‘But you still don’t feel that you should be sitting here…?’ Elizabeth smiled at her. ‘We’re here to help and advise you,’ she told her gently. ‘Not to sit in judgement. Now, have you brought a list of your debts with you?’
Philippa handed the list over to her. ‘I have written to them all explaining the position, but…’
‘That’s good,’ Elizabeth told her approvingly. ‘You’ll find that most of them will be prepared to accept a minimal payment and…’
Philippa shook her head.
‘I can’t even afford that until I find some kind of work. I don’t know what, though. I don’t have any qualifications or training. My biggest worry at the moment apart from the debts is going to be finding somewhere to live. My husband bought the house in his own name with a legacy. He signed it over to the bank when he needed money for the company and, of course, the bank now want to call in their security.’
‘Do you have family who could perhaps help?’ Elizabeth asked her.
Philippa shook her head. ‘Not really… my parents… although I had thought if I could get a job I could perhaps rent somewhere…’
‘If you get accepted on a government training course, you will be paid a small amount while you’re on it,’ Elizabeth told her. ‘And then, of course, there are other benefits you can claim, but I’m afraid when it comes to rehousing you… The effects of the recession have meant that there’s been a tremendous backlog of people needing to be rehoused, many of whom have had to go into bed and breakfast accommodation in the meantime. Have you discussed with the bank when they will expect you to vacate the house?’
Philippa shook her head. Her whole body had gone icy cold when Elizabeth had started talking about her housing problems.
‘It might very well be worth your while getting in touch with them, in pre-empting them, in fact, and pointing out to them the advantages of allowing you to remain in the house in a semi-official capacity as their nominated caretaker,’ Elizabeth told her.
When Philippa frowned, Elizabeth explained, ‘The housing market is still very depressed, especially at the higher end; the bank may very well decide not to sell immediately but to wait until things improve slightly and they can get a better price. If that were to happen it would make sense for them to protect their investment from any risk of being broken into and vandalised. They may very well be prepared to allow you to stay on in a caretaking capacity rather than go to the expense of employing someone else to do so. They might not agree,’ she warned Philippa, ‘but in my view it would certainly be worthwhile discussing it with them. Don’t expect them to agree immediately, though,’ she added. ‘You may find you have to be persistent and work on them. Some people, especially women and especially in such circumstances, find it difficult to be assertive.’
Elizabeth looked speculatively at Philippa as she spoke. She was a very, very pretty woman; even the stress and strain she was under couldn’t hide that fact. Was she also the type of woman who had been used to using her prettiness as a bargaining counter, using it to sway the judgement of others in her favour, or did that slightly grim look of her mouth and eyes actually mean that she could be firmer, more decisive than her pretty-pretty looks seemed to imply?
Elizabeth suspected that it might. She was trained to observe people and their reactions, the unspoken ones as much as the spoken, and she had noted that beneath her discomfort and embarrassment with her situation Philippa was obviously quite used to and quite happy relating to her own sex, and did not, as another woman with the same degree of physical attractiveness might have done, give any hint that she would be more comfortable dealing with a man, with whom she could flirt and use her attractiveness.
‘I’ll make you an appointment to see the social services people,’ she told Philippa now.
She stopped speaking as Philippa winced.
‘I’ve got two sons at private school; how can I claim Social Security benefits?’ Philippa asked her uncomfortably.
‘You can because you must,’ Elizabeth replied briskly. Philippa flushed guiltily as she caught the note of censure in her voice, but she couldn’t bring herself to explain that it wasn’t so much pride she had felt as guilt. Those people whom Andrew had caused to lose their jobs—they were the ones who were entitled to state help, not her.
As she listened to Elizabeth explaining to her the various options open to her under some of the government training schemes she tried to imagine what her mother’s reaction would be when she heard what she was doing. That was something else her father wouldn’t want to have mentioned at his golf club… his daughter claiming Social Security.
She left Elizabeth’s office with her head buzzing with information and determined to take Elizabeth’s advice and approach the bank with a view to their letting her stay on in the house until it was sold. Even if it was only for a few months, it would give her a few months of relative security in which to concentrate on other things.
And the most important of those things had to be getting herself equipped to find a job and earn some money so that she could support herself and the boys.
As she walked across the square, she saw a woman collecting for charity. Automatically she stopped and put her hand in her pocket, freezing with anger and embarrassment as she remembered that the days were gone when she could put her hand in her pocket and give away loose change. What loose change? she derided herself as she hurried past the woman, head down, face flushed.
Elizabeth had been right when she had told her that she couldn’t afford not to claim Social Security, whatever benefits she was entitled to, no matter how guilty it made her feel to have to do so.
* * *
Philippa rubbed her eyes tiredly. It had been a long day and her telephone call with Neville Wilson had left her feeling physically and mentally drained.
He would put her request to his head office, he had told her, but he had not been able to give her any real idea as to whether or not they would allow her to stay on.
She had sensed from his voice that he was sympathetic to her plight but, as he had pointed out, it would not be his decision. All she could do now, as far as the house was concerned at least, was wait… wait and hope. And she would, she admitted, have preferred the activity of doing something constructive, which in itself was an unexpected change of attitude for someone who had previously sat back and passively let life and others dictate their own terms to her.
At nine o’clock, just as she was about to go upstairs to run a bath before going to bed, she heard a car pulling up outside… She had starting going to bed early as much to keep warm as to sleep. During the day she could find some physical activity to keep herself warm; at night it wasn’t quite so easy.
She paused in the hall, watching as the security lights flashed on, and then as she heard male footsteps crunching over the gravel she wondered if Robert had perhaps had a change of heart and come to visit her.
He hadn’t. When she opened the door she discovered that her visitor was one of her husband’s philandering friends, a man called Frank Jarvis.
She stared at him for a few seconds in confusion. He was carrying a huge bunch of flowers, white lilies, she recognised, blooms she had never really liked.