by Anita Notaro
‘And now?’
Alex O’Meara rowed in to help his friend. ‘The problem is that his expertise was the business. He’d have sorted this problem out by now, turned things around as he always did.’
She let the silence hang.
‘The problem is he died.’ If it sounded cold and clinical it was because that was how she felt. ‘So what’s next?’
‘Now the banks are accelerating their demands for money.’
‘And because I’m a partner I’m liable for his debts, even though I knew nothing about them?’
Alex’s sigh was ragged. ‘Yes.’
‘Can they go after my personal assets?’
Another frown, followed by a reluctant nod.
‘Even my own business account?’
‘No, that should be safe.’ Alex looked upset, in spite of delivering the only bit of good news today.
‘Well, I suppose that’s something.’ She stood up in order to clear her fuzzy head. ‘Is there any way the three of us can turn this around in the way that David might have?’
‘No.’ They were quick to say this.
‘Not even if we hire a star trader from New York or somewhere?’
‘I wish I could be more optimistic, but I don’t think it’s the thing to do.’ John again, trying to let her down gently.
‘So what are our options?’
‘Well, we could liquidate the company, appoint a receiver and take it from there. Or we try and come up with the money, pay off the banks and simply close the company on the basis that he was the entire operation.’
‘How long have we got?’ She really didn’t want to know the answer but felt she had to say something.
‘We need to act fast, Libby. Apart from the mounting pressure from the banks to know what’s happening, interest is accruing daily, our overheads are considerable and we’re not trading.’
Libby drained her glass of water and decided she needed something stronger. They all did. The two men opted for a whiskey and Libby joined them, taking her tumbler over to the window and cradling it as she stared into the gloomy blackness, seeking a solution.
The mellowness had a calming effect and she took several more gulps in an effort to gain the oblivion she craved. Without warning, the irony of her situation hit home and with it came a cold fury.
Here she was, standing in her magnificent home, gazing out at a garden that had left many photographers speechless, drinking God knows how many years old whiskey out of a hand-blown crystal tumbler and the truth was she couldn’t afford any of it. It was a tribute to the craftsmen involved that the glass didn’t smash as her hand strangled its generous base.
The explosion had been building for a while.
‘I can’t bear this any more.’ She spun round to face David’s two closest friends. Telling them was the next-best thing. ‘He put our whole lives at risk. Our lovely home, our investments, all of our assets, everything. Even if he was still around we could still have lost every single thing we’d worked for. And he never once asked for my opinion on what he was doing, even though I was supposed to be his business partner.’ Her eyes were full of bitterness and her voice was rising despite her usual iron control. ‘And as if that wasn’t enough of a betrayal he fucking well died and left me to face the music.’ She was sobbing with frustration. ‘He’s ruined my life and he didn’t even ask if he could.’ Her eyes were slits.
‘I hate him.’ She only knew she’d thrown the glass when the fire spat viciously as the alcohol ignited and she heard the musical smashing of expensive crystal.
Neither man knew how to deal with the outburst. They looked horrified, scared of the raw emotion running riot in the room. This was not a normal business meeting. John wanted to go to her but the look in her eyes stalled him. Alex simply didn’t want to be there. As quick as it erupted, the explosion was over and the silence that followed was deafening.
‘I’d like to be left alone to think this thing through, if you don’t mind. I’ll call you in the morning.’ Libby didn’t look at either of them.
‘Of course.’ John was first up. ‘You will ring me later tonight though, if you need to talk it through further?’
She nodded.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ He had to ask. Another slight nod was the only recognition.
‘Want me to fetch a dustpan?’
‘No.’ It was unequivocal. She rose silently, ending the meeting that had changed her life. The last thing she wanted now was anyone trying to smooth it all over.
They followed her to the door, both sorry to be leaving her but anxious to be away.
Chapter Thirty-Four
HER REASON FOR wanting rid of them was quite simple really. She wanted to drink herself into oblivion and put off making a decision for another day. Only it wasn’t working this evening. She headed for her room, glad Mrs O’C. was away until lunchtime tomorrow visiting a sick relative.
Lying on the bed drinking, Libby noted that the sedative wasn’t doing its job. She struggled to simply go with the flow and imagine a different life for herself, but her mind was too active and the enormity of what might happen to her was not easily put to sleep. Getting out of bed, she opened a notebook and wrote down all the options, a trick her father had taught her when she was growing up. The only real answer had been evident to her all day but her still fragile brain wasn’t yet ready. She tried to magic her husband back to sort it out, wandering through his closets and touching his things, feeling desperate and spinning out of control.
Looking at a photo of the two of them taken on holiday only weeks before he died brought some of the earlier anger back. She hated it that he’d known then that they could lose everything. It was another betrayal. She opened one of the bedroom windows and flung the smiling couple into oblivion. A few of his favourite things followed. She emptied the closets, dancing on his Italian designer suits and kicking his handmade shoes around the room. She crushed his carefully laundered shirts with her hands. He would have hated the intrusion and she hoped he was hating it now.
She wished she had the courage to cause serious damage. Overall, it was a pathetic effort and she collapsed on the bed, wondering why she still wanted to hurt him while still wanting him so badly. Eventually, she dozed, but all her resting thoughts were of a man who’d made her so happy and now the good times they’d shared haunted her.
Later she made coffee and wandered through the house that was no longer hers, touching the pieces that had made up a perfect life.
The phone rang. Few people had access to her home number so she guessed it would be John, checking up on her. Unusually, there was no caller ID but at least that meant it wasn’t her mother, whom David had keyed in as ‘Mum’, encased in a computerized heart, much to her annoyance. It all seemed so long ago now.
‘Hello.’ She immediately regretted her foolish impulse.
‘Hello Libby?’
‘Yes?’
‘Hi, it’s Annie here – Annie Weller.’
Libby could have kicked herself. ‘Oh Annie, hi how are you?’ She didn’t really care.
‘I’m fine, thanks. Listen, I didn’t mean to bother you, I just rang to say hello and see how you were doing and to say thanks for the other night. I really enjoyed it.’
‘Me too. Em . . . could I give you a ring back tomorrow?’
‘Oh, yes, of course, whenever. I was just sitting here reading and you came into my mind without warning and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I’ve no idea why. Please . . . go. Sorry again for disturbing you. And hopefully, I’ll talk to you soon.’ She was getting ready to hang up and berate herself when she heard the cry for help buried in a casual, ultra-cool tone.
‘I’m just making a decision about whether I should sell the house.’ She might as well have said she was baking a cake, if you took it at face value. But Annie knew, and she didn’t know how she knew. ‘I see.’
‘It’s too big for me really and I don’t need it any more.’
‘It’s a t
ough decision.’
‘Actually, I don’t think I’ve any choice.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘Not really.’
‘Well, just take your time.’
‘I keep wondering what he would have done.’
‘He’d have weighed up all the options carefully, I’m sure.’
‘That’s just it. He left me with no options. And I loved him so much, you know. I never imagined my life without him.’
‘You couldn’t have.’
‘And now, it’s all gone . . . and I hate him for it. And I hate myself for hating him.’
‘It’s been a very tough time for you.’ It wasn’t what Annie said, it was the complete lack of blame. It proved to be Libby’s unravelling. Slowly, it all came out and she talked and cried and talked some more and Annie said nothing and yet she said everything. It had always been her strong point, it was just that she never had anyone to share it with.
‘I sound like a spoilt brat, don’t I?’ Libby asked after one long, particularly selfish rant.
‘No, you sound normal.’ Annie was sad but smiling.
‘I haven’t even asked how you are.’
‘I’m fine. Listen, would you like to come round for breakfast tomorrow? I can’t cook, but my toast is impressive.’
Libby never expected she’d like anything so much. ‘Yes I would, thank you.’
Annie gave her the address and Libby promised to be there early, then she hung up, cleaned her teeth and climbed wearily onto his side of the bed and tossed and turned for hours. Somewhere around 3 a.m. she finally made a decision and then made up with him.
Chapter Thirty-Five
NEXT MORNING ANNIE was nervous. It had seemed like a good idea to invite her new friend round for breakfast, but this was no ordinary penniless actor. She rose at six and dashed around, tidying and plumping and rearranging. At bang on eight she was skidding around the shelves of the local shop, buying healthy brown bread and real butter and jam and a load of fresh oranges for juice.
Libby too had woken early, her first morning without a hangover in a long time. Her eyes were sore and she was tired but she felt calm.
She arrived at Annie’s shortly after nine, and seeing where she lived put Libby’s financial problems into perspective. The identical, solidly built houses were well cared for but the area was full of litter and the overall palette was grey, despite the multicoloured doors and facia boards. The only green space for miles around had a burnt-out car as its centrepiece. Even at this hour there were kids whistling at the car and she clutched her handbag tightly, wondering why they weren’t at school.
‘Hi.’ Annie had obviously been watching out for her.
‘Hi.’ Libby held out a bakery bag. ‘It was the only place open.’ She hesitated. ‘Is it OK to leave my car there? If I don’t ask I’ll only spend the time fretting,’ she apologized.
Annie grinned. ‘Yes, don’t worry. Everyone will know I’ve got a posh friend visiting and the kids on the corner will keep an eye on your car. Now that I’m on TV they keep expecting the stretch limos to arrive but you’re the only likely famous visitor, I’m afraid. Don’t be surprised if you get asked for your autograph on the way out. They sell them round here.’
Inside, the tiny house was immaculate. The kitchen was Formica city but the table was set with a white cloth and fresh flowers.
‘You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.’
‘Wait till you see what I can do to healthy brown bread. I’m a bit mortified, to be honest. I’d forgotten you were a chef when I invited you.’
‘This looks lovely. Tea and toast is all I ever eat in the mornings.’
‘Well, I have managed to squeeze some fresh orange juice by hand.’ Annie passed her a glass and then fussed around. ‘So, how did you feel afterwards last night?’
‘Worse and then better, actually. I made an awful mess of the bedroom, I’m afraid. Took my anger out on some of David’s things.’
‘You don’t seem like the tin of paint and scissors type.’ Annie’s smile was tentative.
‘No.’
They talked for over an hour and Libby clarified it all in her own head by sharing it. Annie contributed only occasionally and when she did it was short and concise and encouraging.
‘That’s it, enough. I’m bored with me. Tell me what’s been happening to you.’
‘Well, it’s all over with Marc.’
‘Oh no. Why?’
‘He forgot to tell me about his regular girlfriend.’ Annie filled her in.
Libby was amazed that he was so brazen about it all.
‘Are you all right?’
‘I would be if I didn’t have to do a big kissy scene with him.’
‘What! When?’
‘Tomorrow.’ It took Libby’s mind off her own problems and she insisted on reading the script, so that she’d have a feel for what Annie had to do.
‘This is going to be tough.’
‘I know, I’m really nervous.’
‘Just keep thinking of what a bastard he is. That’ll keep the nerves under control. And phone me immediately afterwards.’
They refilled the teapot several times until at last Libby left, reluctantly.
‘Want me to come and help you clear up the bomb-site?’ she asked as she walked Libby to her car.
‘Would you?’
‘Sure. Now?’
‘Can you afford the time?’
‘Yep, give me two minutes to lock up and grab my coat.’
It was a simple enough gesture but Libby wasn’t used to such generosity when the giver wasn’t looking for anything back.
When they pulled up at the house Annie was afraid to comment, in case she appeared gauche. She had never seen anything so beautiful – the sweeping driveway, the colour, the proportions, and most of all the space.
‘I am so glad I invited you to visit me before I saw this, otherwise you wouldn’t have got within a ten-mile radius of my place,’ Annie told her, deciding she had to say something.
‘It is beautiful but a house is only a box, that’s what one of my friends’ mothers used to say. It’s the people who make it special. Anyway, it’s not mine any more.’ Annie looked at her friend but she seemed not to mind.
‘Ready to face the mess?’
‘Hand me the Marigolds.’
Annie had to stop saying ‘wow’ after a while but was having difficulty keeping her mouth from dropping open. Every room she saw was exquisite. There were magnificent antiques and glorious paintings but it was all understated and warm and homely.
They worked for an hour or so and bagged all David’s clothes for charity. Libby rescued what she could from the garden. The picture she liked so much was nowhere to be seen though and she was sorry she’d been so hasty.
‘Lunch?’ Libby asked eventually. ‘Have you time? I could rustle up some pasta very quickly.’
‘Sure.’ Annie followed Libby to the kitchen, squirming again at the thought of her own pathetic excuse for a breakfast table.
‘Glass of wine?’
‘Eh, sure. Thanks.’ Annie never drank wine during the day. It didn’t feel right somehow.
‘Actually, I think I’ll just have water.’ Libby made another decision, but didn’t like admitting why. ‘I’ve . . . been drinking . . . a lot lately.’
‘Know something, I’d rather have a glass of milk. I was just trying to be posh.’ They both laughed at their insecurities.
When Libby returned from dropping Annie home, she decided to act before she could change her mind.
‘I’m selling the house and most of the contents,’ she announced baldly to John Simpson on the phone, as soon as the pleasantries were out of the way.
He sighed, sorry and relieved in equal measure.
‘I’ve gone through it time and time again since yesterday and it’s the only way I can see to pay off the debts and then close the company, without going into liquidation and damaging David’s good name.’
She didn’t yet fully understand why she wanted to preserve it really, perhaps out of a sense of duty, or maybe to protect herself.
‘Are you sure you want to do this? Remember the family home is sacred in law, I’m not sure there’s a court in the country that would force you to sell it,’ John Simpson felt honour bound to advise her.
‘That’s just it. I don’t want to end up in court. The media would have a field day. I’m not sure I’d survive it right now. If we sell the house and the paintings, say, it should cover our existing loans, right?’
‘Let me get Alex on a conference call.’ When he explained Libby’s decision briefly the accountant was clear.
‘Yes, the mortgage on the house is comparatively small and it should fetch more than two million euro at auction, maybe more. I’d have to get the contents valued but I’d guess, from the insurance valuations I do have, that we’re talking at least another two million there.’
‘And you’re sure that would clear everything, and we could simply close down the business because he’s no longer here to run it?’
Both men agreed and Libby didn’t waste any more of their time. She knew what she had to do.
‘OK, let’s do it. I’ll have to spend some money getting the gardens tidied up and the kitchen and bathroom upstairs probably need a coat of paint, but apart from that, it’s ready. Give me a couple of weeks.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘I’ll buy something smaller, or rent for a while. Anything to avoid going home to my mother.’ They knew she was serious and marvelled at her sense of calm. The truth was she just didn’t care very much about anything, she was simply determined to try and move forward and stay sane.
‘Libby, I think you should take your time over this. It’s a big decision.’ John Simpson felt responsible for her.
‘Is there any other way to avoid a media frenzy?’
‘Probably not.’
‘Then I’ve no choice, have I? I was such an innocent, really.’ She said it more to herself. ‘All those papers I signed, never knowing that if anything happened to him all the responsibility would fall to me.’
