Once I Was A Soldier Read online

Before Frederick died so cruelly in an IRA ambush on the outskirts of Belfast he had developed into a strong-minded individual, tall, good-looking with a determined face and strikingly blue eyes, the very picture of his mother. His arrival was not unnaturally welcomed by both his parents, but that wasn't the case when his sister arrived six years before the sniper's bullet slapped through the army helmet he wore, killing him outright.

  For reasons unclear to Melissa, Margret never took to her in an affectionate way. She was distant and aloof, laying blame on her for seemingly everything that was wrong in her own life. On the day Frederick died it came to a head.

  It was her continual crying that drove Freddy from this house, Albert. Freddy's dead because of her! I want nothing more to do with that child. Nothing!

  In later life when she knew of those miscarriages Margret had, it was those that Melissa blamed, but in her early years away from Margret it was the nannies and housekeepers who took over a mother's role, then, when of school age, she was sent off as a boarder for her elementary schooling and for her secondary education. At the age of eighteen her enrolment at university lifted the tension at Iverson Hall that happened on every weekend she spent with her parents. Albert tried his best to be there for those, but when the demands of the iron and steel business were unavoidable Margret made excuses and left to stay in London at an address unfamiliar to Melissa.

  It was through necessity that over her formative years Melissa developed into a self-sufficient individual, asking for little and wanting less. Her parents became strangers to her, two people she was aware of but with whom she shared nothing in common other than an aversion to each other's standards and morality. She quickly detached herself from the rigours of formality. University was where she found room for her simplistic appraisal of life that centred around the principle that one studied alone to achieve a success enjoyed alone, and one partied with those one chose rather than those forced upon one.

  Through choice she became confrontational, always having an answer for everything and never accepting fault. Through design she skipped in and out of amorous entanglements that added nothing to her happiness or advantage, and through dogged hard work she gained the degree of education she was after. However, that education came only with prestigious letters after her name; it did not come with any degree of certification into the understanding of human life.

  Clothes are easily changed, but a person's skin is the fabric containing the vital forces of life that unless hit by a thunderbolt remain the characteristics of that person until death. Melissa did not have to wait quite that long for her change on the road to her own Damascus, but she came perilously close.

  Wednesday 22nd November 1992

  The day after her father's interment in the family mausoleum, Melissa paid a visit to the manager of the private bank in the city of Leeds that handled her father's and his company's business banking affairs, ostensibly to discuss the running of the six factories in the family's Iron and Steel Company. Her real intentions were far from that obvious.

  “Please accept the bank's sincere condolences for your tragic loss, Miss Iverson. We were all so shocked to hear of your father's death. I must say that when I saw him he did look exhausted and under tremendous strain. It cannot have been easy on either of you since Mrs Iverson's passing.”

  “When did you see him last?” she asked, somewhat confused by her father's visit she was unaware of.

  “Let me see now.” He checked his desk diary. “Yes I have it here. A week ago on the fifteenth! I followed his instructions as to the ownership of the freeholds of the factories and his personal shareholdings in the business. I was under the impression that he had discussed it all with you!” His consoling countenance was quickly replaced by one of bewilderment.

  “Were you indeed. And what precisely were those instructions, Mr Bateman?” Melissa asked belligerently.

  “I'm afraid I'm unable to say, Madam,” he replied, conscious of the minefield that might lie ahead. “His plans are now in the hands of the company secretary in London and without his authority my hands are tied. But I can say this much. It would be in your best interests to visit your solicitors. Lord Belsize is in receipt of your late father's will. That's where your father told me he was off to when he left these offices last Wednesday.”

  “Are all of his banking accounts closed?” she asked, flabbergasted.

  “All related to the business are, Miss Iverson, but his personal account and your own of course are not. They are operational as normal. Would you like a balance whilst you're here?” he replied, uncomfortable with the conversation and hoping that it would end soon.

  A taut, nervous “of both please” was uttered in reply by the emotionally shaken Melissa.

  “Yes, I can give you those. You will need a letter of probate before any transfer can be made from Mr Iverson's account to your own and, for that matter, those in your mother's name to your own account. But your solicitor will see to all those technicalities, I'm sure.”

  The short meeting was concluded much to the bank manager's relief but not Melissa's. She was somewhere between being confounded by her father's secrecy and in admiration of his deceit. She was speechless as she left the building on her way to the station and the next train to London.

  What have you done, Father? was the nagging question that travelled with her for the next three hours.

  Chapter Two

  Lincoln's Inn, in Holborn, London, is the oldest and largest of the four Inns of Court which barristers of England and Wales belong to and where they are 'called to the Bar.' It is also recognised as having the most distinguished professional bodies of judges and lawyers counted amongst its number. This was where the offices of Belsize and Roberts were situated, which was an unusual fact as they were only mere solicitors, not their exalted cousins, barristers! However, apart from the Iversons they counted the names of some of the most prominent and dignified families in the land on their list of clients and in the world of solicitors there were none more respected than Lord Edwin Belsize and Sir Eli Roberts.

  Melissa had phoned ahead arranging a late appointment at three-thirty pm and they in turn had scheduled a car to meet her at King's Cross railway station on her arrival. She was fortunate that the Ritz Hotel in Piccadilly, the only hotel she had heard of, had vacancies, but made no mention of that on speaking to the reservation clerk. Melissa was not the kind of person who recognised luck as a commodity. To her, money bought everything and everyone, and the only fame that was necessary was the fame of success. Her chauffeur had dutifully waited whilst she deposited her overnight bag with Martin, the reservation clerk. His welcoming salutation was wasted on her. However, the one she received at Belsize and Roberts was not.

  “Good day to you, Miss Iverson! Would we be wrong to assume you're here to discuss your father's will?”

  The 'we' was used superfluously, as there was only herself and Lord Edwin Belsize in the oak-panelled room into which his secretary had escorted her. It was a large, high-ceilinged room smelling of wood polish with the overwhelming fragrant smell of the vanilla mustiness of paper, whereas Lord Belsize's secretary was a small woman who wore a strong almond scent which was not to Melissa's liking. It crossed her mind that she must constantly spray her clothing with it to distract from the solemnity of her surroundings.

  “I have, yes, as I did say on the telephone! I understand that my father has put the assets of the family-owned company beyond my control, but what I do not know is where that leaves me financially. He knew of my plans to sell off the factories so I'm left believing it was a fit of anger that persuaded him to abandon them, leaving me with no alternative but to address that decision of his. He was, you understand, unhinged mentally after mother died and this led him to disregard his doctor's advice. In essence, Lord Belsize, he wilfully stopped taking his medication in order to die. In other words it's my suggestion he took his life whilst lonely and suffering from acute depression.” She stared at the phlegmatic solicitor who remained
stolidly unmoved by her accusation.

  “Have I to find work, or are there sufficient funds in place to avoid that degrading scenario whilst I challenge his will?” she asked as no reply was immediately forthcoming.

  “Oh, we can assure you that your late father made more than adequate arrangements for your future, Miss Iverson. Handsome arrangements, I might add. You are an immensely wealthy young lady, and one I would advise against any dispute regarding this last will and testament. I myself took Mr Iverson's dictation and he showed no credible evidence of mental illness to my eyes. I would not be able to assist you if you do object to his wishes. Having made my position absolutely clear on that, shall we get down to facts and figures and forget about needless conjecture?”

  Lord Edwin Belsize suggested as he invited Melissa to sit, offering her tea or coffee as he too sat with his finger poised over the buzzer connecting his rooms to those of his almond-smelling secretary. She chose tea which was dutifully carried into the room on a plain wooden tray alongside a red coloured, leather-bound file embossed with the gold leaf initials of A. I. stamped as the heading.

  Belsize undid the lace side-fastening and passed the top paper copies to Melissa, who looked dubiously at them.

  “Don't be frightened, my dear, they won't bite and they are after all, your future.”

  “That's what I afraid of, Lord Belsize, my future I mean. I'm used to certain luxuries that the profits from the foundries paid for.”

  He placed his reading glasses on his bulbous red-veined nose, pushing them forward and addressed Melissa looking over the rim.

  “Please, call me Edwin. The use of my title puts me in mind of standing in front of the Lord Chief Justice waiting to be hauled over the coals for some misdemeanour on my part and him forgetting my name. Luckily that has not happened, but one never knows, does one! Having said that, let's get on with the business in hand.”

  He was far from being a perfunctory man, but the professional that he was led him on occasions to be slightly cursory in his appraisal of situations.

  “Your personal stock in the company accrues income along with voting rights as a preferential stockholder. The one thing you don't have now is your father's majority shareholding. The details of your holdings are set out quite clearly in the documentation before you. I'll start to go slowly through them if you're perfectly ready, Miss Iverson? If you need time to raise questions just interrupt and I'll explain.”

  “Could we skip the legal jargon and get down to the basics, please? All I'm interested in is how much do I get and how do I get it? One trust fund was released to me when I turned twenty-one and I'm in receipt of another since the twenty-eighth of October just gone. But put the two together and quite frankly it's not very much if I'm to keep things going as they are. I take it that Iverson Hall is mine, Edwin?” She wasn't comfortable with that name but nevertheless used it.

  “It is, Madam.”

  “In that case my income comes nowhere near what I imagine to be the weekly cost of that rambling old house. The two that are employed there now are an overhead I could well do without. As for the heating and lighting bills they must come to an absolute fortune. Does the income from my shares amount to much, or are there other investments that Father made which would provide funds towards the annual charges of that house?”

  “Ah, there you have me! I'm afraid accounting is not an expertise of mine, but I have the last balance sheet of the company and if subsequent years are much the same then your preferential stock will yield an income of somewhere in the region of two hundred and fifty-thousand pounds per annum. You hold, or will hold when all is settled, sixteen percent of stock in Iverson Iron and Steel. Depending on how you wish to manage your affairs some of your stock could be sold on the open market at a very reasonable price. This morning they stood at over seven pounds a share. However, if that was the course you chose then the income they generated would decrease pro rata! I would advise against the sale of assets, but before deciding on any route I would suggest you visit a reputable independent financial advisor. Mr Bateman has handled that sort of thing in the past, but as I always advised your late father, he has a vested interest in your money. An independent advisor would not. I can give you a list of the most reputable ones.

  “Your father had a modicum of investment away from his company. A well distributed ownership of shares and three deposit accounts in separate high street banks along with his holdings in the bank in Leeds. His personal cash amounts to,” Belsize flicked through a few of the papers until he found the total that he needed, “Yes, I have it here! Seven hundred and seventy-four thousand, six-hundred and ninety-one pounds, eighty-five pence. That was the totalled amount that Bateman sent me today. He did, of course, receive an income as chairman of the company, a good income at that. I'm afraid that as you are not to succeed him then that source of money is no more.”

  “Yes, I do realise that and must balance it against Iverson Hall's costs. That's all three deposit accounts you mentioned is it, or just the one at Leeds?” Melissa asked in a disappointed tone of voice.

  “All three! Last year's income from the other shares I've mentioned realised one hundred and two thousand, four hundred pounds and change.”

  “And how much are those shares worth on the open market?”

  “For an exact figure, Miss Iverson, you would need the services of a broker. I'm sure that Bateman's bank would oversee that transaction. We did do a calculation on that matter for probate purposes in regard to inheritance taxation. You obviously fall into the catchment for that. Our estimation of all share and stock holdings away from the steel works that are transferable into your name was ….” Another pause and shuffle of papers preceded his announcement.

  “Two million and ninety-three thousand pounds. There is then the property valuations to add to the taxable estate! Would you like another cup of tea, or shall I plough on as it were?” he offered courteously.

  “If I did would it be added to your fees, Edwin, and if so can I afford one?” she asked, sounding truculent.

  Belsize was offended by this remark. He was unaccustomed to being referred to as anything but honourable. Petty costs were never his style. As a practised orator he needed no physical show of annoyance to convey his feelings.

  “Your cynicism is not only an unwelcome mannerism, it is also an unjust perspective. I have known your family for many, many years and consider myself as a friend along with being the legal advisor your father trusted. If you ever look into the photograph albums your mother was so keen to keep, then my portrait will be found in all the celebrations Albert and Margret shared. Including your christening. As long-standing trustees of your late father's estate our legal obligations are twofold: One; to be responsible for the implementation of the will as specified, and two; to advise our client as to their most advantageous legal position. I am dealing with both these requirements with the utmost dedication, Miss Iverson. A definitive answer to my question would suffice.”

  “If you have a whisky that would do very nicely, thank you, and I'm sorry for my rudeness. It was uncalled for,” Melissa replied, suitably rebuked.

  “In that case I will gladly join you,” Edwin added.

  For a sturdily built man with most of his excess weight carried around his midriff, he was sprightly of foot, moving effortlessly from his commodious chair to the mahogany drinks cabinet beside one of the large floor-to-ceiling windows that fronted the centre of the grass expanse of the Inn. With a sure hand he poured from the tantalus thereon. After a few more minutes of detailed explanation of Melissa's wealth, the file was dispensed with and he addressed Melissa in a more sanguine tone, adopting her first name for his buoyant counselling.

  “It is true to say that you have difficult times to face, Melissa. Being single, and may I add a very attractive young lady, along with being considerably wealthy, can lead to awkward decisions being faced before certain liaisons are fully entered into, but you are not naive or foolhardy I hope. All I can see fo
r you is a very comfortable lifestyle ahead if managed with care and prudence. You will, I suggest, engage yourself in gainful employment at some stage. After all, the devil makes use of idle hands, Melissa, and with you he will have plenty of money to indulge himself.”

  “I haven't long left full time education, sir. I do intend having some inactive time before I contemplate such a thing,” she replied without hesitation.

  “I take it that you are unaware that the house in Chester Square, here in London, is already in your name?”

  Melissa almost choked on hearing this, needing to cough as the single malt slid comfortably down her throat.

  “I am completely unaware of that,” she said, withdrawing a handkerchief from her handbag to mop her lips. “I didn't know there was a London home. Mother used make excuses to come to London but I never once thought we might have a house here. I need to confess something to you. This is my first time in the capital!” she replied, touching her lips once more before placing her folded white handkerchief back in her bag.

  “It was done to mitigate the death duties being levied on your father's estate if he was to survive Margret. Unfortunately, the taxes are punitive. The approximate value of all the assets that after probate and before tax will become yours is in excess of fifteen million pounds. That is a conservative estimation, and includes the current market value of Iverson Hall. It will rise considerably on valuation of the contents of the Hall. I believe there are some valuable works of art and books collected down the years.”

  “Will that mean that the Hall will have to be sold?” she asked without emotion.

  “Now there you may have a moral predicament. The two members of staff that live on the estate have been left a legacy in your father's will, but the amount would not be sufficient to purchase any property. It was bequeathed them on the tacit understanding they would remain in their accommodation until their deaths. Would you know if they own an independent property, or not?”