receives no answer. âYou know what, Thomas? Fuck you! Thatâs a ton of money. If I was in your place, I would have already had âTake me, Iâm yours!â tattooed on my arse, so stop complaining, call this girl, invite her out for a coffee, talk to her about the good old days and ask her to marry you. Letâs be objective: you havenât seen each other for years â thereâs at least a ninety per cent chance that sheâll just think youâre a nutter and tell you to piss off. Then youâll inherit everything and not be forced to shell out a penny.â
âAnd do you really believe that sheâll say no, knowing about the will?â asks Thomas despondently. But the more he thinks about the last question, the more he starts to feel that he might to be on the verge of solving all his problems. On the other side of the desk, Frank is starting to feel the same way. He seizes the document and begins to leaf through it restlessly. The pages race through his hands as he opens it, closes it again, slams it down on the desk, smooths it out, crumples it up, and finally lifts his face and looks silently into the eyes of Sir Rogerâs grandson.
âSo?â Thomas finds the courage to ask, holding his breath.
âIt doesnât say anything,â Frank whispers incredulously.
âItâs not in there?â
âItâs not in there!â Frank reassures him with a laugh.
âYouâre a bloody genius.â
â Youâre a bloody genius!â
âNo, youâre a bloody genius!â
âNo, youâre the bloody genius, mate!â
âNo, youâre the bloody genius!â
They both jump up from their chairs in prey to the euphoria of the moment, unable to fully comprehend the incredible series of coincidences that have, miraculously, turned the situation on its head. Apparently, nobody found it necessary to specify that Sandy should actually be informed of the existence of the will: a blunder that cancels out every obligation.
At the idea that he might actually be free, Thomas starts breathing normally again. For the previous two days he hasnât eaten, hasnât slept and has hardly left the house. He doesnât quite know how, but he has managed to escape that most terrible of disasters: Sandy Price. A walking plague of Egypt. The same unbearable four-eyes who used to rummage through his drawers, hands covered in jam, and who dragged in her wake enough chaos and devastation to embarrass Attila the Hun and a whole host of Valkyries. A shiver of pure terror runs down his spine as he thinks back to the atrocious tortures she perpetuated on poor old Hairball, his beloved Persian cat. How many times did he find her locked in the fridge? And how many times dressed up as a pirate, or an ancient Greek? And what about the time she painted a toothless smile on Hairballâs face? Does he really want to remember? No, better just to consign those memories to oblivion.
âIâll just see her, ask her to marry me and⦠thatâll be it!â he says, still stunned by the news. âAll I have to do is not mention the will.â
He collapses into his chair, exhausted but happy and at total peace with the universe.
âNo, you absolutely must not say a word,â says Frank, waving an index finger in front of his nose.
âAnd if she were to ask me why I wanted to marry her?â asks Thomas, doubtfully. âWhat should I say?â He opens his eyes wide, overwhelmed once again by panic.
âCalm down. Thereâs no need to worry, we just need to come up with a proper plan,â the lawyer reassures him, assuming a professional tone and returning to his seat at the other side of the desk. He holds the will in his hand, as carefully as if it were a holy relic. âLetâs take things one step at a time,â he resumes, âthe first thing to do is to contact her. Do you know where she