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offer? Would they accept it as the best course open to them? Or would they insist that the Kemp estate be sold and the monies split between them?

      Gulping down his beer, he felt nervous and worried.

      What if it all went wrong?

      What if the estate went to auction and was lost forever? Certainly he could never afford to bid for it.

      What if this … what if that. His mind was in a whirl.

      With so much at stake, tomorrow could not come quickly enough.

      The following morning, Leonard climbed out of bed, weary from lack of sleep and eager to be on his way. He showered and shaved and put on a clean shirt and an expensive silk tie that Patricia had bought for him. Looking at his image in the mirror he shook his head. ‘God Almighty, look at the state of you!’ With dark circles under his eyes and wisps of unruly hair protruding from behind his ears, he presented a sorry picture. ‘Leonard Maitland, you’re a damned mess.’

      Slicking back the clumps of hair, he fastened his jacket, straightened his tie and turned away. He was ready to do battle. And with that he went smartly out of the room.

      Farley Kemp had borrowed money from many sources, but the largest slice of debt was owed to a major bank. The meeting was scheduled to take place there.

      The doorman whistled up a cab. Handing him a dime for his trouble, Leonard climbed in and gave directions to the bank. Settling himself into his seat with the all-important documents on his lap, he peered out at the Boston streets, seeing nothing.

      On arriving at his destination, he paid the cabbie and watched him drive away. For a long, pensive moment he stood on the sidewalk looking up at the building; an imposing structure with dark-suited businessmen arriving and departing through its doors. This was the place where his future would be decided.

      As he came out of the elevator, he could hear them: the shuffle and bustle of many people in one room; the scraping of chairs and the pacing of footsteps; and as he opened the door to the offices, he could almost smell their anger.

      Suddenly, a cloak of silence fell over the room as all eyes turned to look at him. Nervous and unsure, he nodded, his confident smile belying the turmoil inside.

      ‘Very well, gentlemen.’ Justin Lovatt took the chair. ‘We’re all here now, so we may as well get started.’

      Everyone present made their way to the large oval table in the centre of the room. When they were seated, Leonard noted that some men were softly talking, while others sat in silence, looking angry and morose. All had but one purpose in mind: to get their money back.

      When he had first entered the room, his eyes were instinctively drawn to a large, bespectacled man who, seeming to keep his distance from the others, was staring out of the window. It was he who now voiced what everyone else was thinking. ‘Mr Lovatt, before you begin proceedings, can I just tell you this. All we want is to get back what we lent in good faith.’ His voice was surprisingly calm and soft. ‘We all have businesses to run, so let’s get on with it.’

      Two hours later, they were still ‘getting on with it’.

      An hour into the meeting, the men were on their feet, declaring with raised voices that they wanted every cent back and would not settle for half measures. No amount of persuasion from Justin Lovatt could convince them of any other way forward.

      Deeply frustrated and losing hope, Leonard asked permission to speak. He was initially greeted with a hubbub of noise from enraged men who would not be pacified, but then the big, bespectacled man called for order. ‘Let Farley Kemp’s grandson speak,’ he said firmly. ‘He is not to blame for his grandfather’s mismanagement, so give him a chance. We’re getting nowhere like this.’

      Standing up amongst them, Leonard looked round the table at the faces of these men whom his grandfather had known well; men who had trusted him to repay what they lent in good faith – and he felt ashamed.

      Clearing his throat, he began to speak. ‘Firstly, I want to say how I understand your anger. You trusted my grandfather and he let you down badly, and I apologise for that. I know that, despite the Crash, some of you could well afford to lose the money if you had to …’ when they began loudly protesting, he put up his hand … ‘please, if you will just let me have my say.’ When they were again attentive, he went on, ‘I’m not saying that you will or should lose any money. Of course you want your money back and rightly so. And there are those amongst you who cannot afford to lose what you lent. I know that and I’m here today to try and settle matters one way or another.’

      He looked at the documents lying on the table before him, and a great sense of bitterness overwhelmed him. His grandfather’s reputation was shattered forever; there was family honour at stake, and a debt to pay, and it was up to him to pacify these men who had put their trust in a man who had betrayed them and reneged on his debts.

      What could he say to appease them? How could he put things right?

      He was so deep in his reverie that he had not realised how long his lapse of concentration was; until he heard them shifting impatiently in their seats, and their exchanged whispers as they grew restless.

      ‘See here, Mr Maitland: have you got our money or not – that’s all we need to know.’ That was the sallow-faced, grey-suited man on the far end.

      ‘That’s right!’ another voice joined in. ‘Have you brought our money from England?’

      ‘No!’ he answered truthfully. Strong and clear, his stark words echoed across the room, effectively silencing everyone. ‘I have money for you, yes, but it isn’t what you might have hoped.’

      ‘What in hell does that mean?’

      The voices began to rise. ‘If you’re here to waste our time, we might as well leave now.’

      ‘All we want is our money back, God dammit.’

      ‘Gentlemen, this is the situation,’ Leonard quickly explained. ‘I have a farm in England, which I can sell tomorrow – and I will. But it won’t make enough to clear all the debts. Since I’ve been here I’ve raised as much money as I can, but even with the sale of my own farm, it still isn’t sufficient to cover the total sums owed.’ Before they could start protesting again, he went swiftly on. ‘I’ve gone through everything with Mr Lovatt here, and we’ve calculated that you will get back seventy per cent of what’s owed—’

      ‘Seventy per cent!’ The voices began again. ‘What the hell use is that?’

      ‘We won’t settle for less than what we’re owed! Plus interest!’

      ‘So, this is all a waste of our time? You got us here under false pretences. Jesus! You’re no better than your grandfather!’

      The rage threatened to erupt.

      At this point Justin Lovatt stood up and called for quiet. ‘Mr Maitland has come a long way, and gone to a lot of trouble to try and sort out his family’s debts, which are not – I repeat not – of his making. I believe you are all men enough to appreciate what he’s been trying to do. The least you can do now is give him a fair hearing.’

      Something in his words seemed to calm them and with all eyes on Leonard they listened to what he had to say.

      He told them how he could do no more than he had already done, and that, ‘If you wait for the Kemp estate to go to action, you may well end up with even less than I’m offering you now. You have copies in front of you, showing the proof that I am in a position to deliver seventy per cent of what you lent out. It’s signed, sealed and can be delivered. With an auction, you can never be sure; it all depends on the day and how many people want the property, or can afford it. As you know to your cost, the value of the property has been badly affected by the slump in the world economy.’

      ‘He’s right.’ One man who so far had remained silent spoke out. ‘The farmstead is still a valuable asset, and sold to the right buyer, we may get lucky. But if there aren’t

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