Chapter 37
‘Your secretary said I’d find you here.’ Richard said, looking at his employer as though he’d gone mad. ‘What are you doing here? You never come down here.’
‘Well, I am here today, clearly.’
Richard frowned. ‘Clearly.’ He looked up at the vaulted wooden ceiling. The old boathouse had seen better days. It was cold and damp; far too cold for his old bones. Richard had arthritis. Mind you, he never complained, otherwise his employer would tell him to retire. He should have done so a few years earlier, but he’d always said that he’d only retire when his employer did.
They both turned at the sound of a chain grating. Two young men were pulling on a lever, hauling an old boat up to look at the hull.
‘What is that?’
‘It’s a boat, Richard.’
‘I can see that. But what’s it doing here? It’s in a bit of a state.’
‘Yes, that’s why I’m having it repaired.’
‘Why? You could just buy a new one.’
‘Yes, I could. But it wouldn’t be the same.’
‘No, it wouldn’t. It would be better.’ Richard looked at his employer. ‘Frank, I don’t understand …’
‘And you won’t. Now, what is so urgent that you came all the way down here instead of waiting for me to return to the house?’
Richard cast a glance back towards the house. He’d never walked this far down the extensive gardens of his employer’s ten-bedroomed detached house, to the jetty on the shore, and the old, rarely used boathouse. ‘We’ve heard from your … acquaintance.’
Frank rolled his eyes. ‘You mean my spy. Let’s say it like it is – shall we?’
‘Alright then, your spy in the village. You know he told you that a young woman arrived and was asking directions to The Beach House?’
‘Yes, yes. That was over a fortnight ago.’
‘Well, I don’t know if it’s of any consequence, but he heard from the woman who runs the pet shop that she’s been in there buying pet food.’
Frank turned around and gaped at Richard. ‘You walked all the way down here to tell me that?’
‘Well, no.’
‘Then what is it?’
‘She mentioned that she’s got a part-time job in the music shop, in Aldeburgh, helping out a guy called Reggie.’
Frank narrowed his eyes. ‘You mean Reggie is helping her out? I know all about that, already.’
‘You mean from your other spies?’
Frank didn’t answer that. Instead, he said, ‘I’m sorting it,’ and flicked his hand at his long-time personal assistant, dismissing him.
Richard wasn’t ready to go. ‘Sorting it – how?’
‘You’ll see.’
Richard was about to leave when Frank said, ‘Don’t tell them about this.’
‘About the boat?’
Frank nodded.
Richard rolled his eyes. ‘Tell who?’ It would be helpful if he knew who Frank was talking about.
‘My other spies, of course. Who do you think?’
Richard pursed his lips, swallowing a sarcastic retort. He cocked his head to one side, staring at the boat. ‘Has this got something to do with The Beach House?’
‘None of your business.’
‘Your business is my business – remember?’
‘This is personal.’
‘So, it is about The Beach House.’ Richard sighed. ‘After all these years, you’re not going to give up, are you?’
‘I said that one day I’d own The Beach House, and I will, I swear.’
Richard stepped closer to the boat. On the corner of the hull he could just make out the name of the boat, even though there were a couple of letters missing. Richard arched his eyebrows in consternation. ‘Oh, dear god – it’s that sailing boat, isn’t it? The one you used to take Blythe out in. Where did you get it?’
Frank wouldn’t look him in the eye.
‘You stole it – didn’t you? Are you going to repair it, and give it back?’
Richard’s questions were just being met with a cold, blank stare.
‘Look, she’s dug her heels in. No amount of money you offer is going to change her mind and make her sell.’
‘So, why doesn’t she just answer the letters and tell me that?’
‘Maybe because she doesn’t know who’s behind them. Perhaps if you stopped hiding behind the solicitor—’ Richard stopped abruptly when something occurred to him. ‘You’re afraid of rejection again.’
‘I am not!’
Richard was no fool. And he knew Frank like he’d know his own brother – if he’d had one. ‘Why can’t you just let The Beach House go?’
In the stony silence, Richard remembered what Frank had once told him. ‘It’s because the people who had it built were—’
‘The making of me – that’s right, Richard.’
‘But not in a good way,’ Richard muttered under his breath. Sometimes, he wondered how Frank’s life might have turned out if Blythe hadn’t rejected him.
Before he worked for Frank, they’d been childhood friends, and had grown up in Aldeburgh together. After Frank had left the Navy, he’d set up his property business, and had contacted his trusted friend, Richard, who had subsequently worked with him all over the world. This was the last place Richard had expected his employer to return to. The problem was that the move came with its own set of problems – personal problems. Down the coast was The Beach House, still haunting him.
Richard believed that sometimes it wasn’t wise to revisit the past, and certainly not to return and put down roots again, but he also understood Frank’s motivations for returning there. He wanted to prepare his grandson to take over the business when the time came.
So, three years earlier, when Troy had finished his A-Levels and was about to embark on a university degree, Frank had reappeared, bought a massive ten-bedroomed detached house overlooking the sea, with its very own boathouse and home office, and encouraged his only grandson to forget university and start as an apprentice in his business – much to the disappointment of Troy’s father, Sebastian. Fortunately, his grandson, although not biologically related to him, loved the business; lived for it. Would do anything for it. Perhaps that, thought Richard, had not turned out to be a good thing.
And now, there they all were, and because Frank just couldn’t escape his past, he’d dragged his grandchildren into it too.
Richard couldn’t help himself. ‘I really don’t agree with all this.’
Frank raised his eyebrows. ‘The boat was just rotting there.’
‘I am not talking about the boat. Whatever grievance you had with her and her parents, you need to let it go.’
‘I’ve offered a generous price for the house.’
‘I bet you have. But when will you accept that she won’t sell?’
‘I want it.’
‘You’ve wanted a lot of things, over the years, Frank. And as soon you’ve got them, you’ve cast them aside.’
‘This is different.’
‘What will you do with it, if she does give in and sell?’
‘I think you know the answer to that. I’ll enjoy burning the place to the ground.’
Richard stared at him. A terrible thought entered his head, and he voiced it without thinking. ‘Why don’t you do it anyway, and be done with it?’
Frank turned from the boat and stared at Richard, who assumed he would rebuke him for that remark. Instead, he coolly said, ‘That has crossed my mind, but then her insurance would only rebuild the darn thing. No, the answer is I must own it first.’
‘And what if she just refuses, and that’s that?’
‘Oh, I’m already on the case.’
Richard frowned. ‘The case of the missing deeds?’
‘Exactly! My solicitor thinks the property has never been registered with the Land Registry. It’s possible that there are no deeds, which proves her parents just built the place on land that wasn’t theirs. That obnoxious couple, thinking they could have anything they wanted, thinking they were above anybody else.’
Richard stared at him, thinking that the description of Blythe’s late parents sounded just like Frank. Richard slowly shook his head, not at all surprised that Frank couldn’t see that. He didn’t bother enlightening him. Instead, he thought, What does it matter, after all these years? He knew what it was really all about. ‘I thought, that after all this time, you would have got over her.’
Frank held his hand up. ‘Not another word, Richard.’
Richard stole a glance at the boat, sighed, and walked out.
‘Tell me when my other spies arrive, please,’ Frank called after him.
Richard cast a glance over his shoulder and caught the two workmen in the boathouse exchanging a nervous glance. They knew better than to comment, or repeat anything of what they’d heard. Their employer paid a very generous wage, but that also paid for their silence – all Frank’s employees knew that, even Richard.
Richard was making his way back to the house when he stopped abruptly. He looked at the paperwork in his hands. ‘Oh, bother.’ He’d got into that conversation over the boat, and The Beach House, and had just plain forgotten the reason he’d walked down to the boathouse in the first place. He turned on his heel. ‘Maybe I should retire. I’m getting too long in the tooth for all this.’
‘You’re back!’ said Frank in surprise. ‘What is it now? You are getting rather tiresome.’
‘About this …’ Richard showed him some paperwork. ‘I saw it on your secretary’s desk.’
‘Nothing gets past you, Richard.’
‘I should hope not. I’ve been doing this job long enough.’
‘So, what’s the problem?’
Richard glanced at the workmen. He whispered, ‘This is … delicate. I’d rather we discussed it up at the house.’
Frank heaved a sigh. ‘All right.’ He glanced at the two men. ‘Can it be fixed?’
‘Yes, with the right equipment. We might need to enlist the help of someone we know at the boatyard in Southwold with a lot of experience.’
‘Can he be … discreet?’
Both young men nodded. ‘With the right … remuneration, anyone can be discreet.’
Frank grinned. ‘Isn’t that the truth? I’ll double your commission, and that of your colleague, if you can get the boat fixed ASAP.’
‘Consider it done, Frank.’
‘Good lad.’
Richard knew Frank didn’t bat an eyelid at his employees addressing him by his first name. That was how he liked it. Although he was their boss, and a very, very wealthy man, he was still Frank, the boy who’d grown up in a little flat above a music shop in a place called Cobblers Yard; there weren’t, and never would be, any airs and graces. All he expected from his employees was that they worked hard, very hard, as he had done all his life, and they would be remunerated accordingly.
Frank turned to Richard. He smiled. ‘Let’s go back up to the house.’
They walked through the gardens together, following the path up the gentle slope to the grand Georgian-style red-brick property. It had a large conservatory, which Frank had recently added on the back. The gardens, as always, were pristinely manicured by a full-time gardener.
Richard winced at the sound of a cement mixer ruining the peace and tranquillity. Workmen were building yet another extension; this time on the side of the house. The noise rather ruined the ambience. Richard rolled his eyes. He wasn’t surprised that Frank was building another extension – that was him all over; never, ever satisfied with anything he did or had. Always chasing the next thing.
He’d said to Frank once, some time after his wife had died young, that he needed to find someone else – fall in love again. Then perhaps his priorities would shift from another extension, or work of art, or expensive car. Frank hadn’t spoken to him for a week after he’d said that. Richard had made a mental note never to bring it up again.
And now he was fixated on something else – The Beach House.
Richard followed Frank through the house, up the impossibly grand, wide staircase to his study, passing the secretary sitting in an anteroom outside his home office.
Frank walked over to his ornate desk and sat down on the large leather chair. He leaned forward, hands together on the desk, and said, ‘Right, what’s this about?’
Richard took a seat opposite him and put some paperwork on his desk. ‘I notice you’ve put up the rent on this place. I thought you’d got rid of that years ago?’
‘I thought that nothing ever got past you?’
Richard caught the playful smile on Frank’s lips. He ignored the comment. ‘Well, I’m wondering why you still own it.’
‘Call me sentimental.’
‘Really? That’s the last thing I’d call you.’
It was only because he’d been working for Frank since the beginning that he got away with his sarcasm and cheek. No one else would dare to speak to Frank that way. They might call him by his first name, but he was still their boss, and the person who held their livelihood in his hands.
Richard imagined that if they were in the outbuilding having this conversation, the two workmen would momentarily pause what they were doing to stare at him, probably thinking he’d be out of a job by the end of the day.
Frank sat back in his chair. ‘It’s just a normal rise in a market rent. Should have done it years ago.’
Richard stared at him. Now he knew why he had missed this shop – the shop Frank had inherited years earlier – on their books, and it had gone under the radar. It was because the rent hadn’t been changed in years, decades. It was now tantamount to a peppercorn rent.
‘It’s time the place became a sensible, profitable business.’
‘You’re saying it’s not profitable?’ Richard frowned. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if that’s been the case for quite some time. It’s not as though they get a lot of passing trade in Cobblers Yard, so I imagine it’s rather word of mouth. But I happened to pop into the lovely old bookshop in Cobblers Yard for a novel just the other day, and got chatting to a friendly old lady sitting on the sofa having a cup of coffee. Now, what was her name?’ mused Richard.
‘Oh, never mind that. What is your point, Richard?’
‘Well, I gleaned – from what she told me about the number of customers she’s seen going in and out of the music shop over the past fortnight – that the shop’s fortunes have rather changed. I bet the turnover is quite impressive.’
Frank rubbed his chin. ‘You think so?’
Richard nodded. ‘I wouldn’t know exactly what that turnover is. I don’t have access to Reggie’s accounts, obviously. But as I said, I imagine he is rather pleased with the sudden change in his fortunes.’
Frank smiled. ‘Even more reason to put up the rent, then.’
Richard frowned. ‘That’s not what I was getting at. This is an extortionate rise.’
‘It’s the going rate, though.’
‘But to raise it like this, all in one go …’ Richard trailed off, hoping he was making his point. It was unfair and unjust. He said as much. ‘I know that with your money, you’ve lost all sense of proportion as to what money means for ordinary folk, but you’ll put him out of business, for sure.’
Frank rounded on Richard. ‘Would you like to find out what it’s like to be put out of this business? Because I can arrange it.’
Through the open doorway, Richard caught the secretary looking up, open-mouthed, probably relieved it wasn’t her sitting in his chair, getting an earful.
Richard got up, walked over, and closed the door. He imagined the secretary was probably feeling guilty that she’d let him have the paperwork he’d happened to see on her desk.
Richard turned around. ‘How long have we known each other?’ They both knew that it was a rhetorical question. ‘I’m too long in the tooth to listen to your diatribe, Frank.’
‘Then perhaps it is time to let you go.’
‘I wish you would. I’m looking forward to that comfortable retirement you promised me.’
Richard was calling his bluff. Although he had invested wisely in a good pension, and had savings, he still needed the job. His wife had warned him not to commit to putting their three lovely grandchildren through an expensive private school, but Richard had insisted. Of course, there was the possibility he’d get ill, and he knew he would inevitably get old and eventually die – he was getting on in years – but he had insurance policies for that. What he hadn’t counted on was the possibility he might lose his job.
He had never pictured a time when he wouldn’t want to work for his best friend. But that time seemed to have come. Going after a little old lady’s home just because he bore a grudge; getting his own grandchildren to spy for him – Frank could be unscrupulous in business. This was a side of his friend that Richard didn’t much like.
He’d advised Frank that this move back to Suffolk would be a mistake – but had he listened? It was the first time that Frank had not taken his advice. And it was the first time that Richard had considered throwing in the towel – except that he couldn’t retire. Not now. The grandchildren were all settled into their schools and relishing the opportunities that their expensive fee-paying privileged education was providing.
Richard slunk out of the room, wishing he’d listened to his wife and not committed to those expensive school fees.
He started down the stairs and was surprised to see Troy slowly walking up the stairs towards him, his face like thunder. He’d thought Troy was meant to be going to a party. Richard passed him on the stairs, barely acknowledging Troy. He knew he was behaving out of character, but he had a lot on his mind. Besides, he knew what Troy was doing there. Richard had already passed the other spy sitting with the secretary, eating sweeties while she waited to see her grandpa. Despite the sweeties, Willow did not look happy either.