The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1434 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

“Are you still mad at me?” I asked him cuddling against him in bed and rubbing Mr Happy gently with my fingers.

“You’re not going to get round me like you usually do,” he said but we both knew it was out of his hands and into mine–literally.

“I’m sorry it upset you but they were desperate.”

“If they’d come in and spoken with their local branch I’m sure something could have been arranged which suited them better. We’re not monsters you know.”

“What’s this then,” I giggled and closed my hand.

The trouble with Simon is that he’s easily influenced–especially by little ol’ me. He forgave me–well that was a foregone conclusion, I did have to work a bit for it but so what. In the end everyone was happy–the bank would get their money, the Patels kept their shop and Si–well, I’m not going to tell you everything, am I?

He was asleep in post orgasmic bliss–I was still awake, washing myself afterwards had woken me up–I’d have quite liked to read but I didn’t want to disturb my lord and master–did I?

Banking is going through a tough time at the moment, and although we won’t go bust, Simon is having to work very hard for his money and that includes making some very difficult decisions–like reducing the workforce and making savings in any area they could.

They still made a profit of over a billion pounds, but that was down on last year and they do have some shareholders, although most of the shares are owned by the family. I wasn’t aware that I was one of the shareholders but apparently I am–just as well their accountant does my tax forms. I’d seen his associate, a nice young woman called Jill White who informed me I was quite a wealthy woman in my own right.

“I know I’ve got several properties and they bring in an income, and I have the salary from the bank, and a little from the university for the survey work I do, what else is there?”

“Your shares.”

“Shares? I don’t have any shares–do I?” If I did it was news to me.

“Yes the bank made you a gift of them when you married Simon–it’s a strange arrangement, you can’t sell them except back to the bank and that’s at a knock-down price, but you get to keep their income and any dividends.”

“Do I?”

“Yes the bank gives you more every year on your birthday.”

“Since when?” this was news to me.

“Since you married; it’s something all family members receive.”

“Will my children?”

“Only when they reach twenty one, until then the bank makes payments to a trust for each of them, and your sister in law’s children as well.”

“I knew nothing of this.”

She called up a screen and each of my kids had trust funds of over ten thousand pounds, except Catherine–being so young she had the starter of a couple of thousand.

“And your assets,” she changed the screen and I looked at the figures.

“These are wrong–surely?”

“No–they’re absolutely correct–it updates by the day and the figure on the bottom is the amount of tax you are liable for.” I gasped, that was bigger than I thought I owned.

“I’m paying that much tax?”

“Yes, twenty thousand pounds give or take a little, but that’s on an income of nearly two hundred thousand.”

“Two hundred thousand?”

“Yes, with personal assets of one million two hundred and seven thousand–not including your properties-which of course would be liable to capital gains if you sell any except the one you live in.”

I suddenly felt quite sick. I was sitting on this fortune which was accumulating faster than I could spend it, and this was the first time I could see what Simon and Henry had set up for me.

My parents had left me their house and an accumulated amount of about a hundred thousand pounds–so in my eyes I was quite well off. Simon had offered to invest it for me and had turned that into five times what I gave him, and that was after tax. Our family was paying off the national debt.

“How much have the bank given me?” I asked and she pulled up a different screen, she showed me the shares and what they were worth, the price I’d get back from the bank if I disposed of them–that was nearly half a million–okay, I’d get hammered for tax–but I did nothing for that–except marry Simon, and most days I’d pay for that myself.

“Simon is pretty well a genius at making investment profit–which in this day and age is a great asset–you realise that several US banks have offered him a salary of ten million to go over to them and he turns them down.”

“Simon–my Simon–ten million? Jeez.”

“He’s very old fashioned in his loyalties to the family firm without him they’d not do half as well.”

I was shocked–I was married to the financial equivalent of Superman, someone with the Croesus touch, a veritable alchemist–and yet he remained as down to earth as anyone I’d ever met–more than some.

“The way he’s set this up for you–anything you don’t use in your accounts is invested usually in bonds with a guaranteed return. So by not spending too much your account is accumulating–thirty thousand this year–and you won’t be taxed on them until next year because that’s when the interest is due, then your ISAs–they’re stuffed to the maximum–and of course there’s no interest payable on that. At the current rate of enhancement, you should have several million in your account by the time you retire.”

I couldn’t believe it–me, someone who isn’t turned on by money was stinking rich–at least by my standards. I needed to think about things. I thanked Jill, signed my tax return and authorised the payment due by the end of July.

That was two weeks ago, it still disturbed me–millions were starving and I was rolling in it. I spoke with Simon, who of course knew all about it. Part of me felt irritated, he practically knew how much I had in my purse and his income was a secret to me.

He seemed to know that I was holding this small resentment and he told me to guess at how much he earned. I knew the guy from Barclays was the highest paid bank man–apparently, Henry was next, then the bloke from HSBC and then my little Simon. He earned two million pounds last year with a similar amount in bonuses.

I was astonished then angry–it was ridiculous and I told him so. He then explained how many people were involved in helping him spend it. He gave away a fortune to charities and apparently, he’d taken over the ownership of the castle and estates. Henry was wanting to sell them so Simon bought them off him for a peppercorn–it costs him over a million a year to maintain plus any losses the estate makes.

“Why didn’t you tell me about all this?” I asked him when he did tell me.

“Why? You’re worried by it aren’t you?”

“Of course, I mean it’s like film stars and other overpaid types.”

“Cathy, I keep over a hundred people in employment in Scotland.”

“Oh, okay–I’ll shut up then.”

“It all sounds very feudal, but it isn’t–well okay, it is, but it’s a benign sort–I employ two people to make sure the others are well looked after. I make them work, but that keeps them happier and they do produce some income, but there’s a shortfall every year. It’s a drain really and one day we may have to sell it but it’s been in the family since fifteen something, so I’d hate to be the one who betrayed his ancestors–some have gone to great lengths to protect it.”

“Like what?”

“Murder, treason–is that enough?”

“Yeah–don’t tell me any more–I’ll feel haunted the next time I go to Scotland.”

“Like the castle.”

So–here I am–Bonny Prince Simon is zonked and I’m worrying about having too much money, while he’s exhausted trying to keep what assets the bank has increasing enough to keep shareholders happy. Boy, why did I have to inherit a conscience–life would be so much easier without it.