Henrietta watched them pass through the gates and saw an officer nod to acknowledge a man sitting in a little white van parked in the cul-de-sac. The elderly man got out of his vehicle and walked towards the front door in his blue one-piece overall, carrying a metal tool box. He smiled and greeted Henrietta:
“Senora Champion, I am Phillipe, I am sent to do locks. OK?” He handed over his printed business card and Henrietta gestured for him to enter the villa. He worked quickly and efficiently and when he had finished he handed over the new keys to his client, bowed, smiled and waited to be excused by the front door. Henrietta held her purse.
“Muchas Gracias Phillipe. I am grateful. Cuanto es?”
“Nada! I wish you safety and peace. I know you are now good. Buenos dias, Senora.”
May 28th 2008.
Henrietta hid in the villa until the day of Terry’s trial. In view of her previous experience at Court she was reticent to attend on her own. Clive arranged for Celia and an accompanying male lawyer to collect Henrietta in their car and said Celia would call to confirm.
Five minutes later Henrietta’s phone rang and she assumed it was the lawyer.
“Si, Hi, Celia?”
“Do I sound like a bloody woman? Mind you, if you don’t stop this nonsense, your son will!”
“Terry, whose phone are you ringing from?”
“Just listen to me. If you don’t retract all your claims against me I will arrange for your son to be snatched and taken to some sadistic leather studded hookers who do things to him that no mother should see. I will pay to ensure he turns queer and you will never have any grandchildren! Do you understand?” The phone went quiet. Hetty stared at her phone and the ‘withheld’ number and could not wait to drive to the school and hug her bemused son and speak privately to Duncan for reassurance of his safety.
She also discussed her fears in the car with Celia, who assured her that they would make an urgent application for an injunction against Terry. Once they had arrived and reported to the Court Clerk and handed over the request for an immediate injunction, they sat and waited outside in the courtyard. As time passed and Terry was nowhere to be seen, Celia made enquiries and was told that Mr Newman’s lawyer had just phoned to say he was unwell and could not attend. The hearing was adjourned and re-scheduled and everyone’s time and Henrietta’s money had been wasted. They took her back to the villa and assured her that Terry would be breaking his injunction and the law if he came within fifty meters of her or the villa.
After the lawyers had left, Henrietta sat alone and forlorn in a comfy chair on the terrace with a cup of Earl Grey tea and tried to make sense of the day’s events. An unknown number called her mobile phone and she answered calmly but curiously.
“Yes?”
“You sound miserable, have you had a wasted day in a stifling court? Shame! I had a super day at Laguna Beach, drinking cocktails and swimming in the sea.”
“Terry, why did you not attend court?”
“My solicitor decided to be ill. Good move wasn’t it. Maybe you’ll think twice about chucking your money around on lawyers next time. This is a lawless land and I have the contacts and can’t lose, so bear that in mind sweet cheeks. Bye.”
June 2008.
Clive phoned the bank to enquire where Henrietta could hand over the keys to the villa but they were reticent to oblige during the unsettled financial climate and suggested that she ‘sit tight’ whilst they looked at the figures involved. It was agreed that the banks representative would arrange to visit the villa to check the value and condition of the property and hopefully resolve the problem with Henrietta personally. Clive opened his phone number notebook and reached into his drawer for his recording device which he attached to his office phone. He called Terry for the first time to see if he could encourage him to pay the mortgage arrears to the bank and repay the money he had extorted from Henrietta:
“Mr Newman? Clive Goode here. I wish to speak with you regarding my client Henrietta Champion. You have misappropriated a large sum of money from her which needs to be returned. I also wish to discuss the villa she is currently occupying and the mortgage outstanding on that property.” There was silence. “Mr Newman this matter needs to be resolved urgently!”
“Just tell her to give me the villa keys and get out, then I’ll pay.”
“We can’t do business like that Mr Newman. I was going to suggest that you make an immediate mortgage payment of thirty six thousand euros to the bank, plus a fifty two thousand pound bank transfer to our client account within seven days, with the balance to be paid in forty eight monthly payments of five thousand pounds.” He spoke with a comfortable and superior legal authority.
“Get lost! What has it got to do with you?”
“Mr Newman, you are not in a child’s playground. I am a solicitor and have a number of private financial and legal documents in my possession which I’m sure you would like to have returned to you. I think it preferable for all parties if you would agree to make the mortgage payment within twenty four hours. Additionally, I request that you stay away from my client and her son. There is an injunction in place, so please do not contravene that court order. Mr Newman?”
There was a click and the phone call was over.
Clive sat in his small oak panelled office and gazed at the black and white photograph on his desk of his late father who had handed the practice to him eleven years earlier and he knew that the old man would disapprove of his unconventional tactics, but times had changed. He uncoupled the recording device and scribbled instructions to his secretary for her to transcribe the conversation for Henrietta’s file. He then opened his capacious bottom drawer and removed the large ham and mustard bap and walkers ready salted crisps which he had bought earlier, tucked a serviette in to his collar to save his best Court tie from ruin and took a huge bite into the delicious sandwich.
It was a particularly hot afternoon in southern Spain and Henrietta was cooling off in the pool when she thought she heard the entry buzzer for the gate. She climbed out, enveloped herself in a large velour towel and rushed inside to look at the security camera but could not see a soul. She thought she must have been mistaken and turned to go back outside but was confronted by Terry. She froze.
“Don’t panic, I’ve brought you this.” He looked weary and sounded subdued as he handed her another signed and dated letter in which he promised to return £125,000 to her within six months. “I’ve had your solicitor on the phone. I want you to stop this war, get out of this house, let me earn a living and give me the six months I need to pay.”
“I’m going to hand the house over to the bank, Terry. It’s the right thing to do.”
“Don’t be stupid, you can’t, you don’t realise what you would be doing and how much trouble it would cause everyone. Please don’t ruin everything I have worked so hard for.”
“Terry, leave me alone, you disgust me. You go around acting like a big success in fancy clothes you have paid for with my stolen credit cards. I have had enough. You are a con-man. Get out!” Henrietta burst into tears and gripped the towel tightly.
“I’m sorry Hetty, but please don’t call me that name.” He looked as though he too would cry as he turned and walked away towards the gates, climbed onto a dustbin and jumped over the garden wall. He was gone and she made a mental note to move the bins before nightfall.
July 11th 2008.
The specified day finally arrived when two bank officials would visit. Henrietta walked aimlessly around the house waiting for the important men to alleviate the weight of the villa but no-one arrived and she became gloomy and depressed. She phoned Clive who promised to chase the head office and make enquiries.
Ten minutes later her mobile phone rang and an irritated English speaking man informed her that he and his colleagues had been ringing the gate intercom bell for ages and wanted to know why she would admit them. Henrietta was confused as she could not see them on the security camera at the gate or anywhere else on the street
either. She politely asked him to describe their surroundings, the gate or any house name they could see as the man was adamant that they were at the correct address. She asked the men to get back in their car, go back to the main road and begin again with new directions.
Eventually the two embarrassed and suited men arrived and she let them in. They introduced themselves and explained that they had brought along a couple of agents to re-value the property. Naturally Hetty gave them freedom to roam around the house whilst she sat in the living room to talk to the bankers who had both come a long way to meet her. They apologised for the earlier confusion and tried to rectify the error by asking for the full address of the villa, which it seemed was completely different to the one they had on record. Henrietta did not understand the furtive looks of concern that passed between the two men as they established that the mortgage loan had been offered on the much larger house they had just been trying to gain access to, on the parallel street, not the one they were sitting in now.
“So this house is not called Almando, on Calle Almando of this urbanization?” He enquired.
“No, but I know the villa you are referring to, I thought you must be there. Terry Newman took me to view it with him last year when he was house hunting. It was way out of his price range. I don’t know why the agent even showed it to him.” Hetty said.
“He did more than just look at it. He got a guaranteed mortgage on it of four point six million euros!”
“I don’t understand. Who has a mortgage on that one, and who has a mortgage on this one? Because as far as I know, a Dutch couple bought that house and their child goes to the same school as my son.”
The men were flushed and there was a uncomfortable atmosphere as one of them handed her a piece of writing paper with a list of addresses on it.
“Is this your handwriting, Mrs Champion?”
“No, why, what is it?”
“Please read it. Do you know whose hand writing it is?” They exchanged furtive looks again.
“That is Terry Newman’s writing. What is this list of addresses for? One of them is my old house. Why have you got it?” Henrietta became increasingly worried by their countenance.
“This list, Mrs Champion, is meant to be a declaration of your assets with which you have ensured and guaranteed your euro loan with us. Are you telling us that none of these properties belong to you?”
“Exactly! Why would you think that? I don’t understand. Who was this letter to and where is the rest of it?” She enquired, as it was only one page.
“This letter was accepted by our Marbella manager who I believe you met at the Kempinski Hotel, last year.”
“Oh, well at least he was for real then, that’s a relief, but I still don’t understand.”
“What did you sign whilst you were with him?”
“Nothing, I just met him on behalf of Mr Newman.”
“Are you still working? Do you still have an income to pay the mortgage on this villa.”
“I don’t work.”
“But in your mortgage application you stated your income from your phone business as in excess of three hundred thousand pounds per annum.”
“Ridiculous! I have nothing to do with Mr Newman’s phone shop. Never have.” Henrietta laughed nervously. “So, who owns Villa Almando?” She was perplexed but so were they.
“We are evidently not in a position to answer you at this time. We need to go and make a couple of additional enquiries and may need to talk with you again in the future.”
“I’d rather you speak to my solicitor, Clive Goode. I can’t cope with all this subterfuge.”
They agreed to leave Henrietta in peace once the valuers had finished their appraisal of the property and had unsurprisingly valued the villa at two million euros less than the original accepted valuation for the mortgage at 4.6 million.
Once outside the two businessmen thanked and dismissed the valuation team of two, then got into the car they shared and drove away to the nearest bar where they loosened their ties and agreed that someone in their company had made a major ‘balls up’ and caused potential financial embarrassment on an enormous scale. They lost their cool and slandered the man who had allowed this fiasco without even checking the provenance of the eight properties in the UK which had been accepted as Mrs Henrietta Champion property portfolio and used as a personal guarantee against their multi–million euro loan. They drank their chilled beer, huddled their heads together and put pen to paper with notes which would help decide how to report back to the board and attempt to limit the financial loss and embarrassment to the Bank. They were glad that they had received a shot across their bow and were not prepared to lose their prestigious and highly paid jobs for some neurotic and foolish housewife who’s mortgage application had been a lie, whoever’s hand had created it.
Henrietta phoned Clive:
“They wouldn’t take the keys and told me to try to sell it. Clive, I want to go home. I don’t feel safe here and I’m so unhappy.”
“Be brave, do as they suggest. I will phone the bank HQ again in the Isle of Man and see if Terry has paid the mortgage yet. Meanwhile pack up all his personal stuff into bin bags and have someone take it to wherever he is staying.”
“I will.”
July 14th 2008.
Oscar checked the surveillance camera and remotely opened the front gates for Josh to call round on his bike, as the two of them had planned to ride to the beach to meet up with school friends, whether his Mum thought he should go out or not. There was a loud knock at the door and Oscar hurried to open it. Terry shoved the door with both hands which knocked Oscar out of the way and made him stumble.
“Where’s your mother?” He demanded of the youth crumpled on the tiled floor.
“On the upstairs terrace, but she never said you could visit. Shall I tell her you’re here?” Oscar was caught off balance and unawares but knew his mother would not be pleased. He clambered to his feet and stood with his back to the wall in his shorts and trainers.
“Clear off Kid, I’ve things to sort things out with her.” He strode defiantly towards the staircase. Oscar did not know what to do but then noticed Josh who appeared smiling and slightly out of breath at the open doorway.
Henrietta lay sunbathing on the private terrace but suddenly had the strangest feeling she was being watched, opened her eyes and bolted upright. Terry was leaning on the door jamb grinning. She felt vulnerable and exposed and snatched a towel to wrap around her half naked body.
“Looking good Babe! It’s been a while since I saw a decent woman’s body, especially as you got me locked up in a police cell, sharing a disgusting metal hole in the floor with a one eyed Moroccan drug dealer. You’ve lost some weight, so I’m obviously doing you a favour.”
She jumped to her feet and glared indignantly at him.
“How did you get in here? What do you want?”
“Your thick shit of a son let me in. I’ve come to discuss ‘us’ and your future. You obviously like it here ‘coz you won’t leave. So what about calling a truce and working with me to fund our life in this fantastic house. My restaurant’s takings are great, the bar is a winner, people are interested in me, I feel amazing and my golf game is the best it has ever been. Look at me, be honest, don’t I look the business? I am the man! Surely you want to marry me now?” He did not notice Henrietta’s disgusted facial expression. “It can all be yours, just go to your bank and get a small loan to tide us over. You know they will give you whatever you ask for. Do that or move into a hotel so I can rent this place out for the summer. I’ve been assured I’d get twelve thousand euro per week for it.” He waited for the desired response, but she was immobile and silent. “Tell you what; I’ll even pay the boys school fees and buy you a car of your own. I can’t say fairer than that. You wouldn’t turn down a little Merc would you? Just give me the Range Rover, as I refuse to drive round in a poxy hired Fiesta any longer, I’ve got my image at the golf club to think of and people are talking.”
“But it’s my car. You have no right!”
“Semantics! I need it and I intend to take it. It is a man’s car anyway. I’ll get you a pretty woman’s car. You have insulted me and people out here won’t like you if you keep this up. Come on Hetty, what do you say? Can we call a truce and be together, like we ought to be?”
“I think you are completely and genuinely mad or on drugs and probably need shooting!”
“I know just the man!” He laughed at her and she was frightened by the demonic look in his eyes but cortisol rushed through her veins and she pushed past him to get her mobile phone from the bedside table.
“You shouldn’t have come here Terry. You know there’s an injunction against you coming near me or Oscar or this house. I’ll phone security and you will be arrested.”
Terry lurched forward to grab the phone but knocked it out of her hand and they both watched as it shot across the bed and crashed onto the tiled floor. She reached after it but Terry yanked the towel from her grip which made her swivel and lose her balance as he pushed her backwards on to the bed and dived on top of her. He restrained her with his forearm as she wriggled to escape but he held on to the tie cord of her bikini bottoms causing a friction burn on her hip as it snapped.
“Get off me! I will call Oscar.” She gasped and tried to fight against him unsuccessfully.
The Unsuspecting Housewife Page 14