The day was hot; the train from Brighton was crowded; London was too busy with tourists blocking the traffic. Being kept waiting for a meeting in a formal, uncluttered room was never going to be Stone’s favourite place to pursue a deal. And Stone did not yet know how he was going to find £2.5 million.
He paid off the taxi in Grosvenor Street in London’s Mayfair. This road smelled of an outwards show of wealth; the area was tidy with trees; and no waste bins spilled onto the road, spoiling the façades of the pristine buildings. For a minute Stone stood and looked up at the white-fronted town house before he went in.
An officious young woman led Stone up a spiral staircase to the third floor and into what he was told was a boardroom. She did not look at him and said nothing further except telling him to take a seat as she then left. This was not a place hanging with cobwebs, with dusty corners that had no veneer to hide anything, where Stone preferred to confront difficult business. And now, left on his own, with no noise of anyone moving around in the corridor, it began to add to Stone’s irritation. Stone was a man of impatience; he would rarely wait for anyone beyond fifteen minutes, and that time was now running out.
But today was different. This meeting was important; he had come here to buy Marine House, and that somehow stretched his short fuse without snapping. He was going to see this out.
There were seats all round a long table, and Stone walked to the far end and stared blankly at a full-length portrait hanging on the wall. It was of a lady in bright-red robes. Her eyes looked straight to the end of the table – this was her place. There was silence as he stood on his own for another three minutes. He ran his hand through his hair. The door suddenly opened. Almost as one movement, a middle-aged woman, followed by a younger man – who had a red face as if he had been hurrying too much since lunchtime – came into the room. There was hardly a pause before the woman spoke.
‘I’m Lady Ruth Jackson, and you must be Mr Harry Stone,’ she said and noisily took a chair without a handshake. ‘Please take a seat, but my son and I haven’t got much time; we have other more important business to attend to, so what have you come to say, Mr Stone?’
Stone sat at the end of the table. He looked back at the woman and the muscles on his face tightened. This was the same person whose face was in the portrait looking down the room at him.
‘You know why I’m here. I’ve sent you my offer for Marine House, £2.5 million. It’s right on top market value, so I’m surprised you’re not snatching my hand off for it. Remember, too, I am the sitting tenant – that should put me top of your list, so I want to know today that the sale is on,’ Stone said.
‘I thought you were coming here to tell me you can afford to pay the rent for the next twelve weeks. We shall need to know that you’ve cleared what you owe when you leave at the end of your lease,’ Lady Ruth said and glared at Stone.
‘If you’re trying to sell Marine House over my head, I would remind you I don’t have to leave that building until the very last day at the end of those twelve weeks. And that’s a bank holiday Monday.’
‘Your offer is too low; we’ve told you that three times. And our advice is that there are plenty of people out there who are about to put in bids. It’s a valuable property, seven bedrooms, and because of its prominent address central to Brighton seafront, I will also make sure it goes to the right person. And, as I understand you intend to redevelop the place if you ever get your hands on it, I’ll remind you that Marine House is a listed Regency building. As a lot of people knew it as our family home, it still carries our name, and we want to make sure it’s not turned into something ghastly. Something out of keeping with the other elegant houses nearby, a monstrosity,’ Lady Ruth said.
‘Mr Stone, let me introduce myself. I’m Josh – Lady Ruth is my mother.’
The son leant across the long, bare oak table; he left a card a few inches from Stone’s hand.
Lady Ruth put her hand up to stop him talking; he sat back again quickly and idled with his fingers on the table. And she had not finished.
‘Before we go any further, we need to get some matters straight,’ she said. ‘So, you’d better listen to what I’m now going to tell you, Mr Stone. What has come to light, in case you’ve already forgotten, is that you have attracted a lot of dubious publicity in the past year. We’ve seen reports of early morning police raids looking for expected money laundering and drug dealing going on from Marine House. This publicity doesn’t get around unless it’s true, and you obviously don’t understand how it damages an important address like Marine House. And I expect we’ll find some physical damage you’ve caused inside the building with your criminal friends visiting. But we’ll do an inspection soon and send you a bill for anything we find.’
‘That’s all nonsense. It’s now history,’ Stone said quickly and fidgeted in his chair.
‘That may be so, but it was still in print for the whole world to see.’
‘It was just the gutter press poking around for easy idle gossip to fill their pages. And it doesn’t help you to sell Marine House if you spend your time raking up that rubbish you’re trying to throw at me.’
‘Mr Stone, please. Arguing with Mother won’t help, and of course we want you to enjoy Marine House right up until the end of your lease,’ Josh said.
‘I’m not here to argue with anybody. I’m asking you to remember my offer’s top value and firm. And I want to know when you’re going to accept it.’
‘I think I need to remind you that you have not always been regular in paying the rent when it falls due,’ Lady Ruth said. ‘And whatever figure you might put at the bottom of a piece of paper when we do bank searches, my son and I are beginning to wonder if you have the necessary money to buy Marine House. So, are you just here today as a speculator trying your luck with us?’
‘Don’t question my money – it’s real; it’s in the bank ready to be paid the day we sign contracts. And I’m the only prospect if you want an easy, quick sale.’
‘Not so. It is most unlikely we are going to sell to you, Mr Stone. Because when we put it all together you need to know we don’t think you are the right sort of person to buy such a prominent building. We shall put it out to tender and that will really sort out who the highest bidder is. So please don’t come here to bother my son and myself about it again.’
For now, Stone hid his clenched fist that he had wanted to bang heavily on the board table. He picked up the card that Josh had placed in front of him.
‘The valuers I’ve consulted tell me you won’t get a higher offer than mine. That’s £2.5 million, and I’ve got the money ready and waiting. So, keep me top of the pile on your table – you have my number; I’ll look forward to your call. Soon.’
Without looking at Lady Ruth, Stone left the room, pulling the door hard so that it closed with a thud. He hesitated as he walked down the three floors of the spiral staircase. Had he just left the room too quickly? Would Lady Ruth and her son ever call him again? At that moment Stone felt probably not. And it was then, as he moved, that Stone suddenly felt a sharp pain in his back. For a moment he held the stair rail. It was hot in this stifling place – he was becoming very uncomfortable.
Once on the Mayfair street, Stone took in big breaths of the fresh air. But it did not temper his instant dislike of Lady Ruth Jackson. Stone thought he knew how to handle people, but with this titled lady and her condescending attitude, even tone of voice, he could see she was going to be very difficult. And he was unsure of Josh, who sat there twisting his fingers, his gaze mostly turned to the window, as if he wished he was outside. But drag Josh away from his mother, then maybe he was someone he could do business with.
Walking along the busy street, all Stone could feel was growing tension. It was being reminded by the pretentious titled lady of what happened just a year ago that hit him. She had not only derided his ability to buy Marine House but also his past. It left him numbed. And how could he not remember the early morning police raid on Marine House? The fraud squad had been tipped off – Stone never knew who had grassed on him.
There was a knock on the door at six in the morning, and all eight of them thundered around the place. They had expected to find a dump of laundered money with dubious bundles of £20 notes tied together with red elastic bands. They had expected to find the proceeds of racketeering and drug dealing stashed around the place. They had searched the seven bedrooms, even box rooms in the attic, for three hours, but they found nothing. Not even Charlie the police dog could sense a whiff of cannabis or anything stronger. The police raid, in all its force, noise and disruption, had missed what had really been going on in Stone’s erratic world.
The speculation of something big happening at Marine House just a year ago had buzzed around. It was still sticking. And as Stone waited for a taxi to cruise by, in his paranoia he believed he could see a menacing shadow from his past moving towards him. He could see a dark shadow of a gangland thug, Xavier, leader of a ring of racketeers and dealers in narcotics. The man had a big face, bald head with rippling neck, and with his gang of heavies, not short of inflicting GBH, he had squeezed Stone into the squalor of illicit money laundering. He had even brought a slobbering dog into Marine House just to frighten him.
But Stone had stayed on in the large building, alone, living comfortably in just a few rooms. And driving him today were grand plans for turning Marine House inside out, into apartments. There would be three of them – selling them on, he would then double his money.
He climbed into a taxi to take him to his train to Brighton. His backache was developing into a constant, nagging pain. Rising in his right hip, every time he stretched, the ache was getting stronger, almost biting at him. Before leaving Brighton that morning, he had taken two painkillers with a glass of whisky, but that had all worn off, and on that warm afternoon, his belligerence had turned up a few notches. He now wanted another drink.
The growing discomfort in his back was beginning to trouble him. And he was wary of the sharks from his past circling him again as he scratched around for £2.5 million to get the prize, Marine House.