Belinda Seneschal, spinster, leaned back in her chair.
“What’s to be done?” she demanded.
Her solicitor fingered his chin.
“It’s simple enough,” he said, surveying a letter. “The house and its
contents are yours—and Captain Pomeroy’s. They’ve only to be made over,
and then, er, then . . .”
“Exactly,” observed Miss Seneschal. “What then?”
Forsyth, solicitor, frowned.
“Then you arrange to take possession.”
Belinda raised her sweet eyebrows.
“Mr. Forsyth, d’you know Captain Pomeroy?”
“Very well. He’s a client of mine. As a matter of fact, he’s due here in
ten minutes’ time—I imagine, to discuss a similar letter to this.” He
tapped the document. “It’s rather convenient.”
“It isn’t convenient at all,” said Belinda Seneschal. “I’ll tell you
why. Six months ago Captain Pomeroy and I were engaged. It wasn’t
announced, but we were. Well, now we aren’t.”
Forsyth thought very fast.
“I see,” he said slowly. “Ah, yes, I see now. That explains the bequest.
The testator——”
“We met him at Biarritz,” said Belinda. “His dog was run over by a car,
and we did what we could. Poor old man, he was beside himself. After
that we used to go and see him sometimes to try and cheer him up. It
wasn’t much to do, and he was pathetically grateful. Of course, we never
dreamed . . .”
“One never does,” said Forsyth. “Yes?”
“Well, that’s all,” said Miss Seneschal. “He knew of our engagement and
naturally assumed it was going to end in marriage. So out of the
kindness of his heart he’s left us his house. It was extremely handsome
of him. It’s a perfectly lovely place.”
Forsyth referred to the letter.
. . . . _my property at Biarritz, known as_ =Les Iles
d’Or=, _including the villa and all its contents, jointly
to Miss Belinda Seneschal . . . and Captain Ivan Pomeroy . . .
in the belief that they will appreciate it and neither sell nor
let the same_. . . .
“It’s a question of arrangement,” he said. “That’s all I can say. I
don’t suppose you want to renounce—surrender your share?”
Belinda sat up.
“And have him take both? Not much.”
“Well, there you are,” said Forsyth. “In view of the testator’s words, I
take it you won’t care to sell, so there’s nothing for it. You must
arrange to share it.” Here a telephone buzzed. “Excuse me.” He picked up
the receiver. “Yes? . . . Right. Show him into the waiting-room.” He
replaced the receiver. “Here he is, Miss Seneschal.”
That lady leaped to her feet.
“Then I’m off,” she said.
“Wait a minute,” said Forsyth, rising. “If he’s prepared to meet you,
won’t you stay?” Belinda shook her head. “It’s infinitely better to talk
this over at once. It’ll save no end of correspondence.”
“I can’t help that,” said Miss Seneschal. “The position’s impossible
enough. Think, Mr. Forsyth. We’ve each got to share something with the
one person in the world with whom we can share nothing. We’re mutual
thorns in the flesh. I tell you frankly, the very thought of him makes
me tired, and I fancy the sight of me would send him out of his mind.”
“If you’ll forgive my saying so, it would be a great deal more likely to
bring him to your feet.”
“I don’t want him at my feet.”
“It’s a very good place to have a joint-owner,” said Forsyth.
Miss Seneschal hesitated.
“D’you say it’s necessary for us to meet?”
“By no means. But it’s highly expedient.”
Finger to lip, Belinda stared at the door.