“Had a good weekend?” Greg looked tired.
“Brilliant, thanks. You been busy?”
“Run off our feet, and a couple of not so good customers to be honest.” He shrugged. “It goes with the territory.” Pulling several slips from the mail pigeon holes behind him, he held them out. “You’ve got some messages. Good news I hope.” His grin flashed. “And I’ve another proposal for you when you’ve time to talk.”
I hesitated when he said this, did it mean he wanted to dispense with my services? The messages all seemed to be from my cousin who acted as a sort of Business Manager in the practice. The firm had been founded by my father, his brother and my mother’s brother. My mother now held my father’s share of the company — she was also an accountant — and the other two held the remaining share.
“We can talk now if you like.” I gestured with the messages. “These can wait. What’s the proposal?”
“Talked to my folks over the weekend. We think we can offer you something more permanent work-wise. How would it suit you to work five days a week mornings only?” Grinning, he added, “We can offer you the chalet or a small flat I used to live in upstairs, and make up the pay to two-fifty a week on top. Oh, and there’s a friend of mine — supplies our breakfasts and a few other things — needs a part-time bookkeeper. If you’re interested.”
“I’d have to see what he needs first and what sort of system he’s got, but, yes, it could be interesting.” Pausing, I considered mentioning my plans, then decided to keep it to myself. “I’ve almost got your books set up on the computer, so it could work with me doing half days, and it would make sense to free up the chalet. Where’s this flat?”
“I’ll show you.” Greg smiled. “It’s out the back and over the garage in the house my folks live in. Put your stuff in the chalet and I’ll collect you and take you to see it.”
The walk through the car park, now almost empty, took us to a small gate and the back garden of the small cottage which face onto the street behind the motel. A flight of galvanised iron stairs led up to a door, and this opened into a small hallway. To one side was a small sitting room and on the other a bathroom. Directly ahead was the door to the kitchen and the bedroom was accessed through the sitting room.
“It’s not much, but you’ll at least be able to cook if you’ve a mind to do that.” Greg watched my reaction.
“It’s perfect, Greg. More than I need.” Pausing, I continued. “Just one thing I need to tell you though. If things work out, and your offering a half day job, plus the possibility of work from your friend … I may only need to live here for about six weeks …”
“Got somewhere else lined up?”
“Sort of …” I hesitated. “I’ve a friend … he’s proposed … Anyway, I’ve promised that if I can get myself earning and independent … I’ll move into his house at the end of next month.”
“Congratulations!” Greg’s smile was warm. “We’ll have to make this work out for you both.” Pausing, he asked, “Pardon my being nosey … but is this …”
“Yes.” I felt my cheeks burn. “I’ve finally worked out which way I swing and … well, my mother threw a real tantrum. So I walked out.” Shrugging, I grimaced. “A bit disastrous when she’s also one of the directors in the firm that employs you …”
“Damn. That’s a real bugger.” He offered his hand and we shook. “Good luck to you both. The offer is still here.” He grinned. “We’ll have to negotiate the pay once you move out I expect …”
“I’m sure we can find agreement on it.” I laughed. “As long as your family don’t object …”
“To what? Changing the arrangement? That won’t be a problem.”
“No, I meant about my … um … being Gay.”
“What …?” His surprise showed. “Why would they? Oh.” He grinned. “They won’t be bothered by it. This is a motel remember — the majority of the ordinary rooms are ‘one night’ use. We don’t ask questions if its a couple. My brother runs the garden service we use — and he’s Gay.” Laughing again, he said, “He’ll be delighted, and probably try to chat you up. No worries there. My mum likes you, my Dad says he should have hired someone like you years ago.” Shrugging, he asked, “Want to take this flat over? It’s been standing empty since my wife and I moved into the flat over the reception and dining room.”
Looking round the small living room again, I considered, an idea forming.
“Yes. Yes, I will, and here’s an idea for you. I could set up an office for myself here. We could agree a ‘rent’ for it once I move out and I could work from here if I take on any other clients.” Smiling, I continued, “If it’s been standing empty, it’s been costing you. You can put it to work.”
Back in the chalet, I phoned my cousin. Huw is the son of my father’s brother, Jeffrey, and there was very little ‘love’ lost between him and my mother.
“Jim! Thanks for calling back.” The relief in his voice was plain. “You certainly threw a wild cat into the the pigeon loft. You won’t believe what’s coming out …” He laughed, the sound bitter. “Your mother is foaming. Dad had to insist she take leave — she was likely to cost us all our clients … He’s threatened … Anyway, how are you? Are you managing okay? Dad needs to talk to you about a couple of accounts you were handling — and there’s the question of your severance package and …” He took a deep breath, “Whether or not you want to be bought out of the partnership.”
“The pay will be useful …” I stopped. “Bought out of the partnership? What do you mean?”
“What I said.” Hesitating, he asked, “You don’t know?”
“Know what? Dad left his share to my mother — at least that’s what she said the court ruled. He didn’t have a Will. I only get any ‘share’ when she passes on … until then …”
“Er, not quite.” The pause was a lot longer this time. “Look, it’s a lot more complicated. Dad or Uncle George will have to explain it all to you, can we meet you somewhere … somewhere private where he can discuss the whole mess with you?” Pausing again, he suggested, “Perhaps at the motel?”
“The motel will be fine. What time? I’m due to do some work for them in the morning, but can adjust the time …”
My Uncle George was, as usual, prompt, stepping out of his car exactly four minutes before the time agreed and Cousin Huw was with him. He looked slightly harassed and clutched a thick briefcase. Seeing me waiting, he smiled briefly.
“Thanks for agreeing to see me, Jim.” He offered his hand and I shook it. “I’m sorry about all this — and about your mother’s response. Can we go somewhere? There’s a lot to go through …”
“We can go to my flat.” The serious expression suggested this was going to be a long session. “We’ll be private there. Just give me a moment to tell Greg — my employer — that I’ll be ‘absent’ from the office for a bit.”
Greg didn’t object, and I led my uncle to the flat, thankful I’d managed to move myself into it before heading to the office and that it was fully equipped and furnished.
“Some coffee, Uncle George? For you, Huw?”
“Thanks, James.” My uncle nodded as he opened his briefcase, and Huw agreed. “Sit yourselves down then, this should only take a few minutes.”
Putting coffee into three mugs while the kettle boiled, I put milk and sugar on the small tray, poured the boiling water into the mugs and carried it through to where they sat.
“Huw told me there’s some complication about my leaving …” I said as I offered the mugs.
“Complication? One way to put it.” Uncle George shot Huw a look. “I’ll come straight to the point, your father left you his full share, which means that you, not your mother, should be on the Board.” He selected a document from a folder. “I’m afraid my sister has, shall we say, been fraudulently exercising an authority that was never hers in the first place. I’m sorry to say, that, due to the circumstances of your father’s death, and the threat of scandal, your Uncle Jeffrey and I … well, we never demanded sight of Albert’s Will … In fact we believed there wasn't one ...”
I took the offered document and scanned it. There it was; he’d left everything to me, not to my mother.
“But … why?” Then another thought hit me. “How did she get away with it? Didn’t anyone demand to see the Will?”
“We did. We knew he’d made one, but not who it had been lodged and filed with. When it couldn’t be found, your mother filed a claim saying there wasn’t one and the Probate Court agreed a settlement that gave her full possession with you as the heir in the event of her …” George looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, James, I should … we should have suspected something. Her solicitor was Sinclair …”
“Sinclair? The guy now in jail for stealing from the Trusts he managed?” Now I was angry. “The creep she had an affair with?”
“You knew about that?” George’s surprise showed. “Yes, he apparently blackmailed her … he’d handled the Will, and never entered it into any records. This was the only copy, it was in a file your father must have hidden.”
“Was that why he committed suicide? She always said he drank himself to death …”
“Albert was no drunk.” George’s retort was sharper than he meant. He composed himself. “Albert was a brilliant accountant. He could have been a scientist or a top notch barrister! My sister …” He shook himself. “Was the worst possible thing to happen to him. Your father was as honest as the day is long, and we all knew that he, er, was more attracted to men than … but she persuaded him, threatened him with exposure … In those days, well, being that way was a criminal offence … Anyway, he had money, we weren’t so well off, and my sister wanted it.”
My emotions were in turmoil now. Memories of my father — kind, caring, often upset as I grew older and he withdrew into himself flooded into my head alongside those of my mother, always strict, always critical … The news of my father’s death had been a terrible shock. I’d just got my A Levels and a place at University and gone on a celebratory holiday with a group of friends. I’d hurried home from the continent to find my mother in full charge, supported by her Pastor and a gang of supporters from her church. The Coroner’s report said they’d found high levels of alcohol in his body. That was enough for the whispers to start, and my mother stoked them. Hinting that, at home, out of sight, my father had been always drunk …
“Did she kill him?” I felt sick.
“We don’t know, and can’t prove it now.” George’s anger showed. My father had been cremated. Again, at my mother’s insistence. “Jeffrey and I have agreed that any action on that is your decision. For now, your mother, my sister,” he almost spat that acknowledgement, “is removed from all contact with the firm, it’s accounts, its office and its employees. She remains in the house for now, and, of course, her personal bank account is available …”
“The house is mine as well?” I glanced at the Will again. There it was — ‘my property …’
“That’s a difficulty. She is entitled to claim at least half the value of any ‘joint’ property, and the house is certainly within that definition.” He paused. “You, of course, have a claim to half the value now as well. I would suggest you talk to our legal advisers,” he grimaced, “Jeffrey managed to block her appointing the people she wanted a few years ago, and will guide you on anything they recommend. What is clear is that you are the partner in the firm, alongside myself and Jeffrey — and have a choice. You can rejoin us, or sell your ‘interest’ to us or to someone else. Again, I must insist you take legal advise on it.”
It was lunchtime before Uncle George had finished going over all the ramifications and complications the new situation had exposed. Not least that my mother had also been ‘donating’ money to her ‘church’ from the firm's bank accounts. I was now past angry. I was in shock, and with that came a sense of guilt — that my being Gay, and coming out as Gay — had apparently caused all this difficulty for my family. I even felt sorry for my mother …
One thing was absolutely clear. I needed legal advice.
