“They’ll get over it,” his chairman replied. “What’s the latest on Nethercote?”
“Only a rumor, but everyone now knows they’re in trouble and the chairman is searching around for a new backer,” said Reynolds impassively. “His biggest problem is that no one is touching property companies at the moment.”
“Once they’ve collapsed, what’s to stop us picking up the pieces and making a killing?”
“A clause that was slipped through in the Finance Act which your Government passed three years ago. The penalties range from a heavy fine to having your banking license taken away.”
“Oh, yes, I remember,” said Charles. “Pity. So how long do you expect them to last?”
“Once the month is up,” said Reynolds stroking a clean-shaven chin, “if they fail to find a backer the creditors will swarm in like locusts.”
“Aren’t the shares worth anything?” asked Charles innocently.
“Not the paper they are written on at the moment,” said Reynolds, watching his chairman carefully.
This time the chief executive couldn’t miss the chairman’s smile as Charles thought of Simon Kerslake and his overdraft of £108,000 now backed by worthless shares. Pucklebridge would soon be looking for a new member.
At the end of a month during which no bank came to his rescue Ronnie Nethercote caved in and agreed to call in the receiver and file a bankruptcy notice. He still hoped that he could pay off all his creditors even if the shares he and his fellow directors held remained worthless. He felt as worried for Simon and his career as he did for himself, but he knew there was nothing the receiver would allow him to do to help one individual.
When Simon told Elizabeth she didn’t complain. She had always feared this could be the eventual outcome of her husband joining the board of Nethercote.
“Can’t Ronnie help?” she asked. “After all, you’ve supported him enough in the past.”
“No, he can’t,” replied Simon, avoiding telling her where the real responsibility for his downfall lay.
“But do bankrupts automatically have to leave Parliament?” was Elizabeth’s next question.
“No, but I shall because I could never be considered for further promotion—I’d always be rightly tainted with ‘lack of judgment.’”
“It seems so unfair when you weren’t personally to blame.”
“There are different rules for those who wish to live in the spotlight,” Simon said simply.
“But in time, surely—” began Elizabeth.
“I’m not willing to remain on the back benches for another twenty years only to hear whispered in the corner of the smoking room—Would have made the Cabinet if it hadn’t been for …”
“Does that mean the children will have to be taken away from school?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Simon, his hands shaking. “As a bankrupt I can hardly expect the receiver to view the fees for my sons’ education as a dire necessity even if I could find the money.”
“So we’ll have to get rid of the nanny, too?”
“Not necessarily, but we may both have to make sacrifices in order that she can be part-time.”
“But my work at the hospital …” began Elizabeth but didn’t complete the sentence. “What happens next?”
“I’ll have to tell Archie Millburn tonight. I’ve already written my letter of resignation to hand to him. I shall make an appointment to see the Chief Whip on Monday to explain why I am going to apply for the Chiltern Hundreds.”
“What does that mean?”
“lt’s one of the only ways of leaving the House in mid-session—other than dying. Officially it’s a nominal office under the Crown which therefore debars you from membership of the House.”
“It all sounds rather formal to me.”
“I’m afraid it will cause an embarrassing by-election in Pucklebridge,” Simon admitted.
“Can nobody help?”