Listening to his own breathing, biting back his temper, Mark didn’t blink. The lawyer adjusted his glasses and fidgeted with the envelope. Mark sat bolt upright, his eyes narrow, still, and steady as any spaniel waiting for the command to pick-up. The envelope fell to the desk, the lawyer lowered his head and stuttered his way through a pre-prepared speech, without once looking up at the latest casualty of the morning slaughter.
Emily interrupted Mark’s train of thought, asking why he thought Paul was responsible, suggesting it may be someone more senior based in New York.
Mark felt his hackles rising. ‘A hundred percent Paul. The shit even stopped by my office to check I was around.’ Once this was sorted, Mark was going to skewer that man. He’d tie his hands together with his bloody regimental tie, then wrap his effing stripy braces round his neck and gag him with them.
Seeing her husband staring wistfully at the restaurant ceiling, Emily felt a surge of pity. But this was unnecessary torture – she’d spent enough evenings in the company of Mark’s boss, she knew her husband was brilliant at his job. She leaned across the table and said, ‘I know you’ve worked there your entire career, but just move to another bank.’
She watched him close his eyes. He reopened them and stared at the ceiling. The muffled sound of a phone came from her handbag, and Mark trained his eyes on her.
‘Emily,’ Mark hissed. ‘Not now!’
She reached down and scrabbled through the contents of her handbag, tracking down the sound, thinking it might be Alex. She glanced at the screen, felt a surge of anger, and let it go to voicemail, then switched it off and dropped the phone into her lap.
‘It can wait,’ she said firmly. ‘You were saying?’
‘I can’t just jump ship. Believe you me, that was plan A, and I was enjoying plotting revenge against that bastard, but I can’t.’ He paused, jutted his chin, then said, ‘not yet.’ He took a gulp of champagne. ‘Not content with orchestrating my downfall, Paul poisoned the well, spread rumours and I can’t even get to the bottom of what he’s effing said.’
Emily gasped, her eyes gaping wide. What was happening to her perfect life? She ran her hands down her face, feeling her torso shaking with rage. She licked her lips and looked up at Mark, ‘Are you telling me you’re unemployed? Do we have savings? I know we have oceans of debt.’ She took a deep breath and asked, ‘Ok I need to know. How much is the debt?’
She saw his Adam’s apple bobbing. This was not going to be good news. Why hadn’t she kept in touch with their finances? Because money was never a problem. He earned it, she spent it.
He licked his lips. She held her breath.
‘Devon is manageable. The debt is only five hundred K, and when we kick Alex out and start charging proper rates, it will cover all its costs.’
She ignored the jibe against Alex.
‘London,’ he said, his voice faltering.
‘Yes?’ Her voice squeaked.
‘London’s about two and a half million.’
‘What?’ She gave a strangled laugh. ‘How?’
‘We borrowed over a million to buy it, took out money to buy my mother’s house – I did explain Chalkwell had to be debt free; it’s too expensive to borrow with Mum living there – and then we borrowed another million to fund the basement dig.’
How would they pay the mortgage without his salary? She raised her voice. ‘So how much does this ginormous mortgage cost?’ She emptied her glass, slamming it back down. ‘Am I expected to get a job? I willnotbe like my mother!’
He reached for her hand, but she withdrew it.
‘The mortgage is six and a half grand a month. Then there’s Svetlana.’
She stiffened. ‘We are not sacking Svetlana!’
‘Calm down,’ he said soothingly. ‘I haven’t suggested that. When you add on utility bills, the run rate is about ten K a month. I got an exit package: three months’ salary in lieu of notice, and redundancy. After the taxman, it’s over sixty grand, which covers six months, and I can sort this if you give me a chance.’ He refilled her glass.
She took a large sip; this wasn’t a discussion to have sober. Everything would be OK. Mark had a plan. ‘Well, as you City guys say, if you will insist on hanging out with gunslingers andhatchet merchants, eventually you’re bound to get hurt.’ He huffed a tiny laugh. ‘I presume this happened sometime last week,’ she said. ‘I’m only sorry you didn’t want to share it with me. It must’ve been agony going through it alone.’ She set her glass back down, this time gently, and asked, ‘What have you been doing? Where did you go?’
‘Balham,’ he confessed, peering over the rim of his glass at her. ‘I had to buy a phone and I didn’t want any of our friends speculating what I was doing in a phone shop in Knightsbridge on a weekday.’
‘I didn’t think you even knew where Balham was!’
His eyes seemed to brighten. Mark reached across the table for her hand. She inched forward and felt his warm fingers enclose hers, almost clinging to them as he said, ‘Hey, I know you’ve built your life around helping your chosen causes and spending what I earn. I know the deal. That doesn’t need to alter much if we move to Portugal.’
She wasn’t moving to Portugal. He could go and work there if he wanted, but she was staying in London. She pulled an incredulous face. ‘Well, that’s the first piece of good news. What is this miraculous part-time Portuguese job which allows you to spend more time with your family without interrupting the money flow? Diversifying into gunrunning?’
Their first course arrived. Mark ordered a second bottle.
