To Cut a Long Story Short (2000) Read online

  It was some time before she spoke, despite the fact that she had had all night to consider her response.

  ‘It’s not quite that easy,’ she eventually replied. ‘You see, the loan was made to the company, and the shares are distributed among several people.’

  Cornelius knew all three of the several people. ‘Then perhaps the time has come for you and Hugh to sell off some of your shares.’

  ‘And allow some stranger to take over the company, after all the work we’ve put into it over the years? No, we can’t afford to let that happen. In any case, Hugh asked Mr Vintcent what the legal position was, and he confirmed that there was no obligation on our part to sell any of our shares.’

  ‘Have you considered that perhaps you have a moral obligation?’ asked Cornelius, turning to face his sister-in-law.

  ‘Cornelius,’ she said, avoiding his stare, ‘it has been your irresponsibility, not ours, that has been the cause of your downfall. Surely you wouldn’t expect your brother to sacrifice everything he’s worked for over the years, simply to place my family in the same perilous position in which you now find yourself ?’

  Cornelius realised why Elizabeth hadn’t slept the previous night. She was not only acting as spokeswoman for Hugh, but was obviously making the decisions as well. Cornelius had always considered her to be the stronger-willed of the two, and he doubted if he would come face to face with his brother before an agreement had been reached.

  ‘But if there’s any other way we might help …’ Elizabeth added in a more gentle tone, as her hand rested on an ornate gold-leafed table in the drawing room.

  ‘Well, now you mention it,’ replied Cornelius, ‘I’m putting the house on the market in a couple of weeks’ time, and will be looking for …’

  ‘That soon?’ said Elizabeth. ‘And what’s going to happen to all the furniture?’

  ‘It will all have to be sold to help cover the debts. But, as I said …’

  ‘Hugh has always liked this table.’

  ‘Louis XIV,’ said Cornelius casually.

  ‘I wonder what it’s worth,’ Elizabeth mused, trying to make it sound as if it were of little consequence.

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Cornelius. ‘If I remember correctly, I paid around PS60,000 for it - but that was over ten years ago.’

  ‘And the chess set?’ Elizabeth asked, picking up one of the pieces.

  ‘It’s a worthless copy,’ Cornelius replied. ‘You could pick up a set just like it in any Arab bazaar for a couple of hundred pounds.’

  ‘Oh, I always thought …’ Elizabeth hesitated before replacing the piece on the wrong square. ‘Well, I must be off,’ she said, sounding as if her task had been completed. ‘We must try not to forget that I still have a business to run.’

  Cornelius accompanied her as she began striding back down the long corridor in the direction of the front door. She walked straight by the portrait of her nephew Daniel. In the past she had always stopped to remark on how much she missed him.

  ‘I was wondering …’ began Cornelius as they walked out into the hall.

  ‘Yes?’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Well, as I have to be out of here in a couple of weeks, I hoped it might be possible to move in with you. That is, until I find somewhere I can afford.’

  ‘If only you’d asked a week ago,’ said Elizabeth, without missing a beat. ‘But unfortunately we’ve just agreed to take in my mother, and the only other room is Timothy’s, and he comes home most weekends.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Cornelius.

  ‘And the grandfather clock?’ asked Elizabeth, who still appeared to be on a shopping expedition.

  ‘Victorian - I purchased it from the Earl of Bute’s estate.’

  ‘No, I meant how much is it worth?’

  ‘Whatever someone is willing to pay for it,’ Cornelius replied as they reached the front door.

  ‘Don’t forget to let me know, Cornelius, if there’s anything I can do to help.’

  ‘How kind of you, Elizabeth,’ he said, opening the door to find the estate agent hammering a stake into the ground with a sign on it declaring FOR SALE. Cornelius smiled, because it was the only thing that morning that had stopped Elizabeth in her tracks.

  Frank Vintcent arrived on the Thursday evening, carrying a bottle of cognac and two pizzas.

  ‘If I’d realised that losing Pauline was to be part of the deal, I would never have agreed to go along with your plan in the first place,’ Frank said as he nibbled at his microwaved pizza. ‘How do you manage without her?’

  ‘Rather badly,’ Cornelius admitted, ‘although she still drops in for an hour or two every evening. Otherwise this place would look like a pigsty. Come to think of it, how do you cope?’

  ‘As a bachelor,’ Frank replied, ‘you learn the art of survival from an early age. Now, let’s stop this small-talk and get on with the game.’

  ‘Which game?’ enquired Cornelius with a chuckle.

  ‘Chess,’ replied Frank. ‘I’ve had enough of the other game for one week.’

  ‘Then we’d better go through to the library.’

  Frank was surprised by Cornelius’s opening moves, as he had never known his old friend to be so daring. Neither of them spoke again for over an hour, most of which Frank spent trying to defend his queen.

  ‘This might well be the last game we play with this set,’ said Cornelius wistfully.

  ‘No, don’t worry yourself about that,’ said Frank. ‘They always allow you to keep a few personal items.’

  ‘Not when they’re worth a quarter of a million pounds,’ replied Cornelius.

  ‘I had no idea,’ said Frank, looking up.

  ‘Because you’re not the sort of man who has ever been interested in worldly goods. It’s a sixteenth-century Persian masterpiece, and it’s bound to cause considerable interest when it comes under the hammer.’

  ‘But surely you’ve found out all you need to know by now,’ said Frank. ‘Why carry on with the exercise when you could lose so much that’s dear to you?’

  ‘Because I still have to discover the truth.’

  Frank sighed, stared down at the board and moved his queen’s knight. ‘Checkmate,’ he said. ‘It serves you right for not concentrating.’

  Cornelius spent most of Friday morning in a private meeting with the managing director of Botts and Company, the local fine art and furniture auctioneers.

  Mr Botts had already agreed that the sale could take place in a fortnight’s time. He had often repeated that he would have preferred a longer period to prepare the catalogue and send out an extensive mailing for such a fine collection, but at least he showed some sympathy for the position Mr Barrington found himself in. Over the years, Lloyd’s of London, death duties and impending bankruptcy had proved the auctioneer’s best friends.

  ‘We will need to have everything in our storeroom as soon as possible,’ said Mr Botts, ‘so there’s enough time to prepare a catalogue, while still allowing the customers to view on three consecutive days before the sale takes place.’

  Cornelius nodded his agreement.

  The auctioneer also recommended that a full page be taken in the Chudley Advertiser the following Wednesday, giving details of what was coming under the hammer, so they could reach those people they failed to contact by post.

  Cornelius left Mr Botts a few minutes before midday, and on his way back to the bus stop dropped into the removal company. He handed over PS100 in fives and tens, leaving the impression that it had taken him a few days to raise the cash.

  While waiting for the bus, he couldn’t help noticing how few people bothered to say good morning, or even acknowledge him. Certainly no one crossed the road to pass the time of day.

  Twenty men in three vans spent the next day loading and unloading as they travelled back and forth between The Willows and the auctioneers’ storeroom in the High Street. It was not until the early evening that the last stick of furniture had been removed from the house.

  As he w