‘I didn’t come round for a cup of tea, as I suspect you know only too well, Cornelius. What I want to know is how you managed to fritter away your entire fortune.’ Before her brother could deliver some well-rehearsed lines from his script, she added, ‘You’ll have to sell the house, of course. I’ve always said that since Millie’s death it’s far too large for you. You can always take a bachelor flat in the village.’

  ‘Such decisions are no longer in my hands,’ said Cornelius, trying to sound helpless.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Margaret, rounding on him.

  ‘Just that the house and its contents have already been seized by the petitioners in bankruptcy. If I’m to avoid going bankrupt, we must hope that the house sells for a far higher price than the estate agents are predicting.’

  ‘Are you telling me there’s absolutely nothing left?’

  ‘Less than nothing would be more accurate,’ said Cornelius, sighing. ‘And once they’ve evicted me from The Willows, I’ll have nowhere to go.’ He tried to sound plaintive. ‘So I was rather hoping that you would allow me to take up the kind offer you made at Millie’s funeral and come and live with you.’

  His sister turned away, so that Cornelius was unable to see the expression on her face.

  ‘That wouldn’t be convenient at the present time,’ she said without explanation. ‘And in any case, Hugh and Elizabeth have far more spare rooms in their house than I do.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Cornelius. He coughed. ‘And the small loan I advanced you last year, Margaret – I’m sorry to raise the subject, but . . .’

  ‘What little money I have is carefully invested, and my brokers tell me that this is not a time to sell.’

  ‘But the allowance I’ve provided every month for the past twenty years – surely you have a little salted away?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Margaret replied. ‘You must understand that being your sister has meant I am expected to maintain a certain standard of living, and now that I can no longer rely on my monthly allowance, I shall have to be even more careful with my meagre income.’

  ‘Of course you will, my dear,’ said Cornelius. ‘But any little contribution would help, if you felt able . . .’

  ‘I must be off,’ said Margaret, looking at her watch. ‘You’ve already made me late for the hairdresser.’

  ‘Just one more little request before you go, my dear,’ said Cornelius. ‘In the past you’ve always been kind enough to give me a lift into town whenever . . .’

  ‘I’ve always said, Cornelius, that you should have learned to drive years ago. If you had, you wouldn’t expect everyone to be at your beck and call night and day. I’ll see what I can do,’ she added as he opened the door for her.

  ‘Funny, I don’t recall you ever saying that. But then, perhaps my memory is going as well,’ he said as he followed his sister out onto the drive. He smiled. ‘New car, Margaret?’ he enquired innocently.

  ‘Yes,’ his sister replied tartly as he opened the door for her. Cornelius thought he detected a slight colouring in her cheeks. He chuckled to himself as she drove off. He was learning more about his family by the minute.

  Cornelius strolled back into the house, and returned to his study. He closed the door, picked up the phone on his desk and dialled Frank’s office.

  ‘Vintcent, Ellwood and Halfon,’ said a prim voice.

  ‘I’d like to speak to Mr Vintcent.’

  ‘Who shall I say is calling?’

  ‘Cornelius Barrington.’

  ‘I’ll have to see if he’s free, Mr Barrington.’

  Very good, thought Cornelius. Frank must have convinced even his receptionist that the rumours were true, because in the past her response had always been, ‘I’ll put you straight through, sir.’

  ‘Good morning, Cornelius,’ said Frank. ‘I’ve just put the phone down on your brother Hugh. That’s the second time he’s called this morning.’

  ‘What did he want?’ asked Cornelius.

  ‘To have the full implications explained to him, and also his immediate obligations.’

  ‘Good,’ said Cornelius. ‘So can I hope to receive a cheque for £100,000 in the near future?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Frank. ‘From the tone of his voice I don’t think that’s what he had in mind, but I’ll let you know just as soon as I’ve heard back from him.’

  ‘I shall look forward to that, Frank.’

  ‘I do believe you’re enjoying yourself, Cornelius.’

  ‘You bet I am,’ he replied. ‘I only wish Millie was here to share the fun with me.’

  ‘You know what she would have said, don’t you?’

  ‘No, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.’

  ‘You’re a wicked old man.’

  ‘And, as always, she would have been right,’ Cornelius confessed with a laugh. ‘Goodbye, Frank.’ As he replaced the receiver there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ said Cornelius, puzzled as to who it could possibly be. The door opened and his housekeeper entered, carrying a tray with a cup of tea and a plate of shortbread biscuits. She was, as always, neat and trim, not a hair out of place, and showed no sign of embarrassment. She can’t have received Frank’s letter yet, was Cornelius’s first thought.

  ‘Pauline,’ he said as she placed the tray on his desk, ‘did you receive a letter from my solicitor this morning?’

  ‘Yes, I did, sir,’ Pauline replied, ‘and of course I shall sell the car immediately, and repay your £500.’ She paused before looking straight at him. ‘But I was just wondering, sir . . .’

  ‘Yes, Pauline?’

  ‘Would it be possible for me to work it off in lieu? You see, I need a car to pick up my girls from school.’

  For the first time since he had embarked on the enterprise, Cornelius felt guilty. But he knew that if he agreed to Pauline’s request, someone would find out, and the whole enterprise would be endangered.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Pauline, but I’ve been left with no choice.’

  ‘That’s exactly what the solicitor explained in his letter,’ Pauline said, fiddling with a piece of paper in the pocket of her pinafore. ‘Mind you, I never did go much on lawyers.’

  This statement made Cornelius feel even more guilty, because he didn’t know a more trustworthy person than Frank Vintcent.

  ‘I’d better leave you now, sir, but I’ll pop back this evening just to make sure things don’t get too untidy. Would it be possible, sir . . . ?’

  ‘Possible . . . ?’ said Cornelius.

  ‘Could you give me a reference? I mean, you see, it’s not that easy for someone of my age to find a job.’

  ‘I’ll give you a reference that would get you a position at Buckingham Palace,’ said Cornelius. He immediately sat down at his desk and wrote a glowing homily on the service Pauline Croft had given for over two decades. He read it through, then handed it across to her. ‘Thank you, Pauline,’ he said, ‘for all you have done in the past for Daniel, Millie and, most of all, myself.’

  ‘My pleasure, sir,’ said Pauline.

  Once she had closed the door behind her, Cornelius could only wonder if water wasn’t sometimes thicker than blood.

  He sat back down at his desk and began writing some notes to remind him what had taken place that morning. When he had finished he went through to the kitchen to make himself some lunch, and found a salad had been laid out for him.

  After lunch, Cornelius took a bus into town – a novel experience. It was some time before he located a bus stop, and then he discovered that the conductor didn’t have change for a twenty-pound note. His first call after he had been dropped off in the town centre was to the local estate agent, who didn’t seem that surprised to see him. Cornelius was delighted to find how quickly the rumour of his financial demise must be spreading.

  ‘I’ll have someone call round to The Willows in the morning, Mr Barrington,’ said the young man, rising from behind his desk, ‘so we can measure up and take some photographs. May we also have your permission to place a sign in the garden?’

  ‘Please do,’ said Cornelius without hesitation, and barely stopped himself from adding, the bigger the better.

  After he’d left the estate agent, Cornelius walked a few yards down the street and called into the local removal firm. He asked another young man if he could make an appointment for them to take away the entire contents of the house.

  ‘Where’s it all to go, sir?’

  ‘To Botts’ Storeroom in the High Street,’ Cornelius informed him.

  ‘That will be no problem, sir,’ said the young assistant, picking up a pad from his desk. Once Cornelius had completed the forms in triplicate, the assistant said, ‘Sign there, sir,’ pointing to the bottom of the form. Then, looking a little nervous, he added, ‘We’ll need a deposit of £100.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Cornelius, taking out his chequebook.

  ‘I’m afraid it will have to be cash, sir,’ the young man said in a confidential tone.

  Cornelius smiled. No one had refused a cheque from him for over thirty years. ‘I’ll call back tomorrow,’ he said.

  On the way back to the bus stop Cornelius stared through the window of his brother’s hardware store, and noted that the staff didn’t seem all that busy. On arriving back at The Willows, he returned to his study and made some more notes on what had taken place that afternoon.

  As he climbed the stairs to go to bed that night, he reflected that it must have been the first afternoon in years that no one had called him to ask how he was. He slept soundly that night.

  ∼

  When Cornelius came downstairs the following morning, he picked up his post from the mat and made his way to the kitchen. Over a bowl of cornflakes he checked through the letters. He had once been told that if it was known you were likely to go bankrupt, a stream of brown envelopes would begin to drop through the letterbox, as shopkeepers and small businessmen tried to get in before anyone else could be declared a preferred creditor.

  There were no brown envelopes in the post that morning, because Cornelius had made certain every bill had been covered before he began his journey down this particular road.

  Other than circulars and free offers, there was just one white envelope with a London postmark. It turned out to be a handwritten letter from his nephew Timothy, saying how sorry he was to learn of his uncle’s problems, and that although he didn’t get back to Chudley much nowadays, he would make every effort to travel up to Shropshire at the weekend and call in to see him.

  Although the message was brief, Cornelius silently noted that Timothy was the first member of the family to show any sympathy for his predicament.

  When he heard the doorbell ring, he placed the letter on the kitchen table and walked out into the hall. He opened the front door to be greeted by Elizabeth, his brother’s wife. Her face was white, lined and drained, and Cornelius doubted if she had slept a great deal the previous night.

  The moment Elizabeth had stepped into the house she began to pace around from room to room, almost as though she were checking to see that everything was still in place, as if she couldn’t accept the words she had read in the solicitor’s letter.

  Any lingering doubts must have been dispelled when, a few minutes later, the local estate agent appeared on the doorstep, tape measure in hand, with a photographer by his side.

  ‘If Hugh was able to return even part of the hundred thousand I loaned him, that would be most helpful,’ Cornelius remarked to his sister-in-law as he followed her through the house.

  It was some time before she spoke, despite the fact that she had had all night to consider her response.

  ‘It’s not quite that easy,’ she eventually replied. ‘You see, the loan was made to the company, and the shares are distributed among several people.’

  Cornelius knew all three of the several people. ‘Then perhaps the time has come for you and Hugh to sell off some of your shares.’

  ‘And allow some stranger to take over the company, after all the work we’ve put into it over the years? No, we can’t afford to let that happen. In any case, Hugh asked Mr Vintcent what the legal position was, and he confirmed that there was no obligation on our part to sell any of our shares.’

  ‘Have you considered that perhaps you have a moral obligation?’ asked Cornelius, turning to face his sister-in-law.

  ‘Cornelius,’ she said, avoiding his stare, ‘it has been your irresponsibility, not ours, that has been the cause of your downfall. Surely you wouldn’t expect your brother to sacrifice everything he’s worked for over the years, simply to place my family in the same perilous position in which you now find yourself?’

  Cornelius realised why Elizabeth hadn’t slept the previous night. She was not only acting as spokeswoman for Hugh, but was obviously making the decisions as well. Cornelius had always considered her to be the stronger-willed of the two, and he doubted if he would come face to face with his brother before an agreement had been reached.

  ‘But if there’s any other way we might help . . .’ Elizabeth added in a more gentle tone, as her hand rested on an ornate gold-leafed table in the drawing room.

  ‘Well, now you mention it,’ replied Cornelius, ‘I’m putting the house on the market in a couple of weeks’ time, and will be looking for . . .’

  ‘That soon?’ said Elizabeth. ‘And what’s going to happen to all the furniture?’

  ‘It will all have to be sold to help cover the debts. But, as I said . . .’

  ‘Hugh has always liked this table.’

  ‘Louis XIV,’ said Cornelius casually.

  ‘I wonder what it’s worth,’ Elizabeth mused, trying to make it sound as if it were of little consequence.

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Cornelius. ‘If I remember correctly, I paid around £60,000 for it – but that was over ten years ago.’

  ‘And the chess set?’ Elizabeth asked, picking up one of the pieces.

  ‘It’s a worthless copy,’ Cornelius replied. ‘You could pick up a set just like it in any Arab bazaar for a couple of hundred pounds.’

  ‘Oh, I always thought . . .’ Elizabeth hesitated before replacing the piece on the wrong square. ‘Well, I must be off,’ she said, sounding as if her task had been completed. ‘We must try not to forget that I still have a business to run.’

  Cornelius accompanied her as she began striding back down the long corridor in the direction of the front door. She walked straight by the portrait of her nephew Daniel. In the past she had always stopped to remark on how much she missed him.

  ‘I was wondering . . .’ began Cornelius as they walked out into the hall.

  ‘Yes?’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Well, as I have to be out of here in a couple of weeks, I hoped it might be possible to move in with you. That is, until I find somewhere I can afford.’

  ‘If only you’d asked a week ago,’ said Elizabeth, without missing a beat. ‘But unfortunately we’ve just agreed to take in my mother, and the only other room is Timothy’s, and he comes home most weekends.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Cornelius.

  ‘And the grandfather clock?’ asked Elizabeth, who still appeared to be on a shopping expedition.

  ‘Victorian – I purchased it from the Earl of Bute’s estate.’

  ‘No, I meant how much is it worth?’

  ‘Whatever someone is willing to pay for it,’ Cornelius replied as they reached the front door.

  ‘Don’t forget to let me know, Cornelius, if there’s anything I can do to help.’

  ‘How kind of you, Elizabeth,’ he said, opening the door to find the estate agent hammering a stake into the ground with a sign on it declaring FOR SALE. Cornelius smiled, because it was the only thing that morning that had stopped Elizabeth in her tracks.

  ∼

  Frank Vintcent arrived on the Thursday evening, carrying a bottle of cognac and two pizzas.

  ‘If I’d realised that losing Pauline was to be part of the deal, I would never have agreed to go along with your plan in the first place,’ Frank said as he nibbled at his microwaved pizza. ‘How do you manage without her?’

  ‘Rather badly,’ Cornelius admitted, ‘although she still drops in for an hour or two every evening. Otherwise this place would look like a pigsty. Come to think of it, how do you cope?’

  ‘As a bachelor,’ Frank replied, ‘you learn the art of survival from an early age. Now, let’s stop this small-talk and get on with the game.’

  ‘Which game?’ enquired Cornelius with a chuckle.

  ‘Chess,’ replied Frank. ‘I’ve had enough of the other game for one week.’

  ‘Then we’d better go through to the library.’

  Frank was surprised by Cornelius’s opening moves, as he had never known his old friend to be so daring. Neither of them spoke again for over an hour, most of which Frank spent trying to defend his queen.

  ‘This might well be the last game we play with this set,’ said Cornelius wistfully.

  ‘No, don’t worry yourself about that,’ said Frank. ‘They always allow you to keep a few personal items.’

  ‘Not when they’re worth a quarter of a million pounds,’ replied Cornelius.

  ‘I had no idea,’ said Frank, looking up.

  ‘Because you’re not the sort of man who has ever been interested in worldly goods. It’s a sixteenth-century Persian masterpiece, and it’s bound to cause considerable interest when it comes under the hammer.’

  ‘But surely you’ve found out all you need to know by now,’ said Frank. ‘Why carry on with the exercise when you could lose so much that’s dear to you?’

  ‘Because I still have to discover the truth.’

  Frank sighed, stared down at the board and moved his queen’s knight. ‘Checkmate,’ he said. ‘It serves you right for not concentrating.’

  ∼

  Cornelius spent most of Friday morning in a private meeting with the managing director of Botts and Company, the local fine art and furniture auctioneers.