Capital

addition to her life was her dog Rufus, a Yorkshire Terrier who was now three months old, and who was friendly, good-natured, not very bright, and the only living thing who seemed excited at the idea of being in Mary’s company. Now, as Zbigniew came up to the door, Rufus first ran to it, then back to Mary to check that she was aware of what was going on – come quick, developments! – and then back to the front door to yap at the prospective intruder. Keeping Rufus in position with her foot – which wasn’t hard, since the dog was mainly showing off his keenness – Mary opened the door.
    The Polish builder was carrying a battered old brown suitcase. As he usually did, he shook Mary’s hand very formally. ‘I am grateful to you for agreeing to see me with so little warning,’ said Zbigniew.
    ‘Come in,’ said Mary. The roof has fallen in. One of my co-workers has been killed in an accident. I stayed the week at my girlfriend’s house and squatters have taken over your property. I have forged your signature on legal documents and 42 Pepys Road is now mine. The house has burned down in a fire and I wanted to tell you in person. Over the months working at your mother’s old house I have come to know you and love you as a person: please run away with me. But the builder’s manner did not correspond with any of those propositions. He looked preoccupied, but he did not look like the bearer of catastrophic news.
    ‘Tea?’ said Mary, gesturing towards the sitting room.
    ‘Is there a possibility of coffee?’
    ‘Coffee,’ said Mary. She went out and bustled in the kitchen while he waited in the sitting room. When she came back he was still standing by the window, looking at the largely featureless driveway, still holding the suitcase. Mary poured the coffee, sat down, and gestured for him to sit too. Then she waited.
    ‘Mrs Leatherby,’ said Zbigniew. ‘This is not easy to explain. It is better if I simply show you.’ He turned the suitcase to face her and opened it. Zbigniew watched her face.
    ‘Five hundred thousand pounds,’ he said.
    Afterwards, Mary always remembered how quickly she had realised what had happened. It was not a process that took time. She just simply and immediately knew. It helped that she recognised the suitcase. Yes, that was it, it all flowed from the suitcase. Dad, cash, suitcase, hiding place, sudden death, builder finds it, not sure what to do, fesses up. She got it straight away. It was obvious what had happened – he’d found the money and had then had no idea what to do with it. Mary knew what that felt like.
    It had been interesting to hear about the secret compartment. Her father had of course been handy, in his miserish way. He had no enjoyment of DIY but his passion for saving money was so keen he did it anyway. So he had evidently built himself this hideaway. It would have been in character for him to plan a big revelation, almost certainly as a way of winning an argument. No doubt his fantasy went something like this: Petunia would say something about the need for security in old age, some money to supplement the pension which would be not all that generous during his life and would be less so after his death. She would say something about his needing to make more provision, he would goad her by talking about how you couldn’t trust anyone in the financial services industry, how they were all thieves, she would grow upset, he would then produce the suitcase and make his big revelation: see how I have provided for you. I may be cranky, but I’m not stupid. He would show her the money, the savings he had squirrelled away in cash, under the bed or somewhere, over years and years. And Petunia would be tearful and forgiving and apologetic and furious, all at once. That was the effect her father had had. Except that it hadn’t happened like that. It was lucky he hadn’t lived to see what happened after his death. He’d have been furious.
    After the Pole went, Mary just sat there. It was a nice day, getting dark around five, and Alan made full use of it, coming home from the golf course only after nightfall. He had found Mary sitting downstairs with all the lights off, so much in the dark that she’d given him a shock, a hell of a shock, when he saw her.
    ‘Crikey,’ he said. ‘What’s up?’
    ‘Good game?’ asked Mary.
    ‘Not bad. Got a bit stuck afterwards, he was droning on about his bloody in-laws again. It’s amazing the way he can repeat himself word