“Half and half.”
“Fifty percent?”
“That’s it.”
“But that is totally criminal.”
“Is it? What’d you rather have, Mrs. Westmacott, a hundred percent of nothing or fifty percent of a fortune in the low millions?”
She didn’t answer, because the answer was obvious and anyway she was thinking furiously. This was absolutely foolproof. These were people who had never met Grace and whose only interest in her was to give her some money. A lot of money. And there was the account in Buckshot just aching to have a cheque paid into it. There’d be some sort of formalities about proof of identity, of course, but that was just a question of a birth certificate and a passport. And if the doctor was now greeting her as Mrs. Westmacott, well... She realised that Benjamin Twohig was speaking again.
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
“I was saying, Mrs. Westmacott, that there’s another complication. You see, you’re not the only heir. You are a co-heir. So, after my firm had got their fifty percent, you’d eventually have to split it in half again.”
She thought for a moment, and then smiled. “Well, if it is, as you say, in the millions” (she was having trouble with that word), “that would still leave me with a substantial sum.”
“Yes, but you’d end up with a quarter of the inheritance when you could end up with a lot more.”
“Could?”
“Yes. I’ve been thinking, Mrs. Westmacott, that there might be a third way.”
“A third way of what? I don’t understand.”
He was leaning forward now, with his large hands squeezed between his knees, his too-short sleeves riding up his forearms.
“Fifty percent is a lot. I’ve always thought that. It’s too much. So, I’ve thought up a third way.”
Madge looked at his anxious, rigid posture and thought, here it comes. This is it. This is why he’s really here.
“And this third way is something to do with you, I suppose.”
He grinned again, but this time it was a painful rictus. He ran a hand through that red hair.
“I got plans, I have. I don’t want to be running about doing legwork for these sort of people all my life. I’ve got plans. I want to make something of myself. I’m ambitious, I am. All I need is a leg-up, that’s all, just a leg-up. Give me a start.”
Ah.
“So what you’re suggesting is that we have a private — arrangement — between us. Cut out your firm. Is that it?”
“They’re real bastards, you don’t know the half of it. They coin it in, milking people like you; they don’t deserve it.”
“So how much would this third way of yours involve?”
“I’m not greedy. Twenty-five percent. That’s fair, isn’t it? Half of what you’d be giving them.”
“So you want me to sign a contract with you?”
“No, I don’t want anything on paper. What we’d do is open a joint account kind of thing. And then, in the end — and it won’t take long — when it’s all sorted out, I take my share and leave you in peace.”
“And if I don’t agree, you walk out of here without telling me who my rich relation is, and how to get in touch with the lawyers, is that it? So, if I do agree, what about your firm? Is that why you don’t want anything on paper?”
“They’d suspect something, they’d have to suspect something, but they couldn’t do anything. I’ve thought about it a lot. I’d have to drop out of sight, disappear, because they’re a nasty lot. They’d send people after me. And I won’t bother telling you what they’d do if they found me. So obviously, I’d have to hide out somewhere. Here would do.” He looked around.
“Here?”
“Upstairs. I wouldn’t be any bother. You got lots of room. It wouldn’t be for long. And anyway, we’d already be partners in a manner of speaking.”
She felt laughter welling up in her. It was the sheer silliness of his rickety plan. I mean, really, it was ludicrous in its pure cheek. She could see a dozen holes in it, a dozen ways in which she could, if she wanted to, leave him standing there with nothing.
“But what about the other heir?”
“That’s their hard luck. They won’t miss what they’ve never had.”
She thought about it in silence, looking at him carefully. Surely he didn’t seriously imagine that she was going to accept. It was far too complicated, given the circumstances, and the thought of him living upstairs, next door to Grace Westmacott, was just too bizarre for words.
He was twisting his large hands together, still looking at her with that pitiful pleading gaze, his eyes fixed on her. Then she noticed that his eyes were never really still. They would rest on her for a certain moment and then slide away quickly to look at something else, then slide back again. She began to be certain that Mr. Benjamin Twohig was not to be trusted. Him and his Third Way. The fact that he was cheating his employers told you that he was dishonest. And imagine being tied up to a man like this, with enormous hands and slithery eyes and that Adam’s apple, with a fortune in a joint account. Why, anything could happen. She could have an accident, it was always happening. And then he’d have it all.
No. It wasn’t on. She was large and anxious, but she wasn’t stupid.
And she knew what she was going to do.
“I’m afraid the answer is no, Mr. Twohig.”
He jumped as though someone had passed a thousand volts through his body.
“Don’t say that. Please, Mrs. Westmacott, please give it some thought.”
“I have. And the answer is no. If you want to walk out of here without telling me any more, then so be it. But I’m afraid that this idiotic idea of yours simply won’t do.”
It was quite simple, she had decided. He hadn’t thought it through properly. There was a Fourth Way. She would go to see Mr. Sniving. Or Mr. Preacle. Or even Mr. Biles. She would engage them as her solicitors. She would tell them the story, and after she had described Mr. Benjamin Twohig, they would certainly be able to identify his firm for her, and from then on, they could conduct the affair for her. That was the thing to do. She would take the Fourth Way.
He must have seen something of this playing on her face. His face twisted in a grimace of desperation.
He said, “Don’t forget the other heir, Mrs. Westmacott. If you’re thinking of going round me, you’d only get half of half of the estate. Twenty-five percent. My way, you get seventy-five percent. And that’s a lot of money. You just can’t imagine what it would mean. You just can’t. Please, please reconsider. I urge you.”
Urge. What a funny word to come out of that curious face.
The thing was, he was banking on her being greedy. But she wasn’t. She was, all right, a little bit dishonest like most people, but not really grasping. After all, a sum in the low millions divided by half and then divided again by half would still leave what would be, for her, a gigantic figure. Enough to buy a nice house somewhere no one would ever find her, in Spain, for example, she’d always liked Spain, and to provide a nice income for the rest of her life. Yes, the Fourth Way was definitely the way to go.
She said, “I’m afraid I can’t offer you any satisfaction. The answer is still no. I can offer you another glass of sherry, if you like, Mr. Twohig. In fact, I’ll have one myself.”
She picked up their glasses, then rose and went to the table by the window. He simply went on sitting there, with his great hands all twisting together.
She felt that laughter bubbling up once more. No, I mean, how lucky can you get, Madge? She really regretted not having someone she could tell about all this. Because they’d never believe it. Perhaps she’d whisper it to Grace one night after her medicine.
You answer a small ad quite by chance, you find yourself in a sweet little situation with lots of side benefits, and now, with the tiniest bit of organisation, you’re looking at a fortune. Out of all the women in the world you could have chosen, what a wonderful piece of luck to have stumbled on Grace Westmacott. Madge, you lucky girl, she thought.