At Mr Gatiss’s office, the receptionist ushered them in and he looked up at them from behind his desk, peering at them over his half-moon specs. Belle saw him stare at her scar, almost wince; then his eyes went to Milly.
‘Miss Stone, I believe? And you’d like your friend Miss Barton to stay and hear the reading? Please sit down. Can we get you both a coffee? Or tea?’
Belle shook her head. Milly too.
He was shuffling papers. ‘Such awfully sad news. A catalogue of disasters, yes? First the parents. Then Mr Harlan Stone dying so horribly. Just tragic.’
‘It is,’ agreed Milly.
‘So. Now let’s see.’ He unfolded a sheaf of papers, gazed at the top one and said. ‘Well this is perfectly straightforward. As Mr Harlan Stone’s only kin, you inherit everything.’
Milly squinted at him.
‘The house. The gatehouse. The zoo . . . oh dear, such a tragedy . . . and the business, Stone Furnishings Ltd., in its entirety, and all the business premises, factories, clubs, all the monies in various accounts, the cars, the boats . . .’
Milly tuned out.
She had a loud buzzing in her ears, like a swarm of angry bees.
Mr Gatiss kept speaking, but she didn’t hear another word. She walked out of the office with Belle, and Belle drove them back to the farm. She was a millionaire. Possibly a billionaire. If the authorities had ever seen behind the facade and got wind of the true nature of Charlie Stone’s business empire, she wouldn’t have got a bean. You couldn’t profit from the proceeds of crime. But Charlie had been clever. He’d cheated them all.
So – unexpectedly, miraculously, Milly was rich.
Now, what the hell was she going to do with it all?
Later, she sat Belle down in her bedroom and said: ‘I have to talk to you.’
‘Go on.’
‘Belle – I don’t want it. I’m frightened of it, with the drugs. To have so much! I could do anything.’
‘You’re worried you’ll start using again,’ said Belle.
‘Of course I bloody will! With all that?’ Milly was shaking her head. ‘Belle, I’ve thought it through. You could run it all for me, couldn’t you. You could see to things. I don’t want to get involved.’
‘Oh come on, Mills . . .’ Belle protested.
‘No, I mean it, Belle. I’m serious. I want you to handle it all. I can’t.’
Belle was quiet, taking it in. ‘Well . . . I suppose the clubs could be usable still. Maybe the furniture business if we could make it “properly” legit.’
‘You could do it,’ said Milly eagerly. ‘We’re the can-do girls, yes? And you could do it? You always wanted to break out, get a job, do something. This is your chance. This is it.’
Belle didn’t know what to say.
She had a lot of thinking to do, that was for sure.