A Desirable Residence (24 page)

‘Hello, Marcus!’ Ginny exclaimed, jumping up and scattering a pile of photographic prints. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine, thank you, Ginny,’ said Marcus, smiling guardedly back at her. Since the day at Panning Hall, he had deliberately seen very little of Ginny. After a few fraught days of jumping every time the phone rang, he had become gradually reassured that she hadn’t picked up on what he was doing that day. Now he smiled to himself at the idea. She was a bit of a bimbo, really, he thought, looking at her bright red miniskirt, that would have been indecent if her black tights weren’t so utterly opaque. She obviously hadn’t cottoned on to anything. Her face was totally unsuspicious, her eyes were sparkling, and she seemed even more lively than usual.

‘Don’t mind me,’ she said. ‘I’m not here to quiz you. I just thought I’d get some stuff together for general press releases.’

‘Good idea,’ said Marcus heartily. ‘Let me know if you need any more information.’

‘Oh, I will,’ said Ginny. ‘Don’t worry.’

As she sat down and picked up another file, she remembered the conviction she’d once had that Marcus and Alice’s mother were having an affair. Could it have been true? She glanced at Marcus, walking towards his own office, and tried to imagine him in bed with Liz Chambers. But even as she conjured the image up, it floated out of her mind, to be replaced by an image of Piers, who would be off the train by now, perhaps already in a taxi to the television studios. Perhaps already
at
the television studios. Oh God . . . Ginny’s stomach twinged with painful nerves, and she forced her attention down to the file in front of her.

Marcus made his way into his office, sat down at his desk, and pressed his intercom in order to remind Suzy, humorously, that he would like some coffee too, please. Then his eye was caught by the open drawer of his filing cabinet. He released the intercom, and walked quickly over to it. The drawer was empty. The drawer of client files.

A small exclamation came from the outer office and Marcus went swiftly to the door. His heart began to thump. Ginny was holding the Panning Hall estate details. She looked up and beamed at Marcus.

‘This is a good story!’ she exclaimed. ‘Just right for the New Year.’

‘What’s that?’ said Marcus, adopting a falsely jovial manner. He felt a rather sick smile cross his face.

‘A chance to buy a property on a country estate!’ said Ginny. ‘Or even the manor house itself!’ She beamed at Marcus. ‘I’ll do a load of separate press releases. The weekend sections will love it.’ She looked down again. ‘And look at these lovely low prices! I always thought anything in Panning cost the earth.’

‘It’s a very realistic valuation,’ snapped Marcus before he could stop himself.

‘Is it?’ Ginny looked once more at the details. ‘I’m amazed. I mean, Panning is such a pretty village. I’d love to buy somewhere there myself.’ She flipped idly through the papers again, and Marcus felt a sudden urge to whip them from her grasp. The door of the office was open; Ginny’s voice was loud and insistent; anyone might wander in. Tiny waves of panic began to run through him.

‘The thing is,’ he said, in an elaborately casual voice, ‘that the estate’s been sold.’

‘Really?’ Ginny looked up in dismay. ‘Gosh, that’s quick! Oh, what a shame. It would have made a lovely feature!’

‘Yes well,’ said Marcus briskly. ‘Never mind. I’m sure we’ve got lots of other things on our books that would make interesting press releases.’ He held out his hand for the papers. But Ginny, infuriatingly, was still leafing through the details. And he didn’t dare interrupt her, with Suzy sitting there. Suzy wasn’t the brightest of girls, but even she might start to wonder why he was so bothered about one set of property details. She might take it upon herself to mention it to Miles. Or, even worse, Nigel. He leaned casually against the door frame and forced himself to smile at Ginny.

‘I love Panning,’ she said dreamily. ‘If I ever had a lot of money, I’d definitely think about moving there.’ She looked down again, and a pink tinge crept across her face. ‘I mean,’ she said, ‘look at this lovely farmhouse. Only a hundred thousand pounds.’

Marcus clenched his fists. That farm house was worth at least half as much again. But he’d had to scale everything down a bit. Perhaps he’d been too drastic.

‘Yes, well,’ he said quickly, ‘the market has dropped. As well you know.’

‘Who bought it?’ said Ginny abruptly. ‘Perhaps we could interview them.’

‘No!’ shouted Marcus without thinking. ‘I mean,’ he added, ‘I don’t think they’d be very keen on the idea. There were some complications. I think you’d better forget all about it.’ He leant over, and, fighting the urge to snatch, gently lifted the Panning Hall papers from Ginny’s hand.

‘Could I have some coffee please, Suzy?’ he managed to say, before disappearing into his office.

He sat down heavily at his desk, swivelled his chair so he was facing away from the door, and looked unwillingly at the details. While he’d been writing them up, he’d practically managed to convince himself that his valuation was accurate. Taking a fifth, or a third, or even half off every figure had become an automatic calculation, almost as though he were deducting some unavoidable surcharge or tax.

But now, seen in the cold light of day, it was obvious that the asking prices were far too low. When Leo came to sell the place on, he would get at least his extra million. Perhaps a couple of million. Marcus’s thoughts flickered uncomfortably to the beneficiaries of the estate. The unsuspicious daughters in America. Between them, he and Leo had done them out of a good chunk of their inheritance. Did he now feel guilty? he wondered. Remorseful? He gingerly tested his feelings. But the only emotion he could identify was alarm. From having once seemed utterly failsafe, the whole affair now seemed wrought with holes.

He told himself firmly that Ginny had probably already forgotten about the whole thing. But in a small part of his mind, a stream of worrying pictures had started to flow. Ginny exclaiming to the world over the price of Panning Hall. Miles asking interestedly to see the details. That dreadful old character from the village deciding to phone the police. Miles would find out. Miles would be devastated. Marcus felt his shoulders hunch uncomfortably. Once, that thought would have spurred him on even further. But now it only made him feel more anxious.

He stared out of the window at the cheerless grey sky, and felt a shiver go through him. Suddenly he wondered why he had agreed to it in the first place. The money wasn’t worth it;
really
wasn’t worth it, he suddenly thought with fervour. His income from Witherstone’s was ample; he had enough capital to be comfortable; what did he need more for? And how, it occurred to him for the first time, was he going to spend this sudden windfall? Nothing went unnoticed in Silchester, not a new car, nor a glamorous holiday, not even a new suit. Besides, he thought tetchily, he didn’t want a new suit. Nor a new car.

‘Your coffee, Mr Witherstone.’ Suzy’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

‘Thank you, Suzy.’ Marcus waited until she had left the room before he swivelled round to face his desk and took a sip of coffee. The solution was simple and obvious, he told himself. He could just turn down his cut. Turn down the twenty per cent. Let Leo sell the estate at a huge profit, and if anybody started asking questions, blame the markets. No one would be able to pin anything on him.

He sat for a couple of seconds, trying to convince himself that this was what he would do; trying to make up his mind to write a quick note to Leo; trying to conjure up a feeling of relief at extricating himself from the situation.

But he couldn’t do it. He simply couldn’t turn down that kind of money. It wasn’t humanly possible to let a sum like that just go, even if it did come with associated guilt and worry.

Abruptly he opened a drawer of his desk and shoved the details inside. The sooner the place was sold and he’d received his cheque and the whole business was closed, the better. He glanced at the closed door of the office, then hurriedly dialled the number of Leo’s office.

‘Leo,’ he said, as soon as he was put through, ‘what’s happening?’

‘In regard to . . . ?’ Leo’s voice was smoothly questioning.

Marcus gritted his teeth. ‘The sale,’ he said irritably. ‘You know.’ He took a breath. ‘Have you found a buyer? You’re not planning to delay things for any reason?’

‘It will go through in due course.’ Leo’s voice was bland and courteous, and Marcus wondered whether someone else was in his office with him. He suddenly felt annoyed by Leo’s calm.

‘Yes, well, people have been asking questions,’ he said curtly. That might galvanize the sod, he thought.

‘What?’ Suddenly Leo’s voice had an edge to it. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing, really,’ said Marcus quickly. He lowered his voice. ‘Just some PR girl poking around in the files.’

‘What fucking PR girl? Marcus, I don’t like what I’m hearing.’ Leo paused, and Marcus felt his face growing hot. He shouldn’t have said anything. ‘If you’ve fucked this up . . .’ added Leo, in light, menacing tones.

‘It’s fine,’ said Marcus. His heart was thumping. ‘No harm done. Honestly. It’s all under control.’

‘It had better be,’ said Leo shortly. ‘For your own sake.’ And the line went dead.

Marcus put the receiver down and distractedly took a gulp of lukewarm coffee. He felt shaken up by the exchange, in spite of himself. He had sought reassurance that everything was under control; that he’d soon be safe. But he didn’t feel safe. He felt exposed; vulnerable to discovery at any moment. The phone rang, and with a foolish pang of fright he picked it up.

‘Hello?’ Christ, even his voice was shaking.

‘Marcus, it’s Liz.’

Marcus closed his eyes. A vague resentment filled his body. Liz. His mistress. Phoning him at work. More deception; more trouble; more risk of discovery. It came to him that Liz was just another part of the whole mess he’d got himself into.

‘Marcus, we’re about to go to our meeting with the bank,’ she said. She sounded tense.

‘Oh yes?’ he said unhelpfully.

‘Have you managed to speak to anyone there?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Marcus shortly. Her voice grated on his nerves, and he felt suddenly restless, as though the receiver of the phone had been pressed against his ear all day. ‘Was that all you wanted?’ he said.

‘I suppose it was.’ Liz sounded crestfallen.

‘Well, I’m afraid I’m rather tied up at the moment. Can I call you back on that one?’

There was a puzzled pause. Then Liz said, ‘Oh, is someone in your office?’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Marcus, looking around the empty room.

‘Oh dear. Well, I’ll call you later if I can. Wish us luck!’

‘Goodbye,’ said Marcus formally, and was about to put the receiver down.

‘Marcus, wait!’ Suddenly her voice was soft and tremulous. ‘I just wanted to say thank you again. For your lovely Christmas present.’

‘I told you. It’s nothing.’

‘It’s not nothing! It’s beautiful!’

‘Yes, well.’ He did nothing to disguise the impatience in his voice.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ll go. I just wanted to say thank you.’

‘Goodbye,’ said Marcus, and thrust down the receiver before she could reply.

He pushed the phone away and stood up. He didn’t feel pleased with himself. Neither did he feel pleased with Liz. She seemed to be encroaching more and more on his life; a life that seemed to be getting complicated and secretive where once it had been safe and blameless. The present had been a mistake, he saw that now. He paced over to the door and looked out through the glass panel at Ginny and Suzy, both now sitting happily on the floor, leafing innocently through endless details of properties. Suddenly he wished he could join them; join their pleasant chat and simple, guiltless existence. He doubted a single worry ever entered Ginny’s head, let alone Suzy’s.

And suddenly his thoughts turned to Anthea. Anthea, who was, in her own way, as simple and innocent as those two. He pictured her pale face, turned to him in a frown of anxiety; her thin hand, pushing its way uncertainly through her newly shorn hair; and a fierce affection filled his heart. He turned on his heel and went back to the phone. When Hannah answered he didn’t hesitate.

‘Tell my wife,’ he said, ‘that if she likes, I’ll pick up Daniel from his coaching, and then we can go out to dinner.’

‘Wow!’ Hannah’s strident voice travelled down the phone lines and hit Marcus’s ear drum with some force. ‘That sounds nice! I’ll ask her. She’s just in the other room.’ As he listened to Hannah loudly relaying the message, Marcus could imagine Anthea wrinkling her brow in annoyance. She was forever telling the boys to use their legs rather than their voices, and hoping that Hannah would take the hint. But even this thought made him smile.

‘She says that’s fine,’ said Hannah. She lowered her voice. ‘Actually, I think she’s quite chuffed.’

‘Good,’ said Marcus. He felt suddenly happier. ‘So am I.’

Liz and Jonathan arrived at Brown and Brentford ten minutes early, and sat silently side by side in a small waiting area on brown foam-upholstered chairs. Liz felt wary and anxious. She had never really believed that Marcus wouldn’t provide a solution for them; had not given any thought to what would happen if he didn’t. She had no idea what to expect from this meeting; no idea of what she was going to say.