‘I will be keeping on an office and staff in London,’ Jenna informed him, half resenting his almost paternalistic criticism.
‘Well, you know best…’ His hurried backing-off made Jenna suppress a faint smile. ‘And as to giving you the name of an architect, quite by coincidence an old friend of mine has a partnership in York.’ He jotted down a name and address on his notepad and handed it to Jenna.
‘They’re a first-class firm, and they have a department specialising in restoration work. They should be able to find you a good builder—but if you have any problems…’
Jenna got up shaking her head. ‘No…I…’
Craig got up too. ‘Before you leave London, Jenna, we must have lunch together…or dinner,’ he added speculatively.
‘That would be lovely, but I doubt that I’ll have the time, I’m afraid,’ Jenna replied diplomatically, avoiding his eyes. She was always wary when male colleagues proffered dinner invitations, and had a rule that she always refused them unless they included other people.
Why was it that even the most domesticated of the male species could never seem to resist trying their luck? Was it male instinct to pursue almost every unattached female that crossed their path?
She had several more meetings that morning, culminating in lunch with her bank manager. This was the appointment she was most dreading. She could, with patience and charm, just about manage to persuade Harley and her accountants that she had sound business reasons for what she was doing, but Gordon Burns was another matter.
She had used the same bankers right from the start of her career, although it was only more latterly, since her business had been successful that her branch’s most senior manager, Gordon Burns, had taken charge of her banking affairs.
He was a stooping, grizzled Scot, with an extremely shrewd mind and a dry sense of humour, which she enjoyed, and Jenna suspected he would prove far more difficult to convince than Harley had been. She had already endured one rather uncomfortable telephone call with Gordon Burns when she had had to increase the amount of her proposed loan. He hadn’t turned her down, but Jenna had sensed a cautious note of censure in his voice when he reminded her of the heavy financial burden she would be taking on.
He greeted her warmly enough, taking her coat and smiling at her. In his late fifties with a wealth of banking experience behind him, he always treated her with an olde-worlde masculine courtesy that was something of an anachronism, and yet, strangely enough, out of all her male colleagues and advisers he was the only one, who, when it came down to business, treated her exactly as he might another man.
Once they were seated he got briskly down to business, shaking his head a little as he studied the computer figures spread out on his desk. ‘Your turnover for the past couple of years,’ he told Jenna indicating the figures to her, and shaking his head slightly. ‘You don’t need me to tell you just how finely you’re cutting things, Jenna, and I won’t mince matters with you, I don’t like it.’
‘But you still gave me the loan?’
He grimaced faintly. ‘From the bank’s point of view it’s good business. The money’s out on loan to you at an extremely profitable rate of interest to us, and it’s well secured by the deeds on your London apartment and the old Hall itself. No, my concern isn’t for the bank’s money,’ he told her rather grimly, ‘but for your ability to repay it. You’ve taken on one hell of a burden. The interest repayments alone are going to amount to…’ He named a figure that made Jenna wince. ‘I know you’re doing very well at the moment, but what you’re talking about doing now is virtually to start again and new ventures are notorious for swallowing up money—oh, I’m not saying you won’t be successful in the North, only that you might find yourself with a cashflow problem and that’s if you’re lucky. If you’re not lucky, you could lose the lot.’
It was no more than Jenna knew herself, but to hear it said out loud so pragmatically made her stomach clench and her throat close up.
‘What monies are you likely to have coming in over the next six months?’ He turned to some cashflow forecasts Harley had drawn up for her and studied them thoughtfully.
‘Umm…not too bad, but I’d like to see at least a couple more large, guaranteed contracts.’ He frowned, and tapped thoughtfully on his desk. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Jenna. On paper it looks viable but my banker’s nose warns me against it.’
Jenna felt her heart sink. Bankers were notoriously cautious, she comforted herself a little later over lunch, and yet she knew that Gordon Burns had paid her the compliment of being honest with her, and that if she were wise she would listen to what he had to say. But she was committed now, she reminded herself. It was too late to change her mind, even had she wanted to do so. Just for a moment the image of James Allingham’s grim face rose up before her. He would probably buy the house from…But no! She wasn’t going to sell it. She didn’t want to sell it, least of all to him!
By the time their lunch was over she had managed to persuade herself that the picture was not as black as Gordon Burns had painted it. True, financially she would be rather stretched…but she would survive. It was in a mood of optimism that she returned to the empty apartment later in the afternoon. Lucy was still out, and after making herself a pot of tea, Jenna settled herself at her desk and gave herself up to the pleasure of planning out the restoration to its former glory of the old Hall.
Because it had two wings it would easily adapt to the dual purpose she had in mind of business premises and home. The Georgian wing would be her business showcase, with the older part of the building restored and adapted as a home for herself and Lucy. Once she had started, enthusiasm gripped her, and it was the growing dusk that eventually made her stop, massaging her cramped fingers as she put down her pen.
She glanced at her watch. Nearly nine. Where was Lucy? Frowning slightly, Jenna went to the phone and looked up the number of her friend’s parents, quickly dialling it.
It was several seconds before it was answered, a brief spasm of time during which Jenna tried hard not to dwell on how late Lucy was and all the dreadful fates that might have befallen her.
When the phone was answered and she spoke to Janet’s mother she learned that both girls had gone to a party being held by the daughter of one of their neighbours.
‘Didn’t Lucy ring you?’ Emily Harris asked. ‘She said she was going to?’
‘She may have tried to. I was out until four o’clock,’ Jenna told her, thinking though that Lucy had not tried very hard to get in touch with her. Lucy was old enough to be aware of how much she worried about her, and Jenna wondered if Lucy was still deliberately trying to punish her. She sighed as she replaced the receiver, her earlier optimism banished. Her head had started to ache slightly and suddenly she was overwhelmed by a desire to breathe in the clean, cool air of the moors. Funny how, until now, she had never realised how much she missed the solitude and peace of Yorkshire.
Was she being entirely fair to Lucy in uprooting her? But she wasn’t being completely uprooted, Jenna reminded herself. Many of her schoolfriends lived out of London; indeed they came from all parts of the country. Lucy could invited them to stay with her during the school holidays and could visit them in turn. Jenna had always been scrupulous about not being over-possessive with Lucy, encouraging her to make friends and spend time with them, worried that as an only child she might grow up lonely and introverted without company of her own age.
And yet now, as far as Lucy was concerned, nothing she could do was right. Her head really aching now, Jenna wandered into the kitchen to make herself a drink, suddenly aware of a de
ep sense of depression. What was she going to do to put things right between herself and Lucy? Perhaps it was just as well that Lucy was returning to school on Sunday, although Jenna was loath to part from her in her present mood. Maybe it would do them both good to be away from one another for a while?
CHAPTER FOUR
‘YOU’RE early.’