Hugh nodded wretchedly, ‘Yes.’
She whispered, ‘Oh, God. So that’s why …’
She couldn’t say any more. She turned away, fighting her emotions, struggling to retain some rags of self-control as the full force of everything that had happened broke on her.
Crazily, a line from Shakespeare kept echoing and re-echoing in her head: ‘One woe doth tread upon another’s heels, so fast they follow.’ And the upshot was that Ophelia was drowned, and she was drowning too, in anger and outrage and bewilderment.
At last she said brokenly, ‘How could Daddy? How could he—mortgage our home to a stranger?’
‘Because he was a gambler,’ her uncle returned sombrely. ‘Oh, not with cards or horses—that might have been easier to deal with. But he liked to take risks in business—unnecessary risks, like investing in these new machines without any guarantees from the Chinese that they’d ever be needed. I don’t think the possibility of losing his gamble ever occurred to him. And give him his due, if Mortimers had won that contract, it would have been just the boost the works needed. He’d have been able to pay off the loan too, and neither your mother nor you and Melanie would ever have been any the wiser.’
‘Only it didn’t work out like that,’ said Alison with a small mirthless smile. ‘The problem now is—how do we break the news to Mother? How do we tell her she’s not only penniless, but homeless too? And at the hands of a man she doesn’t like. Or has Mr Bristow come to serve his notice to quit in person?’
‘On the contrary.’ Uncle Hugh looked almost affronted. ‘You’re doing him an injustice, Ally. He is most concerned.’
‘How kind of him!’ She pushed her hair back from her face with a shaking hand. ‘But it doesn’t change anything. He’s not going to give us back our home, is he?’
‘You have to be realistic, my dear.’ Her uncle looked horrified. ‘No one could be expected simply to write off a debt of that magnitude. No, I’m afraid your poor father knew what he was risking when he entered into the arrangement—much against Alec Liddell’s advice, I may say.’
‘Bravo, Mr Liddell,’ Alison said wearily. ‘He’ll be here soon, I suppose.’
‘In about half an hour.’ He nodded in affirmation. ‘The others should be leaving by then. I thought we could all have a quiet chat—a family conclave, to decide what’s best to be done.’
‘And do you now count Nicholas Bristow as part of the family?’
There was an edge to her voice, and her uncle frowned rather reprovingly as he answered, ‘No, of course not, child. But I’m sure it would be better for all concerned if matters were conducted on as—amicable a basis as possible. I know he’s anxious to reassure your mother that he has no immediate plans to take possession.’
She winced. ‘Don’t!’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Ally, but it’s something you’re going to have to come to terms with. Ladymead belongs to Nicholas Bristow now.’
She said softly, fiercely, ‘Over my dead body.’
As she got to the study door, she heard Melanie’s voice, and groaned inwardly. She turned the handle and went in. Melanie, flushed and bright-eyed, was draped decoratively across the arm of one of the big chairs, clearly in the middle of some anecdote which Nicholas Bristow was receiving with amused appreciation.
Alison said clearly and precisely, ‘Would you go up to your room, Melanie, please. I have something I wish to say to Mr Bristow.’
For once Melanie didn’t stop to argue. She took one look at Alison’s stormy eyes, at the bright spots of colour burning in the pallor of her face, and went without a word.
Alison closed the door behind her, then drew a deep breath before turning back to face him.
He said softly, ‘Don’t be angry with her, Miss Mortimer. You can’t expect a kid of her age to join in day after day of undiluted gloom.’
He was seated on the edge of the big desk, glass in hand, swinging one elegantly shod foot. He had even, she noticed, loosened his tie slightly, and it was that detail which set the seal on her rage and bitterness.
‘Get off my father’s desk,’ she said, her voice quivering. ‘Get away from his things. They don’t belong to you yet.’
He finished what was left in his glass and put it down, then got to his feet without haste.
‘So he told you,’ he observed expressionlessly.
‘Yes, he told me.’ She threw back her head defiantly, staring at him with disgust. ‘I thought you were a financier, Mr Bristow, not a cheap money-lender!’
‘Oh, I’m certainly not cheap, Miss Mortimer,’ he said. He was smiling derisively, but there was anger simmering underneath, and she knew it. ‘But do go on. I’m sure you can think of something appropriate about me preying on widows and orphans, if you really put your mind to it. Come on, sweetheart, let it rip. Don’t leave a cliché unturned.’
‘You bastard,’ Alison said unevenly.
He clicked his tongue reprovingly. ‘Not very inventive, or even true. Try again.’
She wrapped her arms round her body, shivering. ‘You’re vile,’ she said quietly, after a pause. ‘You’ve robbed us of everything, and you can stand there—taunting me!’
The blue eyes flicked over her, swift and cruel as an arctic wind. ‘Let it be a lesson to you, Miss Mortimer. Never begin what you’re not prepared—or equipped—to finish. Now, you mentioned something about my having robbed you. That’s not only a slander, but a lie. I did my damnedest to talk your father out of the whole thing, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He called it a calculated risk—I called it madness.’
‘But you still went ahead and loaned him the money.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Because he might have pulled it off. By all accounts, he’d dragged Mortimers back from the brink more than once. If the Chinese deal had come off, I’d have been repaid, at a handsome rate of interest. Why should I have turned him down?’
‘But you can’t really want this house,’ she said, almost feverishly. ‘It’s been in our family for generations. It’s old-fashioned, and a nightmare to heat, and staff and keep clean. It’s probably got woodworm, and dry rot, and—and deathwatch beetle.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Although it needs a certain amount of renovation and improvement, it’s basically sound. Your father had a survey and valuation done not long ago—at my behest, naturally,’
‘So you always recognised the possibility …’
‘That your father might not be in a position to repay me? Of course.’ He gave a slight shrug. ‘Although I couldn’t predict the present tragic circumstances, of course.’
‘Of course,” she echoed bitterly. ‘And how long do we have, Mr Bristow, before you start to recoup your losses by putting Ladymead on the market?’
‘Oh, I’m not
