Favo Novel
Part Three: The Sin of the Parent
Part Three: The Sin of the Parent
Richard
Michael appears at the door of the conference room, wandering into my office, musing over some
document he holds. “Who was Edward Haswell?”
James and I exchange startled glances. “Edward Haswell?” I say. “He was my father. Why would you
ask?”
“Because according to this….” He holds up the document…. “…. forty years or so back, Beth's Uncle
Albert was in business with one Edward Haswell.”
I stand without the intervention of my brain, all but snatching the yellowed paper from his hand. “Let me
see that.”
A smile plays around his mouth. “It’s news to you I take it?”
“Good God, yes. I’d no idea there was any link between Elizabeth’s family and mine.” I flip through the
pages, speed-reading as I go. Francis and James are also both standing. Francis, in deference
perhaps to her position as my PA, is trying not to seem too intrigued. James, with no such qualms, is
simply leaning in, trying to look over my shoulder.
“It is the same Edward Haswell, I suppose?” he asks.
“Yes,” I reply. “Just from what I can see here, this is a reference to my father’s company….” I flick back
to the cover page which crackles with age. “What date….?” My mind spins…. “At this date, I was fifteen
or sixteen at the time.” I pace the room, dredging for the memory. “I must have met him surely?” I’m
muttering to myself, but everyone is listening.
“Really?” says James. “Can you remember him?”
I’m shaking my head, as though the movement will dislodge the memory. “No…. But I was effectively
apprenticed to my father by then. He made sure I met all his business contacts. I must have met him.”
Then to Michael, “Is there any more like this?”
He jerks his head back to the conference room. “Sure. There's a crate-load of it, in one of those
wooden boxes Beth brought back. It all looks like business records.”
“May I see that? Would you mind?” asks James, gesturing at the document in my hand.
“Of course, yes…. No, better, Francis, can you make three…. No five…. copies of this and whatever
else comes out of that crate that seems relevant. We’d better allow for the originals being ready to fall
into dust…. How much is there of it, Michael?”
“As I said, a crate-load.”
“Francis?”
“I’ll be right on it, Richard.” She prises the aged document from my fingers. “If there’s so much
information, I’ll get one of the office girls to come in….”
“Um….” Michael hesitates.
“Yes?”
“Might I suggest that if you are going to use staff for this, you choose carefully who does the work.
Remember where we started this conversation.”
Gloom settles as I remember the original point of our meeting; the Triad learning that we have a spy in
the camp; someone passing information to Klempner. I vacillate between the need to deal with that and
the desire to follow up on this fascinating new development.
“You’re right,” says James. “We should be careful, but perhaps we should mention this to the obvious
person?”
Charlotte nods, sucking in a smile.
?
Elizabeth….
Rolling my eyes at Charlotte, I stab at my phone.
My wife answers almost immediately. “Master?”
“Elizabeth, I’d like you to come to my office. We have some interesting news for you.”
“We?”
“Just come. Now please. You’ll see.”
Francis returns with duplicates still warm from the copier, handing them around, then glancing at me,
the question in her eyes….
“Of course, Francis.”
…. before reading a copy herself.
James pushes spectacles to his nose, reading the file, flipping to the cover sheet first. “As you say, this
more than forty years ago, but these are Albert’s own files. Would the equivalent documents from your
father's company still exist? Get the story from both sides?”
A very good question….
This is moving so fast…. “I have no idea. Francis...?”
She scratches at her forehead. “It's way before my time here. I doubt whether we have anyone in the
company, other than you, that would have had their hands on this. The accountants and lawyers from
that time have doubtless long retired. I haven’t a clue if anything of that age is still around.” She chews
at a fingernail. “If it is, it will be....” Then she pauses, “…. Would have been in the archives in the
basement in the old offices.”
Which were burned to the ground in the Christmas attack….
“So, they would be ashes now?”
She holds up her palms. “I simply don’t know. We did rescue some records from the basement
levels…. I'll see what I can find out.”
“Thank you. And Francis?”
“Yes, Richard?”
“Do I have anything pressing in my diary for today?”
“You have a telephone appointment with Chancellor Wilmore at two pm.”
“He can wait. He's asking for money. Re-schedule it for another day. Anyone else?”
“The City Women’s Historical Buildings and Preservation Society….”
If my eyes rolled further, I’d be looking backwards. “I think you can postpone them as well then. I have
plenty to keep me busy here. And Francis….”
“Coffee…. Sir?” She’s laughing as she says it.
“How well you know me. Yes, coffee. I need to think.”
And she grins. “James? Michael? Charlotte?”
Charlotte waves an expansive gesture. “I say, bring it on….”
“Let’s move into the conference room shall we.”
The coffee arrives five minutes later. As she puts down the tray, Francis says, “I’ll put that list of
possible security risks together and annotate it with my thoughts. If I make several copies, it gives you
something to ‘red-pen’ rather than starting from scratch.”
“Thank you, Francis. That’s perfect.”
James flashes brows at me. “The perfect PA.”
“Absolutely. Always delivers what I need rather than what I necessarily ask for.”
Michael is emptying the contents of the crate onto the table. Charlotte reads her copy of the file.
“So, what is this exactly?” she says.
“It’s the Heads of Terms document on an agreement to be made between Elizabeth’s uncle and my
father.”
“That’s not the same as a contract, then?” Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.
“No. It’s the starting point for discussions which might lead to a contract.” I pace the room, as though
walking might dislodge the memory. “So why don't I remember him? It was a huge project and my
father always kept me involved. In fact he did keep me involved.”
“What was this project exactly?” asks Michael. “Construction of some kind presumably?”
“It was the first City renovation project. It started in the area centred around what eventually became
the Imperial hotel and spread out from there.”
Why can’t I remember him?
Why?
*****