Chapter 6: A Sigh is Just a Sigh

We were on the road early on Monday morning. The roads were dry but there was still frost glinting on the leaves of the hedgerows, which were festooned with grey veils of spider webs. Ellen had been singing all morning, mostly under her breath, but bursting out when she thought I would not hear. She gave me a broad smile as she turned to look directly at me when we were stopped at traffic lights. “I’ve dreamed of this, you know. Mother and son at ease with each other going to visit dad.” I bridled at this, rather roughly telling her that Albert was no father of mine.

“You don’t understand him. I think it’s because you are so alike.” I almost asked her to stop the car and let me out, but she squeezed my arm, sensing, I think, that I had reached my limit. That was when she told me things about my family that I never knew. Ellen had been his secretary until he retired and was reputed to be his mistress even before his wife died before I was born. “We didn’t become lovers until after Mabel died, you know although I think I loved him from the first moment I saw him.” I looked across at her and it seemed that the wrinkles on her old cheeks had smoothed out so I could see the young woman she had once been.

Albert was the youngest of the sons and was considered to be the runt of the litter by his father and his brothers. He looked after the books because he was considered useless for any higher purpose. Nonetheless, it was Albert who provided the solid direction of affairs while they became consumed with their status and social position. Having no children of his own, Albert decided to steer the next generation towards a more balanced view of their responsibilities. He tried to be an indulgent parent, leading them by example. They all failed.

“You may think it strange, but your own dad came closest to success. The others ran away or simply lacked the talent, but your dad really tried.” He joined the company, striving to win the orders that would keep it solvent. It might have succeeded if Albert’s health had been better. While the old man kept things running smoothly in the factory, dad had been a sort of roving ambassador combining the roles of salesman and market researcher. Then Albert had his first heart attack forcing dad to take more responsibility for day-to-day problems.

I had been too young to know what was going on, and it was too soon to forgive him, but I was beginning to get an idea of the pressure dad was under. I can picture him drinking to relax him at the end of an intolerably busy day. Twenty years ago, heart attacks normally meant life as an invalid, if the victim survived at all. Dad would not expect Albert to return to work. The future must have looked bleak with no respite on the horizon. My fear of the effects of alcohol have turned me into a sort of social freak; Andrew certainly believes that I am less of a man because I don’t get falling-down drunk. Sitting in Ellen’s car, listening to her calm recital of events, I wondered how I would have coped if I had been in dad’s shoes. Perhaps that is the first glimmer of forgiveness for deserting mum and me.

Albert did come back to work, too late to save dad, but still with the same determination to keep Robinson’s afloat. Having missed out on the sons of sons, he now turned his attention to the grandsons and daughters. His choice was limited. I had a slightly older second cousin who took an engineering degree at Aberdeen University, but she turned down the offer Albert made to her. The discussions became acrimonious, according to Ellen, and may have resulted in Albert’s jaundiced view of university graduates.

In the end the choice rested between Philip and me. I was fatherless and mum was not fully in command of herself, so I was easy to manipulate. I can now understand why Philip’s mum took the stand she did. In many ways, its a pity that Albert excluded her from the group he sponsored because of her sex. I think she would have had the strength to carry the baton. Certainly, she could have taken some of the load from dad’s shoulders. Oh well, there is no point in looking back – they do say that hindsight is perfect.

Albert was a supportive mentor to dad’s generation, with disastrous results. He decided to try a radically different regime with my generation: we were to be treated to tough love. Ellen was not totally convinced, so she tried to provide the affection I lacked. She became even more doubtful when Philip’s mum began to tilt the playing field in favour of her son; when mum started to lose her memory, Ellen made a stand, but she withdrew her objections when I seemed to weather the storms.

“I didn’t believe in it then and I’m still convinced that it was a mistake, but we were all so surprised at the maturity with which you dealt with your mum’s illness, that I thought Albert might just have discovered the secret of success. Then you came top of the class at college and took control of the machine shop. By the time you reached twenty, you were taking Bob’s place as the man to go to about everything connected with production.” I do remember that the younger machinists began bringing their personal problems to me but, in my opinion, Bob was still the man.

“When Albert brought in the consultants, Bob and I agreed that you should represent the shopfloor. We underestimated your knowledge and your commitment to the company. That ten-year plan you handed to Albert would have saved us all.” Albert didn’t even read it: I put it on his desk, and he tossed it into the waste basket without doing more than a glance at the title page. Then he told me that I was no longer his heir and ordered me back to the shop floor where I belonged. ‘You’re not bad at your job, I’ll grant you that,’ he sneered. ‘But you’ll never go further while I’m in charge.’ Half an hour after I left him the rumours began that an ambulance had been called because Albert had collapsed. The consensus was that it was another heart attack.

Ellen had been driving the conversation. I had been mostly silent, trying to adjust my thinking in the light of the new information that was threatening to overwhelm me. When she stopped speaking, there was silence in the car. It was only when we slowed down that I took note of our surroundings. By the time I was paying proper attention, Ellen had pulled off the road, stopped the engine and was sitting clutching the steering-wheel in her hands and looking straight ahead. I was about to ask if she was feeling unwell, when she turned to look at me, her eyes filled with tears.

“It was me that caused poor Albert’s attack.” She turned and placed both hands lightly on my chest; I was reminded of the paddles they use to shock a heart into restarting. This time it was an emotional charge that passed between us. “I rushed off in the ambulance with him and it wasn’t until several days later that I learned that you blamed yourself.” Ellen heard every word, since we were making no effort to keep our voices down. She went in immediately after I left Albert’s office, took my proposal out of the bin and read the summary. She threw the document on his desk telling him that it was the only plan that would save the company.

Being a woman scorned, she went much further, accusing him of accepting the consultant’s report only because it was presented by a large-chested, blonde bimbo. Albert had been standing behind his desk trying to shout her down, when he suddenly sat down, slumping forward unconscious. “I knew at the time that I should own up, Fred dear, but I still thought that my romance with Albert was a secret. Can you ever forgive me for letting you think it was your fault?”

“On the way back from Coudh, Anne told me to think of the present, plan for the future and leave the past to historians. We must share the blame. We didn’t know it at the time, but he was deserted that day by the love of his life and the man he thought of as a son. No wonder he had a heart attack.” We had an awkward hug in the restricted area of the front seat, found some semblance of control and even exchanged rather watery smiles. “Let’s go and see what the old bugger has to say for himself!”

We were expected at the nursing home. Ellen was allowed to go straight to Albert’s room while I was politely but firmly escorted into the presence of Sheila Anderson, as a board on her desk proclaimed; the name was followed by an alphabet soup of qualifications, including PhD - I noticed that one because of my own aspirations, I suppose. She summarised the old man’s medical condition but, for me, the most important thing was the fond twinkle in her eye when she spoke of him. Dr. Anderson looked about my age although I guess she must be several years older to have accumulated all those letters after her name.

Uncle Albert was sitting close beside Ellen when I was finally allowed to see him. He had lost the rest of his hair but otherwise I thought he looked fitter at ninety-three than he had the last time I saw him ten years earlier. I held out my hand to shake his but he stood, with nothing more than a little groan, to throw his arms around me. “Can you ever forgive a foolish old man?” he asked, patting me repeatedly on the back. “Certainly! If you’ll forgive a stupid young one.” He let me go but kept his hands on my shoulders to look at me searchingly. “I was stupider than you were,” he chuckled. “Want to argue?” Ellen stepped forward to put her arms around both of us.

At that point a young girl came in behind a trolley of coffee and cakes. I watched the interaction between her and my Great Uncle, pleased with the warmth of their mutual regard. We spent the next ten minutes or so chatting about inconsequential things. I talked about the dance at Invermor and Albert spoke of the ruins of Turnberry Castle; somehow, that led to Robert the Bruce and my right to wear his tartan. For me, it served to establish the fact that Great Uncle Albert had lost none of his mental acuity.

After the coffee cups had been removed, we got down to serious business. “I want you to implement that plan of yours, Fred.” Uncle Albert insisted. I couldn’t stop myself reminding him that he had thrown the only copy into the wastebasket. “I knew the whole thing by heart,” he chuckled. “You discussed it with Bob Mathieson, and he told me everything. Anyway, Ellen took it out the basket before you were back at your bench.” For a moment I considered leaving things at that, but the new me that was born when I met Dave could not let things go. “Why didn’t you make the changes I wanted, instead of throwing me out?”

Ellen grasped his hand, and the two old people looked at each other. “I wanted to let you stew for a bit longer. My idea was to let you go back to the shop then call Bob to the office and hand him your master plan. Then I passed out and everything went to Hell.” It was Ellen who continued the story. When Albert came out of surgery after having a pacemaker fitted, he told her to implement the plan, while he was still groggy from the anaesthetic. She, knowing nothing of the game he was playing with me, assumed he meant the consultant’s proposal.

Albert, claiming that Robinson’s was killing him, refused to talk business while he recuperated. His solicitor had his power of attorney and Ellen’s assurance that Albert wanted the changes proposed by the consultants. Meanwhile, I was left trying to hold together obsolete machinery to complete contracts that I felt were damaging the company. I needed time to consider how I felt about that – and about the old couple sitting together like naughty school children who had been caught scrumping apples. “The thing is, young Fred,” Albert continued, trying to sound masterful. “We’ve wasted enough time. I want your plan put into operation without delay now you’re mature enough to handle things.”

“My plan needs to be updated. It is ten years old and neither the world nor Robinson’s is the same now as it was then.” Me and my big mouth! Last time I argued with Albert, he finished up in hospital. Of course, I know now that Ellen helped to put him there, but she might be waiting to ambush him this time as well – the old devil might be lusting after Doctor Sheila, for all I know. Imagine my surprise when Albert chuckled. “That’s my boy! Don’t let anyone push you around. You see, my dear, that I was right about Fred.” The last few words were barely audible and I’m almost certain he was asleep before he ended the sentence.

Ellen eased his head back with a little laugh. “He has these little naps nowadays,” she explained. “He’ll be right as rain in a couple of minutes.” Albert had begun snoring, so Ellen had to raise her voice to reveal a little more of their plot. The company AGM, their Annual General Meeting, was in six weeks; three directors were up for re-election, and I was to replace one of them. The old conspirators were planning to use me to keep the ancient Robinson Engineering company afloat, just as they had trained me to keep the antique machinery operating.

Albert woke up, we had lunch, and I spent a few more minutes talking to the doctor while Ellen said her final farewells, but I was on autopilot the whole time as I grappled with two related problems. Was I willing to be bullied and cajoled by Ellen and Albert, and did I even care whether or not Robinson’s survived? I was already embarked on a new life; I had made the initial break, which is the most difficult. I felt that I owed the company little enough before, but Ellen’s revelation that Albert deliberately made my childhood Hell was hard to take.

I sat silently as she drove away from the home, still undecided. I think I would have blown her out of the water if she had talked about saving the company, but this is the woman who was the power behind the throne for twenty or more years. She had skills in handling people that I didn’t even know existed. “Nothing happened between Albert and me until after Mabel died. I mean, I loved him from the moment I saw him, but we didn’t kiss, never even accidently brushed against each other, until she was gone.” Albert’s wife died before I was born, so Ellen was effectively admitting that their affair had lasted for more than thirty years.

“He was exactly twice my age when we did share a kiss. I was twenty-eight and he was fifty-six.” That penetrated through my preoccupation, so I asked why they never married. “Don’t be silly, Fred. I was a little typist, and he was the managing director. It just wasn’t done, not in those days. Then there was the age difference. It didn’t bother me but it troubled Albert. He always feared that I would find a younger man.” She paused for almost a minute before she giggled: “Although how he expected me to have the energy to meet someone else, I don’t know. You might not think it to look at him, but he was a tiger between the sheets.” I almost fell off my seat hearing prim and proper Ellen say that. Just when I thought I had heard it all, she added: “Even that first heart attack hardly slowed him down.”

She was lending me the car to visit Pat and Jim. When we stopped at her house, she opened the back door to collect her handbag and a folder which she handed to me. “That contains a copy of your report, company accounts for the last ten years and my comments on the present board members. You have an appointment with Albert’s solicitor on Wednesday for lunch and an afternoon briefing. I’ll show you the computer access codes tomorrow. Drive carefully,” and with that she skipped up the path to her front door.

I drove the few kilometres to the café knowing I had been sandbagged - handbagged, more like. I had agreed to nothing, but Ellen had taken my silence for consent. I remember thinking that my meeting with Pat was going to be easy after what I had already been through; I should have known better. They were all in the café kitchen when I arrived and the first thing I noticed was certainly good news: Liz was pregnant again, blooming as she had the previous two times. I hugged her, shook Jim’s hand and warmly congratulated both of them.

Pat was preparing an order for the sole waitress, that I recognised as one of Anne’s students, although I could not recall her name. It was early Monday evening and, unsurprisingly, there were only two customers in the café. “That’s one of the problems,” Pat exclaimed, waving at Liz’s tummy as she came across the kitchen to give me a powerful hug. “I read somewhere it takes quarter of a million to raise a kid and the workshop’s already in the red.” She must have seen the shocked look on my face. “I don’t mean it that way, you idiot. I love all my grandkids to bits, but we’re broke, skint.”

She threw herself back into my arms where she sobbed for several minutes. I looked at Jim over her bent head. “Things have always been tight, Fred, as you well know, but Brexit has killed us. There are fewer foreign rigs, and the locals get repairs done in their own shops except in emergencies. All they want from us is a quick patch-up to get them back to base.” The waitress shouted through another order and Liz took it, since Pat was still clinging to me.

That gave me a moment to think. The workshop is poorly located since the motorway opened, although it is still in a zone designated for business development. The local council had big plans for an industrial park, but these are at the back of the shelf. Given enough time, it might be possible to get permission to build houses, but it could take years. I am assuming from Pat’s response that the timescale is more like weeks if the family is to be saved. Albert would back me if I offered my old job at Robinson’s to Jim, but that would be a poisoned chalice unless I do something to make Robinson’s thrive. Pat straightened up to look me in the eye, perhaps sensing that a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders.