In another room in the hotel sat Neville Conrad. When he received the message, informing him A.J. had moved the meeting to the Grenadier Hotel, he seriously thought about driving straight home. On arriving at the hotel, a young girl with a strange accent informed him Meester Waterson was in another meeting and requested that Neville wait in the room she indicted until Meester Waterson was available. Again he very nearly turned on his heels and drove away. Despite the feeling A.J. was taking him for granted, or taken for a mug as he thought to himself, he decided to persevere and at least wait for half an hour. He looked at his watch and started the timer ticking. A coffee arrived, delivered by the young girl, shortly followed by a sandwich, which he had requested when asked if he wanted anything to eat. A look at this watch showed that forty minutes had elapsed and he promised he would leave when he finished his sandwich. After the hour he thought, “Having waited this long I might just wait a little longer; if I leave now I will hit the worst of the traffic”. A second cup of coffee arrived this time delivered by A.J.
“My dear Mr Conrad, I’m so sorry to have left you so long,” shaking Neville’s hand like a long lost friend, “I would not have blamed you if you had left by now, but you cannot imagine how glad I am that you stayed.”
A.J. seemed to have a sparkle in his eye rather than the coldness Neville remembered from their previous meeting. There was also a spring in his step that made him appear to be skipping like a young child. Neville found the effect a little unnerving and was not sure where this was leading. A.J. showed him into an office furnished with a single desk, two chairs and a number of filling cabinets. Rather than sitting A.J. opened one of the cabinets and produced a number of large rolls of paper which when spread out on the desk showed architects drawings of a building.
“What do you think this is?” A.J. asked. After some minutes study, Neville said he thought it was a drawing of hotel or health spa. There were rooms he assumed were bedrooms and other open areas for a lounge or perhaps dining. There was an indication of a gym and an indoor pool and perhaps a first aid room.
“This my friend is my plan for a care home for the elderly, providing a comfortable, stimulating environment, catering for their every need ensuring health and enjoyment during their remaining years.”
Neville agreed. On paper, it certainly seemed to provide all he had described, and more. He imagined being able to charge a premium for these types of facilities.
“There lays the difference my dear friend, I want to provide this at the same cost being charged by some of those miserable homes we already have across this country. You’ve heard of those places, dark and uninviting, smelling of urine, leaving people to sit and stare at the walls until it is time to get them to bed. No interaction, no stimulus, just people sitting with blank faces and nothing but their own thoughts. Even worse are the poor souls suffering with dementia that need specialist care and attention. I want to do all that at rock bottom prices and in some case free like some kids get a scholarship to attend university. What do you think?”
Neville agreed, on paper it sounded a wonderful idea, but he could not see how it would work financially.
“Surely the costs to build and run this would be huge,” Neville pointed out, “how can you hope to operate these charging the prices you are suggesting?”
“I’m going to set it up as a charity, nonprofit making, that’s the main difference, the aim will be to provide a service, not to make money.”
He explained how he was in the process of creating a charity, called the Waterson Foundation, whose explicit aim was to provide the care facilities he had just described. A charity financed mainly by donations from large corporations and the wealthy of this world. He already had a number of backers, sufficient to get the project off the ground.
“But Neville, this is where you come in; we will need more funds, more companies willing to contribute, persuade those with money to part with it to support the Waterson Foundation. I want a young, enthusiastic and likeable man such as you to help me find and meet with these people and convince them to part with their money. I want you to be a salesman, not to make money but to channel the money to those in need.”
A.J. continued to talk; his enthusiasm was such that he did not notice Neville was no longer really listening. He unfurled some more drawings and explained the different specialist facilities included in some homes. He talked about mental care, physical care, psychological care, and facilities for visitors. The ideas poured out of him like a burst dam.
Neville finally interrupted him.
“I get the feeling you are offering me a job. I’m not clear yet exactly what it is you want me to do, but whatever it is I could not do it on my own, the whole thing sounds too big.”
A.J. explained his intention was to build a team, probably three or four to start with; he wanted Neville to be part of that team. There was some room in Waterson House they could use as an office. He would have to share the office with the others, but most of the time he was expected to be out there, on the road, meeting with potential contributors.
“So my base would be in Barnshead?” Neville enquired.
“Yes, you will need an office and I would like it to be near me here in Barnshead. We will need to meet on a regular basis. I can see you’re thinking you will need to relocate, move house, well I can help you there if you like. I have a house that is empty, been empty for too many years. It was once a shop but it’s now a comfortable house with an outbuilding and some land at the back. You can use that house as long as you wish, treat it like your own.”
Neville tried to stay calm. He had so many questions. He had just heard an offer that not only resolved his search for a new job, one that he really felt was worth doing, but also it could resolve the problem with his relationship with Marie. He would be living in the same town, no longer driving hours for the briefest of meetings; they could see each other every day. He recalled the offer Marie had made to move in with him.
“This house,” Neville started to ask slightly embarrassed, “would it be possible for someone to share it with me?”
A.J. laughed, he remembered the girl he saw with Neville when they met at the country club.
“It is yours; do with it as you wish. Go and seek out your young lady, discuss it with her and be sure to tell her that although you will be working for a charity I do not expect you to work for charity, I will match whatever the newspaper is paying you today.”
A.J. had a sense of apprehension as he watched Neville drive out of the car park and he knew why. He believed Neville could do the job, he believed he could do it well, but was that the reason why he had made the offer? Neville reminded him of his son, a son taken from him and now living as a stranger in America. He had long harboured the thoughts that his son would return to England and even live in the house that had once been the family shop, but he knew now that would not happen and he had made an offer to Neville to take his place. He shivered as he recalled Mrs Hughes molding and coaching George to believe he was her son Albert to replace the son she had lost. He made a promise to himself he would never do that, a promise he intended to keep.
“He’s even offered me a house,” Neville said hardly able to contain himself, “I don’t know what it’s like but it sounds OK and I’m sure it will have a spare bedroom.”
“I don’t think we will need a spare bedroom,” Marie interrupted rather coyly, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him full on the lips.
The message for A.J. the following morning was brief and to the point, “I’ll take it, when do I start?”
“Was that Neville Conrad I saw driving away?” George asked A.J. as he found him standing at the hotel entrance.
“Yes, I’ve just offered him a job and a new life.”
It was George’s turn to be apprehensive. He was still uncertain about A.J.’s business dealings and hoped A.J. was not dragging Neville into something that he would live to regret. A.J. had not mentioned or explained the mystery meeting in a London hotel with Calder. He could not help feeling a sense of foreboding that current events might not be in Neville’s best interest.
A.J. took George’s arm and asked him to follow him to the office where the architects drawings were still laying stretched across the desk. He explained, just as he done previously to Neville, the meaning of the drawings, his intentions for luxury affordable care homes for the elderly and how he intended setting up a charity, called the Waterson Foundation, which would be a non-profit organization, to build and run these facilities. There were a few last minute things to finalise, but after the phone call he had received earlier in the day, there was now nothing to prevent the Foundation being operational by the weekend and on Monday, the real work could begin.
George quizzed him about the phone call and after suggesting they both sit down A.J. explained about his dealings with Sir Richard Smythe. The phone call had been from a friend, Sean Malone, who worked for a detective agency. George had once asked if A.J. had used detectives to keep an eye on him and he had to admit he had. Malone had worked for him for years, on a number of jobs he didn't want to go into, but also he kept tabs on George finding out where he lived, where he worked, had he married, was he well, did he need money, that sort of thing. He had never explained to Malone why he was doing this but Malone felt the reasons were probably for the best intentions and enjoyed the work, becoming increasingly friendly with A.J. Some weeks earlier Malone had called A.J. with the strange news that someone called Philip Granger had hired him to look into A.J.’s background, to find any dirt, as Granger had described it. Malone had received some information that Granger was working for Sir Richard Smythe, who worked in Thatcher’s government, and warned A.J. that he needed to take care. Sir Richard was unlikely to take any prisoners if A.J. was getting in his way. A.J. thanked him for the warning and asked if he would be willing to turn the tables on Sir Richard and dig into his dark past. Malone agreed and relished the thought of acting as a double agent.
The owner of a large multinational construction company had introduced A.J. to Sir Richard Smythe. He had sought advice from the construction company about the building of his residential care homes. They were keen to get involved and suggested he spoke to Sir Richard, who they felt would be equally supportive, and perhaps able to help with the financing. Initially the dealings with Sir Richard and his associates went well, but gradually A.J. felt that Sir Richard was marginalizing his position in the project, and he was losing control of the project. More seriously, the meetings were increasingly concerned with return on investment, maximising profits, and the tax benefits of operating as a charity. No mention was made of providing care for the elderly. As time went by, he became increasing ensnared by these people, with no obvious way of escaping and returning to his original intentions.
Malone’s phone call that morning had brought the good news he was hoping. He said Sir Richard’s dirt was so deep it was up to his neck. He had found evidence of bribes from construction companies, including the one that A.J. had mentioned, misappropriated funds, tax avoidance; you name it he was into it, at home and abroad. A.J. asked how reliable was this evidence and how could he use it to extricate himself from Sir Richard.
“No need for that,” Malone replied obviously enjoying himself, “the newspapers and Sir Richard will do that for you.”
“What do you mean?” A.J. asked, “What have the newspapers go to do with it?”
Malone explained that everywhere he looked for dirt someone had been there before him. An investigative journalist, for a Sunday newspaper, had found the story and was shaking the tree until not one leaf or piece of fruit was left hanging. A.J. was not sure about the reference to fruit trees but it sounded as if Sir Richard was going to find himself in hot water.
“The water’s hot and getting hotter all the time,” Malone sniggered, “his name will be plastered across the top of the papers you mark my words.”
“So the papers are going to do the work for me,” A.J. suggested.
“It’s better than that, someone like Sir Richard Smythe has fingers in so many pies he already knows about this newspaper business. He’s running around like a blue whatsit, trying to distance himself from all the people that can incriminate him, trying to kick sand over his tracks. I don’t think you will be hearing from Sir Richard again. Whatever hook you were on, you’re off it.”
“So you can imagine how pleased I was to hear that news this morning,“ A.J. concluded.
George could see that A.J. was obviously pleased with his news but at a loss to understand, if he had lost his backers, how he was still able to go ahead with the project and offer a job to Neville.
Whilst Sir Richard Smythe was having fun, at A.J.’s expense, A.J. decided to hatch a few alternative plans of his own. He contacted his ex wife. He doubted, despite her wealth, she would be interested in investing in his enterprise, but she may be able to introduce him to others in her “circle”. She had friends in high places, people with new money, people with old money, self made men, some he felt sure had more money than sense. “You need to speak to Bobby Hathaway”, she suggested in a way that implied A.J. must know who he was. His family came from Oregon, originally made their money from timber. She described him as a philanthropist, willing to consider supporting causes that interested him. Bobby had already been involved in a similar project, a condominium in Florida operated on the same lines as A.J. had described. As luck would have it, or was it fate, Bobby was in Europe at that time and A.J. and Calder were able to meet up with him in London before his return flight to the States. The meeting went well. Bobby Hathaway made a firm financial commitment, knew of others that would follow suit with similar amounts. Hathaway had pledged sufficient funds to build and operate two care homes and the promise of more if the concept proved to be successful.
George was stunned. His heart was pounding and his breathing heavy. His emotions flipped from pride at what his brother had apparently achieved, annoyance that he had ever doubted his intentions, embarrassment at what he had imagined took place at the mystery meeting with Calder, but the overriding feeling was admiration; he admired his brother Arthur James Waterson.
“Now you know everything,” A.J. announced, “there is just one other thing we need to talk about.”
George knew the time had come to talk about his money. The money he inherited from his mother, he was sure, would go a long way to help A.J. support his venture. He was therefore shocked when A.J. declared,
“I want you to join me, to join Waterson Associates, to work with me to make the Foundation a success.”
It was a few moments before George could speak. He had again misjudged his brother, there was no mention of his money, and it sounded if he was suggesting some sort of partnership.
“What use would I be to you?” George finally said, “I don’t know anything about business or finance, there must be many other people better qualified to help you.”
“That’s the point,” replied A.J., “I have more than enough people already offering advice on business matters and what I should be doing with my money, I don’t need any more of those people. I want someone who will offer me sensible advice, someone with common sense gained from experience, not by reading stupid books. For example, take another look at this drawing and tell me what’s missing.”
They both walked over to the desk. A.J. straightened the drawing and took a pencil out of the desk drawer, placing it on the desk at the side of the drawing.
George didn’t know what he was expected to find, but to humour his brother he carefully went over the drawing identifying the various rooms and facilities. After a few minutes study he looked up and announced,
“There is no garden. The designer hasn’t included a garden. There are few suggestions of some trees but no actual garden.”
A.J. handed him the pencil and said, “where would you put the garden, what would it look like? You can draw on the plan, that’s not a problem”.
“I’ve never been very good at drawing, but I’ll give it a go. I assume north is this direction, so the garden will need to be at this side to catch most of the sun.”
George began to sketch the outline of the garden. There was a lawned area with paths meandering through it. He explained he had designed it like that so it did not look like a prison exercise yard. The surface of the path would need to be smooth, but not slippery, suitable for those experiencing difficulty walking and wheelchair users. There would be a seating area, with part of it near a tree to offer shade in the summer. They could also consider having a large chess or draughts board as part of a patio area. The garden should not be too large to reduce the amount of maintenance needed, but if here and there hedges were planted, it would give the illusion of the garden being longer than it actually was. A wall down this side would provide some shelter from the prevailing westerly wind and the bricks would store the warmth of the sun so the more delicate plants and small fruit trees would thrive against the wall. The flowerbeds would give year round colour and fragrance and an area over here that would look like this. He drew some shapes that A.J. questioned.
“What are those you are drawing?”
“They are raised flowerbeds, high enough so you do not need to bend down to plant or weed. Some of the residents may have had gardens of their own and they might like to have an area in this garden they can call their own. Plant and look after whatever they like, bulbs for spring flowers, roses, even herbs if they wish. Don't you think that would be nice?”
A.J. had tears in his eyes as he recalled the garden his mother once had and loved until his father sadistically dug it up.
“I need a drink,” A.J. declared with a break in his voice, “let’s go into the bar. You are not driving are you? Oh and by the way, you were good at drawing when you were at school and you still are”
As they were about to leave the office George noticed the brown envelope, intended for A.J., still unopened. He pointed it out to A.J. who said he would look at it and meet George in the bar in a few minutes.
“My dear Mr Conrad, I’m so sorry to have left you so long,” shaking Neville’s hand like a long lost friend, “I would not have blamed you if you had left by now, but you cannot imagine how glad I am that you stayed.”
A.J. seemed to have a sparkle in his eye rather than the coldness Neville remembered from their previous meeting. There was also a spring in his step that made him appear to be skipping like a young child. Neville found the effect a little unnerving and was not sure where this was leading. A.J. showed him into an office furnished with a single desk, two chairs and a number of filling cabinets. Rather than sitting A.J. opened one of the cabinets and produced a number of large rolls of paper which when spread out on the desk showed architects drawings of a building.
“What do you think this is?” A.J. asked. After some minutes study, Neville said he thought it was a drawing of hotel or health spa. There were rooms he assumed were bedrooms and other open areas for a lounge or perhaps dining. There was an indication of a gym and an indoor pool and perhaps a first aid room.
“This my friend is my plan for a care home for the elderly, providing a comfortable, stimulating environment, catering for their every need ensuring health and enjoyment during their remaining years.”
Neville agreed. On paper, it certainly seemed to provide all he had described, and more. He imagined being able to charge a premium for these types of facilities.
“There lays the difference my dear friend, I want to provide this at the same cost being charged by some of those miserable homes we already have across this country. You’ve heard of those places, dark and uninviting, smelling of urine, leaving people to sit and stare at the walls until it is time to get them to bed. No interaction, no stimulus, just people sitting with blank faces and nothing but their own thoughts. Even worse are the poor souls suffering with dementia that need specialist care and attention. I want to do all that at rock bottom prices and in some case free like some kids get a scholarship to attend university. What do you think?”
Neville agreed, on paper it sounded a wonderful idea, but he could not see how it would work financially.
“Surely the costs to build and run this would be huge,” Neville pointed out, “how can you hope to operate these charging the prices you are suggesting?”
“I’m going to set it up as a charity, nonprofit making, that’s the main difference, the aim will be to provide a service, not to make money.”
He explained how he was in the process of creating a charity, called the Waterson Foundation, whose explicit aim was to provide the care facilities he had just described. A charity financed mainly by donations from large corporations and the wealthy of this world. He already had a number of backers, sufficient to get the project off the ground.
“But Neville, this is where you come in; we will need more funds, more companies willing to contribute, persuade those with money to part with it to support the Waterson Foundation. I want a young, enthusiastic and likeable man such as you to help me find and meet with these people and convince them to part with their money. I want you to be a salesman, not to make money but to channel the money to those in need.”
A.J. continued to talk; his enthusiasm was such that he did not notice Neville was no longer really listening. He unfurled some more drawings and explained the different specialist facilities included in some homes. He talked about mental care, physical care, psychological care, and facilities for visitors. The ideas poured out of him like a burst dam.
Neville finally interrupted him.
“I get the feeling you are offering me a job. I’m not clear yet exactly what it is you want me to do, but whatever it is I could not do it on my own, the whole thing sounds too big.”
A.J. explained his intention was to build a team, probably three or four to start with; he wanted Neville to be part of that team. There was some room in Waterson House they could use as an office. He would have to share the office with the others, but most of the time he was expected to be out there, on the road, meeting with potential contributors.
“So my base would be in Barnshead?” Neville enquired.
“Yes, you will need an office and I would like it to be near me here in Barnshead. We will need to meet on a regular basis. I can see you’re thinking you will need to relocate, move house, well I can help you there if you like. I have a house that is empty, been empty for too many years. It was once a shop but it’s now a comfortable house with an outbuilding and some land at the back. You can use that house as long as you wish, treat it like your own.”
Neville tried to stay calm. He had so many questions. He had just heard an offer that not only resolved his search for a new job, one that he really felt was worth doing, but also it could resolve the problem with his relationship with Marie. He would be living in the same town, no longer driving hours for the briefest of meetings; they could see each other every day. He recalled the offer Marie had made to move in with him.
“This house,” Neville started to ask slightly embarrassed, “would it be possible for someone to share it with me?”
A.J. laughed, he remembered the girl he saw with Neville when they met at the country club.
“It is yours; do with it as you wish. Go and seek out your young lady, discuss it with her and be sure to tell her that although you will be working for a charity I do not expect you to work for charity, I will match whatever the newspaper is paying you today.”
A.J. had a sense of apprehension as he watched Neville drive out of the car park and he knew why. He believed Neville could do the job, he believed he could do it well, but was that the reason why he had made the offer? Neville reminded him of his son, a son taken from him and now living as a stranger in America. He had long harboured the thoughts that his son would return to England and even live in the house that had once been the family shop, but he knew now that would not happen and he had made an offer to Neville to take his place. He shivered as he recalled Mrs Hughes molding and coaching George to believe he was her son Albert to replace the son she had lost. He made a promise to himself he would never do that, a promise he intended to keep.
“He’s even offered me a house,” Neville said hardly able to contain himself, “I don’t know what it’s like but it sounds OK and I’m sure it will have a spare bedroom.”
“I don’t think we will need a spare bedroom,” Marie interrupted rather coyly, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him full on the lips.
The message for A.J. the following morning was brief and to the point, “I’ll take it, when do I start?”
“Was that Neville Conrad I saw driving away?” George asked A.J. as he found him standing at the hotel entrance.
“Yes, I’ve just offered him a job and a new life.”
It was George’s turn to be apprehensive. He was still uncertain about A.J.’s business dealings and hoped A.J. was not dragging Neville into something that he would live to regret. A.J. had not mentioned or explained the mystery meeting in a London hotel with Calder. He could not help feeling a sense of foreboding that current events might not be in Neville’s best interest.
A.J. took George’s arm and asked him to follow him to the office where the architects drawings were still laying stretched across the desk. He explained, just as he done previously to Neville, the meaning of the drawings, his intentions for luxury affordable care homes for the elderly and how he intended setting up a charity, called the Waterson Foundation, which would be a non-profit organization, to build and run these facilities. There were a few last minute things to finalise, but after the phone call he had received earlier in the day, there was now nothing to prevent the Foundation being operational by the weekend and on Monday, the real work could begin.
George quizzed him about the phone call and after suggesting they both sit down A.J. explained about his dealings with Sir Richard Smythe. The phone call had been from a friend, Sean Malone, who worked for a detective agency. George had once asked if A.J. had used detectives to keep an eye on him and he had to admit he had. Malone had worked for him for years, on a number of jobs he didn't want to go into, but also he kept tabs on George finding out where he lived, where he worked, had he married, was he well, did he need money, that sort of thing. He had never explained to Malone why he was doing this but Malone felt the reasons were probably for the best intentions and enjoyed the work, becoming increasingly friendly with A.J. Some weeks earlier Malone had called A.J. with the strange news that someone called Philip Granger had hired him to look into A.J.’s background, to find any dirt, as Granger had described it. Malone had received some information that Granger was working for Sir Richard Smythe, who worked in Thatcher’s government, and warned A.J. that he needed to take care. Sir Richard was unlikely to take any prisoners if A.J. was getting in his way. A.J. thanked him for the warning and asked if he would be willing to turn the tables on Sir Richard and dig into his dark past. Malone agreed and relished the thought of acting as a double agent.
The owner of a large multinational construction company had introduced A.J. to Sir Richard Smythe. He had sought advice from the construction company about the building of his residential care homes. They were keen to get involved and suggested he spoke to Sir Richard, who they felt would be equally supportive, and perhaps able to help with the financing. Initially the dealings with Sir Richard and his associates went well, but gradually A.J. felt that Sir Richard was marginalizing his position in the project, and he was losing control of the project. More seriously, the meetings were increasingly concerned with return on investment, maximising profits, and the tax benefits of operating as a charity. No mention was made of providing care for the elderly. As time went by, he became increasing ensnared by these people, with no obvious way of escaping and returning to his original intentions.
Malone’s phone call that morning had brought the good news he was hoping. He said Sir Richard’s dirt was so deep it was up to his neck. He had found evidence of bribes from construction companies, including the one that A.J. had mentioned, misappropriated funds, tax avoidance; you name it he was into it, at home and abroad. A.J. asked how reliable was this evidence and how could he use it to extricate himself from Sir Richard.
“No need for that,” Malone replied obviously enjoying himself, “the newspapers and Sir Richard will do that for you.”
“What do you mean?” A.J. asked, “What have the newspapers go to do with it?”
Malone explained that everywhere he looked for dirt someone had been there before him. An investigative journalist, for a Sunday newspaper, had found the story and was shaking the tree until not one leaf or piece of fruit was left hanging. A.J. was not sure about the reference to fruit trees but it sounded as if Sir Richard was going to find himself in hot water.
“The water’s hot and getting hotter all the time,” Malone sniggered, “his name will be plastered across the top of the papers you mark my words.”
“So the papers are going to do the work for me,” A.J. suggested.
“It’s better than that, someone like Sir Richard Smythe has fingers in so many pies he already knows about this newspaper business. He’s running around like a blue whatsit, trying to distance himself from all the people that can incriminate him, trying to kick sand over his tracks. I don’t think you will be hearing from Sir Richard again. Whatever hook you were on, you’re off it.”
“So you can imagine how pleased I was to hear that news this morning,“ A.J. concluded.
George could see that A.J. was obviously pleased with his news but at a loss to understand, if he had lost his backers, how he was still able to go ahead with the project and offer a job to Neville.
Whilst Sir Richard Smythe was having fun, at A.J.’s expense, A.J. decided to hatch a few alternative plans of his own. He contacted his ex wife. He doubted, despite her wealth, she would be interested in investing in his enterprise, but she may be able to introduce him to others in her “circle”. She had friends in high places, people with new money, people with old money, self made men, some he felt sure had more money than sense. “You need to speak to Bobby Hathaway”, she suggested in a way that implied A.J. must know who he was. His family came from Oregon, originally made their money from timber. She described him as a philanthropist, willing to consider supporting causes that interested him. Bobby had already been involved in a similar project, a condominium in Florida operated on the same lines as A.J. had described. As luck would have it, or was it fate, Bobby was in Europe at that time and A.J. and Calder were able to meet up with him in London before his return flight to the States. The meeting went well. Bobby Hathaway made a firm financial commitment, knew of others that would follow suit with similar amounts. Hathaway had pledged sufficient funds to build and operate two care homes and the promise of more if the concept proved to be successful.
George was stunned. His heart was pounding and his breathing heavy. His emotions flipped from pride at what his brother had apparently achieved, annoyance that he had ever doubted his intentions, embarrassment at what he had imagined took place at the mystery meeting with Calder, but the overriding feeling was admiration; he admired his brother Arthur James Waterson.
“Now you know everything,” A.J. announced, “there is just one other thing we need to talk about.”
George knew the time had come to talk about his money. The money he inherited from his mother, he was sure, would go a long way to help A.J. support his venture. He was therefore shocked when A.J. declared,
“I want you to join me, to join Waterson Associates, to work with me to make the Foundation a success.”
It was a few moments before George could speak. He had again misjudged his brother, there was no mention of his money, and it sounded if he was suggesting some sort of partnership.
“What use would I be to you?” George finally said, “I don’t know anything about business or finance, there must be many other people better qualified to help you.”
“That’s the point,” replied A.J., “I have more than enough people already offering advice on business matters and what I should be doing with my money, I don’t need any more of those people. I want someone who will offer me sensible advice, someone with common sense gained from experience, not by reading stupid books. For example, take another look at this drawing and tell me what’s missing.”
They both walked over to the desk. A.J. straightened the drawing and took a pencil out of the desk drawer, placing it on the desk at the side of the drawing.
George didn’t know what he was expected to find, but to humour his brother he carefully went over the drawing identifying the various rooms and facilities. After a few minutes study he looked up and announced,
“There is no garden. The designer hasn’t included a garden. There are few suggestions of some trees but no actual garden.”
A.J. handed him the pencil and said, “where would you put the garden, what would it look like? You can draw on the plan, that’s not a problem”.
“I’ve never been very good at drawing, but I’ll give it a go. I assume north is this direction, so the garden will need to be at this side to catch most of the sun.”
George began to sketch the outline of the garden. There was a lawned area with paths meandering through it. He explained he had designed it like that so it did not look like a prison exercise yard. The surface of the path would need to be smooth, but not slippery, suitable for those experiencing difficulty walking and wheelchair users. There would be a seating area, with part of it near a tree to offer shade in the summer. They could also consider having a large chess or draughts board as part of a patio area. The garden should not be too large to reduce the amount of maintenance needed, but if here and there hedges were planted, it would give the illusion of the garden being longer than it actually was. A wall down this side would provide some shelter from the prevailing westerly wind and the bricks would store the warmth of the sun so the more delicate plants and small fruit trees would thrive against the wall. The flowerbeds would give year round colour and fragrance and an area over here that would look like this. He drew some shapes that A.J. questioned.
“What are those you are drawing?”
“They are raised flowerbeds, high enough so you do not need to bend down to plant or weed. Some of the residents may have had gardens of their own and they might like to have an area in this garden they can call their own. Plant and look after whatever they like, bulbs for spring flowers, roses, even herbs if they wish. Don't you think that would be nice?”
A.J. had tears in his eyes as he recalled the garden his mother once had and loved until his father sadistically dug it up.
“I need a drink,” A.J. declared with a break in his voice, “let’s go into the bar. You are not driving are you? Oh and by the way, you were good at drawing when you were at school and you still are”
As they were about to leave the office George noticed the brown envelope, intended for A.J., still unopened. He pointed it out to A.J. who said he would look at it and meet George in the bar in a few minutes.