John continued to soothe his conscience by convincing himself that she’d never loved him anyway and wondered how he could borrow money against the house. He knew he couldn’t give up and, having put so much into the business, he must make a go of it. He simply couldn’t bear the idea of another failure and was quite certain he would never get a job. Everywhere he looked he saw the casualties of the recession: unemployment, redundancies, bankruptcies. All the time he could go daily to his office, keep his head above water, have something of his own, he could cope. He suspected that sitting day after day in the house which had been witness to so many of his failures and Rupert’s successes, writing for jobs that would never be forthcoming, would be his undoing. When he told Nell that he wanted to carry on as they were in Bristol she was troubled.
‘Is it wise?’ she asked tentatively. ‘Isn’t it sensible, sometimes, to cut your losses and get out?’
‘I think the recession’s bottoming out,’ he said confidently. He’d heard someone say that in the pub only yesterday. ‘It would be crazy to lose everything we’ve put in now. And the house is there if we need it.’
It was that comforting fact that made Nell feel she must agree with him.
‘But we won’t sell it, will we?’ she asked anxiously. She knew now that, if they were to sell, the money would disappear as all the rest had. ‘We’ll keep the house, just in case. We could rent it out. It would help pay the rent here.’
‘Not a bad idea. I’ll look into it,’ said John who had no intention of letting the house. He needed money and the house was his only hope. ‘Don’t worry. Things will be OK now.’
Hope born of desperation encouraged her to believe him and, with the fees paid for the whole of Jack’s final year at prep school, Nell felt she could afford to relax.
SAM WHITTAKER STOOD STARING out over the rooftops of Exeter wondering how long he could go on preventing the bank from foreclosing on his site. The interest had been rolling steadily on the fifty thousand pounds he’d borrowed – half the purchase money required – and now stood at more than twelve thousand pounds. He needed an input of at least fifty-six thousand pounds to satisfy the bank and start work and who was going to risk that in the present market? He had great hopes of Gillian but, as yet, nothing had come of her attempts to raise the money from amongst her friends. Sam turned away from the window and lit a cigarette. It had been a great stroke of luck that his old chum Jeremy had to go off to the Middle East and was letting him caretake the flat. He had nowhere else to go except for his tiny cottage tucked away in Provence. He’d sold everything else to put in the other fifty thousand that the bank had demanded for the purchase of the site near Dartmouth and when his partner had drawn out he hadn’t known where to turn. If only he could sell the site and get out!
Sam inhaled deeply on his cigarette and thought about Gillian. Some instinct told him that, all the time he held her off physically, her will to succeed for him would be greater. He sensed that, with her sexual needs satisfied, she might lose her edge and he had a strong intuition that she was going to help him get what he needed. He gave her just enough of himself to keep her off balance, wanting more, eager to please and, although he would have liked to satisfy both their needs, that same instinct warned him to wait. She was certainly doing her best and he encouraged her with drinks, lunches, caresses, and wondered from whom he could borrow more money.
Sam glanced at his watch. This waiting was driving him mad: the days seemed endless. He’d arranged to meet Gillian at lunch time to discover whether she’d had any success with her godmother. He toyed with the idea of inviting Gillian back to the flat and rejected it almost immediately. He must be patient a little longer. Sam finished his cigarette and went to have a shower, praying that this time she would have good news for him.
THE NEWS THAT ELIZABETH had just left the country for a month’s holiday acted as a cold shower on Gillian’s plans and hopes. She now felt all the emotions for Sam that had been so obviously missing in her feelings for Henry and more and more often, as she paced her bedroom floor and attempted to control her frustration, she found herself visualising how life with Sam might be should she throw her lot in with him. He’d told her about his little cottage in France, extolling the virtues of the Provence countryside and climate, and hinted at great expectations from an ageing uncle, and Gillian was beginning to build up a very attractive picture of the future. For the first time in her life she was experiencing that heavy, overpowering sexual enthraldom that drugs the senses and clouds judgement. Even now she did not suspect that Sam was withholding sexual favours deliberately: he was far too clever. He implied that he found her desirable but, for unnamed reasons, there was nothing he could do about it. Gillian pondered what those reasons might be. Was it because she was married? Surely not. She’d been quite open about her affair with Simon. Perhaps she hadn’t made it obvious to him that she was willing? Unlikely. Without actually stating it in so many words, Gillian knew she’d made it quite clear that she was. And where, given that they actually arrived at that point, would the act take place? Sam said that he was staying with a friend and never invited her back. Perhaps he was simply too wrapped up in his scheme to concentrate on anything else. Something was needed to push the relationship over the top, to sweep away all the impediments and move them into the next stage. Gillian was convinced that, once Sam found an investor, things would change.
When she knew that Elizabeth was home again, Gillian went to see her. To her chagrin, Elizabeth had another visitor. Richard rose to his feet as she followed her godmother into the sitting room and, despite her annoyance, Gillian was struck anew by his good looks.
‘How nice to see you,’ he said, kissing her lightly on the cheek. ‘I think the last time was when I was passing you over to Henry, wasn’t it? No regrets, I hope?’
‘No, no.’ Gillian subsided into an armchair, laughing at such an absurd idea. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘How’s Henry?’ Elizabeth gave Gillian a cup of coffee and returned to her own chair.
‘Very well.’ Gillian looked around for sugar, remembered that her godmother never acknowledged its existence and sipped bravely. ‘Delighted that his cottages are selling so well.’
‘I should think so!’ exclaimed Richard. ‘He must be the only man in the country selling property at the moment.’
Gillian was silent. This was not quite the reaction she’d hoped for.
‘Of course Nethercombe’s a bit of a one-off, isn’t it?’ observed Elizabeth. ‘The setting is perfect. Those beautiful grounds and the swimming pool. It was very clever of him to give the residents access to all that. Personally I should hate the intrusion but it must be a very great selling point.’
‘We’ve got our own private gardens,’ shrugged Gillian. ‘It doesn’t bother me particularly. But I think you’re right. The setting is very important. Actually—’
‘And you’re just off the A38 there,’ mused Richard. ‘Very convenient if you need to get anywhere in a hurry.’
‘I’m not sure that matters,’ argued Gillian, thinking how very far the site near Dartmouth was from a good, fast road. ‘After all—’
‘Oh, I think it matters,’ said Richard. ‘Not many people are buying second homes at the moment, are they? If they’re buying them as main residences then they need to get to work. They don’t want to be stuck miles from anywhere.’
‘I think it depends—’
‘It seems to me,’ said Elizabeth, ‘that people who buy properties in courtyard developments want to live in the country but in an urban environment. You know? Small gardens, neighbours to keep an eye on things if they’re out, amenities close at hand and all set in beautiful surroundings. Nethercombe’s got all that. Added to which, Henry started just in time. Even he, with all those advantages, would be mad to be thinking of it now.’ She bent to place a log on the fire.
Gillian looked at her in dislike. How prim and proper and unbearably stuffy she was! Even her logs looked newly laundered
. No chance of a woodlouse running amok or a piece of loose bark dropping into the spotless grate! She caught Richard’s eye upon her and hastily rearranged her expression.
‘I think you’re right in general,’ she said, in what she hoped was a rational voice. ‘Although I think there are still a few viable propositions around.’
‘Good Lord, Gillian!’ Richard raised his eyebrows a little and smiled at her. ‘That sounds very professional. Thinking of taking up estate agency?’
‘Of course not!’ Gillian forced herself to laugh heartily at his insufferably patronising remark. Well, he was Elizabeth’s accountant, after all! ‘It’s just that I heard of a project the other day which sounds really good. A wonderful site looking out to sea near Dartmouth. It’s only three conversions and the owner’s got buyers for all of them. His partner had to back out and he’s looking for someone to go in with him.’ She grimaced in what she hoped was a casually disinterested manner. ‘Ought to be a gold mine, I should think.’
Elizabeth had become very still, her eyes fixed on Gillian’s face, but Richard gave a snort.
‘Minefield, more like. If the chap’s got bona fide buyers he should be able to get backing easily enough. If they’re really interested they ought to be prepared to sign a contract. No money need be exchanged until the properties are built but the banks might still back a deal if he’s got the contracts and it’s a really prime site. If the banks won’t lend I should think there’s a problem somewhere and I can’t imagine anyone else foolish enough to take it on.’
Gillian looked at Elizabeth. A curious smile played around her godmother’s lips and she shook her head.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten all those birthday and Christmas presents, Gillian?’ she asked softly. ‘The answer is categorically “no”.’
Gillian attempted to appear puzzled and simply succeeded in looking foolish. She flushed brightly and Richard gazed at them both in surprise but was too well-mannered to ask questions. Elizabeth got to her feet.
‘More coffee anyone?’ she asked but Gillian had risen too with a great show of looking at her watch.
‘Must dash, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘Just a flying visit to see how you are. Got a lunch date in Exeter. No, no. Don’t come out. See you.’
Mortified and disappointed, Gillian covered the road to Exeter in record time but, as she drove, her brain was busy thinking over the things that Richard had said. Even to her infatuated mind it made good sense. If Sam had buyers there shouldn’t be a problem and when they were face to face across the lunch table she found herself mentioning it. Sam was far too experienced to show the tiny flicker of anxiety he felt as she put her finger on the weakness he hoped would pass unnoticed. He’d already lined up a couple of chums who, for a fee, were prepared to state to any interested party that they would be buying one of the converted barns but he knew that Gillian would not be easily taken in and realised that the time had come to bind her even more closely to him.
‘The banks are very nervous at the moment,’ he told her, allowing their hands to touch as though by accident on the tabletop. His fingers stroked the inside of her wrist and she shivered a little. ‘At the height of the boom they lent too much with too little collateral and they’ve been very badly burned. They’re all much more cautious than they were even six months ago.’ He smiled at her, lifting her hand to his mouth and mumbling kisses into its palm whilst keeping his eyes on hers. ‘You know, I simply can’t concentrate on work today. Do you have to hurry home?’ He watched her breast rise and fall as her breathing quickened and the colour stained her cheeks. ‘Jeremy’s had to go abroad.’ He made it sound as though it had just happened. ‘I wonder if you’d care to come and see where I’m living? What do you say?’
Gillian nodded, trying for the insouciance that she usually had at her command in these situations.
‘Why not?’ she said with a little shrug.
But her voice was husky and her hand trembled in his and Sam smiled to himself as he helped her into her coat and he kept his arm about her as they went out into the cold November afternoon.
Thirteen
NELL WAS ONLY TOO pleased to accept Gussie’s invitation to Nethercombe for Christmas and was relieved to find that it needed very little encouragement to persuade John to shut the office for the whole of the holiday. Although the promise of funds tied up in his mother’s house had yet to become a reality, the knowledge of it kept him from the despair he had known just before the cottage was sold. Nevertheless, he was withdrawn and preoccupied. There had been no movement now in the market for months and the bills were beginning to mount and the demands starting to trickle in again. By the time the mortgage on the cottage had been paid off, Jack’s fees dealt with and his own debts settled there had been precious little left from the sale. It might be possible to raise up to sixty per cent of the value of the house in Bournemouth but the question asked by his bank was: how would the loan be repaid? John suggested that a charge be taken over the property which would be put up for sale but the manager was cautious. Properties had been on estate agents’ books by this time for up to two years and prices were still dropping. He might be prepared to take a charge over the house against the loan but how did John propose to pay the interest until the house sold? John had no answer to this interesting question. He put the house up for sale hoping for a miracle but the strain of keeping this from Nell was very great especially as she was given to observing at intervals how much safer she felt now she knew that they had a bolt hole.
Gussie read out Nell’s acceptance at breakfast and gave a private sigh of relief. She’d feared that Nell might be too proud to take up the offer and she and Mrs Ridley already had great things planned.
‘Perhaps we’ll have another little party,’ suggested Henry, smiling at Gillian who was fiddling with some toast. She’d been very quiet these last few weeks. When Gussie broke the news of Nell’s pregnancy to him he’d wondered, with a great upsurge of joy, whether Gillian might be in that interesting condition. If so she was keeping it very much to herself. ‘What do you think? Jack really enjoyed his New Year’s party, didn’t he? What about Boxing Day? Things can go a bit flat, can’t they, when you’re young?’
‘Absolutely.’ Gillian attempted to pull herself together. ‘Sounds a great idea. I suppose Mr Ridley’s marked out the tree?’
Henry, who always had a Christmas tree from the estate, nodded. ‘All organised.’ He turned back to Gussie who was deep in Nell’s letter. ‘How’s John doing? He must be pretty desperate.’
‘Well, I think his mother’s death may have eased that problem a little. Although one shouldn’t look at it like that. Apparently there’s a big house in Bournemouth which they could sell, I suppose, if things get too bad.’
Gillian, who had returned somewhat listlessly to her toast, frowned and sat up a little.
‘House?’she enquired casually.
‘Mmm? Yes. That’s right. A big family house, Nell says. Not that it would be easy to sell at the moment, I imagine. Still, money could be raised against it, I suppose, if they were in trouble. I hope it won’t come to that. I know that Nell regards it as a safe place if things get worse.’
‘I can’t imagine what they can be living on.’ Henry looked worried. ‘It must be a nightmare. And yet we’ve managed to sell another cottage.’ He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t seem quite fair somehow.’
Gillian seemed to have been struck by a deeply engrossing idea and it was Gussie who answered.
‘Well, you’ve kept your prices at a very sensible level, my dear. And the cottages are really so charming.’
‘I think it’s your knack with the clients.’ Henry pursed his lips. ‘You’ve really picked up the jargon. Mr Ellison says that he’ll give you a job any time you like.’
‘Really, Henry,’ said Gussie but she flushed with pleasure. ‘We’re getting quite a jolly little community, aren’t we? The Beresfords are charming and Guy is a very quiet young man. And Mrs Henderson’s abou
t to move in at last. I must admit, it took so long for her to sell her previous house, I feared we would never see her here.’
‘And what do you think of the new chap?’
‘Mr Jackson,’ said Gussie thoughtfully. ‘He wants it as a pied-à-terre. He’s been made redundant but he’s managed to find a job in Plymouth. He doesn’t want to move the family down from Gloucester so they’ve decided to sink his redundancy money into the cottage. Of course, it’s tiny but they can use it as a holiday home and keep it as an investment for when things pick up again. Meanwhile he can live in it from Mondays to Fridays. I thought it was an excellent plan.’
‘So does he, I’m delighted to say.’ Henry beamed at her. ‘Only one to go. We’ve been incredibly lucky, haven’t we?’
He looked at Gillian, inviting her to share with him in their good fortune. It was plain that Gillian hadn’t heard a word but Henry was pleased to see that there was a sparkle in her eyes and she looked more like her old self.
‘Sorry. I was miles away.’ She smiled at them both. ‘I was trying to remember where we put the Christmas decorations. Only a week to go. I think I’ll pop into Exeter and do a bit of shopping. If the Woodwards are coming I must think about presents for them.’
‘Oh yes,’ agreed Henry at once. ‘Something nice for Jack and something pretty for Nell. Should we get a present for the baby?’
‘Not yet.’ Gillian pushed back her chair. ‘Plenty of time for that when it’s born. It’ll be Nell who needs cossetting. I’ll have a look around for something special.’ She went out.
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