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‘Dad, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know anything, I promise. If I’d have had even the faintest inkling, I would have stopped him.’
‘Don’t worry about it. He wasn’t the first, and he certainly won’t be the last.’
I’m still mortified. James was generally never that keen on coming here; he said that he found the opulence oppressive. I’d have to drag him down every year after Christmas, and he always gave me the impression that he was counting the hours until we could leave. Now that I come to think about it, he was uncharacteristically keen on visiting in the summer. I think it may even have been his suggestion that we came. I remember that I’d been really pleased that he seemed to be softening towards my parents, but now I know the real reason I’d quite like to drive back to Devon and hit him repeatedly over the head with a frying pan.
‘Obviously you didn’t give him any,’ I say to him. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have, but I wouldn’t put it past James to wheedle some money out of him and not tell me about it.
‘No. I had my guys look into the farm to see if there was any investment opportunity there, but they came back and advised me to steer well clear. I felt bad, because I wanted to support you if nothing else, but there was no way I could put money into it. He had no business plan; he just wanted to do the same stuff, but on a bigger scale. I told him straight: “Son, if you’re making fuck all on ten thousand litres of milk, you’re going to make equal amounts of fuck all on twenty or fifty.” The really stupid thing is that he’s sitting on a hundred acres of land that he’d get planning permission for in a heartbeat, and there are developers lined up to buy it, but he won’t sell it.’
‘Really? I didn’t know about this.’
‘It sounds like there’s quite a lot you didn’t know. Your husband was a bit of a secretive bugger, wasn’t he? Yes, my guys found that the council down there are way behind on the amount of new development that they’re supposed to be allowing because of a lack of suitable brownfield sites. Although it’s greenfield, the piece of land that James is sitting on is ideally located, apparently. They could build a whole community there, with schools and everything, but he turned them down when they approached him.’
‘Why?’
‘Pride, I think. His type sees selling off land as breaking up the farm and failing the ancestors. Complete nonsense, if you ask me. Keep a thousand acres and go bankrupt or keep nine hundred and stand a chance. I know what I’d do in his shoes. Reminds me of that Bible story.’
‘I’m sorry?’ My father is widely read, but I wasn’t aware the Bible had made it on to his radar.
‘They must have taught it to you at school. You know, the guy with the sheep who loses one, so he leaves the other ninety-nine on the hill and goes to look for it. Much rejoicing when he finds it and so on. What a stupid thing to do! If one sheep wanders off, you protect the ninety-nine that you still have; you don’t leave the rest of your investment to be eaten by wolves while you traipse around looking for a single sheep. That’s financial suicide. Jesus might have been the Son of God and all that, but he was a lousy economist. The story about the woman and the coin is just as bad. She searches high and low for the thing and, when she finds it, she throws a party which probably cost more than the value of the coin, so she’s worse off than when she started. Anyway, your James falls into the same category. He’s holding on to a hundred acres out of pride, and risking losing a thousand in the process. So no, I didn’t give him any money.’
‘I still can’t believe he asked. I’m so embarrassed. How dare he, without at least talking to me about it first? Is there anything he wasn’t getting up to behind my back? The sooner I’m divorced from him, the better.’
‘Well, let’s get that in motion and then we can move on to happier topics over supper. What do you say?’
He takes my silence as agreement, pulls out his phone, and calls one of his assistants.
‘George, what’s the name of that swanky firm of divorce lawyers? Yes, that’s them. Call them tomorrow, would you, and get an appointment for Sophie. Yes, in their offices, there’s no need for them to send anyone here. Thanks.’
He ends the call and turns to me. ‘George will get you an appointment as soon as he can. I take it you’re okay going up to London? They’ll charge me full whack for travelling time if I bring them here, and I’m not paying their rates for some guy just to sit on a train and stare out of the window.’
Dad obviously considers the topic closed, and we move on to other subjects for the rest of the evening. He has his fingers in a number of pies, both commercial and philanthropic, and he regales us with tales of various meetings and events over supper.
‘Andy came up with a company he thought I should look at,’ he tells us. ‘Some game that people play on their phone where they have to guide this squirrel around, first to bury nuts, and then to dig them up again. Apparently, it’s gone viral with over twenty million downloads, but it turns out the whole company is just one bloke who wrote it in his bedroom!’
‘Are you going to buy it?’ Mum asks.
‘Unlikely. These apps are too unpredictable. Is it going to grow and grow like Angry Birds, or has it already peaked? If we get the app but not the guy, is that going to be a problem? I’ve told Andy to come back with a detailed proposal and some reliable forecasts. At the moment I think it’s too big a risk for me, but if he comes up with the right numbers, I’ll certainly look at it. Talking of work, have you had any thoughts in that direction, Sophie? Knowing you, I expect you’ll want to be back on your feet as soon as you can.’
‘I thought I’d call my old boss, Annabel. I helped her out of a hole a few weeks back, and she sounded like she’d be receptive if I wanted my job back.’
‘That sounds promising. Tell her you’ll only come back if she gives you a promotion, though. You were good at what you did, so don’t undersell yourself.’
‘I was, but I’m also four years out of the industry, Dad. If I go back, I’m going to have to prove myself again and things may have moved on. I think I’d rather get my feet back under a desk and check I’ve still got it before I start getting bolshy.’
‘Fair enough,’ he replies. ‘Just don’t let her ride roughshod over you. It sounds to me like you’ve had enough of that with your lame-duck husband and his idiotic mother.’
15
The offices of the divorce lawyers, Watson & Fletcher, are tastefully luxurious in a way that lets you know that you’re going to get great service, but that you’ll also be paying through the nose for it. I’m no connoisseur, but I’m pretty certain the artwork on the walls is all original and probably worth a fortune. This is not a cheap, framed-print sort of place. I’m a few minutes early for my appointment, so the receptionist has supplied me with coffee in a china cup so delicate that I’m worried it will disintegrate if I sneeze.
Although I feel slightly out of place, having been a farmer’s wife for the last four years, it was nice to get up and put on some more formal clothes and a pair of heels for a change. It took me a while to pick out an outfit, but in the end I went for a pink blouse and a dark blue trouser suit.
‘Lady Huntingdon-Barfoot?’ a female voice asks. I look up to see a pleasant-faced woman, probably a little older than me. She’s dressed exactly as I would expect a top London lawyer to look: a beautifully cut, white blouse over a knee-length, black pencil skirt, with dark tights and patent leather shoes.
‘That’s me,’ I reply, placing my coffee cup carefully on the table in front of me and standing up.
‘I’m Rosie, Mr Wells’ personal assistant. Mr Wells is ready for you now. Would you like to follow me?’
