AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I glare at him then at the land-registry officer who nods agreement. “It didn’t change automatically; you should have applied for the new lease.”
“Why weren’t we informed of this? No one sent us an application.” I seem to be on my feet and towering over Myles. “You can’t change the rules without informing everyone.”
“You would have been informed, I’m sure of it.” He meets my glare with a calm one of his own.
“I was not.”
“I’m sure we can find the original records of correspondence.” Myles is so calm, I want to grab him by the lapels of his suit and pull him up to see how polite he can be after that.
“You had better have proof because I know you have my address in England. That’s where you should have contacted me. So, if you sent letters to an empty house, then I’m going to haul you into court.”
My words are fuelled by anger not by confidence. A tiny ice-cold suspicion is taking shape.
Somewhere behind me, the land officer is on the phone to someone. He now coughs. “Excuse me, Mr Hemingway. The seigneur will see you now. I’m sure he can explain.”
Chapter Thirteen
Hal
“When I took over the seigneury, I implemented a different land-ownership scheme. Everyone was invited to apply for new 150-year leases.”
We’re in George’s office overlooking the village square. He must have cancelled other meetings in order to see me because when I was shown into his spacious office, an executive assistant was clearing a lot of papers from an oval conference table.
“Unfortunately, your father didn’t take up the offer,” he says quietly.
I clamp my mouth shut on some very blue swearwords. It’s what I was afraid of; they wrote to my father who didn’t reply. He didn’t trust them and would have assumed it was a trick to take the house from him.
“I’m sorry,” George says. “I know this is a blow. We did talk to your father more than once. He wasn’t interested.”
So, we are just tenants. Not owners. I have nothing to sell. The resignation letter half-composed in my head will never be written. I can’t resist a final bitter reply. “My father was sick and old…” And depressed and heartbroken thanks to what the people of this island did to him. And his father, and his grandfather.
“I understand,” George says.
He is being very courteous, which irritates me. “So, why drag me all the way to the island for your public meeting if I didn’t actually own Low Catch? You could have simply taken possession and sent me a letter informing me of the fact.”
“Because” – he takes a sip of his coffee – “your family have been here a long time, and youshould” –he emphasis the word–“have the option to a lease even if your father refused it.”
The vice-like pressure on the back of my neck begins to loosen; my chest expands a little, letting in some air. “You’re going to bend the rules for me?”
“Yes.” His smile is open and easy.
It sounds too good to be true, and if I’ve learnt anything, it’s to never trust things that seem too easy.
Our eyes meet across the wide desk. “You’re not offering me a lease so I can walk out and sell it two hours later. You are offering me a lease if, and only if, I keep the house.”
He inclines his head. “I can’t stop you, but I’d like your word you won’t sell, especially not to Morris and Sweeny.”
“You don’t like them?”
“They used to work for the Municipalité before we fired them for corruption and profiteering. Since then, they’ve tried several shady schemes.”
Not surprising, I myself reached the same conclusion about them after just twenty-four hours.
George continues. “Hardly anyone here will sell to them, so they focus on returning owners like you.”
Like me. “You don’t really know me, do you?”
“No, but I like to think I’m a good judge of character.”
