Ravens Gathering (6 page)

She pointed straight ahead.  “That’s the
bedroom.”  Something flickered in his eyes as she said that, and something
stirred inside her in response.  “The door to the side is a sitting room,
and you can use that if you want it too.”

“That’s very good of you.”

“Will you need long to settle in?”

He shook his head.  “Five minutes.”

Tanya thought she’d need a little longer herself, but if she
kept it to a minimum they might still have time before Ian came back.

“Then I thought I’d take a walk up into the woods.”

It took a second or two for his words to sink in.  “I’m
sorry?” she said at last.  Not the best response in the world, but it was
all she could manage under the circumstances.

“As I said earlier, it’s been a while since I was back here. 
I thought I’d go and explore some of my old haunts.”

“The woods?”  She knew she sounded stupid as she said
it, but she was still reeling from his sudden lack of interest. 
Awkwardly, she gestured down the corridor.  “What about...?”

He nodded his understanding.  “I think we’ll be pushing
it to get finished before your husband comes home, don’t you?”

It was true, she supposed, but she was disappointed that
Martin wasn’t champing at the bit.  Most men would be.  Even Ian.

“So I thought I’d take advantage of the remaining daylight,
and go for a walk in the woods.”  He leaned in close to her.  “Of
course, you could come too if you wanted.”

Walking wasn’t really her thing, but maybe the woods could
provide some other opportunities.  “I’ll need ten minutes,” she said, then
she was off to her own room.  She didn’t see the frown on her guest’s face
as he watched her go.

Before moving to Ravens Gathering, Ian McLean had driven a
Porsche.  Life had been good to him – financially, at least.  Not that
he had been handed everything on a plate.  He’d worked bloody hard for
over thirty years, so the rewards were more than justified.  Some of his
colleagues balked at the idea of having such a flash car, worried about what
their clients might think.

“They’ll be suspicious that we’re making too much money at
their expense,” was a typical comment.

“No,” Ian would correct them firmly.  “They’ll know
that we’re earning well because we’re working hard for
them
.  And
if you’ve got clients who’re going to be jealous of you for being successful,
then you really ought to be looking for a different class of client.”

Which was true.  He had worked with his clients for
years, building up a strong relationship with them all.  A lot of them had
become friends.  He’d attended weddings, christenings, birthday parties
and funerals.  They all knew he was looking out for their best
interests.  And they all knew he made his money earning commissions on
products he sold them.  But they also knew he’d be there providing a service
even when there wasn’t a product to sell.  It was the way he’d always
worked, and they were happy with it.  Quite a few had made a point of
admiring his cars when he came to see them at home or their places of
work.  No envy.  They were pleased for him, he could tell. 
After all, he’d known them long enough.  He knew people, knew what made
them tick, knew which buttons to press.  Not that he’d abused that. 
He genuinely wanted the very best for his clients.  Sometimes they just
needed a little more convincing.

So the Porsche had been a measure of his success.  To
be fair, it had also been a chance to let his hair down while he still had
some.  Like a lot of people, he had come to the realisation that life is
the wrong way round.  In his teens and twenties, he didn’t have the life
experience to make the best of his youthfulness.  At that time, he’d had
the energy and vitality to do anything he wanted to.  He just hadn’t had
the confidence or the experience to know that he could.  He also didn’t
have the money.  As he’d aged, and gained the confidence and knowledge
that would allow him to do those things, his body had seemed less willing, and
he was under no illusion; he knew his looks were fading.

Sports cars are for the young, he’d thought.  Yet he
hadn’t been able to afford anything decent until he reached his
mid-forties.  Not that he felt old.  A combination of squash and
running kept him in good shape.  He ate healthily – well, most of the
time.  And his enthusiasm for business kept his mind sharp.  But he
also felt that the time would come soon enough when getting in and out of
something low-slung would become a major operation.  His own reactions to
seeing older blokes driving around in fast cars informed him as well.  It
may have been vanity, but he didn’t want to be laughed at by younger men who
saw him behind the wheel of something shiny, red and sporty.

So at forty-seven, he’d taken the plunge.  His hair was
only just starting to show signs of grey, and you had to look closely to see
it.  Which wasn’t likely to happen while you were travelling at fifty
miles per hour and more.  A few more years, though, and it would be too
late.  In his eyes at least.

Funnily enough, that had been around the time he’d met
Tanya.  He’d only had the car a couple of months when she came into his
life.  Not that the car had influenced her – at the outset, at
least.  She hadn’t known he’d got it the first few times they met.

It had been a good time.  Business was booming, he was
starting to claim some time for himself – holidays, weekend breaks, trying out
new sports – and he was enjoying the life of a bachelor after seventeen years
of marriage.  The divorce had been messy, but he’d managed not to give too
much away.  Financially, anyway.  The kids were a different
matter.  They hated him even now, and had made it clear that they wanted
nothing to do with him.  He hadn’t been a good father, and he knew
it.  That didn’t make their reaction any easier to bear, but he could
understand it.  Fortunately, work kept him distracted most of the time.

And Tanya had certainly helped to keep him distracted when
he wasn’t at work.  She was nineteen years younger than him, but he hadn’t
seen that as an obstacle, and she gave no indication that it bothered
her.  The constraints of family life had meant that passion and excitement
had been in short supply for most of his marriage.  With Tanya, rationing
wasn’t an option.  He was bewitched.  Still was, even though things
had changed.

The Porsche had gone, replaced with a Land Rover. 
Olive green with a long wheelbase, it was ideal for the farm and for country
living generally.  If the truth be known, having passed into his fifties,
and aware that the amount of grey was beginning to outstrip the brown hair, he
also felt it was a more appropriate vehicle to be seen in.  Not that Tanya
had viewed it that way.  She liked the sports cars, and refused to give up
her
Merc
.  He hadn’t pushed that.  Frankly,
he had just been grateful that she’d given in and agreed to the move north.

There were plenty of other changes too.  Tanya’s
attitude towards him in recent months was a worry.  In the grand scheme of
things, he knew that was probably his biggest concern.  But the more
pressing issue at present was keeping their finances afloat.

When they moved up here, the move into property development
had seemed an ideal opportunity.  Property prices had been rising rapidly
for a few years.  His own house on the Woodstock Road had doubled in value
in just three years.  With prices being significantly higher in the south,
he could get a lot more for his money if he came north.  An old friend
from university had let him know about Forest Farm.  He worked for the
local council planning department and had been aware of several proposals being
bandied about for change of use.  It seemed the
Sullivans
had sold most of the agricultural land off, and were getting desperate to sell
the rest.  Mark had known Ian was looking to get out of his own business
and thought this might be just what he was looking for.

“Property’s going up and up, the banks and building
societies can’t lend money fast enough, and I’m on the inside to help you get
the planning permission through.  What can go wrong?”

Good question.  And the answer, as it turned out, was
“quite a lot”.  Mark had been offered a better job with a different
council, so Ian’s inside man had gone.  To be fair to him, Mark had still
given Ian advice on how to get his applications through successfully. 
Nevertheless, the process had taken a lot longer than expected, so it was
eighteen months after they moved to the farm before they were granted the
permissions they needed.

On the plus side, property prices were still racing
upwards.  On the minus side, that meant they had already lost some
potential growth.  At the same time, the major house building firms were
pulling out all the stops, and were throwing up housing estates all over the
place.  Fortunately, none were being built near Ravens Gathering. 
But it did mean that the majors were sub-contracting all the builders, joiners,
plumbers and other assorted tradesmen to work on their projects.  So
finding contractors to work on
The Barns
development was also harder
than Ian had anticipated.

Eventually, though, work began, and within six months they
had built and sold three houses.  Buoyed up by this success, Ian ploughed
all of the sale proceeds into starting the next tranche of houses.

He had sold the first three houses for £50,000 each. 
Within a few months, one of the houses was back on the market for
£65,000.  A part of him wished he’d hung on to them for a few months
longer.  But he knew he’d made a good profit.  More importantly, he
knew the potential profit on the next few would be even greater.  So he
borrowed extra money so he could build some more.  After all, interest
rates were low, and the profits would more than outweigh the costs.

But then interest rates started to rise.  Within a few
short months, the rate he was paying on the loan had risen from just under 9%
to 16%.  The house that had been on the market for £65,000 was withdrawn. 
The couple who had bought it had clearly hoped to make a quick killing, and
realised that wasn’t going to happen.

Five of the new houses were completed by the spring of
1989.  Two sold for £45,000 each, a long way short of the £65,000-£70,000
he had been hoping for only six months earlier.  It allowed him to repay a
part of the loan, but the margin wasn’t high enough to make a big dent.

Then all enquiries dried up.  Interest rates were still
rising and property prices were tumbling, two factors inextricably
linked.  And Ian and Tanya were left with a rising debt and assets they
couldn’t sell.

It was no wonder Tanya was pissed off with him.  He’d
persuaded her to move up here, away from the attractions of the south. 
London, with its theatres and clubs and restaurants.  Major international
airports – very important to Tanya.  Even the temperature seemed to be
warmer back in Oxford.  That alone was bad enough.  But now he’d
added insult to injury by making such a mess of the housing development. 
He blamed himself unreservedly.  The fact that so many other people had
fallen into similar traps – including the major house builders – was of no
consequence to him.  His decisions had got them into this position, and he
wasn’t going to point the finger at anyone else.  What he needed to do now
was find a way out of it.

Part of the solution required breathing space, though, which
was why he had been at the bank today.  This bank had advanced the loan
for the development.  They hadn’t yet made any noises to suggest they were
concerned about it.  The chances were that they had other debts that were
more of a worry to them.  From their point of view, at least this was
secured against the farm.  That, of course, was the concern for Ian. 
So he had called the meeting today because he knew it would look better for him
if he was being proactive.  By demonstrating to them that he was working
on a solution, they would be less likely to focus on him, and more likely to
start digging where they were getting no feedback.  Banks liked to know
their money was safe.

Using his years of experience in the financial services
arena, Ian had presented a very effective case to the bank.  His reason
for being there, he explained, was to reassure them.  He pointed to the
repayments he had made so far, including the fairly substantial capital amounts
paid after the sale of the houses.  He outlined the marketing plans he was
pursuing, and the partnership agreement he had made with the builders as a
means of reducing his overheads.  Everything was set out on paper, and a
copy had been left with the lending manager to put on his file.  His
presentation had been professional and confident, although he had taken several
very deep breaths before entering the branch.

For the first half of the hour-long drive home, he had
replayed the meeting in his head over and over.  He knew he couldn’t have
done a better job.  He just hoped it had been good enough.

The second half hour was filled with thoughts of what lay
waiting for him when he arrived home.  He’d phoned Tanya to let her know
how the meeting had gone.  His assumption that she would be pleased he was
keeping her informed was obviously misplaced.  It seemed that it only
served as a reminder of the situation he had dragged them into.  His years
of dealing with people meant that he was able to anticipate most
reactions.  Clearly, he still had a blind spot where his wife was
concerned.  What he did understand was that talking to her about it was
like prodding and poking at a wound.  Or, perhaps more accurately, at a
wounded animal – and probably one that was only too happy to claw and bite you
in response.

His intention had been to spend a little more time in
Nottingham after his meeting at the bank, and he had told her he expected to be
back around five-thirty.  Rather foolishly, he now realised, he had
thought he should buy her a gift.  The idea was to let her know that he
was still thinking about her, even if he was busy trying to sort out the
finances.  From her heated comments over the phone, it was clear that the
gift would be considered an unnecessary expense.  So he had abandoned his
plans, and simply headed for home.

When the kitchen door wouldn’t open, he briefly wondered if
she had decided to lock him out in a fit of anger.  But his key went in
easily enough, and he let himself into the house.

The empty mug on the table was unusual.  Tanya normally
liked the table to be clear, so she tended to leave them in the sink, or put
them straight into the dishwasher.  It didn’t alarm Ian, though.

He called out as he walked through the house, but there was
no response.  It was puzzling, because her car was in the yard, and she
rarely went anywhere without it.  The idea of Tanya walking into the
village was so improbable it didn’t cross his mind.

In a way, her absence was a blessing.  He was convinced
there would be more confrontation, and having had the tension that came with
preparing for and presenting a case to the bank, he didn’t really want any more
right now.  So he headed for the bedroom, undoing his tie, and sliding his
jacket off.  It had been a stressful day.  For now he’d have a
shower, then grab a scotch and unwind.  If she wasn’t back in half an
hour, then he’d worry about her.