by Neil Wild
“Oh Black is totally disingenuous.” Lisa read from the correspondence again. “He says, ‘It has never been my or this firm’s intention to interfere with your arrangements with the National. The role of this company has always been on a purely independent advisory and consultancy basis for which a separate fee has already been agreed with the National.’ That’s a total lie because the correspondence shows he was getting offers from Skinner and putting them forward.”
“That will really dent his credibility in the witness box.” Said Brakespeare “That’s a pack of lies. He is quite clearly not independent.”
“Sure”, replied Lisa, and she jumped up and down with excitement. “Here are Suttons trying to kill the offer. They say that they can only recommend the National to accept the offer if the buyers immediately sign a contract and pay a 10 % deposit. Then we have a letter from Black to Skinner, saying nothing about signing a contract, but telling him that Suttons are going back to the person who has offered £1.75 million to see if he will increase the offer.”
She turned the pages as the story unravelled.
“Walters of the National wants to know who the buyer is, and is told by Black that the name will be revealed once the National have confirmed in writing that the offer is acceptable. He also implies that he has done a deal with Suttons on commission – ‘we have agreed terms upon which the offer may be accepted’. That’s also untrue”
“What happens then?”
Lisa laughed and stood back. Suttons come back with a counter offer also of £1.86 million, and the correspondence with the National on the property ends.”
Brakespeare sat back in his chair. “Two things,” he said slowly, thinking as he spoke. “Firstly the National knew that Black was trying to sell the property and would allegedly share any commission with Suttons. Yes?”
“Yes.” Confirmed Lisa.
“Secondly do we know who Skinners buyer was?”
“Sure, it’s on a letter here, when Black thought the deal was going through.”
Lisa moved round the table and pulled the file towards her
“Here we are, oh my God, I hadn’t twigged.” She looked up. “It’s a company called National Property Investments Ltd.”
“You’re joking.” Brakespeare lent forward and pulled the file towards him on the desk. He stared at the letter.
“The address is given as ‘1001 Baker Street, London NW1’”
Lisa looked blank.
“That’s the registered office of the National Bank. I should know. It was on my Bankruptcy Petition.
“Let’s work this out.” said Lisa. “The National Bank lends out money to Clearfield. Clearfield can’t keep up with the mortgage payments, and so the National repossess them.”
Brakespeare nodded and continued with the reasoning. “Acting perfectly properly through Walters in the Special Financial Services Department, they instruct Suttons to try and sell them, and equally properly instruct Redshaw Linden and Steele to independently advise them on property values, so that they cannot be accused of selling at an under value.”
“Only Redshaws are not independent. They are looking for other buyers in order to earn some commission”
“One of whom happens to be, what I presume is a company which is part of the National. It is connected.”
“I’ll do a Company Search. Is that it do you think?” asked Lisa.
“Do you mean that have we enough here to get the case thrown out? Possibly, but I’ll tell you one thing, I am not writing any more letters to the C.P.S. about this. They’ve missed all this stuff, no doubt thinking it’s all a bundle of unimportant correspondence, and I’m not about to remind them of it; not after Breezie’s had a go at me.”
“What do we do.”
“Lisa, this is now as much your case as it is mine. Make a chronology showing the dates on which various things happened such as the dates of the letters and what they say, so that it paints the picture without having to read the correspondence itself. Does this pattern continue?”
“It sure does.”
Brakespeare’s eyebrows shot up. “Presumably it’s still going on, if not all the properties have been sold?”
“Presumably.” Lisa smiled her wicked smile.
“Trouble is, if we ask for the up to date correspondence we’ll give the game away.”
“D.C. Durkin?”
Brakespeare smiled and nodded. “D.C. Durkin it is. I may have to speak to someone about all this, but I think that it will wait until after our conference with Queen’s Counsel.”
chapter twenty six
There was a lot for Jonny Brakespeare to think about as he drove home to Milton Keynes that evening. His feelings towards Lisa had now gone beyond the professional; the new Lisa was seductive and openly so. Yet, she still had to bury her lover. He couldn’t understand why she had changed so much – literally overnight. It was as if Morrison’s death had released her. She had felt a debt of gratitude towards Morrison– was that all it was?
Or was it the Newberry case that had been the catalyst?. She had gained her confidence through the case, and that had triggered her need for release.
So she wanted to go to the Bar once more. Good luck to her. She would have to get there the hard way, but she was no fool. In fact he wondered if she was brighter than he was. He had been rusty when he started the case, although all his knowledge and experience had seemed to have come back. They were a good match he and Lisa; a good team. But isn’t that as far as it ought to go?
Why was he attracted to Lisa? Well now he didn’t have a woman, and he missed the availability of Mel; well sort of missed. It was the sex he missed. Did he miss Mel for herself? Mmm. Yes he did; she was fun to be with. Perhaps he should have taken her out, be seen in public with her, and not kept her in a closet relationship.
Was that what Mel had been waiting for? Oh God! Is that why she went back to her husband? Because he didn’t make a move? Oh stop thinking about marriage. Why are you thinking of marriage? Do you need it like a woman does? Yes, probably for the security it gives!
And the job. Damn. What was it that Nick at the employment agency had said? There were more candidates than jobs. So if he left, and he couldn’t really do that until after the case was over, would he readily get another job, permanent or temporary? A bird in hand and all that, he reminded himself. On the other hand, something might again turn up!
No, it was the case that made this job special, and when that was over – there would be just the routine humdrum of general litigation. Seen one case; seen ‘em all.
Oh shit. Why couldn’t his life be normal?
His heart missed a beat as he drew up to the House and stopped. The front door opened. It was Mel. Not the happy mad Mel he knew, but a nervous, apprehensive girl. An ordinary girl.
“Mel, what on earth”, he said as he got out of the car.
“Hello, Jonny I’m back.”
“Back, I didn’t know that there was a spare room any more.”
She smiled. “There isn’t. I’ve come to see you.”
He felt his eyes involuntarily shut. Oh no. Not another problem.
“Right.” he said decisively, and reached inside the Fiat for his bag. “Tell me all about it.”
Mel rushed into the kitchen where she had prepared two mugs of coffee. Trevor came down the stairs.
“Just going out, Jonny. The house is yours. Martin’s away for the weekend. Back late.”
“Trevor, did you…..”
“Let her in?”
He nodded and left.
Mel carried the two mugs into the lounge. She sat on the sofa, but Brakespeare sat opposite her. He didn’t say anything, but waited for her to begin.
“I’m sorry Jonny.”
“For what?”
“For leaving you without saying goodbye.”
Brakespeare shrugged. “You had your reasons.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What”
“I don’t think so,�
� she repeated.
“Sorry.” Brakespeare shook his head.
“OK, let me explain. You and me have something going, right?” Brakespeare noted that she used the present tense.
“You made me happy Jonny Brakespeare. You made me feel a real woman again, not like that bastard husband of mine, right?
“If you say so.”
“Oh, Jonny. Stop being the lawyer. We rock man.”
Brakespeare smiled. There was no use denying it. They rocked.
“Only I didn’t realise that it was you. That it was you who made me feel good. I thought that I got there just by myself.”
“I understand.”
“No you don’t. I miss my kids. I miss them like hell.”
“I can appreciate that.” said Brakespeare knowing how he felt about his own children.
“So I thought, I’m a woman again. I can go back to my husband; I can go back to my kids.” She stopped. Her shoulders heaved and a series of gulps indicated that she was fighting tears. Brakespeare moved over to the sofa and put his arms round her. She leaned against him; just as Lisa had, only it felt totally different. A totally different body. It was nice though. She was making him feel good. Power over women? Perhaps he had something he hadn’t realised before. He’d married young, as seemed the respectable thing to do, and had never thought of playing the field. All his concentration had been on getting through University; of qualifying; of practising; of marrying.
“And.”
“And it don’t work. He make me feel just like shit again.”
Brakespeare began to cuddle her.
“You ain’t, aren’t shit, Mel. You know that. I know that.”
“That’s ‘cos we got something going”.
Before he had chance to respond, she sat up; took his head in her hands, and kissed him fully; her tongue exploring his mouth.
“Take me to bed, Jonny. Take me to bed.” She moaned.
Then in a flash the old Mel returned.
“I’m back Jonny, I’m back!” she grinned, and gave a whoop.
chapter twenty seven
The funeral service was held in Upton On Severn. The office was closed for the day so that all the staff could attend; even Tracy’s spots seemed to have disappeared for the day.
Brakespeare escorted Lisa as he had been asked to do, and drove her to the riverside town in the Fiat. She was stunningly beautiful in a black suit and a broad black hat with a crumpled velvet band. She was hiding her emotions with a calmness that made her even more attractive, but Brakespeare’s thoughts were elsewhere.
What had he been doing to agree to let Mel share his room? He knew what he had been doing; he had allowed his lust to overrule his common sense. He loved Mel, not perhaps in the romantic sense, so love was possibly the wrong word, but he was very fond of her. He could hardly tell her to go away and lie in the bed that she had made for herself in life.
Mel wanted a divorce; she wanted to apply for custody of her children, and she had also made it clear that she had wanted him. Now, at least for the time being, she had him. What would his children say? What would his mother say!
“Of course” he had replied when Mel had asked him if she could stay in his room “for the time being.”
He had also replied “of course” when she had asked if he would be back the next weekend. He had told her to go and see another solicitor, as there was no way that he could or would act for her. He also suggested that she really needed to look for a space of her own.
Mel had agreed with him, but not as convincingly as he had hoped.
So he had five problems worrying him. Mel, the funeral, the case, his own life – and Lisa.
Did Lisa need to be a problem?
No, after all she had said that she was going to resume her intended career as a barrister, and she would have to go to London for that. Why she was flirting with him? Was it flirting, or was it in his imagination? If she was flirting what was he going to do about it – now that there was Mel again. Was he going to two time them both?
No, he couldn’t do that without feeling guilty. Wimp!
“Penny for them?” asked Lisa.
“What. Oh, just thinking.”
“Of what.”
“Life, and the way it kicks you in the teeth.”
“I haven’t kicked you in the teeth, have I.”
Well in a way she had, but he couldn’t tell her that.
He turned to her briefly and smiled. “Of course not.”
She put a hand on his thigh as she smiled back.
The Church was on Old Street, leading out of Upton. Brakespeare could tell where it was by the sheer number of cars that lined the road.
“I don’t think we can park on this road.” Said Lisa. “Look there’s a turning ahead on the left ahead.”
Brakespeare drove past the Church and turned as she had indicated. They both caught sight of the road sign at the same time. Minge Lane.
Brakespeare looked quickly at Lisa, to guage her reaction and she was looking at him. They both burst out laughing at the same time.
“Is that appropriate or inappropriate?” asked Brakespeare. “A sort of female body parts version of Lovers Lane!”
Lisa struggled to control herself; tears coursing down her face. He found a space to park the car in the lane, and they both sat there laughing hysterically for a few minutes. Any tension that both had been experiencing quickly evaporated.
“Oh, my make up” said Lisa, pulling down the sun blind to look in the mirror. Opening the hand bag she was carrying, she tried to repair the damage her tears had caused.
They both shook occasionally as they tried to pull themselves together.
“Come on, we’re going to be late.”
They left the car and walked back down Minge Lane, and round to the Church. They joined the queue of people waiting to enter. There were one or two glances at them, but no-one seemed to know who Lisa was. Brakespeare recognised several of the clients whose cases he had taken over, and they exchanged nods of recognition. He also recognised at least two County Court Judges, and a handful of barristers.
A teenage boy and girl were at the door, acting as ushers and handing out the Form of Service. Both seemed to recognise Lisa, but said nothing.
“Gordon’s children” whispered Lisa as they entered the church.
It was almost totally full. “He was obviously very well respected”, said Brakespeare.
“Oh, yes.” replied Lisa emphatically.
“And ends up with a funeral next to Minge Lane.”
Lisa snorted with laughter again, and Brakespeare followed. Heads turned; disapproving looks were given, and whispers exchanged.
“Let’s sit at the back.” Urged Brakespeare, and they squeezed their way through the congregation to a space on the far right of the row of pews.
Lisa daintily entered the pew first and sat down. Brakespeare was about to sit next to her when he became aware of a figure waving from the front. It was Mortimer. He was gesturing them to a space three rows back from the front pew, which Brakespeare could see was occupied by members of the firm’s staff.
“No good,” he said to Lisa. “We’ve been spotted, come on.” He led her back to the centre aisle, and forward.
“Hello both,“ said Mortimer warmly. “can’t have you sitting in the rear stalls.” He indicated a space in the pew. To get there they had to squeeze past someone who Brakespeare took to be Mrs Mortimer, then Dick Ridley, and a very plain woman who was obviously his wife, Mary. Both women looked disapproving, and avoided eye contact with Lisa. They acknowledged Brakespeare with a gentle lowering of their eyelids.
As he sat next to her, Brakespeare could tell that Lisa’s tension had returned, and he was glad that he was between her and the disapproving women.
The pew in front of them was occupied by people Brakespeare took to be members of the family, Breezie among them. Sitting at the right of the front pew was a lady who Brakespeare assumed must be Mrs Morrison, but who was
chatting animatedly to the elderly lady next to her. In profile he could see the resemblance to Breezie.
Suddenly she turned round to see who was present. As her eyes caught Brakespeare and Lisa her face broke into a smile, and she waved. Lisa offered a limp wave in response.
Brakespeare raised his eyebrows at Lisa in a question. She nodded and shuddered.
At that moment the coffin arrived at the door and the Church fell silent.
Lisa glanced up briefly to look at the coffin, but throughout the remainder of the service remained with head bowed, crying. When she stood up to mouth the words to the hymns, Brakespeare could see that her cheeks were wet with tears. He took her hand and squeezed it. There was no response.
In the front row Annette Morrison seemed to be enjoying the whole proceedings; singing with gusto and sitting bolt upright, paying attention to everything that the clergyman said.
For Brakespeare, only the presence of Lisa lessened the ordeal. He had never met the man, knew little about him, and for him the ceremony was a meaningless ritual. His thoughts turned to Mel and his problem there.
Brakespeare was surprised that Morrison was to be buried in a plot in the Churchyard. He thought that all space in consecrated ground had long since disappeared, and that was why cremation was the usual form of disposal of the body. From the third row of pews, he and Lisa were among the first to fall into line as the coffin processed down the aisle, but out in the churchyard they remained at the edge of the crowd as the coffin was lowered into the grave. “I don’t want to watch” Lisa had murmured. He suspected that what she meant was that she herself didn’t want to be watched. She clung to his arm as the burial ceremony concluded, looking steadfastly at the ground. There was an occasional shudder, but otherwise she remained composed.
The crowd began to dissolve, but to his horror Brakespeare noticed that Annette Morrison was standing with the elderly lady on one side of the exit route to the lych gate, with Breezie on the other, receiving the funeral guests.
Before he had the chance to discuss with Lisa, whether or not now was the time to slip away by another means, Mortimer appeared, with his wife in tow. He made no attempt to introduce her to Brakespeare.