Nice legs, shame about the face, though. Ted Barlow was no hunk from the neck up. His nose was too big, his ears stuck out, his eyebrows met in the middle. But his eyes looked kind, with laughter lines radiating out from them. I put him in his mid-thirties, and he didn't seem to have spent too many of those years in an office, if his body language was anything to go by. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, a nervous smile not making it as far as the gentle blue eyes.

'Come in, sit down,' I said, standing up and gesturing towards the two exquisitely comfortable leather and wood chairs I'd bought for the clients in a moment of uncharacteristic kindness. He moved uncertainly into the office and stared at the chairs as if not entirely certain he would fit in to them. Thank you, Shelley,' I said pointedly as she continued to hang around by the door. She left, reluctantly for once.

Ted lowered himself into the chair and, surprised by the comfort, relaxed slightly. They always work, those chairs. Look like hell, feel like heaven. I pulled a new-client form towards me and said, 'I need to take a few details, Mr… Barlow, so we can see if we can give you the help you need.' Shelley might be besotted, but I wasn't giving an inch without good cause. I got the phone numbers and the address – an industrial estate in Stockport – then asked how he'd come to hear of us. I prayed he'd picked us out of Yellow Pages so I could dump him without offending anyone except Shelley, but clearly, wiping out Vohaul's hit man was to be my sole success of the day.

'Mark Buckland at SecureSure said you'd sort me out,' he said.

'You know Mark well, do you?' Foolishly, I was still hanging on to hope. Maybe he only knew Mark because SecureSure had fitted his burglar alarm. If so, I could still give him the kiss-off without upsetting the substantial discount that Mark gives us on all the hardware we order from him.

This time, Ted's smile lit up his face, revealing the same brand of boyish charm I get quite enough of at home, thank you. 'We've been mates for years. We were at school together. We still play cricket together. Opening batsmen for Stockport Viaduct, would you believe?'

I swallowed the sigh and got down to it. 'What exactly is the problem?'

'Well, if s the bank. I got this from them this morning,' he said, tentatively holding out a folded sheet of paper.

I put him out of his misery and took it from him. He looked as if I'd taken the weight of the world off his broad shoulders. I opened it up and ploughed through the mangled verbiage. The bottom line was he had £74,587.34 outstanding on a £100,000 loan and an overdraft of £6,325.67. The Royal Pennine Bank wanted their money back pronto, or they'd seize his home and his business. And their associate finance company would be writing to him separately, basically to tell him his punters wouldn't be stiffing them for any more loans either. And I thought my bank manager wrote stroppy letters. I could see why Ted was looking gutted. 'I see,' I said. 'And do you have any idea why they wrote this letter?'

He looked confused. 'Well, I rang them up as soon as I got it, like you would. And they said they couldn't discuss it on the phone, would I come in to see them. So I said I'd go in this morning. It wasn't my local branch, you see; all the little branches come under the big branch in Stockport now, so I didn't know the bloke who'd signed the letter or anything.' He paused, waiting for something.

I nodded and smiled encouragingly. That seemed to do the trick.

'Well, I went in, like I said, and I saw the chap that signed the letter. And I asked him what it was all about, and he said that if I checked my paperwork, I would see that he wasn't obliged to give me a reason. Right stuffed shirt, he was. Then he said he wasn't at liberty to discuss the bank's confidential reasons for their decision. Well, I wasn't happy with that, no way, because I've not missed a single payment on that loan, not in the four months I've had it, and I've reduced the overdraft by four grand over the last six months. I told him, I said, you're not being fair to me. And he just shrugged and said he was sorry.' Ted's voice rose in outrage. I could see why.

'So what happened then?' I prompted.

'Well, I'm afraid I lost my rag a bit, you know? I told him he wasn't bloody sorry at all, and that I wasn't going to leave matters there. Then I walked out.'

I struggled to keep a straight face. If that was Ted's idea of losing his rag a bit, I could see that someone like Shelley was just what he needed. 'You must have some idea of what's behind this, Mr… Barlow,” I prodded.

He looked genuinely baffled as he shook his head. 'I haven't a clue. I've always given the bank what they were due when it were due. This loan, I took it out so I could expand the business. We've just moved into a new industrial unit at Cheadle Heath, but I knew business was going well enough to pay back the loan on time.'

'Are you sure your orders haven't dropped back because of the recession and the bank's not just taking safety precautions?' I hazarded.

He shook his head, his hand nervously heading for his jacket pocket. He stopped, guiltily. 'Is it all right if I smoke?' he asked.

'Go right ahead,' I responded. I got up to fetch him an ashtray. “You were saying? About the effects of the recession?'

He dabbed his cigarette nervously at his lips. 'Well, to be honest, we've not seen it. I think what's happening is that people who've been trying to sell their houses have kind of given up on the idea and decided to go for some improvements to the places they're in already. You know, loft conversions for extra bedrooms, that kind of thing? Well, a lot of them go for conservatories, to give them an extra reception room, especially if they've got teenage kids. I mean, if a conservatory's double glazed and you stick a radiator in, it's as warm as a room in the house in the winter. Our business is actually up on this time last year.'

I dragged out of him that he specialized in attaching conservatories to newish properties on the kind of estates where double-glazing salesmen used to graze like cattle. That way, he only ever had to produce a handful of designs in a few standard sizes, thus cutting his overheads to a minimum. He also concentrated on a relatively compact area: the south-west side of Manchester and over to Warrington new town, the little boxes capital of the North West. The two salesmen he employed brought in more than enough orders to keep the factory busy, Ted insisted.

'And you're absolutely positive that the bank gave you no idea why they are foreclosing?' I demanded again, reluctant to believe they had been quite so bloody-minded.

He nodded, uncertainly, then said, 'Well, he said something I didn't understand.'

'Can you remember exactly what that was?' I asked in the tone of voice one uses with a particularly slow child.

He frowned as he struggled to remember. It was like watching an elephant crochet. 'Well, he did say there was an unusual and unacceptably high default rate on the remortgages, but he wouldn't say any more than that.'

'The remortgages?'

'People who can't sell their houses often remortgage to get their hands on their capital. They use the conservatory as the excuse for the remortgage. But I don't understand what that’s got to do with me,' he said plaintively.

I wasn't altogether sure that I did. But I knew a man who would. I wasn't excited by Ted Barlow's story, but I'd wrapped up the pharmaceuticals case in less time than I'd anticipated, so the week was looking slack. I thought it wouldn't kill me to play around with his problem for a day or two. I was about to ask Ted to let Shelley have a list of his clients over the last few months when he finally grabbed my attention.