This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles 7)

“As my grandfather used to say,” she reminded him, “better a dollar in the bank than the promise of a dowry.”

* * *

Another month passed before Virginia received a bill from Sir Edward Makepeace, for £2,300, which she settled immediately, as she could never be sure when she might need his services again.

One of the few letters she did open during the following weeks was from Coutts, informing her that her current account was still £41,000 in credit. Desmond Mellor was proving to be far more lucrative dead than alive.

When the clocks went back an hour, and the temperature began to drop, Virginia’s thoughts turned to a winter vacation. She was finding it difficult to decide between a villa in the South of France, or the royal suite at the Sandy Lane hotel in Barbados. Perhaps she’d let the young man she’d recently met in Annabel’s decide which he would prefer. She was thinking about Alberto, when she opened another letter which quickly removed any thought of holidays from her mind. After Virginia had recovered from the shock, she looked up the number of her bank manager and made an appointment to see Mr. Leigh the following day.

* * *

“One hundred and eighty-five thousand pounds?” protested Virginia.

“That is correct, my lady,” said Mr. Leigh, once he’d read the letter from HM Inspector of Taxes.

“But how can that be possible?”

“I presume you’re familiar with capital gains tax, my lady?”

“Familiar, yes, but we’ve never been introduced.”

“Well, I fear you are about to be,” said Leigh, “because the taxman is demanding thirty percent of the £230,000 profit you made from the sale of the Lowrys, the £300,000 commission, and the £25,000 fee you were paid following the successful takeover of Mellor Travel.”

“But doesn’t the taxman realize I haven’t got £185,000? I parted with almost every penny to clear my debt with Cyrus.”

“HM’s Inspector of Taxes is blind to any personal problems you might have,” Mr. Leigh pointed out unhelpfully. “They are only aware of your earnings, not how much you spend.”

“What will happen if I don’t reply to their letter?”

“If you fail to respond within thirty days, they will start charging you a punitive interest rate until you do.”

“And if I can’t?”

“They will take you to court, have you declared bankrupt, and confiscate all your assets.”

“Who would have thought,” said Virginia, “the taxman would turn out to be an even worse bitch than Ellie May Grant.”

* * *

Virginia knew the one person who could be relied on to solve her problem with the taxman, and although she hadn’t been in touch with her for several months—“Pressure of work,” she would explain—she didn’t think it would be difficult to convince Kelly to invest a couple of hundred thousand in a deal that couldn’t fail.

Once she had arrived home following her meeting with Mr. Leigh, Virginia spent some time searching for the letter Kelly had sent some weeks earlier, which she now regretted not replying to. Still, she thought, looking at the address on top of the notepaper, all the more reason to pay a surprise visit to The Little Gables, Lodge Lane, Nailsea, near Bristol.

The following morning Virginia rose before the sun, an unusual occurrence, but in truth she hadn’t been able to sleep. She set off for the West Country just after nine a.m., and used the long drive to rehearse the lines about a once-in-a-lifetime investment opportunity that Kelly would be foolish not to take advantage of.

She passed a sign for Nailsea just before midday, and stopped to ask an elderly gentleman the way to Lodge Lane. As she drew up outside The Little Gables her heart sank when she spotted a For Sale sign on the front lawn. Virginia assumed Kelly must be moving to a bigger house. She walked up the driveway and knocked on the front door. A few moments later it was opened by a young man who gave her an expectant smile.

“Mrs. Campion?”

“No, I am not Mrs. Campion. I’m the Lady Virginia Fenwick.”

“I apologize, Lady Fenwick.”

“I’m also not Lady Fenwick. I am the daughter of an earl, not the wife of a life peer. You may address me as Lady Virginia.”

“Of course,” he said, and apologized a second time. “How can I help you, Lady Virginia?”

“You can start by telling me who you are.”