Chapter 6: Loose Ends

The week working at the bench was blissful. It was just the life I pictured when I left my marriage and my job which had deteriorated into an acrimonious conflict with Beth. It was easy for me to forget the past as I concentrated on the device developing under my hands. What I could not put out of my mind, however, was the unfinished business in the present.

I struggled through until Thursday evening when I retired to my hotel room and dialed my daughter’s number. She had been a daddy’s girl throughout her childhood, and I was still hurting from her taking her mother’s side in our marital dispute. I made due allowance for Emily’s youth and inexperience, but it still hurt that she apparently wanted me to forgive and forget her mother’s indiscretions.

I had talked myself into a reconciliatory mood by the time I pressed the speed dial button to connect to her. It took four or five rings before the phone was answered and, when it was, there was silence at the other end. I could detect faint music in the background, so I knew we had a connection, but no one spoke. “Hi Emily. Its dad,” I said into the void.

There was a deep sigh before my daughter replied. “I know who it is. Have you come to your senses yet and decided to take mum back.” My attempt at reconciliation had just been thrown back in my face. I resisted the temptation to snap back at her, taking a moment to swallow my flare of anger.

“There is another side to the story, you know. Don’t you think I should have the opportunity to calmly tell you my point of view.” I barely got that much out before she interrupted me with an angry snort. “Save it dad. One indiscretion in quarter of a century and you dump the love of your life and the mother of your children. What kind of man does that? I really don’t want to hear anymore.”

I was shocked into silence, but it did not matter since she had only stopped to take a breath. “I’m ashamed of my own father. Forget my phone number until you have apologised to my mum and begged her to take you back. Until then, I have a one-parent family.” She disconnected at that point, leaving me shattered. It was ridiculously unfair, and I bounced between hurt and resentment into the wee hours before falling into an uneasy sleep.

Friday morning, I woke up unrefreshed. I had no taste for tinkering with a wind generator after Emily’s total rejection of me. She had known me for a quarter of a century, but she appears not to know me at all. Was I prepared to accept her summary conclusions? Telephoning was obviously no good, so should I drive down to confront her face to face? I was still mulling that over when my phone rang.

My moment of hope that it was Emily with an apology was dashed when the screen showed the caller to be my new divorce lawyer. He began by demanding that I arrange an immediate meeting with my wife to settle the financial arrangements for our divorce. It was only when I demurred that he spelled out the facts of life.

“I can handle the negotiations for you but neither you nor your wife will benefit. Most of your assets will end up in the pockets of me and her solicitor. Grow up Bill. You lived with the woman for twenty-odd years so another hour or two thrashing out an equitable division of your assets can’t be that difficult. I accept that you want nothing to do with her, but don’t cut off your nose to spite your face, as my granny used to say.”

I capitulated. He promised to set up a meeting next week. “You can decide later if you will meet her solo or if you want me as a referee.” I called my lawyer in Oban to ensure that the trust fund that owned my cottage and boat was robust enough to withstand an assault by Helen. He used lawyer-speak, of course, which was promising but somewhat less than total assurance.

Always ready to seek the easy way out, I put my thoughts on Emily out of my mind. After I spoke to Helen, it would be time enough to get back to my daughter. I had just decided that I could enjoy a last day at the workbench with a clear conscience when I got another important phone call.

It was Matt, reporting that he and I were in trouble with Trey Wishaw. They had bumped into each other on the golf course and had an unseemly row, much to the amusement of the other club members. Matt was accused of playing fast and loose with Faith’s affections, while my behaviour towards Jennifer was tantamount to breach of promise. I told him that I would be with him on Monday.

I would have driven south there and then, but Iain reminded me of the advice he had given Elspeth – it was still February, and a night drive carried considerable risk. I had to agree that there was nothing lost by a delay since I would complete the journey before offices reopened after the weekend. Since he brought up her name, I asked if he would sanction a lunch meeting with his daughter as I passed through Glasgow on my way south.

He gave my request several minutes thought before he phoned Elspeth with my invitation to lunch. She happily agreed, arranging a meeting at some student hang-out in Byres Road. Saturday was wet but I made the rendezvous in plenty time. Elspeth was accompanied by her roommate, another graduate student. I suspect that her mums had insisted on a chaperone for our assignation.

I really like Elspeth and enjoyed her welcoming hug and brief kiss on the lips, but I had a great deal too much on my mind to give a thought to an unsuitable dalliance with a woman so much younger. I drove south after lunch with a warm glow, however, which quite restored my bruised ego, since her roommate joined the kissing and hugging when we parted. Are modern young men really so bad that lovely girls consider a fifty-year-old a prize?

It was late on Saturday before I checked into my hotel, but I called Matt about nine on Sunday morning. Mitzy answered, insisting that I join them for lunch. “Come as soon as you can so we can have a good long natter,” she told me. I arrived about eleven to find her alone in the house. The ‘boys’, as she called the two seventy-year-olds, were playing golf at the country club.

This was a breakthrough moment apparently. Sam had never played golf before he moved in with Matt. They had joined a municipal course where he had been taking lessons. “He’s always been good at ball games,” Mitzy boasted. “He played football when we were courting, and he only stopped badminton when he sprained his ankle about five years ago.”

Last Tuesday, Matt declared he was good enough for the championship course at the country club. Tuesday morning is a quiet time on the course, so they played as a pair. All went well, so Sam allowed himself to be talked into playing on Sunday morning, the big day of the golfing week. “Matt was confident, and I think I was more nervous than Sam,” Mitzy admitted.

I was helping her prepare the vegetables for what was going to be a major Sunday lunch with a rib of beef and all the trimmings. Once the subject of golf was exhausted, she turned her attention to me, my love life to be precise. I managed to divert her by saying I had never seen her looking so content. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, Bill. I am spoiled rotten by two wonderful men who have become real buddies.”

That topic only delayed the inevitable. “I hope you’re not contemplating marrying that Jennifer woman.” Mitzy does not mince her words. “She’s another Helen with delusions of grandeur. What about that cousin of yours that you fancied when you were young?” Straight for the jugular. I knew there was no point protesting that she was my cousin, so I admitted that we had grown apart recently. To stop further speculation in that area, I told her of my troubles with Emily.

She was quiet for several minutes after I had finished, busy basting the meat. Finally, she stood at the sink washing her hands, watching the water rinse them. “She’s engaged, isn’t she? I wonder if all is well between her and her fiancé.”

That was a bolt from the blue – the ultimate non sequitur – except that wasn’t Mitzy’s style. I waited until she turned and saw the puzzled look on my face.

“You’ll think I’m a fanciful old woman,” she began. “You’ve been her knight in shining armour all her life. Helen’s betrayal has shown her that there may not be a safe haven for her if her engagement goes wrong. I think she wants you to soak up the hurt, so she has a place to return to.” Before I could reply, the back door opened to admit two happy septuagenarians, greeting me boisterously.

The epic tale of the golf match continued throughout the meal. They lost by one hole to a pair who had once been runners-up in the club championship. They didn’t mention which century witnessed this achievement. Sam was delighted that he had the better ball at four holes, matching Matt on another four. How long this might have continued I can only guess, but Ruby, Sam and Mitzy’s daughter, came in with her eldest and her husband to whisk us off to the shops.

Matt begged off, saying that he had to have a serious talk with me about the Wishaw family. We settled in his study with a beer each. Trey Wishaw was at the club on Tuesday making wild accusations about Matt and me. His sister Faith had been greatly impressed by Matt and had expressed an interest in getting to know him better. He did agree that Matt had given no grounds for expecting that he reciprocated.

Old Wishaw then changed the attack to my expressed interest in Jennifer. There was just sufficient truth in the accusation to require an answer. My lawyer wanted to send the evidence of her husband’s affair with Helen, but I insisted on telling her the news face to face. Jennifer was understandably upset, and I did hug her and stay with her until her friend arrived in response to a phone call.

In the aftermath of the Christmas party, I supported her in a disagreement with her mother on the treatment of a security guard. The only other time we have spoken is when she was part of the ambush on the future of Fairchild Engineering. “I told him that,” Matt said. “In the end, the problem appears to be Beth and her plans for the future of the company.” I raised my eyebrows, in surprise; that made about as little sense as Mitzy’s views on Emily.

“Wishaw is completing the deal with PJ Booth to sell his business and was attracted by Beth’s plans for Fairchild’s. He has invested heavily on his own behalf and for Jennifer. It seems he had some plans for her to become an active partner, perhaps running the Human Resources section. He is hearing rumours about Beth’s cavalier attitude, and he really wants me to reassure him.”

That made a lot of sense. Wishaw is a lawyer who knows nothing of engineering. You could argue that he should know enough to seek qualified advice before he splurges on a new enterprise. I can understand him seeking help from Beth’s father, the former owner of the core business. I can also guess that Matt is going to ask me to investigate what Beth has been up to recently. I have some ideas, but I am struggling to understand why Jennifer has been brought into the argument.

Matt did not leave me in doubt for very long. “It would get you off the hook with the breach of promise thing if you could have a look at things, Bill. You’re closer to the problem than I am. I’ve been totally out of touch for more than a year.” I should have known the devious old scoundrel would dump this in my lap. My first instinct was to invite Wishaw to do his worst, but I am trapped by my conscience: Matt has been like a father to me, and I feel that I owe him.

I did, however, take the chance to ask him to write to my divorce solicitor about my resignation from Fairchild’s. I was concerned that a divorce court might accuse me of leaving to avoid paying maintenance to Helen. He wanted to describe the situation as constructive dismissal since Beth had changed my duties so much. I thought that was going a bit too far, but I had to accept when he told me to leave it to him.

That got us comparing notes on what exactly Beth had done wrong. I promised to visit some of the employees who had also left since she took control and he called his daughter to set up a meeting in his home on Wednesday evening – the first free moment she had, according to her. He copied his list of names and addresses of the workforce, highlighting those he felt would be most forthcoming.

At some point, I mentioned that my cottage and boat were both owned by a trust I had set up with me as the sole trustee. It put my assets beyond Helen’s reach, which was my main purpose. I have mellowed a little since I found out about her affair, but I would still rather burn my money than let her have any. The house is a different matter. I never liked it, and she is welcome to the monstrosity.

It turned out that Matt had quite the wrong concept of my boat. He pictured the kind of rowing boat that you find in ornamental lakes that can be hired by the hour. ‘Come in number six, your time’s up!’ I’m not big on taking photographs but I did have a picture of the boat sent by the yard where she was moored. I assured him that Commie-Tea was capable of circumnavigating the British Isles.

Then I showed Matt a photograph of the interior after Customs and Excise had completed their search for drugs. I assured him that Iain’s brother Kenneth had restored the wheelhouse and checked the plumbing and galley. I mentioned that Iain’s wives were busy as we spoke with redesigning the passenger accommodation. He and I had moved a couple of internal partitions to make two luxury suites aft and a lounge forward of the galley.

We were interrupted by the return of the shoppers who prepared sandwiches and soup for supper after a brief fashion show of their purchases. As always, when Mitzy’s family are involved, there was a good deal of banter and friendly teasing while we steadily reduced the contents of Matt’s cellar. Ruby offered to fix me up with one or more of her friends.

I suggested a matched pair since the happiest household I had seen since my own collapsed was Mitzy, Sam and Matt. That reminded him of our earlier discussion. “Did you say that Iain had ‘wives’, plural?” he asked. I explained the arrangement, fending off questions about such a household surviving in the Scottish Highlands where the population is believed to be hyper-religious. That prompted Matt to recall that I had once told him of my crush on Chrissie and Izzy when I was eighteen.

I became the subject of an interrogation that would have impressed Torquemada. I was forced to admit that I had been getting twinges of lust over the two women during my recent visits until Chrissie threw herself at Izzy’s husband, the count. It was all I could do to prevent Mitzy telephoning there and then to get their side of the story. In her view, Chrissie had got fed up waiting for me to act and had forced the issue hoping to make me jealous.

Mitzy’s granddaughter chose that moment to tell us that her first date, with her husband, present and listening intently, had been to make another man jealous. “It didn’t work with him, but I did get the consolation prize.” He reacted badly to this drunken confession and the evening ended soon afterwards on a note of high tension. None of Mitzy’s brood is noted for fidelity and I think the shattered husband knew that.

We had been drinking all day and were all far gone but I detected underlying tensions between the young couple. I was the soberest (at least in my opinion) but I didn’t want to take a risk, getting an Uber back to my hotel. It was after eleven when I stripped off my outer clothing and collapsed on my bed, barely staying awake long enough to brush my teeth.

I spent Monday going over my finances after an early call from my divorce lawyer summoning me to a meeting with Helen and her lawyer on Thursday. There was still plenty of cash in the education trust to see Emily through her master’s and pay for a doctorate if she decided to go down that route. I estimated that Helen would get half a million from the sale of the house after all expenses, so I did not believe she could object to my use of the fifty thousand we had in savings.

That money was now safely invested in my cottage and boat, both held in a trust fund which my Oban lawyer assured me was unassailable. He was also certain that our device hiding the company holding the royalties that Matt had transferred was out of reach. I would not accept the shares until after the accounts had been fully audited. Everything was held in escrow in the meantime.

I had put money into the account that Helen would use to keep the house. My original plan was to cut off her funds at the end of January, but I had cooled down enough to keep paying her monthly costs until August, the anniversary of my discovery of her infidelity. I was feeling just a little guilty about the success of my schemes to hide money from her.

Sam brought my car round after work on Monday, so I was able to spend the next two days driving around chatting to former employees of Fairchild Engineering. There were no surprises, simply repeats of the same complaints about Beth’s high-handed approach to management. Things appeared to have reached their nadir after the appointment of a new works manager: “A well-qualified ignoramus,” as one of the machinists told me. The man has several degrees but no practical experience. By Wednesday afternoon, I was as prepared as possible for my dinner date with Beth and her father.

The meeting almost failed at the first hurdle. I had a call from Mitzy asking me to collect Matt to drive him to a restaurant. Beth had changed the venue, and her father was not at all happy. He filled in a few blanks on the way to the most expensive restaurant in town. Beth had asked him for help and had then made difficulties about my involvement and the timing of a meeting. Now she not only objected to visiting Matt’s home, but she had also picked an outrageously pricy venue.

She met us in the car park, taking her father’s arm and barely registering my presence. In response to his gripe about the change of venue she told him that she did not want ‘that bitch that sponges on you’ interfering. Matt was already turning to leave when I grabbed them by the arm to halt them. “Time to stop being a brat, Beth,” I told her. “Mitzy did more than any of us to save your dad’s life after his stroke. This meeting cannot start until you humbly apologise.”

To be fair, she did respond positively to my suggestion although the tone was a good deal less abject than the words of her apology. This little contretemps occurred in the entrance, where we were greeted by the owner. “Welcome back Mr. Fairchild. It’s too long since we welcomed you to our home. Nice to see you too, Bill,” he added. He must have heard enough of our altercation to decide that it was safer to say nothing to Beth.

She had recovered her aplomb and was walking to our table lovingly clutching her father’s arm. Bringing up the rear, I looked around at the sparse number of diners. It was mid-week, of course, but I remembered it as much busier in the past. I understood it a little better after we were seated, and I had checked the prices on the menu. The food was as good as always, but Izzy was serving better in her little restaurant on Skye at half the price.

I smiled wryly at myself. I don’t think I have ever before looked at a restaurant as a business: having a friend in the trade certainly made things more interesting. I had just admitted to myself that I really missed Izzy and Chrissie when father and daughter ended their love fest and got down to brass tacks on Fairchild Engineering.

My enquiries revealed that Jerome, her new managing director, was the main source of problems. He made arbitrary decisions without consulting anyone. He had a warehouse full of perfectly useable equipment that he deemed surplus to requirements. He was ordering new material that was no better than they already owned. “His latest scheme is to slash wages across the board,” Beth admitted.

That, at least, had caused alarm bells to sound. She would like to fire him, but she had no one in mind who could replace him. “Archie says we should hold onto him until we find a successor.” It turns out that Archie is the plump lawyer who was at Matt’s house the day I was ambushed. Matt was blunt in his opinion. Beth began wailing, so I offered a solution.