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The kind of woman who almost exactly mirrored the type personified by her own mother.
Deborah frowned abruptly. Where had that thought come from?
‘Not unless this someone could come up with two million pounds,’ she told Philippa briskly.
Philippa could feel the colour leaving her skin, her blood felt as though it was being sucked back through her veins by some giant vacuum pump, leaving her physically shaking … physically nauseous.
‘Two million pounds! B-but that’s impossible …’ she started to stammer. ‘Andrew would never borrow so much money … He couldn’t!’
Deborah said nothing, pausing for a few seconds before removing a sheaf of papers from the file in front of her and saying quietly, ‘It’s our job as liquidators appointed by the bank, who are the main creditors—that is to say your late husband’s biggest debts are with them—to recoup as much of this money as we can, and this process is normally done by liquidating the company’s assets … hence the term liquidation.
‘What I have here is a list of those assets over which the bank has a charge; that is to say that when your husband borrowed this money from the bank he secured it by signing over to the bank those assets.’
Philippa tried to listen but she was still in shock, still stunned by the extent of Andrew’s debt. Two million pounds … how could he have borrowed so much money?
Deborah looked up at Neville Wilson. It was his job to explain to Philippa Ryecart the extent of her husband’s debts and the consequences of them.
Silently she started to replace her papers in the file.
‘And the people who work for the company?’ she heard Philippa asking her urgently as she stood up. ‘What will happen to them?’
‘They’ll be served with redundancy notices,’ Deborah told her. ‘There’ll be a formal meeting this afternoon informing them officially of what’s happened and …’
‘Redundancy!’ Philippa shivered as she looked across at Neville.
‘There isn’t any alternative, I’m afraid,’ he told her. ‘It’s standard procedure in such cases. Every extra day the company is in operation merely adds to its debt. I just wish I’d been able to persuade Andrew to listen to me when I tried to warn him about the risks he was running, but——’
He broke off as Deborah interrupted him to say quietly, ‘I’ll be in touch tomorrow morning as arranged.’ She turned to Philippa. ‘I’m sorry all this has to come as such a shock to you,’ she told her.
As she left the office she was thanking her lucky stars that she was not the sort of woman who could ever fall into the kind of trap that Philippa had been caught in. To be so dependent on a man and so unaware of his financial affairs.
It crossed her mind that Ryan was very much the same kind of man as Andrew Ryecart had been.
In Neville’s office Philippa stood up, preparing to leave, but Neville waved her back into her seat, saying, ‘Not yet, Philippa—we still have one or two things to discuss … about Andrew’s personal affairs.’
Andrew’s personal affairs. Philippa stared numbly at him. She was still in shock. She had gone beyond her own personal anger and bitterness now, totally overwhelmed by her awareness of how many lives Andrew’s egomania had destroyed.
All those people soon to lose their jobs; and in a town where all too probably they would not be able to find new ones.
‘How could he have done it, Neville?’ she asked shakily. ‘How could he have taken such a risk?’
‘He was that kind of man, Philippa,’ Neville told her. ‘He thrived on the excitement of taking that kind of gamble. He enjoyed taking risks.’
‘With other people’s lives … other people’s welfare?’ Philippa asked him bitterly. At the back of her mind was the thought that Andrew had not merely been a gambler addicted to the dangerous thrill of taking a risk, he had also been a coward, happy to gamble recklessly with the futures and livelihoods of others, but totally unable to face up to the consequences of losing that gamble when it affected him personally.
‘You wanted to talk to me about Andrew’s personal affairs,’ she said wearily instead. ‘The house was in Andrew’s name but I suppose it will only be a formality having it transferred into mine as his widow … like the bank accounts.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘To be honest I haven’t given much thought to that side of things and I should have done. It was a bit awkward at the garage this morning when I went to get petrol. They’ve stopped Andrew’s account and I had to use the last of my cash. I’ll need to draw some more from the joint account.’
Neville cleared his throat and looked down at his desk. ‘I’m afraid it’s not quite as simple as that, Philippa.’
As she looked into his face and saw his expression Philippa felt her stomach drop with all the speed and sickening effect of a high-speed lift. She knew even before he spoke that there was something seriously wrong, but her throat had gone so dry she couldn’t even begin to ask what it was.
‘Let’s take the house first, shall we?’ Neville was saying. ‘When Andrew approached the bank for an additional loan we could only grant it against some sort of security. The company’s assets were already tied up to secure the existing loans he had and so the only security Andrew had to offer was the equity in the house, and of course his insurance policies. If the house had been in joint names the bank would, of course, have been obliged to inform you of this and to get your signature to a document agreeing to it; however, as it was in Andrew’s sole name …’
Philippa was shivering and yet it wasn’t cold in the room.
‘What are you trying to tell me, Neville?’ she asked him through chattering teeth.
‘The bank now owns the house, Philippa, along with all of Andrew’s other assets.’
Philippa could see how much he was hating telling her this; she could see it in his eyes, and in the nervous betraying movements of his fingers as he fiddled with the file on his desk.
‘And, like the company’s assets, these will have to be sold and the money utilised to pay off the bank’s borrowing.’
‘And how long … how long will that take?’ Philippa asked him.
What she meant was, how long would it be before she no longer had a roof over her head?
‘I don’t know. That will be head office’s decision, not mine, since they sanctioned the extra borrowing.’
‘And the bank accounts?’ Philippa asked him, dry-mouthed. ‘The money in them?’
Surely there must be something for her … If not, how on earth was she going to manage … how on earth would she live?
Neville shook his head.
‘They’re all well over the overdraft limits, I’m afraid, Philippa.’
The overdraft limits. She swallowed, swamped by shock and despair.
‘I truly am sorry about all this,’ Neville commiserated with her.
It was a far more common situation than many people realised. He could name half a dozen small business sole traders whose partners were living in blissful ignorance of the fact that the bank now owned their homes and that all that stood between them and repossession was the size of the current month’s or in some cases the week’s takings.
Philippa stood up, the room felt so claustrophobic she could hardly breathe.
‘I’ll be in touch with you just as soon as I’ve heard from head office,’ Neville was saying, adding awkwardly, ‘In the meantime, try not to worry too much. At least the boys’ school fees are paid until the end of the year. The local Citizens Advice Bureau run a debt counselling service, Philippa. Why don’t you go along and see them?’
What for? Philippa wanted to ask him. Are they going to give me the two million pounds to repay Andrew’s debts? But she was so close to tears she dared not risk saying anything. It wasn’t Neville’s fault that Andrew had behaved so recklessly … so … so dangerously.
Had Robert known about any of this? she wondered as she stumbled into the fresh air. Was that why he had been so anxious to dissociate himself from things? And her parents? How would they react once they learned that she was going to be homeless?
She could feel the hot, weak tears of panic and self pity buried in the back of her eyes as she hurried towards her car, head bent not so much against the sharp buffeting wind as against the potentially curious and pitying glances of any passers-by.
She had parked her car in the town square, empty on a Monday of its market stalls. The square was dominated by the commanding façade of the town hall, built at the height of the Victorian age and far too large and domineering for its surroundings.
As she unlocked her car and removed her ticket, Philippa suddenly realised that the pound coin she had used to buy parking time had been virtually all the change she had got from paying for her petrol, and those notes with which she had paid for it had been all the money she had had.
The panic that hit her as she stood clinging on to the half-open door of her car was like nothing she had ever experienced in her life. It rolled over her, swamping her, reducing her to such a shocked and humiliated state that she could feel the shame of what had happened as though it were a fire that physically scorched her body.
For how long had they virtually been living on credit … owing money to the bank? For how long had she been spending the bank’s, other people’s money, totally unaware …? Why hadn’t she realised … questioned … guessed … ?
But no matter how hard she tried to lash herself into a self-anger strong enough to obliterate her fear, it just wouldn’t go away.
Somehow she managed to get herself into her car and get the engine started, her body trembling violently as she tried to come to terms with what she had learned.
When she got home and saw her brother Robert’s car parked outside the house and Robert himself standing beside it looking anxiously down the drive, her relief was almost as strong as her earlier panic. Robert would know what she ought to do, she comforted herself as she got out of the car. She was his sister, her sons his nephews; they were a family and he was far more experienced and knowledgeable about financial affairs than she was.
‘What is it?’ he asked her as soon as he saw her face. ‘What’s wrong?’
Philippa shook her head. ‘Let’s go inside,’ she told him, and then she realised that he wasn’t on his own and that his wife was in the car.
She got out and gave Philippa a cool look. ‘Duty’ was a word she was frequently heard to utter and, looking at her, Philippa could see that it was ‘duty’ which had brought her here now.
‘You’ve seen the bank?’ was Robert’s first question once they were inside.
‘Yes,’ Philippa confirmed. She swallowed hard as she told him, ‘The bank has called in a firm of accountants to act as liquidators, and …’
‘Never mind the company—what about Andrew’s personal assets?’ Robert asked her.
Philippa led them both into the sitting-room before turning round and saying quietly, ‘What assets? Apparently this house and all Andrew’s other assets, including his insurance policies, have been signed over to the bank as security for the money Andrew borrowed.’
It shocked her to realise that this did not surprise Robert as much as it had done her, and she could see from the way Lydia’s mouth thinned what she thought of her announcement.
‘Neville is going to let me know what will happen once he has heard from his head office,’ she told Robert numbly, like a child repeating a carefully learned lesson.
Lydia gave a small snort of derision. ‘There is only one thing that can happen. They’ll put the house on the market and sell it. You really should have refused to allow Andrew to take such a risk, Philippa …’
‘Not now, Lydia,’ she heard Robert saying uncomfortably before he turned to her and suggested with false cheerfulness, ‘It’s a cold day, Philippa … How about a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, of course; I’ll go and make one.’
It was only when she was in the kitchen that she realised that she had run out of teabags and that in all the shock of Andrew’s suicide she had forgotten to buy any more.
She went back to the sitting-room, to ask if they would have coffee instead, and stopped outside the door as she heard her sister-in-law’s voice raised in sharp exasperation.
‘Oh, really, Robert,’ she was saying. ‘You must admit that Philippa’s brought this whole thing on herself. She ought to have had a far tighter grip on things. If she’d spent a bit more time watching Andrew and a little less spoiling those wretched boys, she probably wouldn’t be in this mess now. How could she be stupid enough to allow him to sign away the house? I know she isn’t exactly the most intelligent of women … but quite honestly I don’t think we should be here … or getting involved. It won’t do you any good at all to be connected with such an appalling mess. I respect the fact that she’s your sister but really, what can we do?’
‘If she loses the house——’ she heard Robert saying uncomfortably.
‘If she loses it?’ Philippa could hear the derision in Lydia’s voice. ‘Of course she’ll lose it, and as to what she’ll do, then I expect she’ll have to go and live with your parents. We can’t have her living with us. Think of how embarrassing it would be, a constant reminder to people of what’s happened, and that is the last thing you need. And it’s not just her but those two boys as well. We’d probably end up having to pay their school fees as well as Sebastian’s.
‘And that’s another thing. I can’t pretend to approve of the way those boys are being brought up. They’d only be a bad influence on Sebastian and of course there would be other difficulties. Obviously Sebastian will ultimately have a very different adult life, and much better prospects than they will be able to expect. Daddy was saying the other day, by the way, that this year we really must consider letting Sebastian go out with the guns. Daddy first went out with them when he was seven and Sebastian is coming up for ten now.’
‘Where is that tea?’
Shaking with anger, Philippa went back to the kitchen, rebelliously making the coffee in the thickest pottery mugs she could find, knowing how Lydia would react to them.
She wasn’t disappointed. After one look at the tray she was carrying her sister-in-law gave her the briefest of chilly smiles and shook her head.
‘Coffee? Oh, no, I never touch it. Not at this time of the day. Silly of me, but I still think of it as something one only drinks after a dinner party.
‘Robert and I were just saying, Philippa, that perhaps the only fortunate aspect of this whole sorry affair is that at least your parents will be able to offer you a home. Although I must say,’ she added disapprovingly when Philippa remained silent, ‘I still cannot understand how you could have allowed Andrew to behave so foolishly. You must have realised what was happening.’
‘Must I?’ She turned away from her sister-in-law and looked directly at her brother, asking him, ‘When did you realise, Robert?’
He cleared his throat and flushed uncomfortably, but before he could say anything Lydia was answering for him, her voice ice-cold with disdain as she informed Philippa, ‘Well, of course we knew something must be wrong when Andrew came to see us and asked Robert to lend him some money. I mean, one simply doesn’t do that sort of thing. It was all extremely embarrassing. I was very cross with him for putting Robert in such an awkward position. No family member should ever ask to borrow money from another. It always leads to problems.’
‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right,’ Philippa agreed, somehow overcoming her shock to find her voice. Turning her back on Lydia, she looked at her brother and told him frankly, ‘Well, you can rest assured that I shall never ask you to lend me money, Robert—and as for my sons,’ she added, turning back to Lydia and giving her a fierce, betraying bright-eyed look, ‘Sebastian is the one I feel sorry for, not them.’
She barely registered Lydia’s outraged, ‘Well, really!’ as her sister-in-law stood up, her face flushed as she bridled at Philippa’s comment. ‘I think it’s time we left, Robert. Your sister is obviously overwrought,’ she announced.
Philippa went with them to the front door, waiting until Lydia had passed through it before touching Robert lightly on the arm and saying with quiet irony, ‘Thank you for your help and support, Robert.’
She watched him flush without feeling the slightest bit of remorse, still so angry about Lydia’s criticism of her sons that she didn’t care how recklessly she was behaving.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_42954568-70fa-5d11-b6ad-a66eb5c43bf4)
JOEL could feel the tension the moment he walked in through the factory gates; smell it on the air almost like an animal scenting death.
As a child he had often heard his father boast that he was descended from Romany folk; tinkers more like, Joel had heard others sneer behind his back when he made his claim, but there were occasions when he was aware of this inheritance, felt it in the odd prickle of his skin, the unfamiliar intensity of his awareness of the emotions of others, felt it in the certainty of the way he knew odd things, even while he struggled to deny the experience.
He hung back slightly, watching the other men; some of them, the older ones, walked with their shoulders hunched and their heads down, showing their defeat, avoiding looking at anyone else or speaking to them, while the younger ones adopted a much more aggressive and don’t-care swagger, hard, bright eyes challenging anyone who looked their way; but all of them shared the same emotion that was gutting him.
Fear. He could taste it in his mouth, dull, flat and metallic.
As he crossed the visitors’ car park—just one of the many fancy and very expensive changes Andrew had made to the place when he’d taken it over—he paused to study the small group of business-suited men and women huddled together by one of the cars.
They were all that was left of the company’s management team; the ones who had not been able to scramble off the sinking ship in time, he reflected bitterly as he watched them, the ones who had been either too stupid or too scared to recognise what was happening and leave before it was too late.
As he watched them Joel felt all the anger and fear he had been feeling since Andrew’s suicide boiling up inside him.
It was because of them, because of their greed and mismanagement, that he was in the position he was today, but what did they care about what he felt, about his life, his fears, his needs? All they cared about was having a flash office and fancy company car. His face darkened as he recalled the problems his buying a new car had caused.
He clocked on automatically and then went to hang up his jacket. When he came back he saw that instead of working most of the other men were hanging about in small groups talking. The meeting with the management was scheduled for one o’clock.
Only one of the young apprentices was making any attempt to work, and Joel frowned as he heard Jim Gibbons, one of the older men, telling him to stop.
‘What’s the point?’ he challenged Joel when Joel went over to tell him to leave the lad alone. ‘None of us will be in work by the end of the week—not the way things are looking.’
‘We don’t know that,’ Joel told him.
‘Oh, come off it. Why the hell else did Ryecart top himself if it wasn’t because he was going bust? This place is finished and we’ll be lucky if we come out of it with our last week’s wages, never mind our redundancy money. It’s always the same: the bank will get some fancy firm of accountants in to make sure they get their pound of flesh, but when it comes to us getting what’s rightfully ours … who the hell gives a toss about us? Course, it’s all right for you. You’ve got your missus in work. A nurse, isn’t she, down at the hospital? Smart pieces, those nurses, and not behind the door in bed either, if you know what I mean, or so they say … Does she keep her uniform on in bed for you, Joel?’
Joel forced himself to ignore the others’ laughter. It was just their way of letting off steam, of coping with their fear; there was nothing personal or malicious in it.
‘I hate it when Mum isn’t here in the morning,’ Cathy had grumbled earlier as she’d played with her cereal, and Joel had immediately felt both guilty and irritated as he heard the resentment in her voice; guilty because of his inability as a husband, a father and a provider to earn enough to support them all and irritated because of the way his children distanced themselves from him. It was Sally they wanted, not him, Sally they always turned to, her more than him.
Right from being a toddler of no more than two, his son had fiercely rejected any attempt Joel made to touch or hold him.
