The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1507 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I hardly remember driving home and Si was naturally worried about his car but in no fit state to drive it, so I promised to drive him back if necessary tomorrow morning. We got home in the wee sma’ ‘oors, had a hot drink and went to bed. I was still very tired the next morning when the children woke me, but I slipped out of bed got them breakfast and told them on no account to bother their father.

Then against my better judgement I was about to ask Stella to come with me to Sussex to collect Si’s car when Tom appeared. Okay, he’s hardly Jensen Button but he’s a competent driver, so I asked him instead. He drove me in his Freelander, after I took Simon’s spare keys and we chatted happily most of the journey much of it about the courses he wanted me to run.

I asked him if he’d heard anything bad about the bank and he said he hadn’t, however when we put the radio on for the news at ten o’clock, there was a story, twenty per cent had been wiped off the bank’s shares through a mistake in some investments which had gone wrong.

I listened to Henry saying that he was sure the bank would recover and asking deposit holders and investors to keep faith with them. Robert Peston, the BBC business editor reckoned the bank had lost over a billion pounds in the past twenty four hours and that there were talks about mergers and so on. I hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.

We got to Beachy head and I collected Simon’s car and we drove to the pub and had a hot drink before starting back. Tom told me to carry on, he’d tootle along in his own inimitable way and I could fly along if I wanted. Because the car meant so much to Simon I was actually quite nervous of driving it.

Once I was back on decent roads, ie the A27, I did up the speed a little and fair flew along until I spotted the police car up ahead of me. He pulled me over and with my heart fluttering I stopped and got out of the car.

“Is this your car, madam?” he asked in the noise of the traffic belting past.

“No, it’s my husband’s.”

“I see, could I have your name, please.”

“Certainly, it’s Catherine Cameron.”

“Right, that’s fine, the car is registered as being owned by Simon, Lord Cameron, so you must be Lady Cameron?”

“I am,” I said politely but felt like asking if he’d worked it out by himself.

“Do you have any ID on you, because this car was reported parked by Beachy Head last night.”

I showed him my driving licence and he looked at it carefully. “You’ve changed your hair colour?”

“Yes, I’m usually mousey.”

“Suits you. Can you tell me why the car was parked there overnight?”

“My husband drove out that way last night and was taken ill, I collected him in my car and came back this morning to get his car.”

“Okay, Lady Cameron, just doing my job.”

“I appreciate that, the number of cars stolen each year.”

He smiled and told me to continue my journey and wished Simon a speedy recovery. I thanked him and set off again, only to be passed by Tom as I waited to enter the traffic stream. He didn’t stay ahead of me for long although I did keep an eye on my speed and for traffic cops.

When I got home I recognised Henry’s car in the drive. He and Simon were having a private conversation in my study—I suspect we all knew what it was likely to be about. I was mostly concerned that if he was reprimanding Simon, that he’d undermine what I’d managed to do last night.

I made a light lunch and when Henry appeared, invited him to stay and eat. He thanked me but said he had to return to London post haste. I then asked him how Simon was, given he’d taken it so much to heart.

“I’m glad he did, he lost us half a billion pounds yesterday.”

“On the radio they said a billion,” I wasn’t sure who to believe.

“Yeah, they rounded it up to the nearest whole billion, silly buggers—it tend to undermine what steps we take to correct things and then spineless investors start removing their savings, even though the Chancellor said they would back the bank if necessary.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked.

“Only keep that idiot son of mine out from under my feet while I sort out this mess.”

“I’d have thought you’d want him to help do that, after all he’s made you loads of money over the years.”

“Who told you that? Him? I thought so. He makes money by doing what I tell him to. This time he went off on his own and it came crashing down on his head, so I’ve suspended him—there’ll need to be an enquiry.”

“Oh.” I was devastated by this revelation.

“I appreciate what you did for him last night. He might be a right royal pain in the arse, but he’s still my son. Keep him safe, Cathy.”

“How long will he be off?”

“Until I say otherwise. Sometimes you have to be a tough parent to keep them safe.”

I smiled at him.

“You know that one already by the look of it. I have to go, hopefully this will sort itself out by Monday and I can start recovering the deficit.”

“What did he do?”

“He tried to buy a small American bank, which went belly up as soon as he bought the shares.”

“Isn’t that tantamount to fraud?”

“Absolutely, but we’ll probably have to go to court to get the money back, and that could take months if not years.”

Henry left and I went to see Simon. He was sitting in my chair staring at a photo of the children I have on my desk. “How d’you feel?”

“Crap—the bastard suspended me.”

“On pay or not?”

“On pay.”

“I think he was within his rights to do so.”

“But if I could have had a bit of time I’m sure I could have sorted things.”

“Perhaps you could, but that decision has been taken from you, so stop fretting and relax for a couple of days. Then start to plan what you would have done to correct things. Write it all down and I’ll make sure Henry sees it.”

“You should have let me jump last night.”

“And what would I do with two Jaguars?”

“Can we go and collect it?”

“Tom and I did so earlier, it’s outside.”

The pig actually checked—I felt like suspending him too—on a rope from the beam in the garage. Shit, what am I saying? I love this man to bits, I’d never hurt him.

“Cathy, there’s a dirty mark all along the nearside, what have you done to my car?”

“You what?” Hurt him?—I’ll bloody kill him with my bare hands, ungrateful twit.