manager won’t either, not as generously as we were expecting. That’s my doing, I’m afraid.”
“I thought banks were supposed to lend you money.”
“If they trust you. I’m afraid I’m afraid that all Mr. Hardy trusts me to make financially is a fool of myself.”
“Can’t we go to another bank?”
“I somehow don’t think another bank would welcome us. Maybe we’ll come up with an answer, the three of us.”
“I’m going to listen to Jody’s tape,” Laura said, and was out of the room before he could think of anything further to say. Julia gave him a sad frown as she made for the kitchen, and he felt as if the hardest part was still ahead.
Almost as soon as they sat down to dinner Laura said, “Won’t we be going on holiday either?”
“I don’t think we can, love.”
“Never mind, Laura,” Julia said, taking her hand, and Laura managed to shrug as if she had been preparing herself upstairs for the answer.
In the morning she wasn’t quite able to conceal that her eyes were red, and Jack couldn’t bear it. He’d let the family down, Laura worst of all, and she wasn’t even blaming him. He would expect Mr. Hardy to make allowances for him, but he had no right to expect it of her. Once he was alone in the house, Laura having cycled to the library not long after Julia had gone to work, he felt as if he was being given one more chance as if he must improve their luck somehow before they came back.
Perhaps he could. Suppose only he had shown interest in the videotapes at the auction? If they hadn’t been sold, mightn’t the auctioneers accept an offer even Mr. Hardy would have to admit was reasonable? Jack was tempted to wait until eleven o’clock, but of course that was silly. He stuffed a piece of buttered toast into his mouth and sprinted out of the house.
By the time he’d finished munching he was at the traffic lights. A faint taste of charring lingered in his mouth while he jogged uphill, and a sooty smell troubled his nostrils as he reached the burned-out shop. At the top of the hill he strode into the huge cluttered room. The auctioneer’s assistant who had shown him the cartons of videocassettes was tagging a dining-suite which would scarcely have fitted into the ground floor of the Orchards’ house. “Remember me?” Jack said. “Fine Films.”
“I remember,” the assistant said, marking his forehead with ink as he flicked a lock of hair away from his eyes. “We were looking for you yesterday. Matter of fact, we phoned you, but there must have been nobody home.”
“Here I am.”
“Too late, I’m afraid. Pity.”
“I’m afraid, I’m so afraid …” Jack struggled not to outshout himself. “Why were you after me?” he said aloud.
“Wanted to give you a chance at the lot you came to view.”
“Can’t you still?”
“Wish we could. Gone.”
Jack felt as if they were competing to discover who could do without the most words. “Where?”
“Some young geezer. Private collector. Only wanted the horrors but didn’t mind buying the whole lot to get them. Said he’d tape over the rest.”
Something like fever was crawling hotly over Jack’s skin. “He paid all that just to use the tapes for blanks?”
“Didn’t pay that much. We let him have them ‘cos he put in the only bid. He paid less than a fifth of what I told you we expected.”
Jack clutched at the nearest support, a set of antique fire-irons which clanged like a broken bell. “Are they still in the building, by any chance?”
“Took them as soon as he’d counted out his wad.”
The assistant was turning away, looking embarrassed by Jack, who restrained himself from grabbing his arm. “Do you have his address?”
“We never give out addresses. Would you mind putting that poker back? We charge for any damage.”
Jack hadn’t been aware of holding the poker. He hung it carefully on the hooked stand and went after the inky man, who was several padded chairs distant by now. “If I
“I thought banks were supposed to lend you money.”
“If they trust you. I’m afraid I’m afraid that all Mr. Hardy trusts me to make financially is a fool of myself.”
“Can’t we go to another bank?”
“I somehow don’t think another bank would welcome us. Maybe we’ll come up with an answer, the three of us.”
“I’m going to listen to Jody’s tape,” Laura said, and was out of the room before he could think of anything further to say. Julia gave him a sad frown as she made for the kitchen, and he felt as if the hardest part was still ahead.
Almost as soon as they sat down to dinner Laura said, “Won’t we be going on holiday either?”
“I don’t think we can, love.”
“Never mind, Laura,” Julia said, taking her hand, and Laura managed to shrug as if she had been preparing herself upstairs for the answer.
In the morning she wasn’t quite able to conceal that her eyes were red, and Jack couldn’t bear it. He’d let the family down, Laura worst of all, and she wasn’t even blaming him. He would expect Mr. Hardy to make allowances for him, but he had no right to expect it of her. Once he was alone in the house, Laura having cycled to the library not long after Julia had gone to work, he felt as if he was being given one more chance as if he must improve their luck somehow before they came back.
Perhaps he could. Suppose only he had shown interest in the videotapes at the auction? If they hadn’t been sold, mightn’t the auctioneers accept an offer even Mr. Hardy would have to admit was reasonable? Jack was tempted to wait until eleven o’clock, but of course that was silly. He stuffed a piece of buttered toast into his mouth and sprinted out of the house.
By the time he’d finished munching he was at the traffic lights. A faint taste of charring lingered in his mouth while he jogged uphill, and a sooty smell troubled his nostrils as he reached the burned-out shop. At the top of the hill he strode into the huge cluttered room. The auctioneer’s assistant who had shown him the cartons of videocassettes was tagging a dining-suite which would scarcely have fitted into the ground floor of the Orchards’ house. “Remember me?” Jack said. “Fine Films.”
“I remember,” the assistant said, marking his forehead with ink as he flicked a lock of hair away from his eyes. “We were looking for you yesterday. Matter of fact, we phoned you, but there must have been nobody home.”
“Here I am.”
“Too late, I’m afraid. Pity.”
“I’m afraid, I’m so afraid …” Jack struggled not to outshout himself. “Why were you after me?” he said aloud.
“Wanted to give you a chance at the lot you came to view.”
“Can’t you still?”
“Wish we could. Gone.”
Jack felt as if they were competing to discover who could do without the most words. “Where?”
“Some young geezer. Private collector. Only wanted the horrors but didn’t mind buying the whole lot to get them. Said he’d tape over the rest.”
Something like fever was crawling hotly over Jack’s skin. “He paid all that just to use the tapes for blanks?”
“Didn’t pay that much. We let him have them ‘cos he put in the only bid. He paid less than a fifth of what I told you we expected.”
Jack clutched at the nearest support, a set of antique fire-irons which clanged like a broken bell. “Are they still in the building, by any chance?”
“Took them as soon as he’d counted out his wad.”
The assistant was turning away, looking embarrassed by Jack, who restrained himself from grabbing his arm. “Do you have his address?”
“We never give out addresses. Would you mind putting that poker back? We charge for any damage.”
Jack hadn’t been aware of holding the poker. He hung it carefully on the hooked stand and went after the inky man, who was several padded chairs distant by now. “If I
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