Unsafe Deposit

by J. E. Kellenberger

  ***

  The red baseball cap bobbed up and down and weaved in and out of the sea of shoppers in the heart of the metropolis’s shopping district, its wearer closely following three young Chinese female tourists who were flashing their cameras, mobiles and iPads about rather too casually for their own good. But these articles were safe from Kevin as his only interest lay in the cash he had seen stuffed in one of their wallets. A brief separation on the crowded pavement of the young woman with the bulging purse from her two companions and Kevin was at her side, his hand in her open handbag ready to withdraw the purse when he helped her steady herself after he had deliberately bumped into her. He was away in a flash, melting into the multitude, rounding a corner, removing the banknotes and dumping the purse into a waste bin all before the young woman had become aware of her loss. It was a nice little haul, ten crisp twenty poud notes from an ATM farther down Oxford Street and half a dozen ten pounds. Another similar little earner in the afternoon and his day would be satisfactory. As he sat on the bar stool in the coffee shop cradling his regular latte in his thin, bony hands he reflected on his financial position. Jobs for Ron had dried up recently. His last had been taking the silver saloon to the car auction and selling it as if it were his own. He was still getting his retainer but that wasn’t sufficient for the lifestyle he wanted so he would have to up his freelance work until Ron’s anger with his cock-up overseas abated.

  ***

  The antiques emporium of Arthur’s daughter Angela was located several streets away from the centre of Winchester on the south-eastern route out of town in the direction of Marwell Zoo. Married three or so years now to an estate agent it was her husband who had found the empty premises and negotiated a good rental deal with the landlord, something that Angela was quick to point out to her father who had been a little less enthusiastic about her husband-to-be when he learned that he was an estate agent. He’d wanted something, he considered, “better” for his only daughter like a banker or consultant neurologist than a much-ridiculed job in estate agency which was so often portrayed as unfair money grabbing for the amount of work invested. Furthermore, at the time of her intended marriage, she had also pointed out to her father that her fiancé owned three agencies in the very well-heeled area of north Hampshire with plans for further expansion and, indeed, Arthur had seen the sense in what she said. When the plan to start a family straightaway did not happen Angela’s husband had suggested channeling her love and knowledge of the fine arts into an antiques shop and Angela had taken up the suggestion eagerly. Arthur had been a good father and she’d always loved him but now they would embark on a venture that would bond them even closer. He had smiled when she announced what she was going to do and had said that, with their knowledge, his business acumen, and her enthusiasm, nothing would stop them.

  All in the garden should have been rosy but over the past few weeks, or maybe it was months, Angela had sensed changes in her parents which she found unsettling. Away from the former family home she had wondered whether she was correctly interpreting the impressions they were giving. They both seemed preoccupied, her mother a little cagey, her father a little jumpy. Neither really seemed happy and her mother was wearing a different, more relaxed fashion style, less designer with matching this and that, more chain shop with emphasis on comfort. That was odd because she knew how much store her father put on appearance. She put it down to her mother’s involvement with the charity and the need for her to be comfortably dressed when she did her voluntary job. But there was another odd thing. Her mother now had two mobile phones where once she rarely used one at all. And there were changes in her father too. Not so calm, not so steady, not so interested in the antiques shop. She couldn’t put her finger on it but there was something troubling him, of that she felt certain. Almost for her own peace of mind she decided that she should do something. The watercolour paintings that her father had brought back from a crafts fair in Leicestershire had sold well despite a heavy mark-up. Her father had chosen well. Some more paintings to sell by the same artist, Ella King if she recalled correctly, would be very welcome. Perhaps she could Skype her father to see if he would accompany her on a day trip to the same craft fair and any others nearby.

  When his daughter had suggested an antiques scouting trip to Leicestershire the thought occurred to Arthur that he just might be able to combine it with attending Rolf Berghoff’s cremation service which was to be held in that part of south Leicestershire, if he could get his daughter to agree to go on the Tuesday instead of the Wednesday. Over the past decades he had been embroiled with Rolf Berghoff one way or another and Rolf was indirectly responsible for a big hole in Arthur’s retirement pot. The announcement of his death had given Arthur undeniable satisfaction. Of a similar age to the deceased and in spite of his worries about the gems, Arthur intended to gloat and revel in the fact that his adversary was dead but he was still alive and kicking. That morning he picked up his daughter and they motored up the M3 to the outer London ring road, swinging anti-clockwise west and then north to the main highway up to the east Midlands. It seemed to Angela that, today, her father was in better spirits than in recent times. He appeared much more like his normal self, relaxed and confident. She was going to do her utmost to ensure that he had an enjoyable day. They would go arm-in-arm together around the individual craft stalls surveying the objects d’art on offer with their expert eye as they discussed each item’s merits.

  ‘What’s Mother doing today?’ Angela asked.

  ‘Something to do with her charity work I presume,’ her father replied. ‘She went off very early saying she had to drive up to London, somewhere south of the Thames, to attend a committee meeting. I think she wants to become the treasurer, can’t think why!’

  ‘Well I suppose she feels a bit lonely at home when you are at work or antiques hunting and I am no longer living with you. She probably just wants something to keep her busy. I would be lonely too if I just sat about at home all day doing nothing.’

  ‘I’d never want you to be lonely dear,’ said Arthur, bending across to give his daughter a peck on the cheek before adding, ‘she should have gone by train, a lot easier than trying to find a parking space near the Thames,’ Arthur added, ‘and much cheaper too.’

  Changing the subject, Angela enquired about the deceased man.

  ‘Was he a friend of yours or just an acquaintance?’

  ‘Neither really,’ replied her father. ‘He was a sort of business rival. I barely knew him in the flesh but our paths crossed fairly frequently in business deals.’

  ‘So why do you want to attend his cremation if you don’t know him well?’ she queried.

  ‘Out of interest really, see who is there. He was the CEO of a public company and well known in the county too. It’s always interesting to see who attends these things. There are likely to be lots of mourners. I daresay I will spot several people I know but I won’t linger. I’ll just sit at the back and leave promptly when the service ends. Will you be OK waiting for me in the car?’

  ‘Yes Father, it will give me time to catch up on my emails,’ she replied, giving him a radiant smile.

  From the main road they soon spotted the brown and white sign to the crematorium. Angela had said how curious she found it that brown and white road signs which were generally used to indicate places of interest should also be used to signpost crematoria and Arthur had agreed. Through the main gates and along the winding road they were soon directed to the overflow car park. It was as Arthur had predicted, very full. In the time that it took Arthur to exchange his jumper for his dark suit jacket Angela was already swiping and pinching on her smart phone’s screen, engrossed in her social media. He looked back at her over his shoulder as he weaved his way between the parked cars to the pathway. He was only thirty-three years older than her and yet, in technological terms, he was a dinosaur. There was a covered entrance to the chapel where many mourners were standing around wai
ting for the coffin to arrive. Arthur acknowledged with a nod several greetings from business contacts but entered the chapel alone to take a seat in a back pew. As the coffin was wheeled in followed by the close family he had a good view of Rolf’s wife and daughters and his sister Andreé who Arthur had seen once before at a Livery Company function. But from his position wedged shoulder to shoulder in the back row he could not see the couple sitting in the middle of the crowded second row. The service was short, a blessing for all as the close family did not have their emotions in check and once the coffin slid into the committal room the mourners left to a popular jazz tune of the 1950s and Arthur made his way back to the overflow car park.

  ‘Are you OK Angela?’ he asked as he regained the driver’s seat of his metallic black BMW.

  ‘Yes fine thanks Father,’ she replied, ‘but I must go to the ladies, as I’m bursting. Did you see where the toilets are located?’

  ‘Well the gents is on the right-hand side as you enter the foyer so I expect the ladies’ cloakroom is on the left. No need to rush as I’ve got my jumper to change into and some comfy shoes to put on. I’ll wait for you here.’

  The ladies’ cloakroom had an “in” door at one end and an “out” door at the other. The exit gave onto a paved patio from which there was access, via a few steps, to the garden of remembrance. A throng of people were milling around looking at the family flowers and chatting in small huddles when Angela left the cloakroom. As she was turning to her left to find the pathway back to the car park she froze in horror. There, ahead and slightly to her left were two people deep in conversation. She judged the man was in his middle to late fifties and she knew the woman was fifty-three. The woman was her mother and her mother was holding hands with the man. It was lucky that they had eyes for no one else as the stunned Angela took some time to react before making her getaway via an alternative path.

  ‘You look a little flushed dear, are you all right?’ he enquired as Angela climbed back into the passenger seat.

  ‘Yes Father I’m fine,’ lied Angela, ‘it’s just cold in the car in comparison to the cloakroom where it is sweltering.’

  With a calmness summoned from the depths of her being she coped with the visit to the crafts fair without remark from her father. It was only on the drive home when she fell silent, lost in her thoughts, that he had said a penny for them. And she had replied how much she had enjoyed being out with him. Her battle lines were drawn, she was on his side.

  ***

  The family solicitor sat at the head of the table in the Berghoffs’ dining room. His clerk, who had various papers in his briefcase covering certain points of law that the solicitor felt he might need to refer to, stood behind him leaning up against a wall. The solicitor had asked that all individual adult legatees be present and thus all chairs were occupied by the eight people sitting round the large, oak table. Three further persons were sitting on a long padded stool with their backs against a wall and Andreé’s husband John was standing near the door. It was a solemn occasion and one which Rolf’s wife had been dreading.

  The solicitor untied the pink ribbon around the folded will and laid it out in front of him. He read out loud to a tense audience the standard opening phrases dealing with revocation of any previous wills and appointment of executors. This was followed by a brief summing up of the intentions of the benefactor which took into account what he had already given away to family and friends in his lifetime. The solicitor coughed and sipped from a glass of water before continuing on what he knew would be a difficult passage in the will. There followed several small inheritances to his grandchildren and to the long-term housekeeper, gardener and a former au pair. Various sums were left to his wife and three daughters and the solicitor remarked that they would also be mentioned later in the will in the section “gifts of residue”. Nothing to upset anybody so far, the solicitor thought to himself. He then entered the murky waters of WareWork shares and stated that Rolf’s entire holding was to be split equally between his nephew Daniel Walker and his loyal and best friend Thomas Cahill. This drew a sharp intake of breath from Rolf’s wife and sister and a look of astonishment from Daniel and Tommy. One of his three daughters asked the solicitor to repeat the sentence regarding the gifts of WareWork shares while Andreé sat with a disbelieving look on her face which soon changed into a hard, cruel expression. Standing by the door her husband John looked flabbergasted by the news, Rolf had ignored his own sister who had put so much of herself into the company but had made an amazing bequest to John’s son. Would this divide his family? He prayed not. Before anyone else could say anything the solicitor pressed on with “gifts of residue” stating that these would be made to Rolf’s wife and three daughters in proportions according to the law. He further stated that he believed the will to be wholly lawful and that he had with him various documents dealing with points of law in relation to the distribution of shares should anybody wish to challenge the deceased’s right to gift them as he had done. Finally, in a codicil, the solicitor announced that Rolf had gifted his wristwatch to Daniel with the request and express desire that he should wear it always.

  Written into WareWork’s Articles of Association was the right of each holder of seven per cent or more of the fully paid-up share capital to take a place on the board of directors. Thus Rolf’s death changed its composition in terms of both who was on the board but more radically in terms of who had control. Daniel, of course, retained his place but he now had a shareholding of thirteen per cent. Tommy too had thirteen per cent and although not appreciated at the time, easily enough savvy, once he learned the ropes of the boardroom, to be an effective member should he so wish. With the exercising of his rights Adam Gadd took his place. Unless Daniel and Tommy acted in concert Adam had control as he held by far the largest individual shareholding. Andreé declared that she held a handful of shares, a dozen being given to her by her father each birthday as a present over many years. The other Alan had even less and the bank man held none. Although she had no way of knowing that Rolf’s stroke would lead to a very early demise Marian Bowden’s sixth sense had told her to buy some WareWork shares on the open market. Even a small holding might tip the balance of power, be a game changer. It was the right time too as the CEO’s stroke had caused an uncertainty in the market place resulting in a downward blip in the share price. With no savings to turn to and reluctant to max out her credit card at an exorbitant rate, Marian negotiated a loan with her building society and bought as many ordinary shares as she felt prudent. She thus admitted to ownership of several thousand shares.

  Before they got down to electing a new CEO the new members, Tommy and Adam, gave brief accounts of their business experience and the in-office members stated their current areas of responsibilities. With a nod of agreement from everyone Andreé acted as chairman for this important vote. She had pre-discussed the sequence of events with Daniel and the way in which she wished him to act, something that slightly irked him. He would have to ever so gently remind his mother that he was a grown man with his own ideas. Andreé’s opening gambit was to suggest that the new CEO should be a full-time member of the board and although this was not a legal requirement she put forward various reasons to back her suggestion. She further recommended that WareWork would be better served by a company person, especially one with an intimate knowledge of the business and a longstanding relationship with the company. She therefore proposed that only persons with those qualifications should be considered for the role of CEO. Marian Bowden rather daringly pointed out that should these three criteria be used to draw up a list of candidates then only two names would appear on the list, Andreé and Daniel. Marian wondered, even more daringly, whether the public shareholders would consider such a list as naked nepotism. The bank man agreed. These remarks did not deflect Andreé who continued undaunted, cataloguing the success that WareWork had enjoyed since its formation and ascribing this success to the efforts made over the years by her family
, something that the other members found impossible to deny. After a moment’s lull in proceedings Marian again took up the cudgel, stating that as she was now working full-time for the company and had a meaningful shareholding she would like to be considered for the top job. She further added that as a chartered secretary she was the only board member with the necessary legal expertise to run the company. The bank man agreed. Andreé had anticipated this course of events and had primed Daniel to say nothing if no one else intervened. She had already assured him that besides his own vote he would also get hers and the vote of the other Alan which she had secured by negotiation behind the scenes. It was highly unlikely, she had said, that the other two members of the board with voting rights would vote for Marian. But there was an intervention by both new members with surprising results.