Cruel Legacy

Andrew’s personal affairs. Philippa stared numbly at him. She was still in shock. She had gone beyond her own personal anger and bitterness now, totally overwhelmed by her awareness of how many lives Andrew’s egomania had destroyed.

All those people soon to lose their jobs; and in a town where all too probably they would not be able to find new ones.

‘How could he have done it, Neville?’ she asked shakily. ‘How could he have taken such a risk?’

‘He was that kind of man, Philippa,’ Neville told her. ‘He thrived on the excitement of taking that kind of gamble. He enjoyed taking risks.’

‘With other people’s lives… other people’s welfare?’ Philippa asked him bitterly. At the back of her mind was the thought that Andrew had not merely been a gambler addicted to the dangerous thrill of taking a risk, he had also been a coward, happy to gamble recklessly with the futures and livelihoods of others, but totally unable to face up to the consequences of losing that gamble when it affected him personally.

‘You wanted to talk to me about Andrew’s personal affairs,’ she said wearily instead. ‘The house was in Andrew’s name but I suppose it will only be a formality having it transferred into mine as his widow… like the bank accounts.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘To be honest I haven’t given much thought to that side of things and I should have done. It was a bit awkward at the garage this morning when I went to get petrol. They’ve stopped Andrew’s account and I had to use the last of my cash. I’ll need to draw some more from the joint account.’

Neville cleared his throat and looked down at his desk. ‘I’m afraid it’s not quite as simple as that, Philippa.’

As she looked into his face and saw his expression Philippa felt her stomach drop with all the speed and sickening effect of a high-speed lift. She knew even before he spoke that there was something seriously wrong, but her throat had gone so dry she couldn’t even begin to ask what it was.

‘Let’s take the house first, shall we?’ Neville was saying. ‘When Andrew approached the bank for an additional loan we could only grant it against some sort of security. The company’s assets were already tied up to secure the existing loans he had and so the only security Andrew had to offer was the equity in the house, and of course his insurance policies. If the house had been in joint names the bank would, of course, have been obliged to inform you of this and to get your signature to a document agreeing to it; however, as it was in Andrew’s sole name…’

Philippa was shivering and yet it wasn’t cold in the room.

‘What are you trying to tell me, Neville?’ she asked him through chattering teeth.

‘The bank now owns the house, Philippa, along with all of Andrew’s other assets.’

Philippa could see how much he was hating telling her this; she could see it in his eyes, and in the nervous betraying movements of his fingers as he fiddled with the file on his desk.

‘And, like the company’s assets, these will have to be sold and the money utilised to pay off the bank’s borrowing.’

‘And how long… how long will that take?’ Philippa asked him.

What she meant was, how long would it be before she no longer had a roof over her head?

‘I don’t know. That will be head office’s decision, not mine, since they sanctioned the extra borrowing.’

‘And the bank accounts?’ Philippa asked him, dry-mouthed. ‘The money in them?’

Surely there must be something for her… If not, how on earth was she going to manage… how on earth would she live?

Neville shook his head.

‘They’re all well over the overdraft limits, I’m afraid, Philippa.’

The overdraft limits. She swallowed, swamped 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