The Money Makers Read Free Page B

will to make everything better.’
    ‘Don’t be silly, Josie. It’s awful for all of us. The old bastard’s probably laughing himself sick,’ said Matthew. He had sympathy for his mother, but his sympathy for himself was very much greater. Matthew’s broad, good­ looking face was puckered up into a boyish scowl. His cupid’s-bow mouth pouted in an eight-year-old’s sulk.
    ‘He’s not an old bastard. He’s our dead father,’ said Josephine.
    ‘Of course he’s our father,’ said Matthew. ‘None of us wished him dead and all of us would bring him back if we could. But we all know that he was a bastard when alive, and he certainly acted the bastard in his death. And face it. He’s succeeded. He’s screwed up my life. He’s screwed up your life. He’s screwed things up for all of us, not just Mum.’
    ‘You mean we’ll all have to earn a living like every other person in the world.’ Josephine’s voice was high and tense. She knew Matthew spoke the truth, yet she thought it wrong to speak ill of their dead father only days after laying him in his grave. And, despite every­ thing, in his own infuriating way, he had loved them.
    ‘Oh come on, Josie,’ said Matthew, unable to keep his voice from whining. ‘It’s like being imprisoned. None of us has ever really expected to earn our livings, and now we’re going to be locked up like everyone else in tedious jobs, suits, mortgages, pension plans, and all the rest of it. It’s a life sentence.’
    ‘You’ve got a job with that American investment bank, Madison, haven’t you? That’s not so bad.’
    ‘It’s not a proper job, just a summer job. I need to finish my economics degree before I look for anything permanent. And Madison won’t have me back. I only took the job because Dad made me, and I haven’t done a stroke of work since arriving.’
    ‘You’re talented enough-’
    ‘Of course I’ll find something eventually, but that’s not what I expected, or any of us. It’s a life sentence, Josie, and it’s what that bastard wanted.’
    Tears rose to Matthew’s eyes as he spoke. He had a vision of his future as it should have been - leisured, pleasured and easy - and of his future as it now was: leaden, penniless and hard. He’d toil away for forty years and his reward would be this: that he’d have enough cash to avoid cold and hunger in his old age. George saw Matthew’s tears and moved the conversation forwards, giving his brother the opportunity to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand.
    ‘You’re right,’ grunted George. ‘But I’m worse off. I’ve got seven lousy O-Levels. I was chucked out of school. I’ve never done a day’s work in my life. I’ve got a couple of thousand quid in my current account, I’ve got my car, and that’s it. My flat’s rented. If I look for a job, I’ll be lucky to get something stacking shelves.’
    He wasn’t exaggerating. George had been expelled from Sedbergh for holding a champagne party for a dozen friends, mostly female, in his housemaster’s sit­ ting room. His housemaster had arrived back early from a weekend away to find the music blaring, the lights blazing, and champagne ringmarks all over the fine antiques it had been his life’s passion to collect. George’s education had finished that very night and, without regrets, he’d plunged straight into the life of the international playboy. He mixed with the young, rich and idle from Europe and the States, rotating between the ski slopes of Gstaad, the yacht clubs of the Riviera, the grouse moors of Scotland, and the glittering parties of London, Paris and New York. The one talent that George had developed to the full was getting money out of his father. For some reason, Bernard Gradley paid up for George’s extravagances with a freedom none of the others enjoyed. The others put it down to their physical similarity: the same heavy build, the same ginger hair and piggy eyes. George himself didn’t bother to question his