Free The Courtyard by Marcia Willett

reassuringly.
    â€˜I’ll drink my coffee first.’ John turned back to his desk and Martin allowed his face muscles to relax. ‘Can’t afford any lunch anyway. Our own rent’s due. God knows what I’m going to do.’
    â€˜Could Nell help?’
    â€˜Help? How?’ John stared at him. ‘Nell hasn’t got any money.’
    â€˜No. I just meant … Well, perhaps she could get a job or something? ’
    John slumped down in his chair. ‘She’s suggested it but she’s not really qualified to do anything and jobs are thin on the ground at the moment. I’ve always been against it, to be honest. I like to think that I can support my own wife and she doesn’t know how desperate things are. I simply can’t tell her. You know she didn’t want me to come outside?’
    â€˜You told me.’ Martin rose on his toes and dropped back on his heels once or twice. His face was thoughtful, his mind busy. ‘What about that cottage of yours? On Exmoor, isn’t it? Would you get much for that? Assuming that you could find a buyer.’
    â€˜What? You mean sell it?’
    â€˜Why not? Help to keep us going till the tide turns.’
    â€˜It’s out of the question!’ John stared at Martin. ‘Not on! Nell would kill me. It’s all we’ve got left.’
    â€˜Oh well,’ said Martin lightly, after a moment, ‘at least you’ll have a roof if things go wrong.’
    â€˜Wrong? What d’you mean? Wrong?’
    â€˜Nothing.’ Martin cursed himself and achieved an amused laugh. ‘You really must stop panicking. The trouble with you service chaps is that you’re no good without your book of rules. Out here in the cold world we have to make our own up as we go along. Go on. Go and have a pint while I make some phone calls.’

    John swallowed his coffee, put the mug on his desk and stood up. ‘I’ll go and have a stroll round,’ he said. ‘Clear my head a bit. I can’t afford to go to the pub.’
    â€˜For heaven’s sake!’ Martin dug in his back pocket and brought out his notecase. He riffled through it and gave a short laugh at its paucity of substance. ‘Here! Take this and get yourself something. Bring me back a sandwich. Go on. Take it.’
    â€˜Is it all you’ve got?’ John stared at the proffered note.
    â€˜Take it!’ Martin shook it impatiently. ‘I was going to put it in the petty cash. But we should last out and we don’t need any stamps. Get yourself a drink and unwind a bit. We’ll manage, you’ll see.’
    â€˜Yes.’ John hesitated for a moment and then took the note. ‘We will, won’t we?’
    â€˜Course we will.’ Martin gave him a little wink. ‘Go on. See you later.’
    John managed a smile, picked up his jacket and went out. Martin stood for some moments after he’d gone and then, going into the inner office, he picked up the telephone receiver and dialled his estranged wife’s number.

Seven
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    IN THE AUTUMN, HENRY sold the first of the Courtyard cottages. The buyers were a middle-aged couple from upcountry who wanted it for holidays and eventually for their retirement. Since they had heard of the cottage through Simon Spaders, Henry felt it incumbent upon him to give him a commission on the sale. Simon, who had already made quite a tidy sum out of Henry, accepted the commission and used it to pay for a week’s holiday in Tenerife. Gillian went with him.
    â€˜You really are the most unprincipled person I’ve ever met,’ chuckled Simon as they lay on their bed, worn out with too much sun, too much food and too much sex. ‘Even I think it’s a bit much that your husband is paying for all this debauchery.’
    â€˜No you don’t.’ Gillian rolled over lazily to reach for her wineglass. She propped herself against the mound of pillows and sipped.