his children too. That must have been difficult for you? Particularly with the twins having never known their mother.'
Alison looked at her sharply. 'I did my best, but I was young when Roderick and I got together and I was terribly naive about what being a step-mother involved. And the twins were difficult. Particularly Elspeth, or Pixie as she now ridiculously calls herself.'
'How old were they, when you first got together with your husband?'
'Just four years old. And to be honest, they had been allowed to run wild. Roderick had been really struggling to come to terms with Phillipa's death, and what with his naval career and everything, they never really got the attention they needed. So when I came along, they were rather resentful to say the least. We even thought about sending them to boarding school. It was affecting our marriage you see.'
Poor things, thought Maggie, denied a mother's love then facing the prospect of being shunted off to an institution when they got in the way. It was little wonder they'd turned out the way they did. But now it was time to get down to business.
'So I hope you don't mind Alison, but I want to talk about this legal challenge of yours. About your claim against your late husband's estate.'
Her face suddenly hardened. 'You can talk all you like, but I won't be persuaded to drop it. I won't.'
'No no,' Maggie said, giving an understanding smile, 'and that isn't my instructions from the executors, far from it. But you see the difficulty from your standpoint is that the provisions in the will are quite specific, and the change to the will which made that provision was added less than two years ago. I'm sorry to be blunt, but it says you were to inherit nothing and by implication it means that you can no longer live here in the lodge. And because the change was made so recently, it will be impossible to argue that this is anything but the clear intention of your late husband. It's very harsh, I totally agree with that, but it's also completely unambiguous, I'm sorry to say.'
'But my solicitor says it's totally unreasonable and there's a very good chance that a family court will overturn it.'
Maggie allowed herself a wry smile. Yes, her solicitor would say that, and then many thousands of pounds of fees later, would apologise profusely for the unreasonableness of the judge in seeking to rule in favour in the provisions of the will, irrespective of the moral justice of the document.
'Well I was a lawyer myself,' she said. 'Still am in fact, technically-speaking. And in my experience, a negotiated settlement always wins over conflict. Every time, hands down. And I really do think there's an opportunity for you, given the dispute over the main provisions of the will.'
'What do you mean?' Alison asked, visibly softening.
'You know the estate and Ardmore House must pass to the eldest surviving offspring, and that the remaining assets are to be split between all the surviving offspring? So that would mean that either Pixie or Posy gets the house and the estate, and the remaining assets are split between them.'
'Nearly three point seven million in cash and investments.'
'Exactly,' Maggie said, reflecting that this woman was remarkably clued-up for someone who professed to be hopeless with money. 'But I wondered, you must surely know which of the twins was first-born?'
She answered quickly. 'I don't, as it happens. It never came up and it never ever occurred to me to ask. I'm sorry.' Was it just Maggie's imagination, or was the answer just a bit too off pat?
'Well that's a pity,' she said, screwing up her nose. 'But now both are claiming it's they that's the elder, which makes the whole thing a bit of a mess.'
'But you said there was an opportunity for me?' Alison asked, evidently keen to pivot the conversation back on herself.
'Well yes I think there is. We've been asked to try and establish which twin is the rightful heir, but between you and me, I think there's two-thirds of no chance at all that we can do it. They were born over thirty years ago, and in Canada too, and even if we were lucky enough to find say a nurse or a midwife who was present at their birth, would they be able to say which one was which, after all this time? I very much doubt it. So I'm certain the only way forward is a negotiated settlement.'
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 wh
at 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 blood pressure, her pulse and her temperature, asked her about her lifestyle and how often she exercised, before concluding that there was nothing really to worry about, but that she should perhaps start with some gentler challenges before she went Munro-bagging.
Maggie thanked her as she closed the door of the consulting room behind her, feeling slightly ashamed of her subterfuge but elated that she had finally been able to meet the woman of whom she had heard so much. Emma was her favourite Austen novel, and if the experience of its heroine Miss Woodhouse had a lesson for the world, it was that if you started to meddle in the love affairs of others, it was liable to all go terribly tits-up. But there and then she resolved to do everything in her power to get Jimmy and Flora Stewart back together.
She just had to make sure he never ever found out.
Chapter 7
He was grateful to Maggie that he hadn't been asked to make the trip to Scotland, but that didn't mean that he was much looking forward to this assignment either. It had been a toss-up which of the twins to see first, Posy or Pixie, but in the end only one of them was in town, the other apparently in sunny Mallorca doing a shoot for another car company, this time Japanese. So he would start with Pixie, internet research confirming her to be Elspeth, whom he vaguely remembered to be the quieter of the twins, although that might be because he hadn't really spoken to her at his father-in-law's birthday do, unlike her sister, with whom he'd had way too much interaction, thank you very much.
They'd arranged to meet at a tiny studio off Old Compton Street where Pixie was making a video blog for a fashion brand. Looking it up on the map, he saw it was located in what used to be, and might well still be for all he knew, Soho's red-light district. The place was called Excelsior Media Centre, and he wouldn't have been surprised if it had once been the sort of seedy den where they produced old-school top-shelf magazines, a business now long since made defunct by the explosion of on-line porn. In preparation for the meeting, he'd dug into the twins' history, finding out that they were sufficiently well-known to merit their own individual Wikipedia profiles as well as one dedicated to their joint activities. Spotted by a modelling agency when they were just sixteen, they had been a fixture on the front covers of the teen magazines before spotting the opportunity afforded by the emerging social media explosion. Before long they were brand Posy and Pixie, lending their beauty and sass to sell everything from high-street cosmetics to take-away pizzas. Until this case had emerged, he had been only vaguely aware of the world of influencers, but it was bloody astonishing how much money they could make from it. It was all about building up a giant online following, an army of devotees who could be trusted to allow their buying decisions to be influenced by the attractive twins. He'd learnt that their combined following had reached over two million worldwide, making them the hottest of hot properties in the fast-moving market space they occupied. And he'd learnt what was apparently the phrase of the moment, from watching a dozen or so of their impressively glossy videos. On point. It seemed that for any product or service to have any merit, it had to be on-point, and only the Macallan twins were qualified to bestow that coveted accolade.
She came out to meet him in the little reception area, smiling a greeting which was warmer than he'd expected, given the frostiness of their earlier phone-call, when she had seemed reluctant to agree to the meeting. He'd guessed it was just that she was always busy. She was smaller than he remembered too, no more than five-foot-three, but perfectly proportioned, with slim hips and a full bosom which he seemed to remember reading had been expensively and expertly enhanced. She was wearing a figure-hugging black knitted dress and silvery stiletto sandals, with a string of glimmering white pearls setting off the look of high-priced sophistication.
She gave him an appraising look from top to bottom then nodded almost imperceptibly. He hoped he'd passed the test.
'Pixie,' he said, shooting her his beaming smile and holding out a hand. 'I'm Jimmy, Jimmy Stewart from Bainbridge Associates, working with the executors of your father's will. It's so good of you to agree to meet me.'
Delicately, she shook his hand then said, 'That's all right Jimmy, it's very nice to meet you.' If she remembered their previous brief encounter at his father-in-law's party, she wasn't letting on for now. 'But I'm not Pixie.'
'What?' For a moment he was confused, thinking that somehow he must have managed to get the sisters mixed up.
'Pixie's dead and buried. I'm Elspeth now. What I mean is I'm Elspeth again.'
He gave her a perplexed look, she responding with a laugh.
'Don't worry Jimmy, I'll explain all. Look, there's a nice cafe next door, you can buy me a coffee and we can talk about what you came for.'
They found a table by the window, and a few seconds later a young waitress glided over, smiling an embarrassed smile which suggested that she recognised the Macallan twin. Although he wondered if she knew which of them it was, a doubt confirmed by her opening words.
'What can I get for you? It's Miss Macallan isn't it? Posy?'
Elspeth seemed unconcerned by the misidentification, not bothering to correct her. Jimmy ordered a tall Americano, she a skinny decaf which for some reason he had predicted would be her choice.
'It happens all the time,' she shrugged. 'We're identical twins. It can be quite funny sometimes. And useful too, if we're feeling mischievous.'
'Aye, I can imagine,' Jimmy said. 'I've got a brother, but nobody would ever mix us up, I can tell you that. But anyway, the demise of Pixie. I'm interested to know more.'
She smiled. 'This dress I'm wearing, it's Dior. I assume you've heard of them? They're very famous. And really back on point at the moment.'
'Vaguely,' he said, suppressing a smile, 'but I'm afraid fashion's not my thing. You can probably tell, looking at me.'
He noted, mildly offended, that she didn't demur.
'This dress is six grand, the pearls the same. The shoes are nearly two grand. You see, that's the market we're working in now. It's not the teenagers spending their pocket money anymore.'
Although he was no marketing expert, he could see the sense in it. The twins were now entering their thirties, their loyal cohort of followers presumably growing older with them, and now they were selling an altogether more lucrative lifestyle centred around luxury designer brands and the essential bling that went with them. Big cars, fancy hotels in Davoz and the Caribbean, watches, jewellery, cosmetic surgery. All the essentials of the jet-set and their wanabees, driving a ton of cash into the coffers of the newly-sophisticated Macallans with every click.
'So I'm now brand Elspeth Macallan,' she said. 'It sounds nice, don't you think?'
'Yes it does,' Jimmy agreed. 'And what about your sister? Is she planning to re-brand too?'
'We do everything together business-wise, so yeah, I expect so,' Elspeth said. 'But of course that was before all of these horrible things came into our life.'
He wasn't sure whether she was referring to the terrible death of her father and brother, or her falling-out with her sister over their inheritance. Or maybe even to that other thing he'd discovered just as he was leaving the office to come to the meeting. But that's why he was here, to find out.
'I'm sorry for your loss,' Jimmy said. 'I know it must have been terrible for you and Kirsty.'
'Do you think so?' she said, her face suddenly hardening. 'I loved my brother of course, but my father was a hateful man. He liked to get his own way you see. He was just so used to being able to order all these men about in the Navy. So he thought he could behave the same with his own family and everyone else around him. To be honest, I don't mourn him one bit.'