No going back - 4. Settling In

Getting the work on my new house started was taking rather longer than I had anticipated, but the new builder, Colin from Reliable Renovations, impressed in a number of ways. For a start he was a big bloke, rather sexy and definitely my type. If I'd met him at Ten Tons of Fun, then I would have hooked onto him. As it was, he was a potential builder for the house. He had come round one evening, looked at all that needed doing, hadn't sucked his teeth, had listened to what I thought and what I wanted, hadn't bigged up the problems but had been candid about how much we didn't know about the issues with the conservatory. And he hadn't treated me like an idiot.

Yes, I found him sexy, but it was the business relationship that mattered. After all, he was the fourth builder I had tried, one had never turned up, two had turned up, ignored me during their assessment and never bothered sending a quote. Finally, I had had recourse to Mhairi's boss Lawrence, who had recommended Colin.

Goodness knows when the guy slept because I got a quote back almost by return. Expensive, but broken down clearly, and then when I said OK, he came over on a Friday evening to finalise things. The house was strangely bleak without the proper furniture. The gas and electric were connected, and I had a Wi-Fi hub installed as I planned to be around working upstairs whilst the workmen were in the house, though I would have to check with Colin. I had brought some beer and a bottle of wine, along with a stock of glasses to leave in the house. I thought we might have a celebratory drink.

He appeared wearing t-shirt with jeans that sat under his belly, leaving a slight, but sexy gap between the two.

Stop it Owain.

He explained to me that for a few weeks it would largely just be him, doing preparatory work and seeing what actually needed doing, lifting floorboards and generally rooting around underneath. It would be nice if the house held no surprises, but that was probably a vain hope. Colin would also be ordering in the new windows for the conservatory, which was a whole different can of worms and only when the old ones were out, and things were de-constructed could they be certain of what they were finding.

But he assured me that when his team arrived, it would be all systems go. He was a nice bloke, quieter and far less the wide-boy that I'd expected. He was prepared to explain things, certainly none of the 'leave it to us guv, we'll have it sorted' attitude that I so much disliked.

I explained that I had installed a Wi-Fi hub and planned to work in the front bedroom, one of the rooms that (supposedly) did not need any major work doing to it. Rather than viewing this idea as me keeping an eye on him, he saw it as a bonus as he got to use the Wi-Fi too, and I would be around to be consulted. Though I subsequently had visions of me not getting any work done because of Colin's questions. I had to get used to working at home and working in an entirely new environment.

You could do it Owain.

Thus began the new regime. I had splurged on stuff, sight unseen, from John Lewis and things had been delivered within a few days. So I had my office in the front bedroom, consisting of table, chair, laptop and some filing boxes, whilst in the kitchen, I furnished kettle and the wherewithal to make a decent cup of tea or coffee, oh and a fridge, plus another couple of chairs. Though Colin warned me that that would all have to move at some point.

You get the idea.

---

I eased myself into work gradually, finding my feet in the new way of working. Video conferences were particularly difficult to get used to, and I became immune to odd comments about the bareness of my office or asking what on earth that noise was in the background. To start off, I decided that going to the office and meeting people would be a good idea. This was weird, in itself, because the office was right where the family paper mill used to be. The business park occupied the site, and the boring plastic box buildings had been cheered up by having stray bits of the industrial heritage dotted around.

At the entrance to the business park itself, as a sort of grand gesture, was a huge lump of carved stone announcing 'Glennisters Paper Mill'.

Fuck.

As I parked the car by my new office there was another reminder, a cast iron monstrosity with an information board providing some history including a photograph of my Grandad and Grandma when they'd just married, and things were still rosy. I’d known where the business park was, of course, and I’d even gathered that they’d reflected its history in the redevelopment. But having it presented in black and white, complete with a picture of my Grandparents circa 1936, when money was plentiful and the firm was on top of the world, suddenly brought it all home to me. Despite the way Father had played everything down, my family had been a big thing in the area and, for all I knew, still was.

Fuck.

"You OK? Owain Hargreaves isn't it?" The speaker seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, but my attention had been on the information board. He was tall, grey-haired, bearded, 40s probably, and in posh-casual dress - button-down shirt & chinos. "I'm Francis, we've spoken online but never in person".

Now he said it, I recognised him from the video calls. He wasn't stupid, because he looked from the photo on the noticeboard to me, 'Olwen Glennister and her new-found husband, Donald Hargreaves, at the opening of the new plant'. He stared at me, "Hargreaves as in?"

I shrugged and nodded at the picture, "My Grandad and Grandma. The last time I was here, Father brought us to see the remains of the mill, before it was demolished. I'm glad they managed to save something."

Francis gave a wry smile, "Not as much as they wanted, I gather that it was a big conservation fight."

"I'd heard that too", but only much later, by hearsay. We'd had nothing about the paper mill in the house at all.

"Sorry, it must be weird, you seeing this?"

"Well, I knew what I was getting into but actually arriving here did rather hit me."

He smiled, "Coffee, I think."

Once inside the office, all reminders of my family disappeared, the imagery was all about the firm and the product, the latest marketing photos alongside some striking, contemporary prints of local landmarks. The usual corporate decor. The office itself was open plan with people hot desking. The receptionist, a likely young Indian lad, sorted out a meeting room and Francis went to fetch coffee and Jo, whoever they were.

Jo proved to be a slight, boyish woman who looked at me with what could only be described as an angry face. It turned out that she was my team leader, and I wondered whether the news had been as much a surprise to her as it was to me. I had got the impression that I was reporting directly to Francis. He seemed amenable, but I was already beginning to wonder. Jo, on the other hand, proved direct and business-like, I thought maybe I could work with her, even if she didn't seem to like me. Francis left us together, wandering off, beaming with bonhomie.

"Don't let him fool you. He's a tough cookie and a slick operator. OK as a boss, all told, certainly not as soft as you'd think."

"Gives you plenty of rope?"

"And some. Sharp when things go wrong, and he'll support you", she gave me a funny look, "usually, but don't take it for granted. Fight your corner."

Wow. I could see office politics might be fun. "You worked for him long?"

"We all arrived here new, set this office up."

I thought I understood, it was her baby. "Well, it saved my bacon I don't know how much you know about my illness?"

"A bit. Enough."

"Good. I'd rather not describe it", she gave a small smile. "I was told I couldn't go back to my old job, too much stress. If this place hadn't existed, with the possibility of home working, not sure that I'd have done".

"You family's round here?"

"Sort of, though I had no contact with my parents. Father died last month, and I'd not seen him nor Mother since I was 18. Their decision". She stared at me, I shrugged, "I recently got in contact with my sister who still lives locally, and I reckoned coming back might work".

"This place, the old paper mill, was your Grandfather's firm?"

"Grandmother's, he married into it. But yes, technically. Don't get ideas though. The business collapsed during the 1950s and 60s, and we saw no money. Father was an accountant. I've learned there might be something from Grandad's will but, you learn in this business..."

She grinned, "Don't spend the dividend till you've cashed the cheque."

"Yep", I stood up, "So, I'm not really local and hardly royalty. Anything but. Grandad didn't leave much, evidently, despite the success of the firm."

"They made arms?"

"In the war, I think. I only ever knew the paper mill, but my Father and his Father didn't get on. I don't think Father approved of the arms stuff. You seem to know a lot?"

She gave a sort of embarrassed grin; finally, a sort of acknowledgment that this had gone much further than might be expected. Or be reasonable. "Sorry, my partner studies local history and I sort of have an interest in all these armaments firms and how they became legit again", she gave a grin, "Believe it or not, my dissertation at Uni was on Hugo Boss."

"The fashion firm?"

She raised an eyebrow, "They made uniforms for the Nazis."

I smiled, "Wow, not much you can say to that. Look, we might be interested in chatting to your partner. My sister, Mhairi, and I were brought up in almost complete ignorance of the firm’s background and history."

She smiled, "I'll mention it".

I got the usual tour of the office, sorted out paperwork with the young Indian man, Ashok, on reception so I could come in and use a desk, and was generally inducted into the system. We also sat down and did some actual work, talking through cases and projects. Francis had been going to pop back, but he messaged to say he'd been held up.

Just as I was about to leave, Jo turned to me, "There's one thing. I wasn't sure whether to say anything and it may never come up", she pulled a face, "but Francis has a bit of a reputation."

"With women?"

"No blokes, though he does have a girlfriend."

I grinned, "One of those."

She gave an uneasy smile, "There's nothing that's ever been reported, but you know, sails close to the wind. The gossip is that he can get a bit handsy", she pulled a face, "So be warned."

I thanked her and didn't know whether to be relieved that I’d managed to escape unscathed, or annoyed that I'd obviously not been his type, probably not young enough and not pretty enough.

---

"I went over to the business park the other day, to introduce myself to the firm, get things sorted."

"It all go OK?"

Mhairi and I were meeting for coffee in town; something we were trying to do as a matter of course, usually at Leo’s which had become our go-to place. She was worried about Joe, his up and down relationship with his Father, Joe's development of a rather surprising interest in acting, along with what you might call a maternal mistrust of his girlfriend. I was usually something of a sounding board, she wryly commented that it meant that her work colleagues didn't have to get bored rigid with the stuff. But now I had news.

"I think we'll work together fine, when we settle down. Few rough edges at first. Didn't help that I sort of had a fit of the vapours when I arrived.”

Mhairi did a double take, “I thought it as just a business park?”

“They’ve dressed it up with bits of the paper mill; the old Glennister name from the entrance archway, bit of machinery and even an information board with a photograph of our Grandparents opening a new bit of the plant in the 1930s, Grandmother looking stylish and prosperous. A nice touch, but it rather knocked me back."

“Not even a blast from the past really”, she paused considering, “more a reminder of everything we don’t know. Lord and Lady Bountiful being gracious to the plebs that make their money.”

“Something like that. I was trying to remember it, as we saw it all those years ago.”

"Dad taking us to see the ruins?"

"Yeah"

"Look even then, I wonder."

"He wanted to show us that no good came of it?"

She snorted, "And for the next 30 years."

"Turns out that my team leader at work, Jo, has a partner who is a local history expert and Jo is or was something of an activist about firms that made armaments during the war".

"You're kidding me, is that a thing?"

I shrugged, "Her dissertation was on Hugo Boss, the fashion firm that evidently made the Nazi's uniforms."

"And this is a good or a bad thing?", her manner became clipped and tight.

"I'm fucked if I know, Mhairi. After all we know so little about the firm, the family."

"You reckon there are any papers?"

I pulled a face, "You could ask the solicitor, but I doubt they'd have anything beyond Grandad's will."

"You’re probably right, that young bloke seemed to have the one file and that was it. Cover the legal bases but dead loss for anything else. I wonder what happened to it all?"

"Burned, I'd reckon. When Grandma died and he moved out of the big house."

"You ever been there?"

I stared, "I don't think I even knew where it was. I just have vague memories of Father mentioning it."

"Not in a good way. Joe did a project at school, we found it on Grandma's death certificate. It's now an old folk's home. We could drive out some time, though it’s an ugly place, great Victorian monstrosity that’s probably more suitable for institutional use than to live in."

"I was wondering whether to ask Jo at work and her partner whether we could chat sometime, find out what they know?"

Mhairi's brow wrinkled, "In theory, as long as it doesn't mean getting lectured at. What's the partner's name, I might know them?"

I shrugged, "I wasn't even given a gender."

"Bloody hell. A way to go there before you're bosom buddies. Best of luck!"

We talked about less family-related things, but it was clear Mhairi had something on her mind. “I’ve been thinking about the solicitor and the stuff with Grandad’s will.”

“Father fiddling with the terms of the will you mean?”

“Yeah. You said something the other day about not letting Dad rule our lives now, well that’s what he’s still doing, in a way.”

“Fair enough. So, what were you thinking?”

“I spoke to Lawrence, my boss, and he reckons we have a case. Something about due diligence, solicitors can’t simply ignore past mistakes, even if they weren’t responsible.” She pulled a face.

“It sounds a long and expensive process.”

“Yeah. But…”

“We’d be laying a bit more of Father’s malign influence to rest.”

She stared at me, “Malign? You reckon he was malign?”

I nodded, “On balance, yes. He threw me out when I was 18, with never so much as a birthday card afterwards.”

She snorted, “You know they didn’t believe in those”, she put on a low growling voice, “ridiculous fripperies.”

I smiled, but continued, “Or even a letter. Nothing. And he never told you what had happened, never gave you my address, let you believe I’d taken off of my own accord.” She didn’t say anything but nodded, “Then to cap it all, it turns out that not content with refusing any money from his Father’s estate, he made damn well sure that we didn’t get it.”

She nodded, “When you put it like that…”

“I’m damn sure if he could have found a way to make the money disappear, he would have done.”

“Problem is, there’s part of me that still wants him to be the old Dad”, she sighed, “I know that it’s me, inventing so to speak, that it was never cosy and nice. But just sometimes…”

“Look. Let’s think about the solicitor thing. I know we’re due money. Tell you what. Chat to Lawrence and ask about, find a decent solicitor. Someone who can cope with our sort of business.”

“Our sort of business?”, she pulled a face.

“Looking after a substantial inheritance running into many millions, and a dispute over a will.”

“When you put it like that, we’re not ordinary anymore.”

“We never were. That was just another bit of Dad’s fantasy. You know that not all the money came from the arms firm?”

“Where else?”

“Grandmother had money of her own, remember, and she set up a separate trust, including selling her jewellery and stuff. So, it wasn’t all tainted and he could have done some good with it.”

“Paid something back.”

“Precisely.”

She stood up, decisive now. “Yep, let’s at least talk about it, and you’re right. We need a decent solicitor.”

---

I was getting used to Colin being around the new house. At least it made the place seem less empty. He was a coffee lover and I had become assiduous in offering him a coffee when I made one. Partly out of pure politeness, but also for an entirely less admirable reason. His first day, I had gone into the kitchen to find him kneeling down, bent over working. His jeans had slipped, his t-shirt had ridden up revealing a pair of tight red briefs that, given Colin's size, must have been very, very brief, and a remarkable amount of temptingly hairy crack. I am ashamed to say that I got quite familiar with that crack, that and the gap between his t-shirt and jeans that revealed bits of his hairy belly. Was I too obvious? Certainly. And he was aware that he was gaping and would pull things up in an embarrassed fashion, but to very little avail, thank goodness.

Inevitably, we learned a bit about each other, chatting politely over coffee. His Mum lived in Leighton, which was a way up the M6, but he'd trained down here and was based here, though I gathered that he went to see her a lot. He also sang in a local choir. This seemed rather unlikely at first, but he’d dashed off early one evening with an embarrassed explanation that they had an extra rehearsal. There was, however, no mention of either wife or girlfriend, which was interesting.