Unsafe Deposit

by J. E. Kellenberger

Jane.

  ***

  The exhibition centre in London was the venue of the technology trade fair for commercial users. WareWork had been invited to attend in the shape of free tickets and Marian had asked Adam to accompany her there. Business and pleasure were on her agenda. Adam’s background as a software engineer would be invaluable as they assessed the new technologies available and those soon to come on stream as they planned for the company’s IT future. Adam also had the Gadds’ own company to consider and here too it would be essential to keep up with the times. Marian had wanted to travel down by train together hoping for a “getting to know you better session” on the hour’s journey into Euston but Adam had business in London the day before and met her in the centre’s foyer. While not vivacious, Marian’s appearance could never be described as dull or nondescript. In fact on this day she was wearing designer jeans with a pale lilac clinging V-neck top which was gathered under the bust thereby enhancing her hourglass figure. Topped with a navy blue bolero-length jacket she looked trendy but smart. Adam too was in jeans but not of the designer variety. An open-neck shirt and a well-worn rather shabby jacket completed his outfit. He was not a fashionista, she decided. Setting aside her ulterior motive, they made their way diligently around the stands, assessing products, asking questions, weighing up costs, hands-on testing, eliminating gimmicky inventions and considering how any new products they bought would fit into the WareWork system. They ate their lunch on the hoof as they tramped from one stand to another trying to keep their concentration focused on the task in hand but by mid-afternoon they were wilting and in need of sit-down refreshments. The manufacturer of WareWork’s current main body of equipment had invited them to afternoon tea and champagne in one of the hall’s dining suites. Seated with other guests, they enjoyed a lavish tea of sweet canapés and Earl Grey, plus several glasses of champagne served by a wine waiter in dinner jacket and bow tie. Conversation began to flow freely between Marian and Adam as the alcohol took effect on their inhibitions. After a recital of her failed marriage and lone-parent status Adam was ready to share some of his earlier history. He’d been in IT in one form or another since his university days. Before moving to head the Gadd start-up company he’d been a senior software engineer. He liked geeky things, he said, and Marian fully believed him. He tried to avoid the reason behind the episode of the apparent betrayal of WareWork by his father but Marian probed away and the history, as best he knew it, was divulged. Who betrayed who was Adam’s comment at the end of the recounted saga. ‘The injustice was done to my father. We, the Gadd family, merely reacted on his behalf. My father was an innocent victim.’ Although this was genuinely interesting and went a long way to explaining the tensions of those times it was personal history of a sexual nature that interested Marian. He hadn’t mentioned a girlfriend or a partner. When Marian light-heartedly said he was now, financially, an eligible bachelor his inhibitions kicked back in and he said he was currently very happy as he was and, anyway, he was far too busy working to consider a family, maybe later. There was nothing else she could extract from him and on the return train journey he sat opposite her playing a kid’s game on his tablet endlessly. ‘Pity,’ she thought, ‘a tie-up with the major shareholder would have cemented my position at WareWork and I would have liked the romantic encounter but no point wasting further time on him, he’s a confirmed bachelor and probably always will be. I must move on.’

  Marian’s approach to Daniel was altogether more subtle. He was younger than her but not by much. He didn’t appear to have baggage in the same way she did although Marian never regarded her children as anything other than a wonderful gift. Daniel seemed the complete person: affable, gregarious, well educated, considerate, amusing, diligent, well dressed, pretty good-looking, almost Mr Perfect. So why hadn’t he been snapped up long ago? The directors had decided to hold a small retirement dinner for his mother and she would seek Daniel’s opinion as to where and when and what sort of retirement gift Andreé might like. Consultation with Daniel would be essential and Marian might be able to discover the answer.

  Late one afternoon Marian entered Daniel’s office. By stock market CEO standards it was small and basic but the energy of its occupant gave it a lively and friendly feel and the door was always open. Most of the clerical staff had finished for the day and those remaining were packing up to go home.

  ‘Is it a good time to speak to you about your mother’s retirement dinner?’ enquired Marian, standing on the door’s threshold.

  ‘Yes, with pleasure, come on in and take a pew,’ replied Daniel.

  ‘There are a couple of local venues that might be suitable,’ she began. ‘The Queen’s Hotel on the Kettering Road has a small, private dining room which accommodates up to a maximum of sixteen diners. It’s nicely furnished apparently. I haven’t eaten there before so I’m not sure about the standard of food although the online menu looks good. The other is the Plough & Farrow, a pub just north of Welford. It has a gourmet menu and a one-star Michelin chef. It doesn’t have private dining as such but it has a section for proper dining and another section, on the opposite side of the bar, for snack-type food. We could book all the tables in the main dining area so it would be fairly private. Other than that we could consider a venue in London, maybe a hotel with an overnight stay.’

  ‘London hotels are not really my mother’s style so I think I can rule that one out,’ replied Daniel. ‘She usually prefers the informal and the pub sounds good. With her partial sight, taste is higher on her priority list than appearance. Have you eaten there?’

  ‘No,’ lied Marian, ‘it’s just on recommendation that I’ve suggested it.’

  ‘Then I think we had better go and test it out. Would you be happy to do that?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ replied Marian, it was what she had hoped he would say.

  The layout was just as Marian had described, a large snack area to one side of the bar giving out onto a gravel patio with a thriving herb garden and a smaller, smarter wing on the opposite side for fine dining. Daniel had picked her up from home and they had driven the few miles to the pub in his old but treasured classic car Aston Martin DB5. They had nosed around to get a feel for the place before taking their reserved table in the gourmet wing. The front-of-house staff were friendly and efficient and they were soon seated and drooling over the menu with a glass of champagne in hand. Daniel had said that it was their duty to check out the quality of champagne available in case the pub was chosen for the retirement “do”. ‘It’s tough work but somebody has got to do it,’ he had said, grinning, ‘but my allowance is one flute only as I’m driving!’ They both started with tortellini of Cornish crab. For her main Marian chose saddle of wild venison with juniper sauce and textures of beetroot while Daniel’s selection was Jersey beef sirloin with blue cheese, smoked broccoli purée and crispy broccoli. Between their starters and mains they discussed who they should invite. The seven board members and their partners were first on the list although the bank man’s invitation was for politeness only as Marian guessed that he would have to turn it down on the basis of maintaining impartiality. Rolf’s wife and three daughters were included next but Daniel said he felt it unlikely that Sylvia would come as she was still in mourning and struggling to come to terms with Rolf’s death and his eldest daughter lived abroad so it would probably be the two younger ones, both of whom had partners. Andreé had had two faithful personal assistants during her working life and both would be invited with their husbands. Their party would probably number fifteen.

  By the time Marian was on her second glass of champagne she had said far too much about her own domestic arrangements. She had had a long-term partner with whom she had, on the face of it, enjoyed a happy relationship. Friction about money was probably the reason why they had never married; she earned more than him. Despite these issues they had jogged along well enough until their children arrived. He then became very jealous and one weekend shortly after
the birth of their second child he cleared off and left her literally holding the baby. Running a home while working in a highly demanding job and tending two infants together with the disappearance of her partner culminated, unsurprisingly, in a mental breakdown. Her parents had helped her through a long and difficult period. Her children were now young teenagers and showing no obvious signs of missing their father. She valued her job with WareWork as her former partner had never contributed financially to their upbringing. In a coquettish way she said that she missed not having a partner herself and that she would be coming alone to the retirement party and Daniel, ever the gallant gentleman, had responded that if that was the case then it would be his pleasure to partner her.

  ‘But isn’t there somebody who you’d like to bring?’ asked Marian.

  ‘No, not really,’ replied Daniel, somewhat disconcerted.

  ‘You seem unsure,’ continued Marian, the effects of the champagne giving her the courage to probe further than she would normally have done.

  ‘Well, actually, I’d like to bring the girl I love but that isn’t possible,’ said Daniel candidly. ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘I’ve the time to listen,’ replied Marian.

  They were interrupted by the waitress asking them if they had enjoyed their main course and enquiring if they would like a dessert. She recommended the rhubarb crumble soufflé as being exceptionally light or, perhaps, the warm almond tart with amaretto and caramel but both were sated and coffees were sufficient. Starting on her third glass of bubbly, Marian was all ears and as soon as the coffees had been served she led Daniel back to his story.

  ‘Do go on,’ she said.

  ‘Uncle Rolf’s eldest daughter and I have known one another most of our lives. We met frequently as kids when my mother visited her brother and vice versa. We also spent lots of time in the offices of WareWork while our respective workaholic parents were busy, playing games or filling in colouring books to pass the time while we were waiting for them to finish. As the years passed we just seemed to fall in love naturally. It came as quite a shock one day when we realised it. We didn’t say anything but our parents guessed. We could tell they were worried. We are first cousins and that could pose a problem should we marry and have offspring. The possible effects of inbreeding, or consanguinity to give it its proper name, can be very serious. As we wanted to marry and have a family we decided to have genetic testing. If nothing too untoward was found we would tell our parents and hope that they would give their blessing to our union.

  Unfortunately the gene testing showed that we both carried a mutant gene for cystic fibrosis. It’s a condition that damages the movement of salt and water in and out of our cells, resulting in lung and digestive tract cells becoming clogged up with mucus. There’s currently no cure although there are aggressive treatments available to manage it. It usually leads to an early death. It has an autosomal recessive inherited pattern which just means that a healthy gene would dominate a recessive one but, sadly, neither of us has a healthy one. It was devastating news.’

  ‘I can understand,’ said Marian sympathetically. ‘Did you consider adoption?’

  ‘We did. We talked through all the possibilities, even artificial insemination with donor semen was considered although we knew both parents’ religious views would be against that. She was happy to adopt. She loved children and said she would be happy to adopt from poor countries or children in dangerous situations and give them a good and safe home.’

  ‘So why didn’t you do that?’

  ‘In my heart I knew she really wanted her own flesh and blood. Nothing would ever change that and if I married her I would be denying her that chance and in time her love for me might turn to resentment. I couldn’t live with that. I loved her too much, and still do, to allow that to happen. I told her so and we parted company. It was awful.’

  ‘I’m sure it must have been,’ said Marian understandingly.

  ‘Worse time in my life by far,’ said an emotional Daniel.

  ‘So what happened to her?’

  ‘She met a New Yorker at her tennis club. He was on a year’s exchange with a British insurance firm. They married within six months of meeting and she now lives in the Big Apple. They have two children with a third on the way.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Marian, more than a little lost for the right words.

  ‘She is not mine any longer but I shall always love her and if she ever needs me I will be there for her. Gone but not forgotten. I’m a confirmed bachelor now but if she was ever widowed I would toss that out the window and marry her as quickly as I could.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Marian again, the taste of this news affecting her desire for more champagne.

  ‘So you see I shall be very, very happy to escort you to the retirement dinner.’

  The other Alan entered her office with a new management account that Marian had requested. They had a short chat about its significance. Before leaving, Marian remembered to tell him the date and venue of Andreé’s retirement dinner and to check that Alan and his wife were free that evening. She explained that she and Daniel had been to the pub to road-test the food. As they would all be dining at the same time the pub would be grateful if they would let them have their orders in advance. Marian removed the menu from a desk drawer and started reading out the starters. The other Alan went round the back of her desk and lent down over Marian to see it. With his hand he pointed down to a particular starter and in so doing he deliberately brushed her left breast including her nipple. Marian trembled but in a triumph of diplomacy and hard-nosed authority she rose from her chair, walked over to the door and opened it. ‘Get out,’ she had hissed, ‘and don’t you ever do that again.’

  One has never grown up and is stuck doing computer games for ten-year-olds, one refuses to move on and is prepared to waste fifty years waiting for another chance, and one wants a bit on the side! Bloody men! Marian locked the door of her office and went home. She was fed up.

  ***

  Doug received a text message to ring Paul on his landline number. He was to use a landline too. Not enough hours in the day, thought a beleaguered Doug, but judging by Paul’s wish to use secure airwaves he must have come up with something about Sir Brian Day or the gems.

  ‘Let me start on Sir Brian first,’ said Paul when Doug rang him. ‘I drew a blank searching for a birth certificate in Somerset House’s records even though I’d established his true date of birth. I didn’t get anywhere either with a contact of mine in a regional tax office. He said that high flyers like Sir Brian have their tax affairs dealt with by specialist HMRC tax inspectors and it’s impossible to pry into their files. I didn’t think there would be any “word on the street” either but I was wrong because word on the street has it that he started life as Bernard Evans, Bernie for short, in the East End and it checks out with Births, Marriages & Deaths.’

  ‘Right,’ replied Doug, listening intently.

  ‘Bernie’s father was a criminal, a rather vicious one. He usually worked with a younger partner. They turned their hands to all manner of crime but particularly harassment of tenants. They were landlords in some of the poorest parts of the East End. There was an incident when they paid a bully to rough up a protesting tenant who was objecting to their harassment. The bully killed the tenant and was charged with manslaughter. The younger partner of Bernie’s father was charged with aiding and abetting or some such serious charge for which there could have been a long prison sentence. He hadn’t had time to flee the country before he was implicated and charged unlike young Bernie’s father who was away before you could say “Jack Robinson” and later turned up in Brazil from where he couldn’t be extradited to the UK. His family followed him to Brazil, including young Bernie.’

  ‘I’ve got a nasty feeling that I know the name of this younger partner,’ said Doug, ‘but go on.’

  ‘Quite what happened in B
razil nobody knows. They kept a low profile but, somehow, Bernie’s father did spectacularly well financially, probably something to do with drugs. Drug trafficking is endemic in that part of the world. Anyhow, the family grew very rich very quickly and had to find ways to launder their money. Maybe young Bernie was more sophisticated than his father and didn’t care too much for the lifestyle in Brazil because he re-styled himself Brian Day and next reappeared on the radar at university as a mature student where he met Arthur Meares.’

  ‘Was that Arthur Meares Jnr or Arthur Meares Snr?’ asked an incredulous Doug.

  ‘How did you know there were two Meareses?’ replied Paul.

  ‘Don’t ask. It’s a long story!’

  ‘And his rise after that, as they say, is history and well chronicled in the press and various biographical articles,’ continued Paul. ‘They probably used Meares Import Export as a sort of shell company, passing the drug money in at one end and through a series of transactions back and forth, eventually spitting it out at the other end washed and ironed and straight into one of Sir Brian’s investment trusts or hedge funds where it got lost to the police and the tax man.’

  ‘It’s supposition I know,’ said Doug, rubbing his chin, ‘but it sounds very feasible. The fathers were partners in crime and the sons are perpetuating the partnership.’

  ‘Spot on!’ replied Paul, ‘the only other thing left to mention is that along the way our Bernie picked up a few accolades and was invited to take a figurehead role for a couple of national institutions. Not forgetting, of course, the gong which came along about five years ago.’

  ‘Not bad for an East End boy who came back to his roots via Brazil!’ responded Doug.

  ‘Moving on to the gems,’ said Paul. ‘I’ve got something worthwhile to tell you. Most of what I’ve learnt comes from the details insurance companies publish about rewards they are offering for information leading to the recovery of stolen jewellery.’