He should have known it was time to get out when Lehman Brothers closed its sub-prime lender the previous year. Should have known it, he silently upbraided himself. But still, it seemed unthinkable that a bank that size would be allowed to fail. Commentators were talking about the Great Depression. Joe Kennedy had quit the stock market and kept his wealth when a shoeshine boy had given him stock tips. Des should have known the jig was up when their own housekeeper talked about her Fidelity blue-chip fund, and her Citicorp, IBM and US Steel portfolio. Only the ones who had learned the lessons from history would make it, not nouveau riche players like him.
He should have flogged the Florida properties, and his stock, instead of waiting for a last rally. For all his financial knowledge he was no better than a race punter, he thought, disgusted with himself. And wouldn’t old man O’Mahony crow when he found out. Frank would rub his nose in it. Time had not endeared his father-in-law to him, and vice versa, and now he’d have to listen to his bullshit about ‘wise investment’.
Des twisted and turned in the bed, desperate for sleep. He needed his wits about him more now than ever. Decisions had to be made that would salvage something and keep the show on the road.
‘Turn off that Joe Duffy fella – he’s going to cause a panic about the banks. There’ll be a run on them the way he’s going on,’ Hilary urged Jonathan as they sped back to Dublin along the M1 after doing a final inspection on a hotel they had revamped in Newry.
‘I think we’re up shit creek,’ Jonathan said, switching the stations over to Lyric, filling the car with the soaring tones of Cecilia Bartoli.
‘But the regulator has said the banks are fine. The rating agencies gave Anglo Irish A ratings, so what’s going on?’ Hilary proffered a Murray Mint.
‘That regulator guy wouldn’t inspire me with confidence. I don’t think he’s able for the job at all, and Moody’s and S&P and the rest of them are only a shower of chancers,’ Jonathan scoffed. ‘Thank God I sold the apartment last year! They’re talking about soft landings for the economy and the property market. Ha! We’re for it, there’s not going to be anything soft about it, and you just watch out, all the rats are going to desert the sinking ship. And we won’t be doing too many spa hotels any more, either,’ he added glumly. ‘There are too many new hotels out there as it is for an economy that’s on the slide.’
‘Yeah, I think you’re right. Business had certainly tailed off in the last year,’ sighed Hilary. ‘You did well to sell up when you did. We’re going to take a hit on the apartment we bought on the seafront in Clontarf. We just wanted to make sure to have somewhere for the girls in years to come. I don’t think they’re ever going to be able to afford to get on the property ladder.’
‘At least we own our own homes,’ Jonathan comforted her. ‘We can chop firewood and huddle around our log-burning stoves if we can’t afford to pay the heating bills.’ He grinned at her. ‘I’ve got a hotplate on mine too. I can cook a stew on it if needs must, so we won’t starve!’
‘It’s not funny, Jonathan! We’ve a hell of a lot of money in bank shares, especially in Anglo. They were our pensions. We put them in what we thought was the safest possible place. We didn’t friggin’ gamble on high-risk stuff. Do you think we should stop at a bank link and withdraw some cash in case there is a run on the banks? Remember that bank in England that went belly-up a while back?’
‘OK, we can go to one when we hit Dundalk. You can only withdraw six hundred euros in a day though,’ he pointed out.
‘I think I’ll transfer a couple of thousand to the girls’ Post Office or Credit Union accounts when I get home. Just to be sure they have money, in case the banks fail,’ Hilary fretted. The Liveline programme about an imminent banking crisis was scaring her. Millie was working as a chartered accountant in Manchester and Sophie was teaching French and English at the DIT school of languages in Kevin Street, and sharing a house in Portobello. They were happy and independent and she couldn’t wish for more for her daughters. Nevertheless if things were getting rough she wanted to make sure they had money at their back.
‘Imagine, you have a twenty-six-year-old and a twenty-three-year-old,’ Jonathan remarked, switching to cruise control as they drove south across the border, and the standard of the road improved considerably.
‘No need to remind me.’ Hilary threw her eyes up to heaven. ‘Imagine, I’m over fifty! I’m well and truly middle-aged and I have the grey hairs to prove it, and so have you!’
‘Well you disguise them pretty well. You look good for an ould wan, deah!’ Jonathan grinned over at her. ‘That ash-blonde colour suits you.’
‘I had to do something, deah! I was only
