Chapter 60: Chapter 60

*****

James Richard sits, the Heads of Terms document open on the table in front of him. Beth arrives and sits next to Charlotte, the two of them chattering excitedly.

“Yes, I remember him now,” says Richard. “My father introduced me when they were setting up the deal. It was for the development of what later became the Imperial Hotel and the area all around there.”

“The Imperial?” Michael raises brows. “Where James had his apartment originally? And, isn't that where you first met Beth?”

“That's right.” Elizabeth and I exchange grins at the memory of that first meeting and she grins wickedly. My cock stirs….

Christ…. Not now….

“Bit of a coincidence that, isn’t it?”

Elizabeth chimes in. “No, actually, it isn’t a coincidence at all. I was working at the Imperial because Uncle Albert suggested I go there for a job. He almost insisted actually.”

Everyone’s attention turns to her. “Go on,” says Michael. “What did he say?”

“And when was this?” I add.

Beth frowns. “It’s some years ago now. I don’t really remember it properly. The only reason I remember it at all is because he was so insistent.”

“Alright….” says Michael, a touch of irritation in his voice. “But exactly what did he say?”

“He rambled a lot.” Beth strokes her hair, staring vacantly. “He said something like…. that I should get a real job and that I should start at the bottom. And that I shouldn’t try to take shortcuts.” Then she raises a finger. “No, he said I should make an honest living and live clean. That I was cleverer than he was and if I worked hard I'd make something of myself.”

Michael smiles. “He got that right didn't he....”

“Those were his words. And he wanted me to go to the Imperial.”

Charlotte sounds apologetic. “No offence, Beth, but it sounds a bit odd. How…. old…. Was your uncle at the time?”

Beth gives her a sidelong look. “He was very old. He was quite addled really. Not all there. But he seemed to think it was important. And to me, it made no difference. One chambermaid’s job was as good as another. I was just funding my way through college. And he was pleased when I told him I’d done what he asked.”

“Made no difference?” I laugh. “You ended up married to Richard because of it. The man who owns half the City. And you say it made no difference?”

Richard rolls eyes at me and Beth blushes. “I didn’t mean….”

Ah, crap….

When, will I learn to keep my mouth shut?

“My apologies, Beth. I didn’t mean that the way it came out sounding.”

Michael gives me an acid look, then “What was your uncle like as a person? Before he grew so old?”

Beth cheers up almost on the spot, a faraway look in her eyes. “Nice…. To me anyway. He was a bit….

withdrawn from everyone else.” Her mouth draws down. “I don't think he was a very strong man. Aunt Delia always was very strict with him. She ruled him with a rod of iron. Always telling him what to do.

What not to do. If he was reading his paper and visitors came by, she'd take it from him and fold it away because he was making the place untidy.”

Michael grimaces. “I can't imagine being a child around there was much fun either.”

“Oh, no.” She laughs. “I remember one time, she had visitors and I'd be, oh, six or seven. She was serving tea. She gave me an antique china plate in one hand with a slice of cake and a china cup and saucer in the other. My mother was beside herself….”

She turns thoughtful again. “Looking back, I don't think Uncle Albert was very happy. But of course, when you're a child you don't think about such things….”

What you grow up with is normal.…

Charlotte nods....

Was her upbringing normal to her...?

Beth continues. “Of course, I was just a little girl, but I was his pet. He always made a fuss of me. He'd sit me on his knee, telling me stories and sneaking me sweets. He called me his Princess.”

Michael breaks in. “Richard are you alright?”

He’s sitting bolt upright, his eyes wild. “Oh God, I do remember him now. And there’s something else.

He had a daughter, a little girl.” He turns to Charlotte. “She was a redhead.”

She stares at him, almost breathing the words. “Can you remember what she was called?”

“Shelley,” he says. “He called her Shelley.”

The chair scrapes over the floor as Charlotte stands, her already pale face draining of colour. “Short for Michelle?”

Richard stares back at her, raising helpless hands.

*****

Forty-Three Years Ago He doesn’t see them come in. Al is sitting by the window with his back to them, a little girl on his knee, talking to her. Her body hidden by his; all that can be seen of her is a shock of carrot-orange hair.

“…. Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess, and her name was Shelley. And Princess Shelley wasn't like all the other ordinary princesses. All the ordinary princesses had hair that was blond or brown or black….”

The little girl pipes up, in a way that says she already knows the answer to her question. “What colour was Princess Shelley’s hair?”

Al replies. “Princess Shelley’s hair was bright red and the ordinary princesses teased her about it. But that was only because they were jealous….”

Edward Haswell looks to his teenage son. Richie rolls his eyes in disgust.

Al is still telling his story. “…. Secretly, they wanted red hair too. But it didn't matter because Princess Shelley knew she wasn't ordinary. She was the best and the most important of all the princesses and one day she was going to be Queen Shelley….”

Richie coughs and his father shoots him a sharp glance, but Al has heard it. He breaks off and turns around, then puts the little girl down. He stands, stuttering, “Oh, Mr Haswell. My apologies, I didn’t….”

Edward waves a hand at him. “Forget it, Al. We’re early. I was enjoying the story actually.” He jerks a thumb back at the bar. “Drink?”

“Sure, I’ll have a beer.”

“Same for me, please.”

The barman pulls two beers, setting the glasses on the bar, then cocks an eye at Richie.

“Lemonade, please,”

“Thanks, Jack. And I’ll have a chaser with that,” says Albert.

The barman raises a brow but serves him a shot of malt.

Edward eyes the table by the window, a beer glass and a shot glass already there. “It looks as though you’ve been here a while.”

“Only twenty minutes or so. Sure you don’t want one too?”

Edward sips from his glass. “Beer’s fine for me. I like to keep a clear head while I’m working.”

Al grins. “Never found a snifter stopped me from thinking straight.” Then he gestures to the table. “Shall we?”

The little girl sits sucking orange squash through a straw. She is perhaps four years old, and the orange hair frames wide-set sea-green eyes. Her face is under freckle attack and seems to be losing the battle, as the freckles join forces to make one super-freckle.

“And who’s this then?” smiles Edward.

“Shelley, say hello to my friend, Mr Haswell, and his son, Richie. This is Shelley, my daughter.”

The little girl looks up at the strangers, wide-eyed in the way of small children. “’Hello,” she whispers.

Edward does a double-take. “Sorry, didn’t mean to seem rude. I had her down as your grand-daughter.”

Al rocks his hand back and forth. “Yes, well, Shelley was a bit of a late surprise for us all. Four sons we had already. And all well-grown. Two already flown the nest and then this one comes along.” He beams down at her.

“Can I have some peanuts please?”

“Course you can, Princess. Just go and tell the man at the bar I said yes.”

She smiles toothily and trots across to the bar.

Al shrugs. “She’s terribly spoiled I’m afraid, but as I say, she came late and she’s the baby of the family.

Her brothers dote on her. We all do.”

From across the room, the barman gives him a sour look but passes a bag down to Shelly who opens it on the spot, delving in. She returns to the table, crunching loudly.

“Remember your manners, Shelley. Close your mouth when you eat.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“So, Edward….” Al takes a sip from his beer, then puts the glass down as he sees it telegraphing the tremble in his finger. “…. What do you think of my proposals?”

“I’ll cut to the core Al. I like your proposed project very much. It works for everyone and I’m keen to cut a deal with you.” He takes a file from his briefcase, sliding it across the table. “Here are some slightly revised Heads of Terms for you to examine….”

“Revised? What are the changes?” Al flips through the document.

“The main one is a suggested change in the share split.” He smiles. “Fifty-fifty is something I would never agree to. If there are problems, you can paralyse a company that way. If we do this, I have fifty-

one per cent.”

Al shrugs, looking rueful. “A man’s gotta try.”

“Of course he has. If you’re agreeable to that, then we have the basis for an agreement.”

Al beams. “Agreed.”

“In that case, read it through over the next day or so, then we’ll get the lawyers to draw up the contract and we’ll take it from there.”

“That’s wonderful, Edward. Let’s have another….”

Edward shakes his head. “No, one’s enough for me at lunchtime. And Richie and I have other places to go. I’ll look forward to receiving your written agreement.”

“You’ll have it by the end of the week.”

“Good.” Edward smiles at Shelley. “It was nice to meet you, Shelley. Perhaps I’ll see you again.”

“Bye-bye, Mr Haswell. Bye-bye, Richie.”

The pair turn and leave.

As the door close behind him, Al punches the air. “Yes!” Then he waves across. “I’ll have another beer and a chaser. I’m celebrating.”

The barman puts the glasses on the table. “Hey, Al, congratulations. I can see you won that one.” Then he hovers. “Look, no offence, but you can’t send her to the bar.” He nods towards Shelley. “She shouldn’t really be in here at all you know. A kid her age.”

“Ah, c’mon. Where’s the harm? This is a decent enough place.”

“I’m just telling you. I’ve got to obey the rules you know. This is my job.”

“Yeah, yeah….”

Al brushes it off and sits staring at the plans still laid out on the table. “Yes!” he repeats under his breath.

“Daddy, can I play on the machine?”

“What machine, Princess?”

“That one.” The little girl points to a slot machine across the room.

“Course you can. We’re going to be rich you know. Come on. We’ll play it together.”

“You can win money on these you know, Daddy. Maybe this will make us rich.”

“Maybe it will.”

Al feeds a coin into the machine, watching as the dials spin, clunk, nudge and fall still.

“We didn’t win, Daddy.”

“Never mind, we’ll try again shall we.”

Al feeds another coin into the slot.