For Richer For Poorer

By Dawn Pitts

Harold and Samantha Thornton had been married for thirty-years and had finally reached the ‘upper crust’ of society, only to lose everything they had ever worked for by a decision of a financial guru on the other side of the nation.Harold and Samantha Thornton had been married for thirty-years and had finally reached the ‘upper crust’ of society, only to lose everything they had ever worked for by a decision of a financial guru on the other side of the nation.
Merle Hopkins, Samantha’s mother is an interfering and manipulating woman, who blames her daughter, Samantha, for the death of her young brother, Billy.
Jacinta, their daughter marries an American professor.
Their son is in the British Police force and works as an under-cover agent and his parents are unsure if he is involved in the rescue of a high profile politician’s wife, who has been kidnapped and taken to a secluded farm in Ireland.
Follow the lives of Harold and Samantha Thornton as they come to grips with the sudden change in their lives and the people they meet on the journey of rehabilitation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dawn Pitts
• Release date: Aug 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370148714

Dawn Pitts

My writing career began in 1999 when I was led to write a children's book. A few years earlier I was working as a Library Assistant in a high school and soon discovered that a number of young teenagers had reading difficulties and that there was no suitable material for them to read. This was the seed that grew a few years later when I was walking regularly in an effort to lose weight when I heard a voice tell me to write a children's book. My reaction was, "No way. I'm not good at that sort of thing and where would I start." Feeling smug I continued home and tried to put the idea out of my mind. A few days later the Reader's Digest arrived in the letterbox and in it was a course for Writing for Children. I almost died."Over the next six months I completed the course and then had the confidence to join a local writing group. Since then I've have had success entering both local and national competitions. I now teach classes as a volunteer and enjoy passing the knowledge on to other authors.I have three adult children and five adult grandchildren.

Book preview

FOR RICHER, FOR POORER

By Dawn Pitts

ISBN

This book is copyright and apart from any fair dealing for criticism or review under the COPYRIGHT ACT, no part may be reproduced by any process without written permission.

FOR RICHER, FOR POORER

Copyright © 2005

An Author

No author writes a novel without assistance from others, be it from television programmes, library research, newspaper articles, information from individuals, or ideas provided from the world we live in.

Thank you to all sources of input, no matter how great or small.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my sisters Heather and Valma, who encouraged me to keep writing when I had almost given up.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

About Dawn Pitts

An Author

Connect With Dawn Pitts

Other Books by Dawn Pitts

Dedication

FOR RICHER, FOR POORER

By Dawn Pitts

CHAPTER ONE

Samantha Thornton watched her husband push the food around his plate, eating little. She too only showed a pretence of eating as the horror of it all swept through her mind repeatedly as she tried to take it in. She excused herself from the table and walked to the bedroom. Harold watched his beautiful wife glide away. Her hips moving with each step taunted him. How he would love to hold her close and kiss the nightmare away. He followed her hoping to give some comfort. What do you mean…you’ve lost the house? Samantha’s long fingers covered her painted lips as she gasped in horror and gazed in disbelief at her husband across the bedroom. She felt the old long-forgotten tightness form in her stomach caused by worry of where the money would come from to feed the family, but that was years ago when David and Jacinta were only small children. This was her world now. Samantha sat on her queen-size bed looking around her, caressing the soft plush carpet with her bare feet noticing her blue painted toenails sink beneath the pile and stared at her sombre reflection in the floor-to-ceiling, mirrored wardrobes; all designed to hold their vast array of clothing, and accessories. This was reality to her, not the words she was hearing in her mind. They didn’t make sense to her. How could you lose the house? she demanded. Yet in her mind she thought ‘you can’t misplace a house. It’s not something that you can hide.’

It’s just the way it is. It was mortgaged along with the hobby farm in the country. Harold Thornton tried to concentrate as he began to explain their predicament to his wife of thirty years. As he focused on the present situation and fought back the tears, he continued. The alpacas we bred have been included in the assets and will be sold to help pay our creditors. A vision of their twenty-eight acres of lush green paddocks, and thick-coated animals flashed before him. I didn’t want to worry you with the business, as I thought I’d be able to trade out of debt, but now it’s all gone. ‘All gone,’ he repeated in his mind, and wondered what the future would hold for them. ‘They seemed to be so far apart these days…a marriage in name only…the arguments over trivialities…the long periods of silence, how did it all happen? Even their friends asked if they were all right. All right! Ha! What a joke!’

Gone? How can it be gone? What will I say to the neighbours and the ladies at the bridge club, or the golf club, for that matter? It’s not fair. How could you do this to me? It can’t possibly be true. You’ve worked night and day to get this bloody thing off the ground, she screamed as she shook her finger rapidly before him. Her heart began to race as a ball of fear formed a knot in her stomach and she subconsciously picked at an imagined torn fingernail on her perfectly manicured hand.

It is true, I’m afraid, Harold said. Despite the twelve and fourteen-hour days I’ve worked, I’ve failed. The business no longer exists. He rubbed the side of his face to relieve the twitching nerve that her anger and the tension of the day had produced. The tears fell silently to the floor and he swallowed the nauseous lump that had forced its way up the back of his throat. ‘Hell! How did this happen? The $400,000 overdraft was no longer enough to keep the creditors from the door and with one foul swoop of a pen by someone in a corporate office across the other side of the country, he had lost everything. Everything!’

How will I manage my own affairs, and what about my credit card? You know I need new clothes for the club ball next month. Samantha’s mind raced ahead to the important social events that were planned and the committees she was working on. ‘How could she neglect her commitments? I’ve got absolutely nothing to wear,’ she thought. I thought the www.com Internet thing was making millions. It’s so embarrassing, how could you do this to me?

It’s no bloody fun for me right now, either, Samantha. He spat out the words and gesticulated with his right. The years of patience at her lack of understanding and selfish ways almost overwhelmed him. ‘She wasn’t always like this. What happened? When did things change? Couldn’t she remember the early days…how poor they were, yet so much in love?’ he wondered. As for the credit cards, they are all closed. I did that this morning, before I visited the Centrelink Office and registered for unemployment benefits. Harold could hardly believe it himself; his dreams of a publishing business on the Internet were just that, dreams. The tone of his voice, now not much more than a whisper exposed his vulnerability. My dreams have turned into a nightmare, he said with a sneer, in retaliation to her anger.

Samantha slid open the large mirrored door of her wardrobe to reveal the dozen or more expensive evening gowns hanging there. She examined the satin and taffeta gowns with their appliquéd lace. The silkiness of each gown rekindled happy memories of expensive dinners followed by a night of dancing at balls attended by the ‘who’s who’ of society. How she loved the soft rustling sound with each movement that heightened her sensuality, knowing that she was the most beautiful woman there. She savoured the memories, as the cliché ‘Pride comes before a fall,’ raced through her mind. She viewed the matching handbags and shoes neatly arrayed. While in a concealed compartment behind each of the gowns was the jewellery that she had personally designed. Not one of them cost less than three thousand dollars; even so she was still classed as ‘the poor relation’ by some of the social set.

There is not a thing I can wear. I’ve worn that one three times; they’ll think I can’t afford to buy a new….

You can’t….

What do you mean I can’t?

Didn’t you hear what I said? We’re broke. The money’s gone. So has the BMW, the SAAB and the office equipment. All have been repossessed. It was all leased, remember? The hobby farm was used for collateral, because it was the easiest way to set up using the top-of-the-art equipment. The staff…well, they were at Centrelink when I was there. We’ve lost everything. You’re not the only person affected by this bankruptcy.

But my social life….

It’s gone! Forget it! As for the bloody club ball, you can forget that too! We have more important things to worry about, like, looking for a job, a house to rent and moving. Harold shouted. Unless of course; you want to be thrown out on the street, with any chattels we may be left with?

Suddenly she felt her world disappear from her mind, as if some giant vacuum cleaner was drawing it away into a deep dark abyss. Samantha flounced off to her dressing room where she slipped on her sandals, grabbed her handbag and car keys and headed for the lift that took her in air-conditioned comfort to the ground floor and the garage. She was going to go shopping…on the plastic card, of course. She opened the door to the garage.

What the hell! She swore. The garage is empty. She felt the tears build-up along with her anger and disbelief. Her breathing quickened as she wiped her damp hands on her ‘Norman Hartnell’ created slacks.

Of course it is, Harold croaked, surprised at the sound of his voice, as he leant against the wall gasping for air. He had already anticipated her move and by racing down the spiral stairs of the fire escape he had hoped to arrive in the vacant garage before her. He inhaled deeply to control his breathing without much success and hoped that he could control his tears before he demanded, Didn’t you hear a word I said? The valuers will be here tomorrow morning along with the furniture van. Everything in the house of value will go then as well as any duplicate car keys. You were taken to golf this morning and the cars were repossessed while you were gone. He put out his hand to comfort her. She cringed from his touch as her eyes roamed the enormous space before her, and realized that it never appeared so large before today.

Don’t touch me, you bastard, she screamed. The thought of Harold’s touch was more than Samantha could bear. Almost blinded by unshed tears she fled through the open side door to the tranquil atmosphere of the landscaped gardens and manicured lawns at the rear of the town-house estate that led to the ocean.

In her distress she did not notice the small birds, blue wrens and willy-wagtails darting among the shrubs lining the contoured path through the sand dunes to the beach. The dunes were part of a nature strip joining two reserves together. Kangaroos freely roamed from one area to the other.

The change of terrain underfoot, drew her attention to her surroundings. The ocean was unusually calm for this time of the year. She removed her sandals and waded into the cold water and contemplated the future. The water drew her mind into its vastness and tranquillity as she moved slowly forward. The sudden raucous call of a seagull demanding attention from the scavenging flock on the shore behind her brought her back to reality. She turned feeling the coarse sand squelch between her toes and forced her shaking legs to move forward. Shocked by her actions she focused her gaze on the thatch-roofed gazebo a short distance away. She trudged through the soft sand and slumped onto the wooden-slatted seat, twisted sideways and with her head resting on her bent arm across the balustrade Samantha allowed the myriad of thoughts and fears flood her mind. ‘What would she wear to the ball? He’s got to be kidding. We can’t be bankrupt. What about the Bridge Club? And my social engagements? It’s all too hard; it’s like a bad dream!’ Is this how you love me? Samantha screamed to the heavens shaking her fist. Where’s the love of God they preach at us? What have I done that’s so bad? I don’t deserve this I’ve worked hard for years to achieve this social standing. It’s not fair…it’s not fair. She sat in the peacefulness of her surroundings, and stayed there until she became aware of her eyes leaking into a damp twisted handkerchief.

The sinking glow of sunlight dancing over the ocean, shone reflected glare into her eyes and the sleeveless blouse gave her no protection from the sudden cool breeze. She rubbed her bare arms with her long soft fingers and for the first time noticed that her blue-painted fingernails matched her mood.

She would have to return home. Where else could she go? With a heavy heart she slowly walked home aware of the sand rubbing beneath the narrow straps of her expensive sandals as well as between her toes. Ashamed of the fleeting thoughts of suicide and frightened at how easy it would have been. Her tension rose with each step as she wondered how she was expected to react to the present situation. It was completely alien to her…it can’t be true, yet deep down she knew that it was.

Harold had poured himself a stiff drink, and was quietly sipping it as he read the label on the bottle of whisky with its $400 price tag. ‘There’ll be none like this to savour tomorrow, so I may as well enjoy it now,’ he mused with a sly grin. ‘The valuers could decide to accept any bottles of liquor that are open, as my contribution towards any perks that go with the job, so why not drink it, for tomorrow it will be gone, along with the rest of it.’ Harold stared into his expensive drink and recalled the day’s events. It was only a few hours ago that he gazed from his 20th storey office window in disbelief as the removalists gathered his office into their arms and carried his world out through the door.

Mr Thornton, sir. His secretary called. He raised his hand to silence her. "Not now Penny, it is all too hard.

He ran to the office bathroom and heaved the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl, then splashed his face with cold water and rinsed his mouth, using his cupped hand as a drinking vessel. Hell! he exclaimed, how could this happen? It’s all gone...lock, stock and bloody barrel. What now? He asked himself as he sipped the liquid, his thoughts clutched at flashes of the past and there was not a glimmer of an idea for the future. He heard the security door click shut and realised that Samantha had returned.

Don’t say anything, Samantha, I know it is too early to start drinking, but right now I don’t give a damn. If there was anything in the garage to drive I’d be tempted to head for the nearest large tree at great speed. I need something to numb me from the awfulness of it all. Would you like one too?

Why not, she replied. The ocean drew me into its depths and I felt like walking into the vastness of it all and even started to….

Oh, Samantha. Was all he could say as the ramifications of the overall situation seeped into his mind?

How are we going to live, Harold? What about my beautiful clothes? Am I expected to have a garage sale?

Harold nodded his head. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He poured Samantha’s drink before he continued. Mine too. All my suits, shirts and cummerbunds that match each of your gowns, everything of value, clothes, jewellery and paintings…have to go. It’s all classed as assets, and what remains will be used for living, and that includes all the details involved in renting a house and moving in.

That shouldn’t be too difficult, there’ll be nothing to move, Samantha replied sarcastically, through clenched teeth. Bloody hell! I cleaned houses for builders and used-cars for that sleaze-bag dealer for years to end up like this. I don’t even know if David and Jacinta appreciated the hard work that paid for their uni fees. We rarely hear from them these days. It’s all for what? To start all over again?

"Don’t you think I worked hard too? The hours I spent on the road selling garden fittings to hardware stores and spending lonely nights in hotel rooms, studying for my degree in computer software and business management while all the time feeling guilty for not being home with you and the kids. The enormity of his loss penetrated his heart and mind and the tears rolled uncontrolled down his haggard face, causing him to appear older than his fifty-five years.

The incessant ticking of the clock was the only sound that filled the room as Harold and Samantha became lost in their silent world of thoughts and fears that tomorrow would remove all they had worked for. Art works and memorabilia meant nothing to strangers, yet it was their lifetime. A lifetime of memories and experiences for them that spanned more than three decades. Each wondered how they would cope with the future?

The valuer scrutinized each item and jabbed price tags on with a podgy finger before writing the details into a dog-eared notebook. They watched in horror, as their clothes were unceremoniously dumped into cardboard cartons, to go who knows where. The ripping sound of packing tape being pulled and smoothed along the edges of each box irritated their nerves as they watched in disbelief.

Come on Samantha, let them do their job, Harold, cajoled, hardly believing the scene before them, as their belongings were taken from them, without feelings or any show of emotion. Paintings and treasured antiques were labelled and loaded into the removal van. Only personal papers and photo albums, a few kitchen items and half a dozen ballgowns remained along with a few of Harold’s oldest suits. Their whole luxurious world vanished before their eyes. The experience left Harold and Samantha traumatized both physically and emotionally. They would be glad when the day was over and they could see what belongings they had left.

That evening they sat apart on the bare plush carpet resting the local papers on their laps and scouring the real estate pages for a house to rent; there was no joy.

"Where will we go, Harold? Properties of class are so expensive to rent. There is one property that maybe worth a look at. It reads, old fully furnished cottage on the outskirts of town. It is described as a cottage with the charm of yesteryear, just longing for some tender loving care."

Let me look. Is there a photo? Harold enquired.

There is, but all it shows is an overgrown garden and a sad looking fence with some of the pickets broken or missing, and the gate is hanging off its hinges. It looks sad and neglected.

Harold wriggled his way over the carpet towards her tense body, and then peered over Samantha’s shoulder reaching for the paper, his arm pressed into her breast and she moved away from his touch. ‘How our lives have changed. There was a time in their intimacy when he could tenderly caress her soft skin with his lips, but that was months ago.’ Now he felt deeply hurt by Samantha’s reaction.

It does appear to be run down doesn’t it. Who knows, it may be better than it looks. It does say it needs some tender loving care.

More like bulldozing down, Samantha replied with a sneer. How could she live in that dump? She retreated to the bathroom and allowed the tears to flow freely as she tried to relax beneath the hot water abundantly flowing from the chrome showerhead. She wrapped her slender body in a bath sheet and gazed at her haggard face and sunken eyes and shuddered at her reflection. She appeared to have aged ten-years in two days. If only she could turn the clock-back and omit this nightmare. The past and the present blurred into one thought, of what would tomorrow bring?

The crowded bus held schoolchildren on their way to a sports day as each chanted the school song with gusto. The electric train clickety-clacked its way south and the few pre-schoolchildren were allowed to run the length of the carriage uncontrolled.