Once I Was A Soldier Read online

  Melissa shook her head, adding, “Not as far as I'm aware, but I've never had much to do with them.”

  “Hmm! A problem then! Mr Bateman would be in a better position than I to calculate the exact amount of tax owing on the estate, but from what I understand after speaking to him after your call, it seems highly likely that either the ownership of the Chester Square house, or the Hall would have to be sold to cover the sum due to settle the duties owing. Either way, Melissa, you are well provided for from your father's monetary investments and the cash in his and your mother's accounts.”

  There was no hesitancy or confusion to her reply.

  “I shall live in London,” she announced. “There is nothing for me in Yorkshire now, Lord Edwin. As I see it Iverson Hall was my mother and father's home along with the responsibility of the two servants they, not I, employed. If they are made homeless by my father's decision regarding his refusal to allow the foundries to be sold, then on his head be it. I want nothing to do with the place again. I shall not return. How long will all this take to be finalised?” she asked, finishing her drink and placing it on the papers on his desk as though it amounted to her seal on the event.

  Looking troubled by her reply, he asked,

  “Are you sure that you wouldn't care for more time to consider that decision? It has, after all, dire consequences for the two that are living in on the estate. Where are they to go? As I said, the legacy is not sufficient to purchase a property and I doubt they would have much savings.”

  Her resolve was not shaken.

  “I was not put on this earth to mollycoddle anyone. I'm here to make a life for myself and those who don't fit in can be jettisoned as far as I'm concerned. The Spencers are nothing to me. I hardly know them and I have no wish to change that relationship.”

  “Were they not around when you were born, Miss Iverson?” Formality had replaced familiarity. “I was under the impression that they have been in the employ of your family for over forty years. Have they family that you know of where they could go, perhaps?”

  “Yes, the time sounds about right. But what's that to me? Am I expected to take them under my wing and care for them in their final years at my expense? Should I train as a care nurse for the physically disabled? Because if so, then you and they are sadly mistaken. As far as family is concerned then I have absolutely no idea. I've never spoken to them on such matters and I'm not about to. The house they occupy is within seventy yards of the Hall. I cannot sell the Hall and not the house. No! I'm not going to spend time agonising over them. Everything apart from my private belongings will be sold. Let the Spencers find a retirement home. I'm to live in London and I instruct you to sell the Hall and contents, Lord Edwin.”

  As the judicious solicitor looked straight into Melissa's eyes he saw the same grasping nature that her father had reluctantly accepted before he had died with his heart broken. Nevertheless, he considered it his duty to offer counselling.

  “In my life I have both freely given advice and been generously paid for it. If I'm paid then it is entirely up to the client to accept or decline. My conscience is clear as to whether he, or she, does or does not. If, however, I'm asked to give advice on a personal level I feel aggrieved if that advice is ignored. As I'm still your legal advisor, and you, Miss Iverson, fall into that second category, it is your decision entirely what to do with what I'm about say.

  “You are of an age where nothing is more important than tomorrow, and your tomorrows are as assured as anything can be, but I must tell you this. It is how one treats one's todays that makes one's tomorrows. I would never advise you to keep Iverson Hall, as that is clearly not to your advantage nor is it your choice as to where to live. That I completely understand. But I would sternly caution you not to disregard people as readily as you seem able. Maybe if you were to spend some time in reflection you could find an answer to Mr Joseph and Mrs Carol Spencer's dilemma, especially as they have faithfully served your family for so many years. Could they not, for example, serve you at Chester Square? Although it's not stated in the will, I know your late father would not wish to see them evicted in this way. He was a kind and caring man. I understand that there are several tied cottages on the estate further away from the Hall itself. If London is out of the question, could not the tenancy of one of those be made available for them? As a reward for past services.”

  He was not permitted to expand on that proposal, as with defiant deliberation Melissa rose from the green velvet, padded hard-backed chair and fixed her gaze on the file lying closed under her glass on the desk before her.

  “I thank you for your time, Lord Edwin, but not for your advice. It was not asked for nor welcome. My instructions are to sell Iverson Hall at the earliest convenience along with all with the freehold of those tied cottages. I am not concerned as to them being vacant or occupied. Close all accounts in my father's name and any under my mother's name, transferring everything to me. I will hold on to the shares in Iverson Iron and Steel. I will examine the other stocks and shares with a view to their future viability sometime after I'm settled into Chester Square. Notice to quit must be served on the Spencers forthwith. I want Christies to arrange for an inventory of the Hall to be drawn up with everything I no longer want going to auction. I will take a few pieces of furniture, my personal belongs and some paintings I'm fond of. I will arrange for the removal of those things as quickly as I can. If there are documents to sign I will sign them now and take my leave.”

  He could argue no further as his hands were tied. On returning from accompanying Melissa to the exit of his chambers he summoned his secretary into his office.

  “Ah, Joan! I need you to type some letters on behalf of Miss Melissa Iverson. One is not pleasant, I'm afraid. I doubt very much that this will be the last letter you will be typing on her behalf and also the last of an unpleasant nature. I can only hope that subsequent letters will be less punitive. Somehow or other I think we will be in touch with her more times than I would hope. Delay delivery of the notice to quit letter until the morning, Joan. The least we can do is give them a peaceful night.”

  As Melissa alighted from the chauffeur-driven car at the steps to the Ritz Hotel she felt the unmistakable cold of winter approaching. As she reached the overhanging stone portico entrance it began to pour with rain but none fell on her. Had it done so, it would have had the same effect as if it fell on a bed of indurated clay. She had far more important things on her mind to think about than the inclement weather.

  * * *

  That same Wednesday evening Lord Belsize had dinner with his partner Sir Eli Roberts and their respective wives. The evening was meant to celebrate their twenty-fifth anniversary of being in partnership, but Edwin was far from being in a celebratory mood. He was melancholy and uncommunicative. His wife, Cynthia, tried to make excuses for her husband's disposition whilst she was alone with Sir Eli's wife in the Ladies' room.

  “He's been like that since arriving home. I've tried to elicit a reason from him but he just clams up and won't explain. Has he said anything to Eli, Frances?” she enquired.

  “Not something that Eli's mentioned to me, but he never speaks about work. He will probably liven up after a few glasses of wine. You worry too much, Cynthia.”

  * * *

  Joseph Spencer and his wife Carol received notice of the legacy that Albert Iverson had bestowed upon them the same day the notice to quit arrived at Iverson Hall by Special Delivery. That Thursday morning saw a collection of callers prior to that letter, all of whom puzzled the Spencers. First to arrive was the removal team of four burly men who presented the shocked Joseph with a list of personal belongings that Melissa wished to be collected and—'delivered to London, chum. An address in Belgravia', the tallest man curtly informed Joseph, whose eyes became glazed in puzzlement.

  Carol was busy showing the second arrivals, three equally burly men, along with one bespectacled smaller one, around the Hall pointing out objects to the smaller man who then listed them on the ream
s of paper clipped to the hard board he carried and which he referred to. When Joseph found the time to open that letter from Belsize and Roberts, the last thing he expected was the instant termination of his and his wife's employment and residence. In the final paragraph of the two-paragraphed letter were these unbelievable words:

  'You are hereby given notice to vacate the premises you presently occupy adjacent to Iverson Hall by midnight Thursday 23rd November 1992.'

  “That's tonight, Joseph! This can't be right, surely?” Carol asked on checking the letter her husband had passed to her.

  “I'll ring the solicitors and clear it up, Carol. Not even Melissa would be that wicked as to throw us out onto the street with such short notice,” he nervously replied.

  Chapter Three

  Number 12 Chester Square was a nineteenth-century, five storeys plus basement residence in one of London's most sought-after areas. Melissa moved in the day after the Spencers had vacated Iverson Hall without once thinking of them or their plight. From an agency she engaged a cook, a housekeeper, a maid, and a chauffeur-cum-butler-cum-everything else she could think of. She knew nothing of London, but that would not hinder or dampen her determination to fit in and stamp her mark.

  In her home town she had never made friends, nor did she at university. Not because she was diffident around people, but because they were inessential to her, an excess not to be indulged. Shy she certainly was not, nor meek, nor timid, being totally preoccupied with herself having no time to recognise peculiarities in order to adapt or see them in others. It would be true to say that she seldom acknowledged that there were in fact others and when she did, those recognised were for her own selfish pleasure not theirs. She was not a virgin, having lost her virginity the first month at university with neither passion nor satisfaction. She collected other sexual partners to rectify those deficiencies and on a few occasions was successful. Sex was another thing that was not essential to her, but the power of her sexual attraction was paramount! The world in which she existed was occupied by only one; herself. Now, having lost both parents, there was no need for Melissa to change and there was no one to rein her in on her perilous journey.

  One month to the day after her occupation of the house in Chester Square, Philip, the agency chauffeur, parked her black and burgundy Rolls Royce in front of the row of fashionable boutiques, furniture shops and food halls in Ebury Street, a few minutes' walk from her house. Her unmistakable figure was coming to be recognised in this area, and her money more so.

  In David Linley's, a very chic, upmarket furniture emporium, she purchased some home furnishings whilst chatting amicably with the affable owner for half an hour or more during which time many people entered the premises to browse or make inquiries. Melissa noticed one or two of these and later, when she was setting up a delivery account in a recently opened Italian delicatessen a few shops further along, she was not surprised when approached by a man who had seen her inside Linley's furniture shop.

  “You seemed to be getting along with David as if you were old friends, but I've never seen you before in his company. Had I of done then I can assure you that I would certainly not have forgotten you. I'm Richard Stanhope, David's partner in the business. And you are?” He offered his outstretched hand by way of a greeting.

  “Melissa Iverson,” she said as she gently placed her hand in his. “But I'm afraid I don't know this person David,” she replied decorously.

  “The owner of the furniture emporium you were just in. He's the Queen's nephew and the next Lord Snowden. It looked as though you and he were very chummy, but I can't place you! If I'm mistaken then I won't apologise, as it could be my lucky day. I've seen you a few times around here, Melissa. Are you one of our neighbours so to speak?”

  “I moved into my late family's house in Chester Square a month ago. I've been busy rearranging the furniture since then. This is a very nice part of London, although having said that, I've not been further than Harrods and Harvey Nicks. Building up my courage to venture into the West End.” A suggestive smile nestled easily on her lips as she replied.

  “You need no courage, Melissa. All you need is me as your escort.” He checked his watch then brushing away a lock of blond hair from his forehead said,

  “I have an hour free before a boring business meeting I must attend. Let's get your man to drive us around for a bit and I'll show you the shopping highlights nearby. What do you say?” If a lion was to smile before its attack then Stanhope's smile was exactly the same.

  There was no intimacy on the journey but Melissa felt aroused on the two occasions Richard leant across her to point out a couple of places that she might find interesting. There was no touching apart from the gentle sway of the motorcar as it turned corners when their shoulders were in brief contact. Finally the car stopped outside an office block in Knightsbridge.

  “I will not allow your beautiful company to escape me for long, Melissa. We must meet again. But tell me about you. Where did you learn to be so elegant?” he asked seductively.

  Melissa blushed slightly, having only known the hackneyed lines used as a 'pick-up' by students of her own age, never having been confronted by a man in his mid-thirties or so well versed around women.

  “I grew up in Yorkshire where my father owned several factories and I spent all my time there,” she replied demurely.

  “I always believed that nothing good came from the north. Please don't tell me that all the young ladies of Yorkshire have the same delicious eyes and are as desirable as you. But I'm intrigued, do tell me more. How did you lose the accent?” he begged.

  “There's not much to tell. I had elocution lessons when very young so as to lose any northern dialect that may have developed. As to my family, they have all passed on now. Father died quite recently. I'm left on my own to make what I can of life.”

  “That's tragic, I must say. Terrible for someone so young! And a heavy responsibility on such perfect shoulders,” he said as he touched her arm in a gentle comforting manner. Melissa returned his smile as her calculating mind clicked on a beat.

  “But, hey look, as you are new around here and obviously need to get out and about a bit to make new friends, I have a suggestion. There's a party tonight at a friend's place south of the river. I could pick you up and carry you off to my place where you could select something suitable for me to wear. I'm useless without a woman in charge. Or, if you prefer, we could just stay at mine and dispense with clothes all together and then do what comes naturally. What do you think?” he asked beguilingly with a lascivious smile.

  He was handsome, immaculately dressed, probably rich, with persuasive charm delivered in a lyrical voice. Did it matter if he was married or not? He knew the Queen's nephew! Who else would he know and what doors could he open that would otherwise be closed? Entranced as Melissa was by his sexual appeal and obvious experience, there was only one outcome, and it didn't included a crowded party.

  “Why don't I come back and pick you up after that meeting. Why wait for tonight, Richard? I'm free all day and if there is a better way to spend it then I can't think of one.”

  “Great, how refreshing to meet someone who knows exactly what she wants! We'll get a couple of bottles of Italian and some olives and we're away!”

  “I'll put them on my account at that Italian deli. It will be a memorable way to start that account going.” Richard Stanhope didn't argue. It's always pointless to disagree with fools.

  That night was spent at Richard Stanhope's Cheyne Walk address in Chelsea, from where she returned to Chester Square in the early morning hours, merely to change clothing then away to his country house in West Sussex for the Saturday and Sunday. In the afternoon of the Monday, Melissa and her new housekeeper were in Jane Asher's premises at Chelsea Green ordering cakes for a proposed party the following weekend. It was her way of trying to ingratiate herself with the immediate neighbours, building up to the succession of hoped-for party invitations she would receive for the Christmas season, when a co
mely lady of about forty-five years of age approached and introduced herself.

  “I'm one of your admirers, you know. Let me introduce myself before you think I'm collecting for charity: Samantha Rodgers. I live almost opposite you at Number 17. I must say you made quite an appearance with that cavalcade of removal lorries and then the liveried delivery trucks. I'm envious of what you must have hidden away inside Number 12. Have you travelled far and are you famous?”

  Melissa extended her hand in friendship but the gesture was ignored as Samantha brushed past it, hugging her near neighbour, enthusiastically kissing her on both cheeks as though they were being reunited after some painfully long time apart.

  “Number 12 was my family's London home, and no, I'm not famous. For the moment, that is. I wouldn't mind becoming so though,” Melissa explained as she withdrew from the embrace.

  “The Iversons come from Yorkshire. I'm Melissa, by the way,” she replied, somewhat embarrassed and flustered.

  “So, Melissa, what brings you to relocate to wicked London in the beautifully appointed Chester Square? Family argument, or something scandalous and worth gossiping about? Oh I do hope so. There's been no good scandal doing the rounds for simply ages.” Her chubby, rounded smiling face shone like a star in the middle of the night as she enquired of Melissa.

  “Sorry, no scandal, not yet anyway.” Melissa returned her smile with affection.

  “My father died a month or so ago following on closely to my mother's death. I had no wish to stay and manage the family's factories, so I'm selling the family estate to pay the death duties and taking over Number 12 as my permanent home. I've got to settle in of course, but I'm throwing a house party on Saturday to get know my neighbours. I was going to do the rounds later tonight and tomorrow with all the invitations. You will come, I hope! You will be the first that I've asked.”