Masters And Lovers 1-4 novel Chapter 62

*****

James

“What was your father like?” I ask.

Richard blows out his cheeks then stares out of the window. “He was a hard-headed businessman.”

“The sort who might drive a man to bankruptcy if it suited his purpose?”

Would he have done that?

“I don’t think so. But if a man got there under his own steam, my father wouldn’t have hesitated to take advantage of any fallout.”

“Such as buying up shares and assets at a knockdown price?”

“Something like that, yes.”

Michael looks up from his reading. “We already know it was a casino company that was the leading creditor so, whatever happened, it wasn’t your father that was responsible for Albert’s downfall.”

Richard still looks pensive. “I still think I'd like to know more about the whole sorry mess before I tell Elizabeth too much about it.”

*****

Forty-Two Years ago

It’s a nice house, a pretty house. Neat lawns to the front, edged by well-kept borders, lead to a pleasant avenue. To the rear is a large fenced area, the grass a little rough but short enough to kick a football around. A child’s swing hanging from the branches of an old apple tree and a rug is laid out nearby with a child’s tea-set arranged around the edges, each plastic cup and saucer next to a teddy bear, or a doll or a soft toy. A line stretches over the grass bearing sheets and pillow slips that billow and blow in the light breeze

Inside the house, it is equally pleasant. The walls are painted in a pale, fresh shade, dotted with prints and pictures, family photos, and here and there, framed displays of butterflies, dragonflies and beetles. Drapes flutter by windows opened to let in sun and air, carpets are clean, and surfaces wiped or dusted. By the front door, a collection of boots, shoes and trainers in various sizes is neatly stacked on a rack. In the utility, clothes tumble around a washing machine, others are neatly folded in a stack by an ironing board.

In the kitchen, the mood is different.

Minced meat and onions sizzle in a pan, releasing an appetizingly scented steam. Close by is a woman, preparing the meal.

She chops carrots, an ordinary enough activity, but performed with an edge to the movement that suggests it is as well there are carrots to chop.

“What’s wrong, Eve?” Al stands behind her, wrapping arms around the waist of his pretty wife.

The knife comes down with a bang onto the chopping board. “I ran into Amy today.” Her voice is suspiciously calm; at odds with the harsh treatment being meted out to the carrots.

“Amy? Who’s Amy?”