Permissible Limits by Graham Hurley Read Free Book Online Page A

edge of Jersey airport, but this was the first time I’d realised that we were underwriting his business expansion plans. Adam, it’s true, had once suggested that we take some kind of stake in his company, convinced that servicing classic warbirds would be immensely profitable, but when I’d said no, I’d assumed that would be the end of it.
    ‘ So what happened?’ I asked. ‘To Steve?’
    ‘ He had a fire. A week or so back.’
    ‘ Serious?’
    ‘ Serious enough. He was working on Harvey Glennister’s Spitfire. Apparently there’s not very much of it left.’
    It was my turn to stare. Harvey Glennister was a Lloyd’s broker who dabbled in warbirds, one of a growing number of the new rich for whom a classic fighter like the Spitfire had become the ultimate fashion accessory.
    Dennis had started on another bread roll. He said he was amazed I hadn’t known about the fire.
    ‘ Didn’t Adam tell you?’
    ‘ No.’ I frowned. ‘Maybe he didn’t know.’
    ‘ Come on, Ellie.’ Dennis barked with laughter. ‘He was over here for most of last week. He was in and out of that hangar, I know he was. There are scorch marks up to the ceiling. Part of the roof practically melted. Hell, I was up there myself a couple of days ago. Even then you could still smell it.’ He picked up the bank form, then let it flutter to the table. ‘Not know? With a third of a million quid at stake? Are you kidding?’
    I could feel a deep chill inside me. This was news I didn’t want to hear, not from Dennis, not from anybody. Adam forging my signature was bad enough. This was even worse.
    I leaned forward, sparing Dennis the obvious question, knowing I had to confront it.
    ‘ So why didn’t he tell me?’
    ‘ About the Spitfire?’
    ‘ About everything.’
    ‘ Pass.’
    The waiter arrived with the food. After Dennis had finished telling me about Steve, I couldn’t face the scallops.
    ‘ So he wasn’t insured? Is that what you’re saying?’
    ‘ Yep, more or less. There were certain things he saved on. That was one of them. He’s got insurance, of course he has, but nothing like enough.’
    ‘ So where does that leave him?’
    ‘ He’ll be down for the Spitfire. Or most of it.’
    ‘ And how much is that?’
    ‘ Half a million, probably more. It’s early days but I went through some stuff he faxed me this morning. Bottom line, he’s stuffed. Here. I’ll show you -’
    His hand was back in the briefcase. I told him not to bother.
    ‘ Your chips are cold,’ I said briskly. ‘Let’s go and talk to Steve.’
    Back in the car, Dennis tallied the worst-case options. If the damage to the Spitfire was as bad as he suspected, and if the insurance situation was indeed the way Steve had described it, then Liddell Engineering - on the most optimistic assessment - was effectively bust. No business working on a £300,000 secured bank loan could afford to absorb a bill the size that Harvey Glennister would be sending in.
    ‘ Secured?’ The word sounded like a death knell.
    ‘ Yeah, on you.’
    ‘ You mean Old Glory.’
    ‘ No, you. Your assets.’
    ‘ What assets?’ I laughed. Dennis and I had been through almost exactly this conversation only a year or so ago. On that occasion it had been the Mustang rebuild that had plunged us into debt and it was only with Harald’s help that we’d emerged intact. Since then, a great deal of hard work plus a growing reputation in the States had won us a modest credit balance at the bank, but this - all too obviously - was now history. Thanks to Steve Liddell, Old Glory was back in deep, deep trouble.
    I glanced across at Dennis. Over the last couple of years, at his insistence, I’d learned to find my way around a balance sheet. Figures no longer terrified me. Only their consequences.
    ‘ So exactly how is the loan secured?’ I asked him.
    ‘ On the house.’
    I nodded. The house carried a £110,000 mortgage. On a rising market, if we were very lucky, we might get