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“Perhaps you would like to advise your clients that what they’ve just said calls into question the validity of the original loan agreement between them and Mr LeFevre. If he indeed had been senile all along,for years,” she mimes quotation marks, “then how can they prove they loaned him any money at all? Which I’m afraid will also call into question whether he understood what he was being asked to sign when he signed the sale agreement.”
“Wait a minute!” Morris now pushes his chair back and circles round the table towards George. “He signed; we had witnesses.”
George gives him a cold look. “You have witnesses to a, what did you call him?” George says so politely, so smoothly, the words feel like ice cubes. “A doddering old man of nearly a hundred who can’t remember anything and is hard of hearing. In other words, you have told us that Mr LeFevre was mentally incapacitated when he sold you the property.”
And I see why George chose Karen, and why she’s dressed like someone’s mother. To make them underestimate us, to lure them into incriminating themselves.
Sweeny turns an ugly shade of ash. “Now wait just a minute, we’re not doctors. It’s just our personal opinion.”
George continues in the same steely calm. “I have to tell you, gentlemen, that it is immaterial what Mr LeFevre’s mental capacity actually is. What is relevant here is that you, the buyers, thought him to be senile long before you attempted to buy anything from him. It does rather undermine your contract and calls into question all your previous agreements with him. As such, your contract could be declared void on the grounds of misrepresentation and the grounds of undue influence”
The atmosphere is so electric, I think Morris is about to punch George in the face. But the seigneur, who always looked urbane and courteous, suddenly looks very tough indeed and his face alone quells Morris back into his seat.
We take another short break while they confer with their lawyer.
When we start again, Morris and Sweeny argue back and try lots of other tactics. Interestingly, its mostly them doing the talking, now, not their lawyer. But George was right. They had said what they said about Grandad, and they had said it in the presence of lots of legal people. And the meeting was being recorded.
As the meeting winds down, Morris and Sweeny turn on their lawyer to harangue him for not doing a better job, for letting a “woman solicitor” run rings around him. The lawyer, for his part, gives them a frustrated shrug. “I did what you asked me to do, remember I advised you against it.” he says.
I get the impression they haven’t been the easiest of clients and he’s sick of them.
The final bombshell, the one that really puts an end to the meeting, comes when Myles de la Cour knocks on the door. He delivers formal letters to Morris and Sweeny, and to me and Grandad.
The Stay of Process has been extended for three months on heritage-protection grounds.
Morris explodes that three months is too long.
Myles tells him that it is likely to be extended a lot longer, depending on the international fact-finding mission completing its research.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Elodie
Before leaving the Municipalité, George takes me aside to explain.
“This is not a court. All I can do is refuse to proceed with the sale here, but they can appeal and I’m sure any solicitor would advise them to do so.”
“And if they appeal?” My heart falls again, I thought we had won. “Appeal to where?”
“La Canette comes under the jurisdiction of Guernsey’s royal and magistrate courts. So, it would all depend on what a judge on Guernsey decides.” Then reading my worried expression, George says, “But we have made it more difficult for them to prove their case. And nothing can happen for a the next three to six months while the research mission complete their work.”
Three to six months. I can save up for legal costs, in case they try to take us to court.
Out in the village, the sun is bright, as bright as my hope. I look around the square, at the fountain splashing water on the cobbles, at the people queuing for their lunch outside the fish and chip shop and the pasty stand. I inhale the fresh air and a wide smile breaks out on my face. I don’t even care if people see me and think me insane.
“I can take you home if you like.” The voice interrupts my thoughts.
It’s Tyrrell, the man with the horse-drawn caravan who transported Grandad’s stock from the old shop.
“Thank you.” I help Grandad climb up. It’s a small old-fashioned camper but the inside has been emptied except for two bench seats, one against each of the walls.
Grandad has finally had his neck-brace removed. Dr Mortimer showed me the X-ray pointing out the 80% healing. But we still need to be careful and the walk back to Catcher Lane might be too much.
Once he’s settled inside the caravan, I climb back down to pick up the box of files and paperwork I’d brought with me to the meeting. I shove it on the step when I see Morris and Sweeny emerge from the Municipalité. They march straight over to us.
“You think you’ve won, don’t you?” Morris jeers. “But you’ll see. We own the property next door to you, remember? We’re going to start work there on Monday.”
Sweeny joins him. “Get ready to be covered in dust for months. Your customers will have to walk past our building site, and it can be dangerous what with potholes and falling bricks, and very, very dirty.”
