A Desirable Residence - By Madeleine Wickham Page 0,61

she says.’ He read from the letter. ‘ “In particular, I wish to go over the circumstances which have led to you keeping such a large mortgage on your property in Russell Street, together with a substantial mortgage on your business.” ’

‘Well, that’s OK. I mean, it was their decision to let us keep both.’ Liz flushed slightly, as she remembered the hand that Marcus had played in Brown’s making that decision. Used some old connection, he’d told her. Some friend of the family’s. But there was nothing really wrong with that, she told herself. After all, he’d said he would sort out their mortgage situation even before that day in Russell Street; even before they’d . . . She shook her head impatiently, as her thoughts began to swim down familiar, delightful paths, and dragged her attention back to Jonathan.

‘I know it was their decision,’ he was saying. ‘But now they might regret it.’

‘Well, we’ve got the mortgages now. And we’re paying them off OK, aren’t we?’

‘Nearly,’ said Jonathan. He pushed a weary hand through his hair. ‘Actually, this month, we’re in arrears.’ Liz stared at him.

‘Are we? Why?’

‘Because at the moment, we haven’t got the money to pay all our bills. Something had to go.’ Jonathan stared at Liz, willing her to respond; to show some interest; to apply some of her zest for tackling problems to this, their hugest problem ever. But her eyes met his coldly.

‘Well, they’ll just have to wait,’ she said. ‘They can’t exactly do anything about it.’

‘Can’t they?’

‘Well, can they?’ Liz demanded. Jonathan shrugged.

‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’ He gazed hopelessly down at the letter, and Liz felt a rush of impatient fury. She felt like ripping the page from his hand and telling him to brace up, get a grip, stop being such a wimp. An immediate, utterly unfair comparison with Marcus inevitably sprang into her mind. If Marcus got a letter like that through the post, he would be dynamic and forceful; he wouldn’t just accept it; he’d be on the phone immediately, pulling strings and sorting it out.

Of course. Marcus. The realization hit her with a pleasurable shock. Marcus would sort it all out for her. All he had to do was telephone one of his cronies at Brown’s and put in a word or two. A feeling of delight spread over her, as she considered the power that Marcus had in Silchester; the power that, by proxy, she now had also. She was in another league from Jonathan; poor, sad, worried Jonathan, with his financial humility; his low expectations; his unfailing deference to authority. He had no idea of how the world was really run; he had no idea of the influence that she, his own wife, could wield.

‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ she said, trying not to sound too flippantly cheerful. The kettle was boiling, and she spooned some coffee into her mug. ‘Why don’t you go off now and get ready for the parade,’ she suggested, ‘and we’ll go and see this Barbara Dean character next week. There’s nothing you can do about it now, anyway.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Jonathan, folding the letter up carefully and pushing it back into its envelope. ‘There’s nothing either of us can do about it until Monday.’ Liz poured hot water over her coffee, took a sip and said nothing.

When she’d gone out, to do some shopping, Jonathan made his way downstairs to his classroom to pick up some marking. On his way, he passed a collection of parcels and packages lying on the landing of the tutorial college. They’d been there almost a week now. Each contained a piece of equipment for the new language lab. Computers, software, cassettes, and workbooks. When they’d arrived, he’d deliberately refrained from tearing them open. They were Liz’s; they belonged to her project. And when she’d arrived home that evening, he’d told her to look on the landing, with a small thrill of excitement.

But all she’d said was, ‘Oh, good. They’ve arrived.’ She hadn’t even bothered to open them. And since then, all that lovely, expensive equipment had just been sitting there. Jonathan wondered whether Liz appreciated how much all this stuff cost. Whether she realized that he’d taken out a costly loan to pay for it. Then it occurred to him that he’d never told her about the loan. Only he knew about it. And the bank. Oh God. Jonathan sat down on a wooden classroom chair, and buried his