Cruel Legacy. PENNY JORDAN
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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