Derek looks confused. “A house in Bath?”
“Yes, Derek, it’s just three miles from the centre, Georgian building, four acre garden. Remember?”
Derek looks panic stricken and leans over his desk, completely absorbed in going through a stack of documents. “What did you say it’s called?”
“Bleech House,” I remind him. What’s wrong with him today?
“Bleech House… Bleech House…” he repeats to himself as a mantra. Then, after a few minutes, he furrows his brows while reading a document. “Bleech House in Upper Swainswick?”
“It’s what I’ve just said,” I confirm.
“Ashford, are you sure your mother specifically said she’s going to your house in Bath?”
“It couldn’t be otherwise…” I have no idea what he’s babbling about.
“I called you in to talk about your finances. When did you last meet your financial adviser? Was it long ago?”
His tone is starting to make me nervous, so my voice gets shaky when I answer. “The last time I talked to Smith? Six months ago, when my father died. I was going to arrange a meeting in a couple of months for an update.”
A worried frown crosses Derek’s face. “In a couple of months is too late. Ashford, I understand that delegating the management of your assets to Smith and me relieves you from taking care of them yourself, but I must recommend you make your periodical updates more frequent.” Derek stops for a moment and then resumes talking, and now his tone is even graver. “I’ve known Smith since we attended Oxford, and we often discuss work matters. He sent me a report to tell me that your situation is getting out of hand and he’s struggling with your accounts. You need to come to an agreement with your bank.”
“Struggling with my accounts? What are you talking about? There was no struggle whatsoever, six months ago!”
“Things have changed,” Derek looks at me with a dazed look. “How’s it possible that you never check them?”
“Iam not supposed to check them! That’s what I pay Smith for! And I pay you to manage my property!” I defend myself. “Smith tells me how much I can spend and he takes care of the rest. Now, would you be so kind as to tell me what the problem is?”
“Okay. When your father died, you became Duke of Burlingham, and you inherited titles, possessions, and so on. Besides, in the last few months, the stocks in which your father had invested pretty much the whole of his capital have been crashing, given that the companies that issued them are collapsing. Now, as your solicitor and in your best interest, I had to take precautionary measures, so I pledged the house in Bath to the bank to secure your overdraft repayment plan.”
“I hope this is some sort of joke,” I say, in disbelief.
“I’m afraid not, your accounts are overdrawn.”
As my astonishment grows, I look at the negative numbers. “Where the heck is the rest of the money? My father can’t have invested every penny!”
“All your assets generate expenses: taxes, maintenance, advisers, personnel, without mentioning your rather costly lifestyle… the bank let you exceed your limit, but now it’s time to repay.”
“We’re talking about three million pounds!” I complain.
“To be more precise, the overdraft amount is five hundred thousand pounds; the rest is the loss which would derive from a possible default of the investments your father made in the past. At the bank, they probably noticed the unstable situation of your investment portfolio – don’t ask me how, just bear in mind that it’s possible. For this reason, they’re asking you to repay the overdraft immediately, and threatening to revoke it and take legal action against you. The alternative is to provide them with adequate guarantees.”
“Damn it!” I utter, restraining myself from slamming my fist on the table.
“When you mentioned your mother was planning to go to Bath, I understood that you and Smith haven’t shared information properly. I believe that, among your assets, the house in Bath is the most suitable as guarantee.”
I flinch on the chair as if the backrest were burning. “It’s not possible! My mother would have a heart attack if she knew we’re broke!”
“Denby Hall, then,” he replies concisely.
Now I know that my solicitor has gone completely insane. “Denby? That’s our ancestral family home! Forget it.”
“Ashford, you need money and you need it now,” he insists. “You should consider selling some property or the bank might take legal action and even proceed to foreclosure.”
“Derek, I need time.”
“You have to go and talk to the bank manager,” he adds.
“I’ll think it over, but you must find a solution for me,” I reply, before leaving the office.
