The Sins of the Father

'Do that,' said Hugo, 'and while I'm here, I need to withdraw a little cash from my private account.'

'I'm sorry, Sir Hugo, but that account is overdrawn at the present time . . .'

The Sins of the Father

Hugo was sitting in the front seat of his sleek royal blue Lagonda when Holcombe pushed through the school door and began to walk across the playground. He stopped to speak to a handyman who was giving the front gates a fresh coat of lilac and green paint, the Merrywood school colours.

'That's a fine job you're doing, Alf.'

'Thank you, Mr Holcombe,' Hugo heard the handyman say.

'But I still expect you to concentrate more on your verbs, and do try not to be late on Wednesday.'

Alf touched his cap.

Holcombe began walking along the pavement and pretended not to see Hugo sitting behind the wheel of his car. Hugo allowed himself a smirk; everyone gave his Lagonda V12 a second look. Three young lads loitering on the pavement opposite hadn't been able to take their eyes off it for the past half hour.

Hugo stepped out of the car and stood in the middle of the pavement, but Holcombe still ignored him. He couldn't have been more than a stride away when Hugo said, 'I wonder if we could have a word, Mr Holcombe. My name is - '

'I'm well aware of who you are,' said Holcombe, and walked straight past him.

Hugo chased after the schoolmaster. 'It's just that I felt you ought to know - '

'Know what?' said Holcombe, stopping in his tracks and turning to face him.

'What your fiancee did for a living, not so very long ago.'

'She was forced into prostitution because you wouldn't pay for her son's  - ' he looked Hugo straight in the eye  -  'your son's school fees, when he was in his last two years at Bristol Grammar School.'

'There's no proof that Harry Clifton is my son,' said Hugo defiantly.

'There was enough proof for a vicar to refuse to allow Harry to marry your daughter.'

'How would you know? You weren't there.'

'How would you know? You ran away.'

'Then let me tell you something you certainly don't know,' said Hugo, almost shouting. 'This paragon of virtue that you're planning to spend the rest of your life with has swindled me out of a piece of land I owned in Broad Street.'

'Let me tell you something you do know,' said Holcombe. 'Maisie paid off every penny of your loan, with interest, and all you left her with was less than ten pounds to her name.'

'That land's now worth four hundred pounds,' said Hugo, immediately regretting his words, 'and it belongs to me.'

'If it belonged to you,' said Holcombe, 'you wouldn't be trying to buy the site for twice that amount.'

Hugo was livid that he had allowed himself to reveal the extent of his interest in the site, but he wasn't finished. 'So when you have sex with Maisie Clifton, do you have to pay for it, schoolmaster, because I certainly didn't.'

Holcombe raised a fist.

'Go on, hit me,' goaded Hugo. 'Unlike Stan Tancock, I'd sue you for every penny you're worth.'

Holcombe lowered his fist and marched off, annoyed with himself for having allowed Barrington to rile him.

Hugo smiled. He felt he had delivered the knockout blow.

He turned round to see the lads on the other side of the road sniggering. But then they'd never seen a lilac and green Lagonda before.

35

WHEN THE FIRST cheque bounced, Hugo simply ignored it and waited a few days before he presented it a second time. When it came back again, stamped 'Refer to Drawer', he began to accept the inevitable.

For the next few weeks, Hugo found several different ways of getting around the immediate cash problem.

He first raided the office safe and removed the £100 that his father always kept for a rainy day. This was a thunderstorm, and the old man had certainly never had to resort to the cash reserve to pay his secretary's wages. Once that had run out, he reluctantly let go of the Lagonda. However, the dealer politely pointed out that lilac and green weren't this year's colours, and as Sir Hugo required cash, he could only offer him half the original purchase price, because the bodywork would have to be stripped and repainted.

Hugo survived for another month.

With no other available assets to dispose of, he began to steal from his mother. First, any loose change left lying about the house, followed by coins in purses and then notes in bags.

It wasn't long before he bagged a small silver pheasant that had graced the centre of the dining-room table for years, followed by its parents, all of which flew to the nearest pawn shop.

Hugo then moved on to his mother's jewellery. He started with items she wouldn't notice. A hat pin and a Victorian brooch were quickly followed by an amber necklace she rarely wore, and a diamond tiara which had been in the family for over a century and was only worn at weddings or ceremonial occasions. He didn't anticipate there being many of those in the near future.

He finally turned to his father's art collection, first taking off the wall a portrait of his grandfather by a young John Singer Sargent, but not before the housekeeper and the cook had handed in their notice, having received no wages for over three months. Jenkins conveniently died a month later.

His grandfather's Constable (The Mill at Dunning Lock) was followed by his great-grandfather's Turner (Swans on the Avon), both of which had been in the family for over a century.

Hugo was able to convince himself that it wasn't theft. After all, his father's will had stated and all that therein is.

This irregular source of funds ensured that the company survived and only showed a small loss for the first quarter of the year, that is, if you didn't count the resignation of three more directors and several other senior members of staff who hadn't received their pay cheques on the last day of the month. When asked, Hugo blamed the temporary setbacks on the war. One elderly director's parting words were, 'Your father never found it necessary to use that as an excuse.'

Soon, even the removable assets began to dwindle.

Hugo knew that if he were to put Barrington Hall and its 72 acres of parkland on the market, it would announce to the world that a company that had declared a profit for over a hundred years was insolvent.

His mother continued to accept Hugo's assurances that the problem was only temporary, and that given time everything would sort itself out. After a time, he started to believe his own propaganda. When the cheques started to bounce again, Mr Prendergast reminded him that there was an offer of £3,500 on the table for his properties in Broad Street, which, Prendergast pointed out, would still show him a profit of £600.

'What about the thirty thousand I was promised?' Hugo shouted down the phone.

'That offer is also still on the table, Sir Hugo, but it remains subject to your purchasing Mrs Clifton's freehold.'

'Offer her a thousand,' he barked.

'As you wish, Sir Hugo.'

Hugo slammed the phone down and wondered what else could go wrong. The phone rang again.

The Sins of the Father

Hugo was hidden away in a corner alcove of the Railway Arms, a hotel he'd never frequented before, and never would again. He nervously checked his watch every few minutes, while he waited for Mitchell to arrive.