In Vino Veritas

by J M Gregson

  Beaumont raised his eyebrows. This was familiar ground to him, but he had prepared his tactics. He would pretend that Morton’s renewed accusations were a disappointment to him, a revival of an argument he thought he’d already settled. ‘We all worked hard to get things off the ground. We can all look back to the sacrifices we had to make to get the show on the road. And equally, we can all be proud of the progress we have made since those early days.’ They were the opening words of a press handout he had given to one of the glossy magazines three months ago, but he doubted whether this man would have read that article.

  Morton wished the big man would just shut up and let him state his case. He followed the movement of Beaumont’s lips, but as the man went on with his bluster he heard less and less of what he said. Eventually he interrupted him. ‘I worked for almost nothing for you for five years at the beginning. Found and exploited every loophole which a new business could exploit, got you allowances you’d never have dreamed of for yourself. Even cut one or two corners for you, to make sure that every penny could be ploughed back into development.’

  Beaumont grinned, happy to show how little he was affected by the man’s earnestness. ‘Careful now, Alistair. We wouldn’t want you to go admitting to any little peccadilloes that might get you struck off, would we? Do they unfrock accountants, or is that just randy vicars?’

  Alistair found his voice rising to a shout in the face of this derision. ‘Just shut up, will you, and listen to what I’m saying. I worked for peanuts for at least the first five years when we started this. That was on the clear understanding that I would eventually become a partner and a director of the enterprise.’

  ‘Not my recollection, I’m afraid. I seem to remember we’ve had this discussion before. I was hoping we’d agreed to differ and get on with our different tasks. Not good for any business to be running a divided ship, is it? Or am I mixing my metaphors there?’ Beaumont frowned and shook his head, as if a proper literary style was at that moment pre-eminent among his objectives.

  ‘You know as well as I do what was agreed. I was to become a partner in the business as soon as it proved itself a going concern.’

  ‘Let other people take all the risks until the business was a guaranteed success, you mean? That hardly seems a likely arrangement for a businessman like me to make, does it?’

  There was an awful sort of logic about that. Alistair could see him arguing that line with a third party and sounding very convincing. He said doggedly, ‘You know and I know what was agreed.’

  Martin Beaumont raised the bushy eyebrows on his wide face as high as they would go, making him look to Morton like a caricature of outraged innocence. ‘It seems we remember things rather differently, Alistair, which is a great pity. Have you anything in writing to support this strange recollection of our relationship during the early years of the company?’

  ‘You know damned well I haven’t!’ Alistair sought hopelessly for some external evidence to endorse him. ‘My wife remembers it. I gave more and more of my time to your affairs, as the vineyard got off the ground. Worked day and night, sometimes. The other work I scraped together as a freelancer scarcely provided a living wage. We depended on her work as a secretary to survive.’

  That oily, ridiculous smile was back on Beaumont’s hated features. ‘Scarcely the most objective of witnesses, a wife. I’m sure that as an experienced financial man you’d readily agree with that, Alistair.’

  Morton leaned forward, planting his fingers desperately on the edge of the big desk in front of him. ‘We didn’t think we needed anything in writing, in those early, enthusiastic days. Leastways, you didn’t. And I was foolish enough to let you convince me that we didn’t.’

  Beaumont looked at the fingers clasping the other side of his desk for a moment, as if studying with interest the movements of some small mammal. Then he said, ‘It doesn’t really sound like the conduct of a man trained in finance, does it, Alistair? A trained accountant, whose first watchword must surely be prudence? I can’t think that anyone like that would have been party to some wildcat scheme which involved him giving his valuable time and labour for nothing, in exchange for some vague promise of jam in the future. I ask you, does it sound likely behaviour for an accountant, even to you? Do you think you’ve made out the sort of case which would convince any kind of mediator we might choose to bring in to resolve the issue? I don’t think so, and neither will you if you give the matter some sober reflection.’

  ‘It’s over twenty years ago. I was a young man then, and you had enthusiasm and the gift of the gab. You sold me the notion of developing our own firm, of being our own bosses. You had a certain amount of capital to set up the company, I had the necessary financial skills to set it on the right lines and guide it through the early years. You know and I know what we agreed. I’m simply giving you the chance to honour that agreement, even at this belated stage.’

  ‘I’m afraid we must agree to differ on this one, Alistair. I think you would agree that you are handsomely paid for your present services to the company. I suppose we might stretch to another thousand or so, if it would resolve your difficulties.’

  ‘I’m not arguing about my present remuneration. I’m telling you that I shouldn’t be on a salary at all. I should be taking my part in formulating the policies of the company and receiving my share of the profits.’

  ‘Cloud cuckoo land, I’m afraid, Alistair. Somewhere along the line – somewhere well in the past now – you’ve picked up the idea that I made silly promises to you about the future of my company. The sooner you dispense with that idea, the better for you as well as for everyone else concerned. I’m happy with the way you advise on the present financial status and problems of the company, and am content to pay you well for that. I should hate it if I had to look for a new head of finance. If you persist with these unreal ideas, I may be left with no alternative but to do that.’ He made an elaborate ploy of looking at his watch. ‘And now, unless you have any more relevant ideas for me to consider, I think we should both get on with our working days.’

  Alistair Morton offered him a look of molten anger, which lost all meaning when he found he was being coolly ignored in favour of the contents of a folder on Beaumont’s desk. He left without another word and put the ‘Engaged’ sign up on the door of his own, smaller office.

  There he sat alone with his humiliation for a good twenty minutes. He had gone into the man’s office with the intention of issuing an ultimatum. Both of them had known perfectly well what Beaumont had promised in those early, pioneering days. But the older man had chosen once again to refuse him, to patronize him, not only to deny him justice but to reject him with contempt. He had even closed with a threat about his present post.

  Well, he had given Martin Beaumont his final chance to offer him justice. It was surely now time to consider how he might translate his idea of murder into a practical plan of action.

  Had Alistair Morton but known it, there was another person, not at present on the site of Abbey Vineyards, who felt almost as violently towards its owner as he did.

  Vanda North was wondering what her next move against Beaumont should be. She wasn’t going to confront him again and risk more humiliation. It was clear to her that he was not going to relent. She had taken all the relevant papers to her lawyer a week ago and this morning she was going to consult him. She parked her car in the multi-storey car park in Gloucester and forced her unwilling steps towards the lawyer’s office in Westgate.

  Lawyers were not among Vanda’s favourite people. She preferred callings more adventurous, less cautious, less pessimistic about the human condition and the way it made people behave. Lawyers, and solicitors in particular, were in Vanda North’s view a necessary evil rather than people she would willingly consort with. But she had to admit that there were some situations in which they and their professional opinions were very necessary.

  James Dolby complied with all her notions about the legal profession. He was approaching sixty;
his straight grey hair was cut short at back and sides and immaculately parted. He was smartly dressed in an extremely conservative way, with the creases in his pinstriped trousers complemented by an immaculate white shirt and a dark blue tie. As he rose and greeted her with old-fashioned politeness, he looked to Vanda like a man who had never taken a chance in his life. The next twenty minutes were to reinforce that view, as James Dolby made it eminently clear that he saw the primary function of lawyers as being to protect their clients from undertaking any sort of risk.

  Dolby had the copy of the agreement his client had signed twelve years ago with Martin Beaumont. He waited until Vanda was seated opposite him and the door of his private office was closed, then looked down with unconcealed distaste at the document. ‘May I ask who was your legal adviser when this agreement was drawn up, Ms North?’

  Vanda felt like an impulsive sixth-former called before the headmistress as she said, ‘I don’t think I had any legal advice at all on the terms of the agreement.’ She watched him nod sadly several times, then felt she must break the silence with which he reinforced his disapproval of such wanton rashness. ‘I realize now that I was rather foolish not to have it vetted.’

  Dolby renewed his nodding at this. He turned over first one page and then a second, winced a little at what he saw there and said at last, ‘Rather foolish is putting it mildly I’m afraid, Ms North.’

  ‘I was too trusting of the major partner in the business. I realize that now.’

  He nodded his agreement, almost eagerly, she thought.

  ‘I’m afraid our wide experience of human conduct makes us lawyers rather cynical, Ms North. It’s a sad thing, but we have to advise people against being too trusting.’

  ‘Yes. I understand now that I should have tempered trust with a little healthy suspicion.’

  He winced a little at the aggression of the word. ‘We wouldn’t see it as suspicion, of course. We would prefer to use the term discretion.’

  Vanda shrugged her shoulders hopelessly. How could she explain to a man like this the excesses induced by an overwhelming sexual attraction? She had signed this hideous tract at the height of her passion for Martin Beaumont, very probably after an intense session between the sheets. It was a lover’s concession, a lover’s declaration of trust, a lover’s assurance to a man who held her in thrall that she trusted him with the rest of her life, that she did not need dry legal agreements when she was throwing in her lot with him. How could she ever make this dry stick of a man, this Dickensian caricature of legal caution, understand a vulnerability which at this distance she could no longer understand herself?

  She reminded herself sternly that she was paying this man handsomely for his services, that there was really no reason why she should slip into the role of chastened schoolgirl. ‘I realize now that I should have taken legal advice at the time, that I was very foolish not to do so. What I want to know is whether I have left myself any room at all for manoeuvre.’

  James Dolby nodded his acknowledgement of the query, then looked once again at the brief document and shook his head sadly. ‘Very little room at all, I fear. May I ask how good your present relationship with the senior partner in this enterprise is?’ He made a great show of turning back to the beginning of the document, though she was certain he knew perfectly well by this time the name he was seeking. ‘This Martin Beaumont.’

  She suddenly wanted to shock this paragon of respectability, this moving statue of decorum. ‘At the time when this agreement was drawn up, I was sleeping with Martin Beaumont. He was rogering me daily and I was thoroughly enjoying it, Mr Dolby. I’m afraid my feelings at the time affected my judgement, as you can see all too easily from what is in front of you.’

  He was disappointingly unruffled. He raised the grey legal eyebrow the merest fraction, then nodded his head. ‘I wondered if something of the kind was involved. You did not strike me as the sort of woman who would normally tolerate something like this.’

  Vanda supposed that was meant as a compliment. He knew more about the way life worked than she had given him credit for. She had a distressing image of a pinkly naked James Dolby, standing with a lascivious smile at the foot of her bed and launching himself upon her with a most unlawyerlike bellow of ‘Geronimo!’. It was most disconcerting. She told herself sternly that she must banish this most unsuitable of pictures, but it was vivid enough to rear its unwelcome head at various moments during the rest of her day. She said as steadily as she could, ‘I acknowledge now that I was a fool, and I don’t want you to pull any punches to save my feelings. What I need to know is whether this agreement is of any use to me at all at this moment.’

  ‘Do I take it that your feelings for this gentleman are no longer so . . . er, warm?’

  ‘You do indeed. I would willingly put a gun to his head, if I thought I could get away with it.’

  Dolby held up a restraining hand. ‘You should not voice such thoughts, Ms North, even in jest.’ But a tiny smile played about the edge of his mouth as he spoke the words, and Vanda apprehended for the first time that he was quite enjoying the rituals of this little exchange. She had no idea whether she was pleased or outraged by this realization. Dolby enquired innocently, ‘And am I right in presuming that Mr Beaumont no longer retains intense and intimate feelings for you?’

  ‘We haven’t slept together for at least eight years. And you can see from what is in front of you that he never entertained intense feelings for me. I was infatuated with him and I persuaded myself that he felt the same way about me. I know now that that was wishful thinking, mere self-deception. The proof of that is in those pages you have in front of you.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is indeed, Ms North. Everything in this document is overwhelmingly to Mr Beaumont’s advantage. I can only assume that he prepared the agreement himself, with his own interests pre-eminent throughout.’

  ‘I agree. What I want to know from you is whether I have any hope of overturning some of those provisions which so obviously favour him.’

  This time he looked genuinely rather than merely professionally disappointed for her. But perhaps that was just one of the skills lawyers developed to justify their fees, she thought. Dolby leaned forward earnestly and said, ‘My only hope was that the other party in this was favourably disposed towards you. Now that you have assured me that that is not the case, I’m afraid I have little comfort to offer you. You put £80,000 into Abbey Vineyards with no clear guarantee of any return. You own one sixth of the business, but with such strings attached that it is a highly illiquid asset. You cannot dispose of your share of the business, nor even withdraw your capital, without the full consent of the major partner.’

  ‘Which he steadfastly refuses to give me. Beaumont claims that under the terms of this agreement, my investment is made in perpetuity.’

  ‘Which it clearly is, in the terms agreed by you in this document. It is an eminently one-sided and unfair agreement, in my view, and we could go to law and challenge it on those grounds. The trouble is that you signed your full consent to all these clauses at that time, almost like a wife eager to support her husband’s enterprise. I fear that a plea of sexual infatuation is not one that is readily acceptable in English law. We might win, but I could not guarantee it and it would in any case be a costly business. If we lost, you see, the considerable legal costs of his defence might well be awarded to Mr Beaumont. In these circumstances, I could not recommend you to take this matter to court.’

  ‘That is what I feared you would say.’ Vanda flicked her short fair hair back over her forehead, resisting a sudden, unexpected wish to cry.

  ‘In my view, you are probably correct in your assumption that Mr Beaumont drafted this very unfair document himself. It does not have the stamp of a professional legal mind. In particular, it makes no mention of what happens to the business in the event of the demise of either partner, which is a most unusual omission.’

  ‘And what do you think might happen in such an event?’

  He
pursed his professional lips, a move which seemed to take considerably longer than the pursing of mere lay lips like Vanda’s. ‘I really couldn’t say. It would have the makings of a most interesting exploration by industrial lawyers. There are only two partners, and although you are much the junior one, I feel that in the event of either partner’s death, the other one would have a strong case for taking over the direction of the business, probably in conjunction with the heirs of the deceased.’

  ‘That is an interesting thought.’

  James Dolby gave her his most genuine smile of the morning. ‘It is indeed. And in view of that, Ms North, I would urge you most strongly not to repeat publicly your sentiments about putting a gun to the gentleman’s head.’

  SEVEN

  Eleanor Hook put the official-looking envelope beside the box of cereal and waited patiently for her husband’s reaction. Bert slit the envelope with his knife, studied the single sheet of contents with an impassive face, then cast it aside. He said decisively, ‘Well, I shan’t be attending that.’

  Eleanor picked up the discarded sheet and quickly digested its contents. She said with ominous, wifely certainty, ‘I think you should.’

  ‘It’s not my kind of thing. You know I don’t like being on show.’

  ‘This is one occasion when you should be. It’s a recognition of your achievement. A chance for your family to share in your triumph.’

  ‘You’re getting this out of proportion. It’s an Open University BA. That’s not a triumph. It’s a decent achievement, alongside hundreds of other people.’

  ‘It is a triumph,’ said Eleanor firmly. ‘Considering how you’ve had to study, fitting it in around a variable load of CID work, never being certain when you’d have time to work at this and when you wouldn’t, it’s a terrific achievement. I know that. The boys know that, for all their joking. We want to see the formal recognition of what you’ve achieved.’