Masters And Lovers 1-4

Chapter 62

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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?”

“Amy Blackstone. You know, Sid Blackstone’s wife.”

“Oh…. That Amy….” Al sounds uncertain, backing away a step or two.

Eve spins, turning on him. “She tells me that you’ve been down there regularly these last few months,

on the poker tables again….”

“Eve….”

She cuts him off. “You promised you’d stopped that. You promised me. And she tells me that you’ve

been taking Shelley with you. What kind of environment is that for her? Taking her among that kind of

riff-raff…”

Red-faced and furious, she advances on her husband. He glances at the knife still in her hand. Her

eyes follow his and then, with exaggerated care, she puts it down. “How much have you been losing,

Al?” she hisses. “How much? First you tell me you’ve sunk every penny we have into that stinking

swamp you bought and now I find you were lying. How much have you thrown away?”

“The land’s an investment, Eve,” he whines. “You’ll see. And it wasn’t much on the tables. It’s only a bit

of fun. And I’ll soon catch up. It’s alright, really.”

“No, it isn’t all right. Shelley needs new shoes and she’s already grown out of the clothes I bought her

only a couple of months ago. The roof needs repairs and the boiler is going to give up the ghost soon.

And there’s you, gadding off, pissing our money away at the casino.”

“Eve…. It wasn’t much. Really….” He tries to wrap his arms around her, but she brushes him off.

“It’s not as if it’s the first time is it, Al? You promised me you’d stopped. If I can’t trust you, where are

we?”

“Eve…. Darling, it’s nothing. Really. We’re going to be so rich soon, you’ll never have to worry about

money again.” She snorts, turning her back to him as she returns to her carrots. “I’ll not go there

anymore. I promise.”

“You’d better keep your promise this time, Al.”

“I will.” Sagging, he turns to leave, but then sees, in the doorway, the little red-headed figure, staring up

at them.

“Can I have a cookie?”

“No, sweetheart,” says Eve. “You’ll be having your dinner soon. We don’t want to spoil it do we.”

The little girl hangs her head, her bottom lip pushing out. Al holds his hand. “Come with me, Princess.

We’ll play in the garden, eh?”

Holding his hand, she stomps along with him, still pouting. “Is Mummy cross with you?”

“A little bit, but it’ll be alright. You’ll see.” Al looks back over his shoulder to the kitchen then reaches for

a high shelf and takes down a jar. “Here, take a cookie before Mummy sees.”

*****

A voice calls. “Hey, Al.”

He looks around, trying to find the owner of the voice. “Over here.” A figure waves from across the

street. “We’ve got a game starting. You wanna join us?”

He strolls across, looking inside, then shrugs. “Best not. Eve’s mad at me already. Maybe another

time.”

“Aw c’mon. It’s only a friendly. She’ll never know.”