âHas your friend approached the banks?'
âOh, good grief! You know what the banks are like at present.
Everything has to be written in tablets of stone these days, doesn't it? They're too afraid to move. Such a pity. After all, we're only talking of fifty-odd thousand. Whoever raises the money will get it back threefold.'
âReally?' John took his newly filled glass thoughtfully. âSounds good.'
âOh, it is. Everyone who's seen it says so. Look how well Henry's done. The courtyard development is the in thing. All Sam's are cash buyers too. Don't even need mortgages. If he could just get started it would be a matter of weeks before the first one would be ready for occupation.'
John sat up a little and Gillian, curled beside him, watched him over the rim of her glass as she sipped.
âI've had an idea,' he said slowly. He paused and Gillian held her breath.
âReally?' she said lightly when she could bear the silence no longer. âAnd what might it be?'
John turned to look at her but the passion had gone from his eyes and it was Gillian's heart this time that started to race.
âIt just might be possible that your friend and I could do a deal together.'
Gillian sat back with an incredulous little grimace.
âReally? How on earth â¦? I mean â¦' She shrugged. âSorry. I don't mean to be rude but I didn't think that things were too good for you at the moment.'
âAh. Well that's where you're wrong.' John's spirits started to rise and he began to feel excited. âThis might be just what I'm looking for. I've got a feeling that this was really meant to be.'
âWhen you say this â¦' Gillian snuggled closer and raised her face â ⦠do you mean â¦?'
John bent to kiss her and she noticed with relief that all the fire had gone from his touch.
âWell, that would be nice too but I was just wondering â¦'
âYes?' Gillian sat up and sipped at her whisky. âWondering what?'
âWould it be possible for me to meet this friend? Just to have a chat. No strings. A preliminary canter, as it were.' A thought occurred to him. âNot a word to a soul, of course.'
âOf course. It shall be our little secret.' Gillian managed to keep her tone casual. âWell, why not? I'm sure he'd love to meet you. We'll make a little plan and slip away, shall we?' She paused. âWhen were you thinking of?' she asked almost indifferently.
âWell, we're here all week but it would be nice to do it soon. Would he be available over the holiday? Does he live round here?'
âExeter. I tell you what,' Gillian uncurled her legs and stood up, âI'll go and give him a buzz, shall I? There was some talk of his going away for the New Year.'
âOh, yes please, then.' She had to check her triumphant smile at John's eagerness. âI'd like to catch him before I go back.'
Gillian stood her glass on the table and slipped out and John resumed his fire-gazing. Now, however, his depression had lifted and ideas chased round inside his head. He lifted his glass and drained the last of the whisky feeling alive and excited. He had a feeling in his bones that things were going to turn out right after all.
Â
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IT SEEMED AS THOUGH once again the Christmas celebrations at Nethercombe had started the New Year off on a good footing. John, full of plans and hopes, was in better spirits than Nell could ever remember although she had no idea why. In January 1992 the property market reached its lowest point ever and if it hadn't been for the deal which was being forged with Sam, John would have been quite desperate. Nell, unable to see any reason at all for his good humour, was puzzled but the comforting knowledge of the house in Bournemouth prevented her from being too anxious. Surely with that and John's pension â for the thousandth time she wished that he hadn't commuted it â they could cope until he found a job? The recession couldn't last for ever. She turned her thoughts to the baby that she carried and decided that she must relax and look forward to it and try to push her doubts and fears to one side.
Jack went back to school and Nell found the flat quiet and lonely without him. They'd spent happy hours talking about the baby; deciding on names only to change their minds and choose others that became more and more outrageous. Nell bought some wool and began, rather inexpertly, to knit tiny garments whilst Jack wrote a long, painstaking letter to his grandparents and aunt in Toronto telling them about the forthcoming event.
âWhy don't they ever come to see us?' He abandoned his task for a moment and came to hang on the back of the sofa. Nell frowned at the knitting pattern, trying to make sense of it and failing miserably.
âIt's rather a long way and it's very expensive,' she explained. âAnd your cousin is a very sickly child. I told you. Pauline was very ill when he was born and neither of them are able to live normal healthy lives. It's very sad.'
âBut Granny and Grandpa could come,' protested Jack. He hung his arms over the chair and drew up his feet, breathing stertorously into the cushions. âAunt Pauline could stay in Toronto with Uncle Philip.'
Nell, who had often thought this, considered her reply.
âPauline's very nervous,' she said at last. âSick people often are. She can't bear for them to leave her. You have to remember that they're her mum and dad.'
âThey're your mum and dad too,' grumbled Jack, doing complicated things with his legs. âBut they left you when they went out to Canada.'
Nell was silent, remembering the bitterness she'd felt when they told her they were going.
âPauline needs us, darling,' they'd said, automatically expecting her to understand and accept that her spoiled younger sister must be put first, for thus it had been all her life. âShe simply can't cope with the new baby. She was so ill with him. And Philip drinks. We'll come back and see you, of course, and you must come out. It's so wonderful out there.'
They'd sold everything, giving Nell the small sum of money that had been the deposit on the cottage at Porlock Weir, and set off with promises of visits and money to help with air fares but they'd never been back and Nell had never visited them. It was as if she and the two-year-old Jack were completely unimportant to them and, even when it might have been possible for Nell to scrape up some of the money for a ticket, she was too proud to ask for a contribution.
Jack gave a great kick and tumbled over the back of the chair into her lap where he lay, laughing. Nell dropped her pattern and tried to rescue her knitting but before she could speak, his face changed and grew solemn and he stared up at her round-eyed.
âI can feel it,' he whispered, half alarmed, half excited. âI can feel the baby moving.'
Nell began to smile a little. âHe's kicking you,' she said. âServes you right for falling on top of him. Or her. You'll have to show a little more respect.'
But Jack didn't move or smile back. He continued to lie against her, feeling the fluttering movements, awed by his experience. She lightly brushed the hair from his brow, conscious of so many emotions â joy, gratitude, terror, love â that she felt that she might fly apart, disintegrate into a million particles. Aware of some of these sensations, Jack slipped his arms round her waist and hugged her as tightly as he could whilst trying to be gentle.
âAloysius,' he said, referring to their earlier conversation. âOr Persephone if it's a girl.' He watched her smile and felt relieved. âWhat if he's twins?'
âDon't even think about it,' said Nell, retrieving her needles. âAnd what about that letter?'
Jack sighed and crawled off the sofa on his hands.
âI'll finish it after tea,' he promised. âI'm starving.'
Now, all alone, Nell longed for his easy natural companionship. Try though she might, she could not keep her fears at bay and John's odd behaviour, cheerful and confident though it was, only served to unsettle her more.
Â
FOR JOHN, THINGS WERE going better than he had dared to hope. He'd taken to Sam at once, was impressed with the site and had no difficulty in believing that there were buyers queuing up. If the courtyard development at Nethercombe could sell the way it had, then so could this. Sam was affable, charming, perfectly ready to give John the telephone numbers of those who wished to buy and showed no sign of his relief when John refused and simply accepted his word for it. When John telephoned to say that his bank was prepared to advance the money against the house in Bournemouth Sam knew he
was home and dry. The bank was arranging to take a first charge over the property, agreeing to lend sixty per cent of the value which meant that they must wait until the valuer had made his report to find out the exact sum available.
âEven so,' John told him, âI've been told that I should be in a position to write a cheque before the end of January. The manager says he'll be reviewing the loan in six months' time. How far d'you think we'll have got by then?'
âSix months?' echoed Sam, hearing the anxious note in John's voice. âWell, even if we look on the pessimistic side, we should have the first sale contract signed by then. The first unit ought to be ready in seven months. How does that sound?'
It sounded very exciting and the days dragged until, at last, John was able to telephone again to say that money was in his account and he could write out the cheque. Sam arrived at Bristol Temple Meads station the next morning and John met him from the train and took him back to the office.
âBefore you write the cheque,' said Sam, as John flourished his cheque book, âI've got one or two papers here for you to look at. Read them first. If you're happy with them you can write the cheque.' He opened his briefcase and pulled out a file from which he extracted an impressive-looking legal document. âThat's a charge over the property so that no one can sell it without telling you first. It's a second charge, of course. The bank holds the first one. As you can see, I've already signed it and had it witnessed by my solicitor. Even so, you may want your legal man to look over it.'
Impressed, John read through the clauses.
âIt seems fine,' he said at last. âNot that I understand all the jargon. Still. Thanks, Sam. I don't see any point in wasting money to pay another solicitor to do it all over again, do you?'
Sam, who had been praying that John could be deflected from consulting his own solicitor, shrugged, shook his head and clapped him
on the shoulder. He knew a desperate man when he saw one and a desperate man who was also a mug was a gift from the gods.
âI've also drawn up a trading agreement,' he said, taking some more papers from the file. âYou mustn't give away large sums without being properly protected. What if I got run over by a bus? Or dropped down dead with a heart attack? Read it carefully and you'll see that I've been as fair as I can be. There are two copies. You keep the one I've signed and I'll take the other when you've signed it. Assuming you approve.'
He watched as John read the document, signed it and wrote the cheque out to âWhittaker Developments'. He was prepared to take an oath that John didn't understand half of what he'd read.
âSo what does your wife think about all this?' he asked as he tucked the cheque into his wallet.
âShe doesn't know,' said John at once. âI think it's best for the moment. She didn't want me to sell the house, you see, so I want everything to be up and running before I tell her. I want it to be a surprise.'
âIt'll certainly be that, old boy.' Sam laughed and John laughed with him. âCome on. This calls for a celebration. Got a good pub round the corner? I'm taking you out for a drink.'
Later, back in Exeter, he telephoned Gillian.
âWho's a clever girl?' he asked. âWhen do you want to collect your commission?'
While he waited for her Sam thought long and hard. It had been fun having her around and the idea of being on his own again seemed strangely unattractive. She was amusing company, fun in bed and had proved to be an excellent accomplice. She would lend an air of respectability to meetings with married clients and her availability would solve the tiresome problem of picking up women when he felt the physical need to relax. By the time Gillian had arrived, he'd made up his mind. He made love to her and when it was over, he wrapped her in a rug, sat her on the sofa in front of the fire and brought her a drink.
âSo it all went well?' She sipped, cuddling herself into the warm soft wool.
âIt went wonderfully well. Now listen, I'm thinking of going over to France for a while. I've got a little business out there as well as my cottage. A bit of development and so on and I help Brits to buy properties without being rooked. You know the sort of thing. How would you like to come?'
Gillian, whose heart had plummeted at the announcement of his departure, stared at him and tried to gauge his meaning.
âFor a holiday, d'you mean?'
âNo, sweetheart.' Sam chuckled at her expression. âNot for a holiday. I'm going for longer than that. It means that you'd have to leave Henry and Nethercombe and settle for my little cottage in the sun. What d'you say?'
âLeave Henry ⦠?'
âDon't say you'd never thought of it. You know you should never have married him in the first place. Talk about chalk and cheese. I have a feeling that you'd be a tremendous asset to me â as well as â¦' He stretched out his hand, pushing aside the rug, and touched her breasts with his fingers.
She stared at him, breathing quickly, her eyes growing wide and dark. He leaned forward, took her glass from her, stood it on the floor and began to kiss her. She relaxed in his arms, her eyes closed and he smiled to himself.
âThink,' he whispered, as his lips brushed her cheek, her lips, her eyelids, âjust think of having to waste all that lovely commission paying off your Barclaycard and the bank and your Dingles account. Wouldn't it be a terrible shame?' His lips moved to her breasts and she groaned. âI need you, Gillian,' he whispered. âWhat d'you say?'
âOh, Sam,' she pressed him closer, âI don't know. When?'
Sam raised his head. âNext week,' he said.
âNext
week
!' Gillian's eyes flew open and she stared at him. âBut I couldn't possibly ⦠Next week?'
Sam sat up and retrieved their glasses. He passed hers and took a drink from his own.
âWhy not? What have you got to do? Pack a few clothes and we're off. Everything's out there waiting for us. You can buy anything you need when you get there. What's there to wait for?'
âWon't John think it odd if you dash off now?' Gillian hugged the rug round her. She was trembling violently.
âWhy should he?' Sam stood up and moved away a little. âI'm not going to build the development myself. Simon can keep an eye on things and I can come over when necessary. He can telephone if there's an emergency. Don't worry about that. It'll all be taken care of but I don't see any point sitting through another cold Devon winter while it's happening. Well.' He shrugged. âIt's up to you. I shall go at the end of the week and I shall be delighted to take you along with me. On the other hand I can see your difficulty. It's easier for me, not being married. Although nobody need know we're not married, of course, and obviously I hope we will be in due course â¦'
âWill we?' Gillian threw the rug aside and crossed with swift feet into his arms. âOh, Sam, I couldn't bear to lose you.'
Sam hid his smile at her conventionality in her hair and hugged her close.
âYou don't have to lose me if you don't want to,' he whispered. âIt's up to you,' and picking her up he carried her back to the bedroom.
Â
IT WAS GUSSIE WHO made her way down the drive and into the Courtyard to welcome the latest arrival. She tried very hard not to usurp Gillian's position as mistress of Nethercombe but although Gillian had been quieter, less abrasive, of late, she showed no interest in the workings of the estate or in the happenings in the Courtyard. Anyway, Gussie had a personal interest in Mrs Henderson. It was she who had met her on that first occasion and showed her round the cottage and during their subsequent meetings â for Mrs Henderson had been back several times â it had been Gussie who had unlocked the
cottage and let her in, suggested that she might like to potter on her own to get the feel of it and invited her up to the house afterwards for a cup of tea. Gussie had taken an instant liking to her, helped on by the fact that Mrs Henderson had an Army background. For a moment, the old mantra reasserted itself and Gussie felt her spine straightening â âsoldier's daughter, soldier's sister' â as they exchanged memories and experiences over tea and Mrs Ridley's excellent scones.