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Authors: Marcia Willett

BOOK: The Courtyard
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Martin kept his word and provided enough money to keep all the creditors quiet, if not paid off, and two weeks later John sold a very large property to a company which was sending one of their employees to work in the area. The deal went through quickly and John's spirits flew up on wings of hope. Nell, who was learning lessons, didn't point out that it was probably just an enormous stroke of luck but enthused with him, agreed that the tide was turning and that things were going to be all right. For three days he lived on cloud nine, buying her flowers and taking her to the theatre. He booked a table at their favourite restaurant and took her out to dinner and it was so wonderful to see him relaxed, happy, talkative, that Nell threw all her caution away and laughed with him. Euphoric, delighted with themselves and the evening, they staggered home and made wonderful, satisfying, ecstatic love for the first time in months.
Now, John shook his head and felt like weeping. Why did life have to be so cruel? So relentless? The money had gone so quickly; there were so many expenses and, unlike Martin, John panicked at the final demands, the threats of court action. He seemed unable to hold creditors off with a placating telephone call or lies about imminent sales. His own bank manager was continually on his back and now this letter from the building society was the last straw. It had been impossible to keep up with the mortgage payments on the cottage at Porlock Weir and John had been keeping his fingers crossed that a miracle would happen and he would be able to pay it all back in a lump sum. Unfortunately, the quarterly payment for their own rent had also fallen due when he'd been in funds and, what with one thing and another, the mortgage payment had been put aside yet again. But to foreclose! John beat his forehead against his clenched fists and gave a dry sob. How on earth had it mounted up so quickly? Six months' back payments were due and the society had had enough. He'd arranged
that all communications should be sent to the office, thus preventing Nell from seeing and opening the letters, but lately he'd been putting the familiar envelopes unopened into the bottom drawer of his desk. He simply couldn't face them. He remembered, too late, Martin's advice.
‘Keep talking to people. Let them know you know the problem and are trying to deal with it. Never ignore people you owe money to!'
But how was he to tell Nell? He couldn't go to his mother for help. He knew that she simply didn't have that sort of money tucked away and was finding it difficult enough to live on the widow's allowance of his father's army pension. She'd already helped him out and now, anyway, she was in hospital. John raised his head and stared ahead. The cottage would have to go. With the mortgage paid off there should be enough spare to pay Jack's school fees for the next year at the very least and the rest would straighten up their own financial muddle; the bank, Barclaycard, the usual bills. It would have to be sold. He imagined Nell's face and put his head back in his hands. He couldn't do it. He simply couldn't face her. Perhaps something would turn up. He opened the drawer in his little desk and took out a miniature bottle of whisky. He needed something to keep him going. Putting the bottle to his lips, he gulped back a mouthful of the strong golden liquid. He swallowed, rubbed his lips and fetched a great sigh. After all, another day or two might just turn the tide. He took another swig. It would be foolish to act precipitately; he needed time to think. And he was so tired. John sighed again and took another smaller sip. The whisky warmed and soothed, dulling his fears, making light of his terrors. He seemed to hear Martin's voice in his ear.
‘Don't let the buggers get you down.'
He smiled a little and his eyelids grew heavy. He was so damned tired. No, he simply mustn't panic; anything could happen. Anything … John's head drooped forward and presently, with his forehead on his arms, he slept.
 
 
GILLIAN SAT IN COOLINGS waiting for Sam. Although they'd met several times since that first occasion with Simon, this was the first time she'd agreed to see him alone. To her surprise she was nervous. Ostensibly, this was a business meeting but Gillian knew that for both of them it was more than that. Hitherto, Simon had been there, keeping the situation under control, and Gillian's heartbeat hurried a little as she thought of being alone with Sam. Simon had seen none of the signals that passed between them. He was too absorbed in their new project, or rather, Sam's project.
Sam was the owner of some derelict barns, very like the ones at Nethercombe, but the friend who was to put up the funds to develop the site had lost his money and Sam was looking for an equity partner with whom he could proceed. Both he and Simon felt that he may have missed the boat. After all, no one was likely to invest in property development with the market so low. The site, however, was in a prime spot in a valley overlooking the sea just outside Dartmouth and Sam claimed that he had buyers for all three conversions if only he could build them. Simon's thought, first and foremost, was that he would get the job as architect. Sam was only too willing to agree.
‘Find me someone who will fork out the money, old son,' he said, as they sat in Coolings waiting for Gillian on that first occasion, ‘and the job's yours.'
Simon was thoughtful. There wasn't too much work around at the moment and it would be a godsend. It was then that it occurred to
him that Gillian might have someone amongst her acquaintances who could be interested in it if the scheme was presented in the right way.
And who better, he thought bitterly, to detach some unsuspecting mug from their hard-earned cash than Gillian!
She had listened carefully, driven a hard bargain for the commission she would receive should she find an investor and had immediately drawn up a list of names of people that it might be worth approaching.
Sam raised his eyebrows at her businesslike attitude and bought her another drink. He agreed to let Simon have the plans and one afternoon they drove out to see the site. It was like Nethercombe all over again except that Sam had bought the barns from a farmer and the stone farmhouse was already occupied.
‘Henry's places are selling,' said Gillian, shielding her eyes to look out over the sea to the lighthouse at Start Point. ‘And this really is a magnificent site.'
‘Well, I've drawn a blank,' shrugged Sam. ‘People are afraid to take risks at the moment. And who can blame them?'
Simon was examining the buildings and, after a moment, Sam drew nearer to Gillian.
‘Your husband must be a very trusting man,' he said lightly. ‘Letting you loose with two unprincipled chaps like me and Sy.'
‘Simon's not unprincipled,' protested Gillian, still staring out to sea. ‘What makes you say that?'
‘I was at school with him,' returned Sam. ‘Share a dormitory and then a study with a guy for five years and there's not much you don't learn about him.'
Gillian glanced at him. ‘If you say so,' she said coolly. ‘Of course, I've only shared his bed but I think I've learned a few things.'
Sam gave a shout of laughter. ‘Not as much as he has, I'll bet,' he said and Gillian began to laugh too.
‘What's so funny?' asked Simon, returning from his prowling.
‘You,' said Gillian, taking his arm. ‘Sam's just been telling me all about your schooldays.'
‘And about all that trouble he got me into?' asked Simon, leading the way back to the car. ‘Don't trust this man an inch, Gillian. I warn you.'
Gillian remembered this conversation as she sat watching Sam threading his way between the crowded tables. He was wearing flannels and a blazer and Gillian grimaced at him.
‘You're looking very smart,' she said, determined to keep things under control. ‘Meeting someone important?'
‘I'm meeting you,' he said. ‘I thought we were having lunch? I was brought up to believe that if one takes a lady out to lunch one dresses accordingly.'
‘One certainly does,' mocked Gillian.
‘Well then.' He remained standing, looking down at her.
He was very tall and very good-looking and Gillian shivered suddenly. His eyes narrowed a little.
‘Drink?'
‘Thanks. The same will be fine.' She passed him her empty glass.
‘House red, I believe?'
She nodded, refusing to remark on the fact that he had remembered, and he turned away. She watched him go, her feelings all in a tumult, and wondered if she might be getting out of her depth. Hitherto, she had concentrated on men whom she could wheedle and bully, who found it worth putting up with her moods and expensive tastes for the physical pleasures she bestowed upon them. Sam didn't look that sort. Up at the bar, he ordered the drinks and, lazily leaning on one elbow, he stared at her unsmilingly. Unnerved but determined not to show it, Gillian stared back. Quite suddenly he smiled and it was as though he had asked her a question. After a moment, she smiled back and he gave a little nod and Gillian knew that from now on there could be no more pretence and, for her at least, no turning back.
 
NELL LET HERSELF INTO the flat, went into the sitting room and sat down at the end of the sofa, too shocked to do anything else. The
news which she had just received made her feel quite desperate. She thought of John and a spasm of fear shook her. He was behaving so oddly. Not long ago he'd been euphoric; now he was almost suicidal. She never knew where she was with him. It was as though she were walking a tightrope; an unconsidered remark, a thoughtless observation, and he would be shouting and raging about her inability to support him and her tendency to think only of herself. He accused her of destroying his self-confidence, of sapping his ability to achieve. It had always been the same, he cried: first his mother, then Rupert and now her. None of them had ever believed in him or wanted him to succeed.
Nell sighed and leaned her head back against the cushions. Apparently, it was to be everyone's fault but his if things went wrong. If! She gave a mirthless little laugh. Things were already definitely wrong. Ever since the sale of that house just after Martin left, things had been gradually deteriorating again. John spent longer at the office and, when he did come home, shut himself in his little study. Several times she'd smelled spirits on his breath. One morning, she'd even descended to the level of searching the study. Nell gave an instinctive grimace of distaste at her action. She was simply so worried that she didn't know what else to do. All private papers and letters had been removed and Nell guessed that he had them at the office. If only he would talk to her! Every time she attempted to find out what was going on, he met her tentative approaches with aggression and generally worked himself into starting a row which gave him the excuse to storm out. Sadly, their reconciliations were happening with less and less understanding and generosity on Nell's side. She began to dread the crumpling into disintegration that inevitably took place on his return. She was barely able to prevent herself from despising him. Each time she had to summon all her love and loyalty and each time it grew harder and harder. She felt that his behaviour was a form of cheating. He was using weapons to hold her at bay, to prevent her from discovering the truth.
It was her life too and she had the right to know what he was doing with it.
And now this. Nell pulled herself forward but as she prepared to stand up, she heard the front door open and she was still sitting on the edge of the seat when John appeared. He looked white and strained and Nell gazed at him in terror. What now? That muscle was twitching in his cheek again and she could smell the whisky on his breath.
‘You're early,' she said and her voice shook a little. ‘How nice. I've got something to tell you.'
‘And I've got something to tell you,' he said, before she could go on. ‘Bad news, I'm afraid.' He looked away from her. ‘I've just heard that the cottage is going to be repossessed. The mortgage hasn't been paid and they won't wait any longer. It'll have to be sold.'
Nell's hands clasped convulsively and she stared up at him in horror. ‘But why?' she whispered and cleared her throat. ‘Why?' she asked more strongly. ‘You never said anything about it. What's been happening? They don't repossess just because you miss a payment or two.'
‘It's not just one payment. Or two. It's six. There's nothing we can do about it.'
‘Six?'
Nell was silenced.
‘There was just too much.' John's tone implied that only she would have expected it of him. ‘The rent here, the mortgage, the business. The money simply won't stretch. If we sell, at least we'll be able to pay Jack's school fees.'
‘Wait a minute.' Nell was on her feet. ‘You said that you'd put those aside out of the money you got from that sale just after Martin left. You said you'd put a year's fees to one side.'
‘Well, I didn't.' John faced her at last. He looked defiant and something else. It occurred to Nell that he was completely unconcerned by it all, indifferent to the pain he must know that this would cause her. The cottage could go and good riddance to it and the proceeds from the sale would be just that bit more for him to throw
away. ‘In the end there wasn't enough to go round. It's no good, Nell.' His voice was louder now; prepared to shout down anything she may have to say. ‘This recession has ruined lots of people. At least we've got the business and a home here. And we can pay Jack's fees. I know how much that means to you.'
There was a change in his tone then, as if the money for the school fees was a special dispensation for which she should be grateful, which should buy her gratitude and forgiveness.
‘I should have thought that Jack's education was important to you, too.' She looked proud and cold and John's heart beat fast with fear. ‘He's your son, too.'
‘With you spending every waking thought and every penny we've got on him,' he said spitefully, ‘there's no need for me to worry, too.' Her look of contempt struck to his very soul and he gave a cry and dragged her to him. She stood stiffly in his arms, fighting back tears, trying not to hate him.
‘I'm sorry, Nell,' he cried. ‘Oh God! I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it. I'm as upset as you are. It's just been such hell getting up the courage to tell you. Please understand. I'm really sorry, Nell. I know how much the cottage means to you. Please try to forgive me.'
Slowly Nell relaxed. With a tremendous effort she put her arms round him and held him while he cried, staring all the while beyond his shoulder and trying to come to terms with the idea of losing the cottage.
Presently he pulled himself together, feeling for his handkerchief, mumbling apologies. Nell patted his shoulder lest he should sense her urgency to be apart from him. She moved slowly away. His face was a pitiful sight and she was touched in spite of herself. He mopped his face.
‘Oh, what was your news? Sorry. I rather had to get that off my chest.'
‘Yes.' Nell paused, wondering if she should tell him. Well, why the hell not? Terror and rage surged anew in her and she raised her
head and looked at him. ‘It seems that we've achieved the impossible. After eleven years I'm pregnant again.'
John's head snapped round and the horror in his eyes confirmed Nell's fears of how he would react to the news.
‘Oh Christ,' he whispered.
Something clicked inside Nell's head.
‘I thought you'd be pleased,' she said, bitter sarcasm hiding her hurt. ‘You're always telling me what a failure everyone thinks you are. Well! At least you've managed to achieve something!'
His face was suffused with a dusky, ugly red as the blood surged under the skin and he stared at her as though he hated her.
‘You bitch!' he whispered and ran out into the hall.
Nell stood quite still as the front door slammed. Presently she covered her face with her hands and, sinking back on to the sofa, burst into tears.
 
‘LETTER FROM NELL?' ASKED Henry as they sat at breakfast.
‘It is indeed,' replied Gussie with pleasure, neglecting her toast. ‘It's good of her to write as often as she does.' She turned a page, whilst Henry watched her progress, waiting for news. Gussie always shared parts of Nell's letters with him. ‘Oh …'
‘Something wrong?'
‘Oh dear. Poor Nell. Yes indeed. They've had to sell their cottage. Oh how very sad. Nell must be heartbroken. It sounds as if she's being very brave but I know how she loved it.' Gussie turned another page.
‘But did they have to sell?' Henry looked distressed. ‘They don't own the flat in Bristol, do they? The cottage was the only home they had.'
‘Sorry, my dear?' Gussie glanced up at him. ‘Oh yes, yes, I'm afraid that's so. Nell doesn't say much but it seems there were school fees and other expenses. And John's mother is ill in hospital.' She shook her head. ‘Troubles never come singly.'

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