I closed my eyes briefly. 'This is getting too complicated, Uncle Freddy.  I'll have to think about it later.  Come on, you look pretty washed out.  I really think I'd better go.'

'Kate.' He kept hold of my hand.

'What, Freddy?'

'Blysecrag.'

'What about it?'

'Oh, Kate, I don't know what to do.' He started to cry; not sobbing, but just crying quietly, tears rolling down his cheeks.

'Freddy, what is it?  Come on, don't upset yourself.' I dabbed at his eyes again.

'I'd left it to you, Kate.'

'You did what?'

'I'd left it to you, then I changed my will to leave it to the National Trust, because I didn't want to give you an added reason to stay in this country if you might be moving to Thulahn.  But…' His voice sounded thin and desperate. 'But now I don't know what to do.  I can change the will back again if you want the dreadful old pile.  I mean, I don't know.  You could call in Miss thing, Miss Craston, the lawyer.  I could do it now—'

'Hey, hey, hey.  Uncle Freddy.  Look, I'm honoured you even thought of willing it to me.  But what would I do with a huge place like Blysecrag anyway?'

'Look after it, Kate, that's all I've ever done.'

'Well, then, I'm sure the National Trust will do a much better job than I could.  But you've got to stop talking like this, Freddy.  You're not dead yet.  Come on, now.'

I had no idea if this pull-yourself-together-old-bean stuff would work with Uncle F.  I felt awkward with it, but then how else are you going to feel when you're with somebody who might be dying and who seems convinced they are, or are about to?  Especially when he's already crying and you feel you might be about to.

'I'll be all right,' he said, falteringly and unconvincingly. ' Are you sure you don't want it?'

'Positive.  I'd just get lost.  Look, you're not going to die yet, but I take it you have provided for Miss Heggies, for when the time does come?'

'Oh, yes.  Her flat is hers.  And there's money.'

'Then there's nothing to worry about.  Stop distressing yourself.  Good grief, give it a few weeks and you'll be back there yourself, trying to get the damn catapult to work again.'

'Yes.'

'Look at you.  You can't even keep your eyes open.  Get some sleep.'

'Yes.' He stopped fighting it and let his eyes close. 'Sleep,' he said groggily.

'I'll see you tomorrow,' I said, rising.  I let go of his hand and let it rest on the pale green disposable sheet.

'Tomorrow,' he whispered.

'I don't believe this!  You're making this up!  A fucking for-real prince offers to marry you and you turn him down and take the next jet out of town, then barely a day later an uncle on his deathbed wants to give you some vast estate in England with a house the size of the fucking Pentagon and you turn your nose up at that as well! Are you crazy?'

'Oh, right.  This from the woman who claims to believe sisters should do things for themselves.  And Freddy is not on his deathbed.'

'Look, there's nothing unsisterly in letting somebody will you enormous amounts of realty.  Especially when it's an old man on his deathbed.  I mean, that's perfect.  If he ever did expect you to put out in return, he sounds far too weak to do anything about it now!  Even if you were prepared to drop your precious self-righteousness, and your pantyhose, which I doubt.'

'Luce, I swear, talking to you cleanses my soul.'

'You're a fucking atheist, you haven't got a soul.  What are you talking about?'

'If ever I start to worry that I might be in any way deceitful, shallow, vindictive, overly acquisitive, exploitative or cynical, I only have to talk to you for a few minutes to realise that I am something close to a saint in comparison.'

'Bullshit.'

'Don't you see, Luce?  You're the reason I don't need a shrink.  All I need every now and again is to be reminded that I'm not a bad person.  And you do that!  I should thank you.  Actually, I should pay you, but I'm not that saintly.'

'Kathryn, get some help.  Your brain has left the building.  Book yourself into a clinic.  I'm serious.'

'You're not serious, and I'm not ill.'

'You are too!  Talk about denial!  Apart from anything else, you're denying yourself the chance to own half of North York state or wherever this Blisscraig place is, and you're denying yourself to be Queen of an entire fucking country!'

'Look.  Can we come back to this some other time?'

'To talk about what?  The archangel Gabriel appeared before you asking you to be the Mother of God for the Second Coming and you turned that down too?'

'Ha ha.  No, it's an opportunity I have.  I don't know whether to take it or not.  Can I run it past you?'

'Why bother?  The mood you're in at the moment, you'd turn down the offer of a cure for cancer and an end to world hunger.'

'Well…Look, I've been given some blackmail material.'

'Blackmail?  Seriously?'

'Seriously.  Film of somebody fucking somebody they shouldn't be fucking, somebody they're not married to.'

'So this person is married?'

'Yep, she is.'

'Ah-hah.  Anyone I know?'

'No.  Thing is, I only have to say the word and the husband gets to see the film.'

'And you get to see the husband?'

'Well, maybe.'

'Ho ho.  So is this to do with your beloved?'

'Yes.  I can probably destroy his marriage if I want.  Of course, whether he falls into my arms is another matter, but…'

'Okay.  You want to know what I would do?'

'Yes.'

'Let me just check.  Are either of the people in the film richer than you?'

'Eh?  No.'

'Right, so there's no point in, like, actually blackmailing them.'

'Luce!  Even for you —'

'I'm just checking!'

'Okay.  Sorry.  Go on.'

'Right.  Well, I'm very tempted to say, whatever you do, don't use the film, just sit on it.  I feel I should say that because it seems like you always do the exact opposite of what I suggest anyway, so if I apply a bit of reverse psychology and advise you to do whatever is most against your best interests, you'd end up doing the right thing through sheer cussedness.'

'Whereas really you think I should give the word and let him know his wife's cheating on him?'

'Yeah, do it.  If you really want this guy, and you really don't want to ascend to the Yeti Throne or whatever the fuck it is, do it.  Give that film the green light.'

'But then I could be blackmailed by the person who got the film to me in the first place.'

'Hmm.  Hold on, I've got it.'

'What?'

'The solution.'

'What?  What is it?'

'It's this.  Be positive.  Be affirmative.  Say yes to everything.'

'Say yes to everything?'

'Yes.  Take the mansion and half of York state; sell it and buy hospitals and schools for the needy of what's-it-called.'

'Thulahn.'

'Yeah, Thulahn.  Which I think you should become Queen of.  Tell the Prince you'll be his wife, but it'll be one of these formal marriages the Europeans used to have, because you release the film too and do everything you can to be in the right place at the right time to get your guy and carry him off to Thulahn as well, to be your secret lover.'

'So I should suggest to the Prince that we get married but it's never consummated?'

'Yeah.  A morganatic marriage, or whatever it's called.'

'I don't think that's what a morganatic marriage means.'

'Isn't it?  Shit, and I used to think it meant a good marriage, like rich, from J. P. Morgan?  Yes?'

'No, not that either.  But that's your suggestion?'

'It is.  And if it all works out, I expect a damehood or something, or a fucking tiara loaded with diamonds at the very least.  A castle would be nice.  Hell, leave Blisscraig to me if you like; it could be your embassy in England.'

'Hmm.  I don't know that Suvinder would be very happy with an unconsummated marriage.'