8

  ‘Buy to Let’ had come into Michael Lovewell QC’s life at just the right time.

  The Law could no longer hold his complete attention and he had no private life to speak of, apart from the golf club. He saw Humphrey, infrequently, but did not look forward to their encounters. The fact that he could no longer deal with his son by simply bending him over a window sill and walloping him had, somewhat, taken the shine off their entire relationship.

  He was utterly terrified of Anthea too.

  He had taken on and beaten some of the most formidable opponents the Bar had ever unleashed… but she scared the living daylights out of him.

  Internet banking had provided some small amount of pleasure. There was a lot to be said for sitting in the comfort of your own – rather large and expensive – home and watching every penny you have ever made pop up on a computer screen in front of you. He wanted more though, certainly as far as his money was concerned. Sure, he received the occasional love letter from it in the guise of a bank statement or two. But if that paltry amount of interest was supposed to represent its affection for him then he was definitely going to have to find himself a much more deserving bit on the side.

  The answer was ‘Buy to Let’.

  Here was a place you could invest your money, find a selection of less fortunate folk to pay you for the privilege and, above all, make yourself look extraordinarily important while discussing it over a large single malt down at the clubhouse. Other people managed the rent collection and other people handled the nitty-gritty of doing the absolute minimum they could get away with, in return for the maximum profit they could engineer. It was left to Michael to simply drive around the county and visit the bricks, mortar and 1970s olive green bathroom suites that were having a short-term fling with his money.

  He could cruise down whole streets these days and see nothing but his money.

  He would’ve been the first to admit, they were not exactly the sort of streets where he would ever have dared to stop his car, just in case anyone stole a few bits off it. Neither would he ever have countenanced going to visit the fruits of his labours after dark: even guided by the distinctive tinge of red light which enveloped one or two of his properties during the evenings.

  Truth be told, there was probably not one tenant, in any of those houses, that he would have felt comfortable having a few drinks with. And that was something he was not altogether proud of. Although he would’ve been more than proud to have defended any of them, in a court of law.

  That was where the glamour was all right, defending folk… and then blowing the socks off everyone with a display of legal genius and ultimate intellectual supremacy. Sod the facts of the case!

  That was where the real excitement was!

  Besides which, he was a nice chap.

  Despite what most people seemed to think.

  He’d branched into commercial properties too, although that had been down to a devastatingly charitable plan which had popped into his mind one morning, several years ago now.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  He’d been pondering the success of Humphrey’s life-coaching business at the time.

  Completely against all the odds.

  Or so it seemed.

  Michael had no idea where the boy might’ve got the notion that honesty was anything like the best policy, but he knew for certain it had never come from him. The truth had its place but, in general terms, it was very doubtful that it belonged in the day-to-day running of one’s professional life.

  That was typical Humphrey of course, making a success of himself by doing something utterly ridiculous, purely to spite his father.

  Copernicus would’ve had an impossible job arguing with Michael that the world, in fact, did not revolve around him. Indeed, most people would’ve had an impossible job arguing with Michael about anything.

  Humphrey had never bothered.

  No, he’d gained ground on him by employing much more subtle means.

  But the wretched boy was not his problem any more, thank goodness.

  In which case, why was he even remotely interested in what that overweight toerag was up to?

  Actually the weight wasn’t even worth commenting on any more. Since his marriage to that woman – for want of a better word – he’d miraculously slimmed down to something no longer detectable to the United States Geological Survey any time he had to run for the bus.

  That woman had unquestionably had a considerable effect on Humphrey. And that really hadn’t seemed right. How could she have succeeded where Michael himself had failed?

  No, not failed.

  He did not fail.

  Definitely not.

  Not ever.

  And while Anthea might have managed to get the better of Humphrey with her, somewhat dubious, womanly wiles, Michael was a vastly different prospect.

  No, he wasn’t beaten.

  He was merely biding his time, that was all.

  At the end of the day, Humphrey had still achieved nothing of any great note, apart from conning the great unwashed on a depressingly regular basis. He hadn’t even had the decency to operate under an alias.

  The name of ‘Lovewell’ was destined to become a complete and utter laughing stock.

  It could all have been so different.

  If only that little bastard had bothered to listen to him.

  As it had stood at the time, Michael was starting to have to field questions as to whether he was Humphrey’s father. That in itself was nothing new, although that particular question had, historically, been accompanied by some sort of sniggering and then a position report or sighting: usually in the women’s department of Littlewoods or some similarly insalubrious location. These days the remark was usually followed by some modern-day tale of Humphrey’s even more eccentric behaviour. Some publicity stunt he’d organised for a client for instance or some elaborate lie, dramatically exaggerating the positive effect he’d apparently managed to have on someone’s life.

  Was he Humphrey’s father?

  What did that matter?

  Humphrey was his son.

  That was the important thing.

  A subtle difference perhaps but the intent was clear.

  Michael was the one to be admired, not Humphrey.

  Humphrey was of almost no significance in the grand scheme of things.

  Humphrey needed a lesson in humility.

  It had occurred to Michael that Humphrey must’ve had to rent ‘Somehow’ from someone, somewhere. It had been a very small step from having that thought to actually finding out who that person might be.

  His team of financial experts then got cracking on a way for Michael himself to buy the premises, without actually having his name appearing anywhere on the paperwork: or, more crucially, on the tenancy agreement.

  Very quickly after that he’d found himself as Humphrey’s landlord.

  Oh, and Anthea’s too, just for good measure. She ran an independent charity shop anyway, so that was practically a tax write-off.

  An anonymous one, naturally.

  Certainly as far as she was concerned.

  He really was a nice chap, you see?

  He allowed Anthea to function from her side of the High Street completely rent-free, which was extremely generous of him. And he could at least feel part of Humphrey’s, seemingly unenviable, lifestyle.

  He didn’t charge him much, not really.

  No, because it wasn’t the income that gave him the power, nor the addition of the address to his portfolio.

  It was the knowledge.

  It was the fact that he had it and his son did not.

  It was the sort of power that was only truly effective through the complete ignorance of those that were being controlled. That was the way of the world and Michael could completely understand why.

  It was the ultimate position of strength.

  Humphrey was within his power again.

  And he didn’t even know it.