54
Christie sat in the corridor outside the bank manager’s office. It was just as she’d remembered: pale grey walls, pale grey carpet and pale grey seats. Even the staff looked pale and grey. How depressing. This wasn’t doing much for her mood. The last time she’d been here, Stephen sat next to her, full of interest, just like her, both wanting to hear the news that their dream could at last become a reality. Only it had been her dream. Not Stephen’s. Even now, Christie found it difficult to believe how her husband had abandoned her so spectacularly. It was bad enough having to cope with managing The Templar alone, but for him to have got another woman pregnant too? Having a baby had been the one thing that Christie had so badly wanted. It was a double hit, a real smack in the face.
And so here she was, forced to ask for more money, on top of the already hefty loan, in an attempt to pay Stephen off. How did the guy sleep at night? She certainly didn’t. Last night had seen her toss and turn with worry, fretting about today and what she must face. Daniel had been a brick when she’d told him. He too had read Stephan’s letter and looked at her solemnly. Christie had told him the kind of money she had to raise to get Stephen’s name off The Templar deeds. Daniel’s wince hadn’t exactly filled her with confidence.
She glanced at the sign on the bank manager’s door, which read “Mr Jolly”, and nearly laughed out loud at the irony. Was Mr Happy next door? She doubted it. That said, Mr Jolly had given them the answer they’d both wanted before. He’d read their financial plans, agreed with their cash flow forecasts and approved the investment. Job done. It was music to their ears! Would it be this time? Christie doubted that.
‘Mrs Newbury?’ A lady with long, sandy-coloured hair in a powder blue suit appeared from behind the door. Christie sat up surprised.
‘Yes?’
‘This way please.’ She smiled. ‘I’m ready for you now.’
‘Oh, right. It’s not Mr Jolly I’m seeing then?’ she asked, whilst entering the office.
‘I’m the new manager – Mrs Wright. Mr Jolly left last week.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘Sorry, the name on the door’s being changed shortly,’ she explained, then looked at the set of papers in front of her. She sat back and rubbed her hands together. ‘So, let’s talk about your proposal.’
Christie took a deep breath and outlined everything. Absolutely everything. Her emotions had got the better of her and she gave it all. The phrase “too much information” rang in her ears, screamed in fact, but she was past caring. It felt more like a counselling session than a bank manager’s appointment, as Christie unleashed all the pent-up hurt and anxiety building up inside. Mrs Wright just sat there unperturbed, nodding calmly in all the right places.
‘So you see, I’m… desperate,’ Christie finished somewhat lamely and looked to Mrs Wright for all the answers.
After a moment’s pause she sat forward. ‘Christie, me giving you what you’re asking for would lead to desperation. Believe me—’
‘But—’ interrupted Christie.
‘No, please hear me out.’ The manager held her hand up. ‘I can’t agree to extend your loan, not in the current climate. You can’t do this alone, Christie, you need a business partner, someone who has the money to pay him off.’
‘There is no one,’ Christie replied quietly.
‘No one who you know as yet. Put the feelers out, someone out there could easily see The Templar as a thriving business and be willing to invest.’
Christie sat listening. Originally, she had thought selling The Templar would mean her having to leave too, but this way meant it was more a case of finding a business partner. She looked up into Mrs Wright’s face.
‘How long have I got… you know to find someone?’
‘As far as the bank’s concerned, there’s no problem as such. It’s more a matter of how heavily your husband is going to lean on you. In the eyes of the law he owns half the pub, and can push for a sale if not bought out.’
All this was only confirming what Christie knew in the depths of her troubled mind. Hearing it out loud was giving her clarity and a clearer vision.
‘But what if The Templar takes ages to sell?’ Like dragging your feet kind of ages. Well she’d be the one who was expected to oversee the sale wouldn’t she? She couldn’t envisage Stephen donating the time with a new baby.
Mrs Wright gave a sardonic smile. ‘That would be unfortunate, for your husband.’
‘But it could happen. I mean, I couldn’t help it if The Templar didn’t get any takers.’
Mrs Wright’s lips twitched slightly. ‘Like I said, it would be unfortunate.’
