Durante The Dog

"So their plan for a yacht station is pointless without involving your Dad?"

"And they haven't spoken to him, not even when they brought their motor boat in. If they had used anyone else but Jem as pilot, the local seaman would have consulted Dad first."

"Jem? That..."

"You don't need to swear. We both know what Jem is."

Jem Anson and his extended family are the blot on the village. He and his family describe themselves as General Dealers which is a cover for dealing in stolen goods, probably burglary, certainly breaking regulations about handling dangerous materials, and disruptive behaviour. Between them they have numerous minor convictions for theft and handling stolen property. The local pub might improve itself if the Ansons didn't make going there very unpleasant for anyone else.

I could see Emma was thinking. I sipped my tea.

"Deliveries?" Emma said. "The shop delivers. So does the butcher and the greengrocer. Their boys cycle down the sea wall to us. I used to have to go in with the ration books. I put some shopping in my moped's panniers. Mum uses a box on the back of her invalid carriage. But... I should have remembered since we saw Don. He delivers our coal by rowing boat. He rows down and back at high water slack, heaves the coal up on to the wharf, and puts it in the coal bunker. It's only a couple of hundred yards by the estuary so he can do it easily if the tide is right."

"So they could bring things in and out by water. But why? And what? How far could they go with a rowing boat?"

"They have a dinghy with an outboard motor," Emma said. "It draws less water than Don's rowing boat. They could get all the way to the old Town Wharf if they judged the tides."

"And Jem would know exactly how and when..."

"Yes."

"But their idea of a Yacht Station is still nonsense. It must be. That would need land, road access, and facilities. They would need Dad to sell them some land and access rights. Yet they haven't spoken to him and still seem desperate to buy your bungalow. I think we need to speak to Dad, and then get legal advice. When do they want you to go to London?"

"This Thursday when the shop shuts for early closing. I have alternate Thursdays off in exchange for working some Saturday mornings. But next Thursday I would normally be working. I'd have to swap."

"Don't!" I said. "You need advice first."

I altered my tone.

"Miss Simkin, I would be honoured if you would accept an invitation for Sunday lunch with my father and I."

Emma blinked. I started to repeat myself.

"OK, OK. I get the message. Miss Simkin would be delighted to accept John Oliver's invitation."

She spoilt the tone by giggling. Durante stirred in his sleep, stood up, turned around and lay down again. That reminded me. I needed to put out some food for him before we left. I did while Emma washed up the tea things.

We locked the kitchen when we left. Once outside, Emma snuggled up against me to kiss my cheek. That kiss turned into the proper one we couldn't have done before because Durante gets jealous. He pushes his way in between us, and with his size and weight that makes kissing almost impossible.

I walked with Emma back to within sight of her bungalow. She kissed me on the cheek again, I presume just in case her mother was watching. I went back to the village to see Mrs Davis who cooks our Sunday lunch. I told her there would be three of us.

When I got home my father was just finishing a cup of tea. He uses Saturday to do the farm accounts unless there is other urgent work to be done outside. I told him that I had invited Emma for Sunday lunch and what we needed to discuss.

"John," he said, "Emma has no need to worry. I'll explain why to both of you tomorrow, but her mother can't sell the bungalow. Emma needs legal advice and I can arrange that, but the situation isn't what she thinks."

"But she's worried about the Smiths..."

"So am I, and Constable Arkwright. They're up to something but as yet no one seems to know what."

We left it there. Dad went over the recent accounts with me. We need capital to improve some areas of our farm, but apart from that we are better off than most locals. We were running a profitable business despite employing some of the locals when we don't need to. Getting Mrs Davis to cook some of our meals is an example. We could both cook, but her cooking is better than we could produce.

I tried to get my father to say something about Mrs Simkin's bungalow. He declined saying that he would tell Emma and me tomorrow.

+++

Emma arrived a few minutes early. She was wearing a headscarf because there was a strong wind blowing. She took it off in the lobby, shook her head to rearrange her hair, and hung the scarf on a hook. She was wearing another of her cotton dresses. I had difficulty keeping my eyes off her while we were eating. I could sense that my father was amused by my obvious love for Emma.

After lunch we sent to Dad's study with cups of tea. He sat behind his desk. Emma and I sat side by side on the old leather settee.

"John's been trying to get me to tell him what I'm going to tell you both now. He doesn't know the situation. I should have told him earlier but I thought it could wait. Now that the Smiths are trying to buy the bungalow I can't delay any longer.

Emma, you were a child when your father died in action and still young when your mother was injured. Your father had been renting the bungalow until early in 1939. He was given the opportunity to buy the bungalow with a mortgage. His death and your mother's injuries meant that she couldn't afford the repayments. What was worse was that the war meant the value of the bungalow was less than the outstanding debt. Even if the bank repossessed the bungalow, your mother would be left with a large bill to pay from no income. She would have been made bankrupt and homeless. She didn't know. She was still in hospital being treated for her injuries, and Mrs Jones, Don's mother was looking after you."

"I remember, Mr Oliver. Mrs Jones was very good to me."

"And she thought you were great with Don. But -- back to the financial situation. Two people decided that your mother shouldn't become homeless and bankrupt. One was my father, John's grandfather. The other was Mr Jefferies. Then, as now, Mr Jefferies was a barrister practising in property law. He should have retired by now but he is still a partner in the chambers in London and has gone back to work part time on a complex case. He acquired the dog Durante when he thought he had retired.

That's by the way. The thing that matters is my dad and Mr Jefferies went to see the bank's regional manager. They offered more than the bank would get in wartime if they sold a repossessed property but less than the outstanding debt. The bank would get most of its money back and your mother, Emma, would be free from an impossible financial burden she didn't know she had. Your father hadn't told your mother that he was buying the bungalow. She thought they were still renting. She wasn't and isn't very good with household accounts, is she Emma?"

"No." Emma said ruefully. "I soon found out I had to do them. Mum had no idea how much she earned, how much she spent, and she spent more than she earned. I had to deliver newspapers as a teenager, and take odd jobs around the village to make ends meet."

"And there was no bill for rent, was there?"

"No, Mr Oliver. I thought we owned the bungalow. I didn't know how. I didn't find any deeds, only old documents about the mortgage. I assumed that it had been paid off by insurance..."

"I wish it had, Emma. I wish it had. But the insurance your father took out specifically excluded death by enemy action. That was supposed to be covered by the government. It was, but the payment was less than ten per cent of the debt. The insurance money went towards adapting the bungalow for your mother."

"So who owns it now? And why aren't we paying rent if we don't own it?"

"I own it. Or rather John and I own it. After the war Mr Jefferies sold his half to my father who gave it to me. My father left his half to John, in trust until he is twenty-five years old or over twenty-one and married. Mr Jefferies and I had told your mother that she could live in the bungalow rent-free for the rest of her life. I don't think she took that statement in. Months after she was released from hospital she was still confused. She has a tenancy for life. When she dies it would revert to Mr Jefferies and me, or now to John and me."

"And I'd be homeless? Is that what you're saying?"

"I think that is very unlikely, Emma. Think about it. If you had just yourself to support, how far would your salary go? You could rent a flat, a house, or even buy a house with a mortgage. And John might have something to say about that too."

Dad looked at me pointedly. I was about to say something but Emma spoke first.

"You two own my mother's house. We're living on your charity. I didn't know. My mother should know but appears to have forgotten. That sounds as if you own us. I know the village expects John and I to marry but this makes it look as if I've been bought. I don't like that. Who else knows?"

My father was startled by Emma's reaction. He tried to reassure her.

"Emma! We don't own you. We own your house. No one except Mr Jefferies knows. Even John didn't know until now. No one need know. John loves you and I know..."

"...He'd like to marry me if only..." Emma interrupted. "But this is awkward for me. I know John loves me. I love him. We couldn't marry because of my mother. Now? The bungalow is another obstacle."

"It shouldn't be," my father said. "Your mother can't sell it to the Smiths. Your power of attorney means nothing. The Smiths can't force you or your mother to sell something you don't own. Fred Smith can't get the bungalow by marrying you. YOU can get the bungalow by marrying John."

"And live with my mother? No thank you. I want our own home, just for John and I and..."

Emma blushed. We both knew what she meant.

"OK, Emma. Let's work together. Our objects are first, to stop the Smiths annoying you and your mother and preferably get rid of them; second, to find some way of getting a place for you and John together without your mother, and third, to get a place for your mother that is as suitable as, or preferably better than the Harbour Master's bungalow."

Emma nodded as she listened to that.

"Emma," I said, "My father has made an assumption in his list of objects. That assumption is shared by the whole village but isn't yet true."

Emma turned to look at me. I slid off the settee to my knees.

"Emma Simkin? Will you marry me, please?"

Emma looked over my head at my father before looking straight at me.

"Yes."

That's all she said. 'Yes'.

She leant forward, put her hand under my chin, and lifted my face for a kiss. I heard my father open a drawer in his desk and riffle around in it.

"John?" he said. "I think you need this."

I broke from the kiss and turned around. My father was holding out a small black box.

"What is it?" Emma asked.

I opened it before answering.

"My grandmother's engagement ring. Will you accept it, Emma, please?"

"Yes."

That's all she said, again, just 'Yes'.

I fitted it on to her finger, and kissed her hand.

"Thank you, Dad," I said, before Emma kissed me again.

"I'll go and get some more tea," Dad said, "and leave the engaged couple to find out what that means."

He left. As the door closed Emma flung her arms around me and hugged me fiercely. She made up for her lack of words with multiple kisses.

+++

"Why did you say yes this time, Emma?" I asked when I could.

"You hadn't asked me for some months, John. When we sorted out Don and the apples we said we trusted each other. We do. I'd trust you with my life. I know you feel the same. It was a shock to find out that my mother doesn't own the bungalow. It could have made it difficult for me but I trust you. I trust your father too. He and your grandfather have been very good to the Simkins. If you are like your father and grandfather, and I know you are, then I want to be married to you. You've waited long enough."

"We've waited long enough, Emma. I'm happy that you have said you'll marry me but we've known for years that you would. The whole village has been saying not if but when John and Emma will get engaged. Now we are and you're wearing an Oliver family heirloom."

Emma lifted her hand to look at the engagement ring.

"Thank you, John. And thanks to your father too. Why...?"

"Why wasn't my mother wearing it? Simple. It was too large for her and couldn't be reduced in size without damage. I knew it would fit you."

"Your mother was small, wasn't she? I remember her dainty hands and slim fingers. But... How did you know this ring would fit? You hadn't measured my finger."

Emma expected an answer.

"That was simple. Remember last Christmas? I had a tawdry ring in my cracker. I passed it to you. You adjusted the soft metal to fit. After the meal you took it off and left it on the table. Later that day I checked that rubbish ring against grandmother's -- that one. They were the same size. If they hadn't been? I had your ring size so I could have bought a new ring to fit. But it wouldn't have been the same."

"I love this ring, John. And I love you..."

That started another bout of kissing that only ended when Dad returned with more tea.

"Do you know about the Saddler/Watt almshouses?" Dad asked.

"Yes," I replied. "They've got six small houses in the village square. They're tiny and two stories."

"They have more than that. The charity owns several pieces of land as well to help support the residents. Mr Jefferies is the President of the charity's board along with the Vicar, and me. The charity is building some old people's bungalows behind the Church, and has sold some land to fund the build."

"And?" I couldn't see what Dad was getting at.

"If and when they are built, Mrs Simkin would be one of the first people we would consider as a resident. The bungalows would be designed to be used by someone in a wheelchair with level access and a disabled bathroom and toilet, whatever they are. She could live independently right by the centre of the village..."

"And we could get married." Emma said excitedly.

"If your mother accepts the offer, when the bungalows are finished. That's at least six months from now."

"It might take me that long to persuade her," Emma said wistfully, "and nearly as long to arrange our marriage. The whole village will want to come to it."

"I think you are right, Emma, about your mother AND the wedding. But before then we have to find out what the Smiths are doing with their boat. Their idea of a yacht station is nonsense. I suspect they are doing, or planning, something illegal, but what? Smuggling is the most obvious activity but if they are it can't be anything bulky nor people. Anything they bring in or out has to be moved in the dinghy. I think they want the Harbour Master's bungalow so they can work unobserved. It can only be seen from the estuary at high tide. At lower tides only the roof and the watch tower is visible. Have you any idea what they are doing, Emma?"

"I know they go to Holland. Some of their rubbish has labels in Dutch. It's a nuisance. They put it in our dustbin and I have to take the bin in a wheelbarrow to the end of the footpath. They make more rubbish than Mum and I."

"Can John and I take a look at the next dustbin? When is it collected? Tuesday?"

"Yes. I wheel it along Tuesday morning, walk back for my moped, and then do the same in reverse in the evening. Any time after seven in the morning until the collection at about ten the bin will be there."

"And the bin can't be seen from the bungalow?"

"Of course not. It's two hundred yards along a twisting path following the estuary and I leave it below the sea wall."

"Thank you, Emma. John and I will do some rubbish detection on Tuesday morning. Meanwhile, see if you can find out anything about what the Smiths are doing without being obvious about it."

"I'll try, but they tend to stop talking when I'm nearby. What about the Smith's request to see their solicitors' in London?"

"Accept but I'll come with you, Emma," I said. "You can leave the power of attorney at home. You won't need it. We might find out what they are really doing when they know you and your mother don't own the Harbour Master's bungalow."

+++

On Tuesday morning Dad and I rummaged in the Simkins' dustbin. We didn't learn anything we didn't already know. Some of the Smiths' rubbish was from Amsterdam.

+++

On Thursday Emma walked to our farmhouse. I drove her to London in my father's large Rover. I parked about one hundred yards from the Smiths solicitors' office. Neither of us were impressed by the location or the building.

As we were shown into the solicitor's room Fred and George Smith were there.

"What's he doing here?" Fred Smith asked aggressively.

Emma held out her left hand.

"John is my fiancé," she announced. "He is here because I want him to be here."

The solicitor calmed Fred down.

"Now, young lady," the solicitor said, "The two Mr Smiths want to make you and your mother a handsome offer for the Harbour Master's bungalow. I think you ought to accept. The offer is for far more than the market value..."

"She can't accept, whatever the offer is," I said bluntly.

"Keep out of it!" Fred Smith shouted.

"Mr Smith, please keep calm," the solicitor said. "Now, Mr Oliver, is it?"

I nodded.

"You have made a surprising statement. Why can't Miss Simkin consider any offer from the Smiths?"

"The answer is simple... Mr James, is it?" I said looking at the sign on his desk. He and the Smiths were annoying me.

"Mrs and Miss Simkin do NOT own the Harbour Master's bungalow so they can't sell it."

"Can you prove that, Mr Oliver?"

"I don't need to. A search of the property records will show who owns the bungalow. Perhaps you should have done that search before recommending an offer to the Simkins."

"Then who bloody well does own it, you young jackass?" Fred Smith shouted.

I sat back in my chair and smiled.

"He and his father do," Emma said sweetly. "My mother has a tenancy for life. I have no rights in the property at all."

"Why didn't your fucking mother tell us that?" Fred shouted.

"Temper, temper, Mr Smith," I said. "Mrs Simkin didn't tell you because she didn't know. She was told but that was when she was recovering from her injury. She doesn't seem to have realised her situation. Her solicitors could have told her but until now there was no need."

"Mr Oliver, Miss Simkin? Can I suggest a short break while I consult my clients about this unexpected development?"

I pulled out my fob watch.

"My fiancée and I will go for a walk and come back in half an hour. That do?"

"Yes, thank you." Mr James said.

"There don't appear to be any sights worth seeing in this neighbourhood," I said.

"If you turn right out of the front door there is a park about one hundred yards away."

"Thank you, Mr James. We will go for a walk in the park."

Emma and I left. The park was small but tidy. We sat on a bench overlooking a small pond.

"What will they do?" Emma asked.

"Not much. They'd have to buy from my father and me and they can't even if we wanted to sell."

"Can't?"

"I'll explain to Mr James. I hope he can keep Fred Smith in check. If not? I might think about punching him just for being a nuisance to you."

"You wouldn't, John!"

"I might. But not in a solicitor's office. I can behave when I need to. Or not."

I kissed Emma. She kissed me back before saying.

"We shouldn't! Not in public."

"We're engaged, Emma. Kissing is what engaged couples do."