Chapter 2

 

        The glass of homemade lemonade was just as she liked it, cool, tart and refreshing, her grandmother’s recipe stretching back to the nineteenth century. Made with fresh lemons and not too much sugar and just a hint of ginger to add a little heat and of course a pile of crushed ice. She loved drinks with crushed ice and had this electric crusher that you filled with the big lumps and out came perfect little lumps that filled the glass with a cold slowly melting mush. Just perfect for a hot day.

When fully extended the cream canvas awning easily covered the oak table and chairs perfectly positioned on the extensive weathered stone terrace. The welcome shade and slight breeze making a very comfortable entertaining area. The wide patio doors were fully open allowing the slight breeze to cool the lavishly furnished garden room with its array of exotic plants and tall glass windows open wide allowing air to circulate. Lilly Beauchamp liked the heat but preferred heat in the shade these days, her time on the sun lounger by the pool long gone. The pool sparkling in the sunshine and all that solar energy hitting the panels warming the water ready for her early evening swim. Her greying mid-length hair held in place by one of those wide, flat brimmed straw type hats with a wide blue band and pushed back a bit on her head. For her age she looked good, not a tall woman, slim and with that look that says this was a very good looking woman that was just getting older. There was no disguising her past beauty.

Sitting at the table facing the pool she bent her head slightly forward and looked down her nose over the classy specs she needed for reading and picked up the folder type book, one of those office made efforts with the plastic coated cover holding reams of clipped together pages. Third time lucky and all that she thought as she lifted her head to look through the lenses and start to leaf through the lists of numbers and recommendations she found so daunting and boring. Money was something she had never been really concerned about except the spending of it that is. Aubrey had always done that. The most she did was sign bits of paper when presented with a dotted line. She would ask what it was and he would just say something about it being a tidying up exercise and that it was just the same as all the others. She never knew what that was, the same as all the others, just accepted it was necessary as Aubrey said so.

Then just over six months ago he was hit by a car that did not stop while crossing the road outside his London office. He did not survive and she was devastated to lose her childhood friend. They had married at twenty and were only two years away from fifty years when he left her. A clever man and hard working who built an empire out of nothing and lavished her with gifts and a lifestyle she had only dreamed of. After the funeral his solicitor. James Mackenzie Munroe, had come to see her. Always looking smug and with a superior air and those glasses that perched just on the end of his nose. A short stocky man with a permanent scowl, the kind of scowl that suggested years of being bent over legal documents, those sort that are full of too many words, legal speak trying to eliminate ambiguity. He had told her about Aubrey’s will, how his businesses and wealth were left to her and then he told her of the number of additional investments that had been placed in her name, the paperwork for which she had signed. The sums involved in his main activities were considerable and James had suggested she seek the advice of a good financial advisor and although the investments in her name were nowhere near as large they were still quite substantial.

Her man Max, faithful old Max. Not a tall man, a shortish sixty something with a good head of thick short hair. Slim but obviously fit, a wiry look with a face that suggested hardship some time in the past. Indispensable for over thirty years, her confidant with that sort of ability to know everything and do anything and appearing to know what she wanted before she knew herself. Max, dressed in a black suit with light grey tie had suggested the firm of William Stockard and to ask specifically for Robert Lucas and the man with the remarkable quiffed hair had called and they spent many tedious hours trawling through everything. He had suggested he went away and then write to her with a series of recommendations. The pamphlet had arrived about two weeks later. She had looked at it then stuck it in a drawer thinking it was too complicated to bother with but knew she would have to do something eventually.

 

A few days ago Max had appeared with the pamphlet and said, “I hope you don’t mind madame but it's been a while since this arrived. Do you think it's time to have another look? I think it’s important to at least give it some consideration. Soon the investment suggestions might lapse.”

“Oh I don’t mind Max and thank you and you’re right.” she had said and it was that she was now trying to decipher.

She read a bit more then threw the portfolio onto the table for the third time thinking that three times were not so lucky after all. One of those looks crossed her face, the sort of look that people have when they are confused and frustrated at the same time. This all needed a bit of explanation, she thought so she flicked to the last page and read the bit that said if she had any questions just phone and a number which, picking up her phone, she dialled and waited listening to the beeps.

“This is Robert Lucas please leave a message and number and I'll get back to you,” is all she heard so she said, “hello Robert this is Lilly Beauchamp. If you remember, you came to see me a few months ago. Can you call me back please?” and left her number and hung up. She sat back remembering their conversation and how she had been impressed with the way he spoke and the expertise he seemed to possess. She thought he was such a nice pleasant man and looked fabulous with that wonderful swept back hair and those gentle eyes with the smile exaggerated crows feet and youthful looks that did not fool her. She suspected he was older than he looked just by the amount of knowledge he seemed to have and his very distinctive way of talking, the sort of way that some people might speak if they were trying to suppress the overeager excitement or enthusiasm conveying a favourite topic might have, a kind of disjointed coherence but with a smooth almost calming voice. She smiled then sighed and went back to her lemonade.

 

There was a commotion in the hall. The front door banging shut with a temper filled slam and then a set of stomping feet on the hard wooden floor. She did not get up straight away then remembered Max had left for a short break only two days before. Sheepishly coming to see her twiddling his fingers staying silent with one of those things to say but not knowing how to say them looks. She had to ask what he wanted. He said he had the opportunity for a break staying at a friend’s house. He had said he needed to go straight away or the opportunity would be missed so he left a couple of days later. The noise was getting louder so she got up, walked through the garden room. She did not rush, she never rushed for anything it was not her way. She simply ambled into the adjoining sitting room to be met by her son, Freddie, coming in from the hall.

“What’s going on then?” his normal brusque manner making him sound especially irritated, “I had to let myself in. Where’s Max? He should be sacked.”

“Max’s on holiday dear,” Lilly clenched her hands and a deliberately audible sigh made Freddie rile, “he’s gone for a trip around the world.”

“A bit sudden,” he said, “I don’t like Max and the way he’s always whispering in your ear. Did he give any notice?”

“Not really, he just said he had an opportunity and I said I didn’t mind if he went straight away. It was as simple as that. And I am perfectly aware of what you think of Max but he’s a great help and I listen to him. Something you could do sometimes. Listen to people.”

“So he left you in the lurch. Bloody cheek.”

“Can you please mind your language dear. You know I don't like swearing, it’s so undignified.”

“Well…..these people, I don’t know who they think they are. If he were here now I’d….”

“You’d do what dear? Give him a piece of your mind? You wouldn’t want to give him too much, would you now, you've not a lot in that head of yours to be that generous with. Max is very loyal to me as you well know and I certainly don’t mind him taking time off even if it is  at short notice.”

Freddie, ignoring the little quip, said, “anyway he could have given some notice.”

Approaching fifty Freddie, tall and portly with the red face of an always angry person, was one of those people with little patience, the sort of person who steamrolled through life with little thought to anything other than to fulfil his own selfish desires. Always having a lot to say about things he knew nothing about with a habit of grating the nerves of even the most resilient person and just at the moment Lilly was feeling extremely grated. To calm down she said, “come through to the garden. I’m on the terrace and bring a glass. I've made fresh lemonade and I know you like that.”

Sitting down opposite her Freddie absentmindedly brushed his jacket a couple of times with his hand, pulled the sleeves a bit as though he was straightening them up, the kind of gestures formed by habit and filled his glass and added extra ice from the bucket and said, “ what’s all this?” poking the folder around the table, “what’s the story with this then?” picking it up and chucking it back down, “what have you been doing and who's this William Stockard outfit? What do they do that warrants all this tacky looking paperwork?”

Lilly said, “read it if you want, there’s no secret. They’re financial advisors.”

“What do you need them for? I’ll tell you what to do with all the money.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. You’re useless with money, why else do you keep coming here wanting more? I bet the only reason you’re here now is to stick your hand in my pocket. Don’t you think I sometimes might get fed up with it. Why don’t you get a proper job instead of pretending to do your ‘entrepreneurial enterprises?’ Do any of your schemes ever make money? Your latest one gone bad has it?”

“As it happens it’s doing fine, I just need to bolster it up a bit. A cash injection will see it boom. Anyway what’re you planning to do? I’ve a right to know, don’t you think? And what about this great big house with you all rattling around? You going to sell it or can I move in and you get something smaller?”

“I’ve no intention of selling or moving out, I like living here and I’m still young enough to enjoy it and all my friends like to come. Max will be back Saturday and in the meantime I’m perfectly capable of cooking and answering the door.”

“Well I think you should move out. The place is way too big for you and you should tell me what you’re doing with your money. I want control of the pubs and restaurants and all those gambling places. They should be mine. I ran them.” Freddie was gesticulating, starting to wildly wave his arms about in a demonstration of temper.

“So you did and very badly. Your father sacked you, didn’t he. Just before he was killed. Got rid of you and not a day too soon as far as I am concerned. I don’t know why he did it but there must’ve been a very good reason. All I know is a man came to see him one Saturday when I was out meeting Viv. Max told me, Why he put up with you I don’t know. You know he made records of everything you’d done, whatever that was.”

“I made money, didn’t I? But you wouldn’t know any of that, would you? Stuck here in the mansion just spending it. I should’ve got what I deserve. And anyway where are these so called records?”

“I don’t know where he put them. He hid them so they’re somewhere safe I guess. He had that way about him didn’t he? Always meticulous.”

“I bet they don’t even exist,” said Freddie with a snorting huff, “anyway what do I care. They won’t matter, will they? When I’m in charge again.”

Lille banged her hands on the table, “you know Freddie, sometimes you really make me so cross. I’ve given you everything I can and more and you still come here and do nothing but talk about money. Well this is it now and I won’t discuss it anymore. As for telling you about my finances, if and when I think it appropriate I will inform you. And I have no intention of giving you control of any of it. The arrangements your father made to replace you are working well and that section of the business is booming. That much I do know. All you do when you come here is go on about money and the house. Do you ever come just to see me? But I can answer that for you, no you don’t. I’ve had enough of it. I’m not going to argue with you anymore, it's my choice what I do. All I will say is my will has been drawn up and is lodged with James so you know where that is if anything does happen to me. As for giving you more money I will advance you a reasonable sum but that will be the last you get. What you do with it is up to you. I would suggest you save it so you don't end up poor.”

Freddie had the sense to know when his mother had really had enough and so changed the conversation. They chatted for a while in the usual strained and frosty atmosphere then he left with the promise of the transfer of funds and feeling both elated to have got the commitment of a lot more money than he had expected but frustrated and deflated he had not made any progress getting his hands on his father’s wealth or securing the house he so desperately wanted to move into. He would have to do something about that. The funds she had given him were generous but he knew the way he spent money they would not last that long. He needed his job back and of course he wanted the house. First thing Monday he would speak to James and see what could be done.

 

Seeing him to the door Lilly watched his Mercedes meander down the long curving driveway past the fake headless Davidesque statue Aubrey liked so much, the head Freddie had taken a spade to the day he was sacked. She watched until the car disappeared beyond the boundary rhododendrons. Then she returned to the terrace shaking her head and thinking she would not be pushed around. She was now more determined to make decisions about investments if only so Freddie could not easily get his hands on anything. She knew if that happened it would be a disaster. In a few years it would all have been blown away. Freddie was their only child and if there was any fault she could find with Aubrey it would be that he had doted on Freddie, gave him everything he wanted and never said no. She felt she was now paying the price for that intemperance and kind of expected there was trouble brewing.

As she refreshed her lemonade the phone rang, “is that Mrs Beauchamp?” the smooth voice said.

“Speaking,” she replied.

“This is Robert Lucas, Mrs Beauchamp, returning your call. Sorry I missed you earlier.”

“Oh yes, thank you Robert for calling back,” she said, hearing some background noise. Cars mostly, sounding as though they were zooming by, then a girl's voice saying something and then a bit of shouting. “You remember you came to see me about six months ago?”

“Sure,” he said, “you’re in the Surrey Hills.”

“That’s right. Well, I’m sorry it’s taken a while to get back to you. I received your appraisal of everything we talked about but found it a bit overwhelming so I kind of ignored it. I’m having another go at it and I’ve got to admit I’m at a bit of a loss getting to grips with all this. Would you be able to call round and talk me through it?”

Bobby said, “sure, that’s no problem. When would be a good time?”

Having trouble hearing against a rising noise level, she said, “Well I’m here most of the time. Could you make Monday, about ten o’clock?” There was now much more noise, shouting and yelling and car doors banging and cars driving away. “I’m struggling to hear you Robert. Is everything all right? There’s a lot of noise.”

“I’m sorry,” said Bobby, “I’m sitting outside by a busy road and some builders have just arrived. I’ll see you Monday at ten.”

“Thank you Robert and take care.” she said and the line went dead.