by Hugh Canham
I reflect now that making bold statements about doing things and actually doing them are different matters.
On the plane back to London my resolve began to drain away, to be replaced by what I can only describe as a feeling of emptiness in my guts. I had always, and I suppose had got this from my father, tried to approach difficult business meetings with a feeling of determination and confidence. But not this time. I had a sense of foreboding and by the time I got back to Brook Street, I was wishing to God that I’d left it all to Cristabel and the solicitors. But it would have been a terrible loss of face not to go on now.
So on Wednesday morning, having taken not one but two of my anti-anxiety pills, I was sitting opposite a stoney-faced bank manager. He was not the one I’d been used to dealing with in the past. The new one was youngish, Scottish, and in a tight black pinstriped three-piece suit. He was very carefully groomed from his short ginger but greying hair down to the neatly-clipped fingernails that he drummed on the top of my file, which lay open in front of him.
‘I don’t understand your attitude,’ I said. ‘You know I’ve been ill.’
‘I sympathise.’ (He didn’t sound very sympathetic.) ‘It’s the extra loan for the stock we’re particularly concerned about at the moment, although your indebtedness to the bank was very considerable before that. In fact, I can’t understand how my predecessor allowed your overall indebtedness to the bank to reach the level it has. The terms for the extra loan were that stock was to be sold as soon as possible and the loan paid off in any event within six months! I think maybe you should get someone to look after your affairs.’
‘But I did. I appointed Miss Ashton as my attorney and she arranged for Mr Cohen, from whom I bought the company, to continue running it while I was indisposed.’
McGinger (as I had already christened him in my mind) flicked over a few papers in my file.
‘Mr Cohen? We haven’t heard from him as far as I can see.’
He fixed me with a cold stare.
‘Well, when do you want the loan repaid by? It’s five hundred thousand isn’t it?’ I said weakly.
‘Five hundred and fifteen thousand, three hundred and twenty one, as of today, including the interest. Within twenty-one days please.’
‘Suppose I can’t repay within that time?’
‘We have a charge on the assets of your company and your personal guarantee. I don’t think I have to spell it out to you, Mr Bannister. Perhaps you can find an alternative financial institution willing to help you.’
I tried for a final time.
‘But – but… I’ve been banking with you for years. Is this the way to treat me now, when I’ve been unwell and unable to run my business?’
‘You must understand it’s the risk to us, Mr Bannister. Please don’t blame me personally. It’s orders from Head Office. Those were the terms of the loan.’
At first I felt angry, then I felt sick.
‘The bastard’s after me!’ I kept saying to myself. If I didn’t pay off everything I owed to the bank quickly he would try to make me bankrupt. I could see that fanatical gleam in his eyes.
I didn’t take a taxi. I walked very slowly from Oxford Street, where my bank was, towards Brook Street. Although it was early in the morning, it was already getting very warm. I came to a pub in a side street. It had chairs and tables on the pavement outside but there were no customers yet. I sat down at one of the tables and took my jacket off as I was dripping with sweat. All those things to be done to avoid bankruptcy! But was I capable of doing them? So many things to do and so much money to repay; I felt like crying. In the state I was, it felt like having to climb Mount Everest.
Looking back, from then on, I felt as though I was being swept along and in danger of drowning in some awful fast-flowing river.
The sequence of events is rather jumbled in my mind. When I arrived back at Brook Street I didn’t go up to my flat but sat down at the desk in my office. It was dusty. Why the hell had it not been dusted? I’d been paying the cleaners whilst I was away. I felt like smashing its glass top but instead I put my head in my hands. What was I to do? I could refinance, but that would be at a very high rate of interest. Or I could sell the stock quickly… But what the hell had Jasper been doing, or not doing? I phoned him.
‘Greg! Long time no hear. Are you better?’
‘No, not completely. But look Jasper, I’m in trouble. My bank has called in the extra loan – the half a million I had to take out to pay for those bloody teddies I wasn’t expecting to have to buy. Have you sold them?’
There was a silence. ‘Well, no.’
‘Have you tried!!?’
‘No. Now listen, Greg. All I was asked to do was to keep the company running and that’s exactly what I’ve done. You’ll find there’s a good trading profit. But I was never told specifically to run down the stock. I expect we’ve sold a few of the teddies in the normal course of business, but that’s all! My boy, I’m sorry you’re in trouble. I’d offer to help myself if I could, but all my cash is tied up at the moment. Anyhow, we must talk sometime about the company. I don’t want to go on running it for ever and there’s the question of the management fee.’
‘Okay, okay Jasper, we’ll talk. But let me refinance this loan first. I’ve only got twenty-one days. You know anyone?’
‘Sure! But they’ll charge you!’
Still, it would only be until I could sell those bloody bears and some of the rest of the stock…
Later I considered the possibility of liquidating some of my assets to pay down the loan. The only trouble was I hadn’t got many assets and only twenty-one days to realise them. I had six racehorses, an Aston Martin, my share portfolio, my office and flat – and that was about it.
I started with my stockbroker.
‘Ah, Greg, nice to hear from you. You’ve been unwell, I gather. I had a letter from a lady – your attorney. Do not disturb, etc… ’
I cut him short.
‘I need some money quickly. I can’t remember exactly what I’ve got with you.’
‘How much do you want?’
‘About five hundred and fifteen thousand pounds.’
‘Phew! Well the market hasn’t been too good this year, to say the least, and it is very low at the moment. Let me get you up on the screen… Ah yes, you sold a block of M&S didn’t you to buy the new Aston Martin, and then another big block of Tesco to buy two more racehorses at the end of last year. I’m afraid you’re down to just under £450,000 at today’s prices. Don’t think there’ll be any capital gains tax. What do you want me to do?’
‘Sell everything! That may keep the bank quiet while I forage around for the rest.’
‘Okay, if you must. Will do. Remember there’ll be charges to be deducted. I hope you feel better soon.’
‘Thanks. I will if I can sort this lot out!’
My next call was to the car dealer.
‘Look, I’ve been ill and been told not to drive at the moment. How much would I get for the Aston?’
‘Mmm. I’m sorry you’re not well Mr. Bannister. Newish, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, last October.’
‘Ah ha! I remember it now.’
‘The market’s very quiet. I’m afraid I couldn’t give you more than £85,000.’
‘But, bloody hell, I paid over £110,000 for it!’
‘I know, and low mileage no doubt. But that’s the market, I’m afraid. If you want me to try for more I can put it into an auction for you, or of course you could try a private sale by advertising.’
‘Thanks, I’ll think about it.’
After that I forgot about trying to sell the horses quickly. I phoned the bank and told them I’d pay them about £450,000 as soon as the money came through from my stockbrokers and asked if they would roll over the rest of the loan until I had sold off some of the stock, which I hoped to do very quickly.
They agreed, but the bloodsuckers said they’d charge me an extra three per cent!
That was
on Friday. On Saturday morning, I received a letter. I can remember the wording almost exactly:
As agreed on the phone the bank is pleased to assist you by accepting your terms for paying down the extra loan for the stock of Toy Boy Limited, but with an increase in the rate of interest by three per cent until that loan is paid off in full. I look forward to the remittance from your stockbrokers with whom I have been in telephonic communication. However, as I indicated at our recent meeting, we are concerned at your overall level of indebtedness to the bank. Without the extra loan for the stock, but including interest as at today’s date, this now stands at £2.85 million.
I am concerned also that you are overdrawn £10,000 on your personal current account. I know you have been unwell but now that you are back in London, I hope you can put forward a sensible timetable for paying off these amounts within a reasonable timeframe.
After I had read the letter I just went and lay on my bed. I was now totally convinced that McGinger was after me.
On Monday morning, I phoned the office cleaning contractors and took out my general rage on them.
When I had calmed down, a voice in my head kept telling me I would feel better if I made a start on trying to sort it all out.
So I went to see Jasper.
‘Well, I’ve got the bank off my back for the time being,’ I said to him.
‘Good, and you’re not looking too bad. But you’ve lost weight, my boy!’
‘I know. Probably a good thing!’
Then we looked through the books of Toy Boy together. There was an operating profit of nearly £50,000 since I bought the shares.
‘As we’re friends, what I’m going to suggest, Greg, is that I take the £50,000 as a management fee. It’s less than I’d usually charge, but that will put you exactly on the same footing as if you’d just bought the company, wouldn’t it?’
What could I say?
‘Horace has done a good job. Kept him from other things I had lined up for him. You might like to send him a little thank you!’
I thought it seemed a little rich on top of the £50,000, but said nothing.
‘Are you going to be able to cope?’
‘I shall have to!’
‘By the way, what’s happened to that lovely friend of yours, Cristabel? She came to see me once. A real cracker.’
‘She’s still in France at the moment.’
‘Bad luck… well anyhow, I’ll leave it all to you now. I’ll tell Horace to move out of his room at Toy Boy’s head office tomorrow.’
I think my next stop was my solicitors.
I told George how I had managed to keep the bank quiet and the various things I had to do now so that I could give a timetable to the bank manager, who was harassing me.
First, make the staff of Toy Boy redundant and close the office, warehouse and shops.
Second, sell the office, warehouse and shops.
Third, sell the stock, including the teddy bears, as soon as possible.
I told him I couldn’t deal with everything myself. I was feeling better but I wasn’t fully recovered. If I dealt with the sale of the properties, could his firm please arrange the staff redundancies and an auction sale for all the stock? An auction seemed to me to be the only way of getting the money in quickly. A ‘closing down’ sale wouldn’t do. It would drag on for ages and I would still have some stock left at the end of it.
George sucked in his fat cheeks. ‘Well, we’ve got a lot of staff on holiday at the moment as it’s August, but we’ll see what we can do. I’d like to help you, Greg. You’d better work out exactly what you want and let me know and then we’ll cost it out per hour.’
I was so pleased that George was prepared to help that I almost felt like hugging the great, fat bugger! I went home feeling much happier and had the best night’s sleep since returning to London.
6
I was puzzled by my personal account being overdrawn. I had left all that sort of thing to Gloria and my accountants. And I didn’t seem to have had a tax demand for some time, which was very odd. Normally they rained down like confetti! I phoned my accountants.
‘Hello Greg!’ This wasn’t the partner I normally dealt with, Wally – he was on holiday. This was his partner, Jim. ‘Wally told me you weren’t well and shouldn’t be disturbed. He said before he went on holiday that he was writing to that lady friend of yours.’
‘Well, she’s away in France. What was it about?’
‘We’ve had a nasty letter. HMRC want to investigate you.’
‘Why, for heaven’s sake?’
‘Well, I can’t quite remember offhand.’
‘Is it serious?’
‘I don’t know. Hang on a minute and I’ll get your file.’
There was quite a lengthy pause and a lot of rustling of papers, then, ‘They say you owe them just over a million in tax!’
I thought I was going to faint. I was sitting at the desk in my office. The desk seemed to go up and down as if it were in a ship in a rough sea. I pressed the palms of my hands on it and tried to keep calm.
‘You’d better send me a copy of this letter you sent to Miss Ashton. For God’s sake, do I really owe them over a million? And if so, when do they want it?’
‘Greg, I don’t know if it’s right or wrong and they don’t give a deadline. But if the claim is correct they’ll probably want an interim payment forthwith. That’s the usual sort of thing. You know how fierce they can be!’
‘Would you please just fax a copy of the letter to my office straight away!’
After I’d rung off, I sat back in my chair, put my head in my hands and said, ‘Oh God, what next?’ I felt totally numb. Almost for something to do, I ordered a temporary secretary from an agency. She was called Ann; plain, middle-aged and with a sagging bosom, but she was efficient and someone to talk to. She printed out everything on the computer and I read it through. Most of it seemed like ancient history.
Then I took a very deep breath and asked her if she would please show me how to work the computer myself.
Lying in bed that night I understood what had been happening to all my post and telephone messages. Presumably Cristabel had been dealing with them all; I had never thought to ask her. That is the sort of thing that happens when you are depressed. I tried phoning the hotel in Aix but gathered that Cristabel and her mother had checked out!
The letter from HMRC was very terse and lacking in detail. It made me so agitated that I simply couldn’t wait for Wally to return from his holiday and I made an appointment to see someone at the Tax Office in Holborn myself to try and get more information.
From the outside it was a most dismal building, probably dating from the early 1950s, rebuilt after war time bomb damage. Its metal-framed windows and post-war brickwork would have depressed anyone. Inside, it looked as if the cream-coloured walls hadn’t been painted since it was built. I sat on a hard chair in a minute windowless waiting room for some time before I was summoned. It was a bit like waiting to see the dentist.
‘Come in please, Mr Bannister, and sit down.’
The official was surprisingly young and very dishevelled. His tie was askew, his hair long and greasy and one of his jacket buttons was hanging by a thread. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and fixed me with the sort of gaze that hadn’t come my way since my last interview with the Headmaster before I was expelled for the third time.
And then I noticed there was a strange little man sitting in a chair in the corner of the room with a pad and notebook. It was much as I imagined an interview with the Gestapo would be, but without the bright lamp shining in my eyes and presumably no cigarette burns to get the truth out of me…
‘Your accountants have shown you my letter, have they?’
‘Yes.’
‘What have you to say?’
‘I don’t understand any of it.’
‘Come, come, Mr Bannister.’ He had a thick Welsh accent. I definitely felt xenophobic. First a Scotsman and now a Welshman! ‘You’re a
businessman. We see from your file that you have bought several companies and sold many assets. But you have not put in any tax returns for the last year.’
‘But… but I leave all that sort of thing to my accountants.’
‘Maybe, but it is your responsibility to see that the returns are made.’
‘But why is the tax so much? You say in your letter that it’s over one million!’
‘Well, you remember some years ago you bought the shares in a company called Reliable Grocers Limited and sold them three years later at what I can only call a gigantic profit?’
I remembered it well and still felt a rosy glow at the success.
‘According to our records you failed to roll over the capital gain in time, so it attracts tax.’
‘But I’m sure I did. It was all planned. I rolled the proceeds into Your Own Deli Limited. I didn’t do quite so well out of that!’
‘But you did not roll over within the statutory three year period.’
‘I’m sure I did.’
‘Not according to our information and that is why there is so much tax to pay. Apart from the tax due on the sale of Reliable Grocers Limited, I’ve assessed your last year’s tax and included a provisional sum for the fines and interest due. You had better go into the matter with your accountants. I shall want another meeting with you when the partner dealing with your affairs returns from holiday.’
I waited until I got back to my office until I phoned Jim. I didn’t want to be seen or heard yelling into my mobile in the street.
‘Okay, okay, Greg. Calm down! I personally had nothing to do with all this. I’ll have to look into it.’
The next few days were hell. I had nobody to talk to but Ann. She was trying to teach me how to use the computer but I found it difficult to concentrate. She was a nice woman but I didn’t I feel I could discuss my financial problems with her. Oh, if only Cristabel or Dr Greenbaum were around!
‘Ah, Cristabel, you’re back at last. I’ve been phoning you… may I come and see you, please? I’m in more trouble and don’t think I can cope!’
