Chapter 8

Saturday morning Mason and Lyndsey were able to set out early. Although about four inches of snow had fallen on top of the two inches that fell on Wednesday night, it had first started to melt on Friday, then froze solid as the night came and the temperature fell. The SUV made light work of leaving the untreated housing estate road and down to the main road.

The baby seat was already installed and Mason had transferred all the usual baby paraphernalia from his old car. He also bought a pack of baby swim nappies in case Leone tried to sabotage their day out by failing to dress her properly. They packed slippers too, Lyndsey explaining that the Manor House floor was mostly stone or tile downstairs with loose rugs on top.

“Whatever happens today, Lynds, we’re going to have a fantastic Sunday, and it’s all thanks to you.”

The lane from the village to the Manor House was tough going, as the wind had piled drifts across the left side of the road, and Lyndsey warned him of the hidden ditch between the hedge and the road. When the house came in view, beautifully snow covered, it was breathtaking, it looked perfect in its setting, with only the bright red helicopter just seen behind a screen of trees to spoil the view.

Mason stopped the car to get his camera out of the back, explaining, “A photographer always has his camera with him. I’m hoping to get some great ones of Maisie swimming tomorrow.”

They made it safely to the gate, which swung open as they approached. Someone had cleared the snow enough to give the gate ground clearance. Lyndsey directed him where to park, “We always go in through the back way, via the boot room, then the kitchen.”

Bettina was a large lady in her 50s, who greeted first Lyndsey with a squeeze, then gave Mason a squeeze, before shooing them out of the kitchen to go and see Sir Alan.

There was a roaring fire going in the main living room where Mason met Sir Alan. He got up out of an antique leather chair, wearing a formal suit and tie, to greet his daughter with a hug and kisses.

Sir Alan was almost as tall as Mason, but rather thin, with a shock of almost white hair and a grey moustache. He appeared sprightly and full of vigour for a man a year away from his three score years and ten.

“Well, young man,” Sir Alan started, holding onto Mason’s hand long after giving it a firm handshake, “I have been looking forward to meeting you for a over a week now, although my daughter has told me virtually nothing about you.”

“I have been looking forward to meeting you too, Sir Alan,” Mason replied with a relaxed smile, “although Lyndsey has mentioned you several times and I’ve met or seen from a distance a number of your employees, or should I call them informants?”

“Well, I do like to keep an eye on my daughter, she is special to me.”

“Of course she is, I think she’s special too.”

“Special enough to accompany me to my study to ask me for her hand in marriage, young man?”

“Any man with a heartbeat, and possible even one without, would brave your inner sanctum to ask that question, but perhaps you’d like to know me better, other than through a written report, to see whether I measure up enough to your standards before we venture down those paths?”

“Come to my study now young man and we can have a frank and honest conversation.”

Mason nodded his acquiescence.

Sir Alan turned to Lyndsey. “Mr Lyndsey and I are retiring to my study, honey. Could you ask Bettina to bring our coffee through whenever she’s ready?”

Lyndsey looked at Mason, thinking ‘Is this too soon? Can Mason survive my father’s scrutiny, who has been negotiating with billionaires and heads of state almost all his life?’

Mason nodded, as if he had read her thoughts, and smiled back at her. His apparent confidence gave her a lift. She turned confidently back to her father.

“I’ll see if Bettina needs help with luncheon, then, Daddy.”

“She’s expecting you, dear, I am sure she will keep you busy until lunchtime.”

With that, Sir Alan released Mason’s hand, which had resisted ramping up the pressure he had opened with, and waved the younger man in the direction of a door leading deeper into the house, the opposite direction to that which Lyndsey headed towards without a backwards glance.

“I’m sure we won’t be long, Lynds.” Mason called.

“OK, see you later, Mace.”

The corridor had a stone floor and Mason’s carpet slippers hardly made a sound, while Sir Alan’s leather soles slapped loudly against the ancient flagstones, worn smooth by the occupants and their guests over the last eight or nine hundred years or so.

The house had been built to impress and make visitors humbled, but Mason’s eyes were everywhere. He was interested in how the exposed beams connected, noticed the odd redundant joint where doorways or windows had been blocked up and this fascinating house had expanded over the centuries.

They walked silently side by side and, even when they reached the door that Sir Alan stopped at and held open, he merely waved his visitor inside with an arm gesture, before closing the door behind them.

Inside a roaring fire warmed the small room, with two vast armchairs close by and either side of the fireplace, with a bucket of seasoned logs next to the fire and a small low coffee table between the armchairs. Over the fire, in pride of place, Mason noticed that his painting of Rose Rent Cottage was hanging, the one he donated to Lyndsey’s family charitable foundation.

“Sit in either chair, young man,” Sir Alan said, “I have no particular favourite and subconsciously try to even out the wear between them.”

“Thank you, Sir Alan, a very cosy and comfortable room.”

“Yes, it is blessedly free of draughts, being a Grade I* listed building, we are not allowed to replace the Tudor windows with triple glazing.”

“A beautiful building, as wondrous inside as out, so maybe there is a penalty for the privilege of living here.”

“Yes, it is a privilege to live in this old house. But it takes a lot to keep it in fine condition and to continue to beautify it. I see your eye is taken by my latest painting. I was hoping to commission something similar to it which depicts this house.”

“Why not approach the artist of this painting?”

“Ahh, I bought it at a charity auction last week, it was donated anonymously. What do you think of it?”

“I think the hint of pink in the render goes well in this room, I like the treatment of the ivy, but the sky kinda sucks. I think the artist was a little rusty in that area.”

“Possibly,” Sir Alan peered more closely, “but not enough to put off a member of the Royal Academy, who chased me up to two thousand in bidding for it, and then rang me back later to find out who the artist is. I told him I didn’t know, as I said, it was donated anonymously.”

“Still, a man as resourceful as you, Sir Alan...”

“Oh, I think you can call me Alan. Is it all right for me to address you simply as Mason?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, please take a seat and we can get down to brass tacks.”

“Fair enough.” Mason sat on the right side of the fireplace and Sir Alan took the other seat.

“So, what are your intentions towards my daughter, honourable I hope?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. She’s a very lovely person, I know you are both very proud and very protective of her. She is a credit to you.”

“Well, her mother started her off on the right track, and I think she has probably turned out well despite her father.”

Mason smiled, “Actually, she talks about you with clear affection and is proud of who you are and your achievements. She is determined to ensure that the family retains a degree of interest in the company you’ve built up.”

“I am not sure how she will do that, what with her career.”

“She intends to marry and have children, but she wants to marry someone of her choosing, not yours, and that you happily accept her choice, without interference, when she feels free and able to make it.”

“And that choice would be you, Mason?”

“No,” Mason shook his head, “I think we are becoming good friends, even though we have only known each other for a short while. But regardless of who she chooses, you need to accept that her husband has to be her choice.”

“So, you have been sent in so I can look at your career and prospects and weigh you up against someone like Gareth Belvedere?” Sir Alan leaned forward and raised his eyebrows.

“No, not Belvedere or even like him, but someone just as classy as she is, then yes,” Mason smiled and relaxed back in his chair, “I think we both know that Belvedere is completely out of the picture, and now that Lyndsey’s aware of his financial ... shall we say ... arrangements. I think you are equally aware and probably formed your opinion of him long ago. Lyndsey is now coming around to form a similar position to you. I don’t think she ever seriously regarded him as marriage material, but was happy to allow him to believe differently for a while.”

Sir Alan nodded, and relaxed back into his chair. “So, Mason, my boy, tell me about you, in your own words. The reports I have had of you and others tend to lack the means of fleshing out people, and I would like to take this opportunity to get to know you.”

“I am not sure how much I need to say. You haven’t bothered to ask how I know about Belvedere, for example.”

“I know about Le Beret Bleu. I know you have resources at your fingertips that I have to pay people through the nose to find out information for me. So tell me about yourself.”

Just then there was a knock on the door.

“Come!” called Sir Alan.

Bettina came in carrying a tray containing a pair of cups and saucers, a coffee pot, a jug of cream and bowl of sugar. Immediately behind Bettina stepped in Lyndsey, with a worried look on her face. Her eyes sought out Mason and saw him relaxed and smiling and instantly looked relieved. Then she looked at her father, just as Bettina put the tray onto a coffee table in front of the fire, and noticed that he too was sitting in a relaxed position, and flashed him a smile, which he returned. Bettina stood upright and turned to leave, taking Lyndsey’s arm. Just as she was being turned, she exchanged a smile with Mason, and then they were gone.

“Lovely, isn’t she, Mason?” Sir Alan asked.

“She is, Alan, very lovely,” Mason agreed.

“We appear to be in concourse, my boy. So, now that we have an understanding, do tell me about yourself.”

“Do you want me to tell you from the beginning, or work my way back from this point here?” Mason smiled.

“Why not in reverse? I am more interested in who you are now rather than your youth.”

“OK. You know I was recently divorced?” Mason noted Sir Alan’s nod, and continued. “I know I was naive. I started out simply doing a girl a favour but then made the mistake of getting too close and became involved, heavily involved. I fell in love, which didn’t last long, and now we have a child who suffers from being in the middle of a broken family.”

“I know broken families. It happened to me too, but I lost control of mine. You seem to be keeping yourself together.”

“I have to, there’s a baby girl involved.”

“Yes, baby girls have a way of getting under your skin.”

They both laughed.

“Yeah, she’s the biggest thing in my life at the moment, and Lynds has been simply brilliant, making such a difference to my access to Maisie. And I think my daughter and Lyndsey love each other already.”

“And what about your career, why the Post Office?”

“You probably know I spent time in Switzerland, getting my head straight. It was a frustrating time, especially finding out I was on the list of people the Army were letting go. I’ve no realistic career path, except being a mercenary, which would be a desperate occupation after what I had experienced and relied on, with worse conditions, poorer weapons, uncertain leadership and support to the standard soldiers with my experience are accustomed to. The mercenary business is basically a long drawn out attempted suicide with reducing returns and even less satisfaction in a job well done. Being a postman keeps me active and on the move, and every day I get satisfaction in completing each round. I don’t intend doing it for the rest of my life, but it’ll do for now.”

“And your painting? Bearing in mind that a slippery Royal Academy man wants to exploit you, means that you are probably well qualified to get RA membership yourself and the price tags that go with it.”

“So, the guy from the RA is a slime ball?”

“Yes, he was actually a trustee of my charity at one time. I am sure he was invited on when I was more involved with business than the Foundation. My wife certainly didn’t trust him and I think he was made to feel uncomfortable in the role, to encourage him to look elsewhere. He was once an artist, John St John Parminter, now an art dealer and high ranking operator in the RA, but he is generally looking out for his own benefit as agent and dealer.”

“Painting is my hobby, Alan, like my football activities. I do it for relaxation and if I made either activity my main job, what would I do for relaxation?”

“Raise babies into fine young men and women, maybe?”

“Sounds like harder work than work!”

“But rewarding.”

“Yes, but with a broken family...”

“Families can be mended.”

“This one is finished, Alan. There are only the pieces to pick up and I must do everything I can to protect Maisie from the fallout. Lyndsey thinks that Leone has changed her mind and wants to mend bridges between us, but I think she is still looking for that meal ticket, and that I will not be that for her.”

“Quite right, Leone is a selfish bitch who notices that first my daughter and then I have some interest in you, and she sees you increase in worth, while she is increasing looking like bargain basement.”

“Exactly the conclusion Lynds came to.”

“Her mother and I didn’t raise a dummy, Mason,” he chuckled.

“No sir, you sure didn’t.”

“So, after your 18 years in the military, home and abroad, in and out of the strictly legal, do you miss it?”

“No, not really. At first I resented the way it ended for a couple of months but the Army is shrinking and we had too many soldiers at the two top ends, too many red tops among the officers and too many NCOs among the troops. To make room for fresh blood, some of us at our respective top ends had to go. I was angry but accepted it. But what can a guy trained to take no prisoners do in civvy street?”

“Take no prisoners in the business world, maybe?”

“So, you think I could work in an office?”

“Not just an office. All right, there is some sit down stuff, research, reading up the enemy, working out scenarios, tactics, a safe withdrawal if it all goes pear-shaped. But then, with that work behind you, you fly in, do the deal, burn the opposition and carry off the prize. It’s what you’ve been trained for, it’s at the very core of what you have always done. All you need is some more training in how business works and experience working as part of a team of bankers, contract lawyers, personnel experts in worldwide employment laws, and you’d be the one to lead the going in and the getting out if it looks sticky, or press on to the victory.”

“Are you offering me a job, Alan, and not just painting this house?”

“Do you think you could work with me, Mason?”

“I’d have to think about it.”

“Of course. The ball is in your court. I would like you on board but you determine your future my boy. Now, as we are working back through your story, tell me about your family. We’ll start with your sister Caroline, because she’s a walking disaster, isn’t she?”

“She is a submissive by nature. She’s bright but wants love and needs protection, but turns away from Mum and Dad, who haven’t really helped by their happy-go-lucky attitude, but even when she turns to me she rarely follows my advice, but since I have been around more I can see how our parents have become increasingly impatient with her.”

“She’s being used by her friend Josh and Gareth, too.”

“Yeah, I warned her about Gareth, but she never listens. If he or that rat Josh ever hurt her, well, they will rue the day.”

‘Yes, let’s hope she comes through this undamaged, poor girl.” Sir Alan leaned forward, “Coffee?”

“Please, just black no sugar.”

“Biscuit?”

“No, I’ll wait for lunch, Lynds tells me that a meal by Bettina is a treat.”

“It is.”

Sir Alan poured two cups, handed one with a saucer to Mason, who stretched across to accept it, then he poured cream and one sugar cube in his own cup and leaned back, stirring his cup. He sipped his coffee and looked up at Mason.

“So, your stepfather is ‘Dad’ to you, is he?”