A Gift to You Read Online Free Page B

me weep for the days of straightforward kindness and goodness when Lillian and
Matthew were alive.
    For three years, Saundra, Theo and their ‘friends’ used Sunnymeade as their ‘country retreat’. Theo would work the room at parties, drawing people aside, telling them of
a ‘Golden opportunity to make a killing,’ on this investment or that bond, or hotels in the States, that was going to
skyrocket
in value. I heard names like ISTC, Anglo,
Seanie, ‘Fingers’, Irish Nationwide AIB, BOI, spoken of in smooth, smug, confidential tones as Theo urged his guests to borrow even more money to fund these ‘blue chip’
investments. ‘You’ll have no problem getting a loan, he would assure them, expansively. ‘Let me put you in touch with someone.’ He had no time for ‘cautious
people’. He advised many of his guests to place their money ‘offshore’; he had ‘people’ who could look after them. Some took his advice, delighted to have pulled a
fast one on the taxman. Saundra would open yet another bottle of ‘bubbly’ and discuss Botox and fillers and plan trips with the ‘girls’ to have a discrete nip here and a
little tuck there.
    And then, last year, everything changed utterly! The theme for that particular Christmas was Swarovski. All crystal baubles that cost a fortune, and blue velvet bows and blue lights, on an
artificial silver Christmas tree. It was a hideous look. So cold and stark, a far cry from the twinkling warm hues of Lillian’s and Matthew’s tree that scented the house with the smell
of fresh pine.
    It was a far smaller group than they usually entertained on St Stephen’s night. An edgy, nervous energy percolated through the rooms as a miasma of uneasiness settled on Sunnymede. The
Hendersons didn’t come. They’d lost four million in a ‘sure fire’ investment Theo had convinced them to put their life savings into. The Wentworths lost two million in the
same venture. Others had lost high six-figure sums. There was talk of property crashes in Spain and Dubai, and stocks and shares on the floor, pensions decimated, and fortunes owed to the banks.
Seanie and ‘Fingers’ had come crashing down from their pedestals.
    Theo, behind the façade of hail-fellow well-met bonhomie, was like a tautly strung violin, and Saundra’s Botoxed forehead hid a tension headache that lasted for the entire three
days they were in situ. Things turned nasty when Bert Lewis, the worse for drink, cursed Theo and said he’d lost everything because of his advice and what the hell was he going to do about
it? Drunk, bitter and angry, he said what everyone else was thinking and the party ended abruptly. The guests filtered out with indecent haste, murmuring awkward goodbyes.
    ‘We’ve become outcasts,’ Saundra wailed, as their ‘best friends’ drove away and life as they’d known it came crashing around their ears.
    Sunnymede and the villa in the Algarve were put up for sale as Theo sought to secure his assets by buying property in New England in Saundra’s name. He’d sold most of his stock for
top dollar in a company just before it began its steady and inexorable slide to the bottom, a company he continued to urge his ‘friends’ to invest in even as it went belly-up. There was
talk of insider trading. It didn’t particularly bother him; business was business. There were always risks. But it did bother him that his reputation was ruined. No one in their circle would
ever take advice from him again and slowly, like the tide going out, their former chums withdrew from him and Saundra, and the façade of friendship dropped like icicles melting on the
eves.
    It was a bad time for selling property. While there were many viewers there were no takers. The steamer trunks, sofas, mirrors and distressed picture frames were gone. The house was quite bare.
The price dropped . . . several times. And then, one wintry afternoon, the door opened and a young couple walked in, hand in