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Desperate Measures
Sara Craven
Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.
Table of Contents
‘BUT THIS TREATMENT is totally revolutionary! The specialist says it could make all the difference to Daddy—that it might even cure him permanently. But it’s expensive, and it’s in America, and we just don’t have that kind of money.’
Philippa Roscoe leaned forward, her hazel eyes fixed pleadingly on her former stepmother’s unresponsive face. ‘Monica, you’re the only one I can turn to. Help us—please!’
‘It’s quite impossible.’ Lady Underhay shook her head with finality. ‘I haven’t access to unlimited funds, Philippa, and I certainly can’t ask Lennox for money to go to my ex-husband.’ She flushed, looking self-conscious. ‘He’s always been—a little jealous of Gavin.’
‘They were business partners once.’
‘But that was some time ago. And anyway, Lennox feels the board was more than generous when Gavin left—deserted them in that absurd way to go off and paint.’ Monica’s lips became set. ‘Deserted me, as well.’
You were the one who left! Philippa wanted to cry out. You were the one who wouldn’t risk your lifestyle to let Daddy fulfil his dream. And now here you are, once more, living in the lap of luxury.
But she said none of it. Across the years, she could remember her father’s face, haggard with the strain, his voice telling her huskily, ‘You mustn’t blame Monica, sweetheart, and you mustn’t be bitter either. I’m trying not to be. She loved us, in her way, but she can’t do without money and comfort. She needs it as other people need air to breathe. And, inevitably, she’ll go where money is. Lennox will treat her well. They have a mutual regard for material possessions and security.’
Looking round the elegant drawing-room, Philippa could well believe it. The sale of any of the pictures and antiques it contained would have paid for Gavin Roscoe’s treatment.
‘Anyway, I understood that your father had been quite successful at this precious painting of his. Can’t he produce a few more pictures—pot-boilers or something, to finance his own treatment?’ Monica looked restively at her watch.
Philippa shook her head, thankful that Gavin couldn’t hear her. ‘The disease—or rather the virus that caused it—attacked the muscles on his right side first. He has—difficulty using his hand, so he can’t paint any more.’
Monica bit deeply into the coral curve of her lower lip. ‘I—see. Well, that is tragic, but of course, if he’d remained with the firm, there’d have been private health insurance to cover this kind of eventuality.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, my dear, I really am, but there’s nothing I can do.’
Philippa’s hands twisted together in her lap, the knuckles white. ‘Monica, I’ve got to get that money somehow. I’ve got to make sure Daddy has this chance before it’s too late. The specialist says if there’s any more muscle wastage …’ She paused, her voice breaking. ‘I’ll do anything—agree to any terms you offer. I’ll pay the loan back, if it takes the rest of my life, but I’ve got to have it. If you ever cared for Daddy at all, please help me to think of some way.’
Monica flushed again. ‘Naturally I cared. But what you ask is out of the question.’ She paused. ‘Have you approached some financial institution?’
‘I tried, but I had nothing to use as collateral for a loan. I can’t even guarantee there’ll be a lasting cure, or that Daddy will ever be able to paint again.’
‘What a pity Gavin didn’t make some provision for the future before throwing up his business career in that crazy way.’ Monica’s tone was short.
‘He couldn’t know he was going to be ill,’ Philippa protested. ‘He was so well up to that winter—happier than he’d ever been …’ She stopped guiltily, aware that her words were singularly infelicitous, and saw by the tightening of Lady Underhay’s facial muscles that she thought so too.
‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘Lennox will be home at any minute, and I’d as soon he didn’t find you here. We’re entertaining this evening—the head of De Courcy International, as it happens—and there are things I must do.’ She paused. ‘I’m sincerely sorry I can’t help, Philippa, but there’s really nothing I can suggest.’ She hesitated again. ‘Surely there must be similar treatment available in this country on the National Health Service, for instance?’
‘No, as I’ve told you this is completely new. In fact, it’s still at the experimental stage,’ Philippa said tonelessly, rising in her turn. ‘I’m sorry to have troubled you. You were my last hope.’
As she turned to the door, it opened and Lennox Underhay came in. He checked at the sight of her.
‘Philippa, isn’t it? How are you?’ His smile was polite but unenthusiastic, and the look he threw his wife was questioning.
‘She has to rush away, darling,’ Monica intercepted hastily. She put her arm through Philippa’s. ‘I’ll see you out, my dear.’
Her