For The Love Of Money, Brian Doswell [books for students to read .txt] 📗

the couple’s address was quite close to Susie’s school and he knew the area. It was a shame that such a nice place would end up being sold at auction but he really had no better solution to offer. The least he could do was to break the news in person, rather than by phone or letter.
When he arrived on their doorstep, he felt a desperate urge to turn and run away. The feeling did not improve when the door opened to reveal the couple, looking distinctly older and greyer than when he had last seen them.
The couple sat together as he took them, step by step through their options, together with the scant information that he had been able to collect from Three Trees on their behalf. If they chose to put the house on the market they would still be required to find the monthly repayments until it sold and that could take months or even years in the current housing market. David knew they were already overdrawn and had no way of finding the required amount each month. If they allowed the house to be repossessed immediately they would get the balance of the auction price, after the bank had recouped the outstanding loan and their associated fees. If they were very lucky, they might get a few thousand.
“It depends entirely on who is at the auction on the day.” David concluded with nothing better to offer.
The couple sat, silently holding hands, visibly shrinking in their chairs. Tears welled in both sets of eyes as David let himself out of the house, having hated every moment of the meeting.
The temptation to resign his job at Andersons weighed heavily in his mind. He rationalised for his own benefit that no one was at fault, this was merely the product of an unfortunate turn in the market. It had been worse before and it would be worse again. These were the platitudes muttered in Andersons’ corridors of power, but he knew better. Much as he liked the girl, the commission hungry likes of Lia Patel had driven this couple into their current plight. He began to see Lia Patel as a beautiful Siren, sitting on her safe, comfortable rock, luring passing ships to their destruction. The image suited his mind but did nothing to ease his concern. He glanced at his watch as he got into his car, it was nearly four, too late to bother going back to the office. It occurred to him that he was only two streets from Susie’s school; she would be coming out about now. Emma might be at the gate to meet her; he could do with something to cheer him up. Meeting them would do it.
Parking near the school was not an option. The road in front of the school gates was jammed with several cars double parked restricting the flow of traffic to one lane. David drove along the road as slowly as he dared, hoping to find a parking place while keeping an eye open for Emma. He spotted her close to the gate, in conversation with a gaggle of other Mums, but failed to catch her attention so he was forced to drive on until he could park in the next street and run back to the school gate, hoping that she had not already left.
Susie spotted him first. “David, did you buy Mummy that enormous ring?” All eyes turned towards him and a silence descended on the Mums.
“I suppose I did.” David held out a hand to help Susie get her arm through the straps of her Dora Explorer back-pack. “Is that OK with you?”
Susie settled the back-pack and held his hand in hers. “It’s good for me David. I think Daddy’s happy about it too.”
The Mums turned as one towards Emma, demanding to see the ring and wishing her well while David and Susie sat together on the school wall and talked about the stupidity of algebra until the fuss died down.
Emma naively asked David about his day and was rewarded with the sad tale of the unfortunate couple. David didn’t usually talk about his work and she did not usually ask but in this case he needed a shoulder or maybe a whole dustbin to dump his feelings into. He deliberately drove around the block and parked across the road from the couple’s house. He could imagine the auctioneer’s call.
‘Nice four bedroom detached property, recently modernised kitchen. Quiet street, garage plus off-road parking, 100 foot garden, close to schools and amenities. Suit a young couple with kids at school.’
Emma reached across from the adjacent seat and squeezed his hand. “I’d like a place like that. At least they had the pleasure of it for a while. What do you think Suze?” Susie was busy on her phone and did not answer. But David did.
“Do you really like it?”
“I think so. I’d need to see inside.”

§§§§§

It was Saturday morning and Lucy was playing golf again with Sue. Andrew was pleased that she had found a new hobby although she did seem to be away from home a lot these days. Sue had arranged for her to become an associate member of the Sunningdale Ladies Club. He had always thought that the waiting list for Sunningdale was years long, but then, what Sue Padworth wanted, Sue Padworth usually got. According to Lucy, they were playing a match at a club down in Kent and might well stay over-night if the after-match dinner got too boozy. She had taken the Jaguar on the premise that Sue’s BMW was too small for two sets of clubs and their over-night stuff.
Andrew had made a late breakfast and was reading the paper in the kitchen when the phone rang.
“Andrew, I know it’s Saturday morning but do you have a few moments to talk about Rome?”
“Hi Chrissie, sure, go ahead.”
Chrissie explained that she was concerned about insider trading. James had promised her that he had literally stumbled on the BASF pirate web site, but she did not believe him; the chances of it turning up at that hour were too great to be a coincidence. She had no reason to suspect that he was hiding anything but, it was clearly not a public web site and as such it was privileged information. Now she was about to be implicated again with the Medicato dossier.
Andrew put down his paper, “If you’re really worried, and it can’t wait till Monday, why don’t we have lunch and talk it through?”
“I guess that would help. What do you have in mind?”
“Can you get away today?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know the Runnymede Hotel?”
“Yes.”
“One o’clock then.”
“Thanks Andrew.”
He parked the Porsche in the hotel car park and waited in the car for Chrissie’s dark blue BMW to arrive. When it did, he walked over to her car and opened the door for her, bowing formally and offering his arm with his elbow raised in an equally formal manner, “Madam, lunch is ordered.”
Chrissie laughed, took his arm and they entered the hotel reception together.
Lunch was served, eaten and cleared while they talked. Chrissie handed over the memory stick and explained what was on it. Andrew slipped the stick into his pocket as though it were some super secret object although no one around them could have ever known what it was. On the other hand, the restaurant was filling up and he was beginning to be concerned about inadvertent eavesdroppers. On impulse Andrew left the table and crossed the open space to the reception desk where he arranged for their bill to be added to the room that he booked for them to continue their conversation, in private.
A waitress delivered a large pot of coffee and two cups to their room. Chrissie opened the doors onto a Juliet balcony and stood in the open space. It was still early afternoon and the view over the river was backed by the autumn colours of the woods along the towpath. Andrew took the only armchair, leaving Chrissie to sit on the bed. She kicked off her shoes and curled her feet under her as she clutched her coffee cup in both hands.
“Does Lucy know we’re here?”
“No. She’s playing golf with Sue Padworth.”
“Ah, you mean digging sand castles in the bunkers with the dyke.” Chrissie instantly regretted her unguarded response. She looked directly at Andrew’s face which told her that he had no idea.
“Andrew, you didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I mean, everyone knows about Sue.” Chrissie’s voice betrayed a hint of panic, “She is very discrete and I’ve never heard of anything untoward. I’m sure Lucy is not a lesbian. Oh Christ, what have I said?”
Andrew sipped his coffee. “Of course we know; everyone does.” He lied so poorly that he instantly regretted trying. He’d known the Padworths for years and never suspected.
Chrissie flushed with embarrassment at her loose comment, moved round to the end of the bed opposite his chair and rested her hands on his knees. “Andrew, I’m so sorry.” Her head dropped.
Andrew put down his coffee cup and rested his hands on top of hers. “Don’t worry. Every thing will be OK, you’ll see.” He raised her chin with the tip of his index finger and moved forward.
Chrissie let him kiss her.

§§§§§

Harry Joyce also liked to spend Saturday morning reading the papers. It was a quiet hour that had been his since, well since for ever. When the kids were young, Dorothy had always kept them out of his way for that hour. Now, even though the kids had flown the nest and Dorothy had passed on, he found the habit hard to break. Harry liked to read the sports supplement and the local weekly, with the extended small ads section. Harry could read the small ads like another person reads a novel, for him there was a story in every column.
On the kitchen table, beside his empty cornflakes bowl, lay a pile of post, three pieces of which he had set out, side by side. The first was a letter from Andersons, acknowledging the deposit of five million pounds and offering a range of personalised financial services on completion of his contract with Wilson Fine Homes. The second, under their distinctive green logo, was from Roy Jones at Three Trees, suggesting that the proposed sale price to WFH was far too low and he should attempt to renegotiate the contract. The third was from Sir William requesting a meeting to discus a delay to the planned completion date.
From time to time, Harry looked over the top of his newspaper at the three letters. Each time he looked, his face creased into a smile. He had spent several hours during the past week with his solicitors. They had told him of the correspondence with WFH plc and how the original contract had been over generous in terms that were undoubtedly designed to get him on the hook before he had a better offer. The five million, as a non-refundable deposit on signing the initial contract, had in their opinion, been wholly intended to lock him into WFH at a substantially below market price. Now it seemed the boot was on the other foot. Roy Jones had produced a list of WFH building projects that were falling behind schedule due to the shortage of skilled bricklayers and other essential tradesmen. It was a pattern he had seen many times before. His advice to Harry, over a pint in the Dog & Duck, was not to panic.
Harry, with five million in the bank already, was not prone to panicking. When he closed his office door and said goodnight to Sandra on Friday, he had taken a fond look at his wall,