‘And what might that be?’ asked Cornelius.
‘I shall not charge a fee for this commission, so that I will be able to attest to anyone who should ask that I have not benefited from your shenanigans.’
‘But …’
‘No “buts”, old friend. I made a handsome profit from my original shareholding when you sold the company. You must consider this a small attempt to say thank you.’
Cornelius smiled. ‘It is I who should be grateful, and indeed I am, as always, conscious of your valued assistance over the years. You are truly a good friend, and I swear I would leave my entire estate to you if you weren’t a bachelor, and if I didn’t know it wouldn’t change your way of life one iota.’
‘No, thank you,’ said Frank with a chuckle. ‘If you did that, I would only have to carry out exactly the same test with a different set of characters.’ He paused. ‘So, what is your first move?’
Cornelius rose from his chair. ‘Tomorrow you will send out five letters informing those concerned that a bankruptcy notice has been served on me, and that I require any outstanding loans to be repaid in full, and as quickly as possible.’
Frank had already begun making notes on a little pad he always carried with him. Twenty minutes later, when he had written down Cornelius’s final instruction, he placed the pad back in an inside pocket, drained his glass and stubbed out his cigar.
When Cornelius rose to accompany him to the front door, Frank asked, ‘But what is to be the third of your tests, the one you’re convinced will prove so conclusive?’
The old solicitor listened carefully as Cornelius outlined an idea of such ingenuity that he departed feeling all the victims would be left with little choice but to reveal their true colours.
The first person to call Cornelius on Saturday morning was his brother Hugh. It must have been only moments after he had opened Frank’s letter. Cornelius had the distinct feeling that someone else was listening in on the conversation.
‘I’ve just received a letter from your solicitor,’ said Hugh, ‘and I simply can’t believe it. Please tell me there’s been some dreadful mistake.’
‘I’m afraid there has been no mistake,’ Cornelius replied. ‘I only wish I could tell you otherwise.’
‘But how could you, who are normally so shrewd, have allowed such a thing to happen?’
‘Put it down to old age,’ Cornelius replied. ‘A few weeks after Millie died I was talked into investing a large sum of money in a company that specialised in supplying mining equipment to the Russians. All of us have read about the endless supply of oil there, if only one could get at it, so I was confident my investment would show a handsome return. Last Friday I was informed by the company secretary that they had filed a 217 order, as they were no longer solvent.’
‘But surely you didn’t invest everything you had in the one company?’ said Hugh, sounding even more incredulous.
‘Not originally, of course,’ said Cornelius, ‘but I fear I got sucked in whenever they needed a further injection of cash. Towards the end I had to go on investing more, as it seemed to me the only way I would have any chance of getting back my original investment.’
‘But doesn’t the company have any assets you can lay your hands on? What about all the mining equipment?’
‘It’s all rusting away somewhere in central Russia, and so far we haven’t seen a thimbleful of oil.’
‘Why didn’t you get out when your losses were still manageable?’ asked Hugh.
‘Pride, I suppose. Unwilling to admit I’d backed a loser, always believing my money would be safe in the long run.’
‘But they must be offering some recompense,’ said Hugh desperately.
‘Not a penny,’ replied Cornelius. ‘I can’t even afford to fly over and spend a few days in Russia to find out what the true position is.’
‘How much time have they given you?’
‘A bankruptcy notice has already been served on me, so my very survival depends on how much I can raise in the short term.’ Cornelius paused. ‘I’m sorry to remind you of this, Hugh, but you will recall that some time ago I loaned you PS100,000. So I was rather hoping …’
‘But you know that every penny of that money has been sunk into the shop, and with High Street sales at an all-time low, I don’t think I could lay my hands on more than a few thousand at the moment.’
Cornelius thought he heard someone whispering the words ‘And no more’ in the background.
‘Yes, I can see the predicament you’re in,’ said Cornelius. ‘But anything you can do to help would be appreciated. When you’ve settled on a sum - ‘ he paused again ‘ - and naturally you’ll have to discuss with Elizabeth just how much you can spare - perhaps you could send a cheque direct to Frank Vintcent’s office. He’s handling the whole messy business.’
‘The lawyers always seem to end up getting their cut, whether you win or lose.’
‘To be fair,’ said Cornelius, ‘Frank has waived his fee on this occasion. And while you’re on the phone, Hugh, the people you’re sending to refit the kitchen were due to start later this week. It’s even more important now that they complete the job as quickly as possible, because I’m putting the house on the market and a new kitchen will help me get a better price. I’m sure you understand.’
‘I’ll see what I can do to help,’ said Hugh, ‘but I may have to move that particular team onto another assignment. We’ve got a bit of a backlog at the moment.’
‘Oh? I thought you said money was a little tight right now,’ Cornelius said, stifling a chuckle.
‘It is,’ said Hugh, a little too quickly. ‘What I meant to say was that we’re all having to work overtime just to keep our heads above water.’
‘I think I understand,’ said Cornelius. ‘Still, I’m sure you’ll do everything you can to help, now you’re fully aware of my situation.’ He put the phone down and smiled.
The next victim to contact him didn’t bother to phone, but arrived at the front door a few minutes later, and wouldn’t take her finger off the buzzer until the door had been opened.
‘Where’s Pauline?’ was Margaret’s first question when her brother opened the door. Cornelius stared down at his sister, who had put on a little too much make-up that morning.
‘I’m afraid she’s had to go,’ said Cornelius as he bent down to kiss his sister on the cheek. ‘The petitioner in bankruptcy takes a rather dim view of people who can’t afford to pay their creditors, but still manage to retain a personal entourage. It was considerate of you to pop round so quickly in my hour of need, Margaret, but if you were hoping for a cup of tea, I’m afraid you’ll have to make it yourself.’
‘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 tim
e,’ 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 PS100,000 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 PS500.’ 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 PS100.’
‘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 s
ome 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.
To Cut a Long Story Short (2000) Page 3
