Out Of Their Depth
Out Of Their Depth
Tony Laurence
Austin Macauley Publishers
Out Of Their Depth
About the Author
About the Book
Dedication
Copyright Information
Disclaimer
Chapter 1Brief Encounter
Chapter 2Bianca Shipping Limited
Chapter 3Turks and Caicos Islands
Chapter 4Hardcastle’s New Business
Chapter 5Four Make Plans for Mexico
Chapter 6Gareth Hardcastle
Chapter 7One of Life’s Little Knocks
Chapter 8Florida
Chapter 9Mexico
Chapter 10Gabriella
Chapter 11Florida, Merry and Caulder Marine
Chapter 13Japan and Gareth Hardcastle’s Swindle
Chapter 14Jeremy and Gabriella
Chapter 15The Wheels Are in Motion
Chapter 16Gareth Hardcastle Prepares to Escape
Chapter 17The Money Has Gone and So Has Gareth Hardcastle
Chapter 18The Azores
Chapter 19Bangkok
Chapter 20Simon and Gilda
Chapter 21Gabriella Is in England
Chapter 22Simon in Pursuit
Chapter 23Quinn’s Business Proposal
Chapter 24Gareth Hardcastle Is Robbed
Chapter 25Selling the Bianca Shipping Contract
Chapter 26Gareth Visits the Swiss Bank
Chapter 27Kathy and Quinn in Jersey
Chapter 28Gareth Hardcastle in Zurich
Chapter 29A Death Certificate
Chapter 30Simon
Chapter 31Kathy
Chapter 32Andrew
Chapter 33Jeremy
Chapter 34Destiny Lends a Hand
Chapter 35A Hurricane
Chapter 36Quinn and Kathy Go Dancing
Chapter 37Andrew Gets Drunk
Chapter 38Gareth Hardcastle in the UK
Chapter 39A Counter Claim
Chapter 40New Witnesses
Chapter 41Quinn Prepares to Fight Back
Chapter 42Gareth Hardcastle Is in Buttercup Cottage
Chapter 43The Bianca Shareholders Are Arrested
Chapter 44Quinn in Florida
Chapter 45The Inland Revenue and a Burglary
Chapter 46Quinn Meets Gareth Hardcastle’s Brother
Chapter 47Share Certificates
Chapter 48Correcting Errors in Previous Affidavits
Chapter 49Quinn and Kathy Get Together
Chapter 50Priorities
Chapter 51Nancy Dies
Chapter 52Joe Cartwright
Chapter 53Celia in a Wedding Dress
Chapter 54Plymouth Girls
Chapter 55Bankruptcy
Chapter 56Hardcastle Is Defeated
Chapter 57Shareholders Get All of Their Money Back
Chapter 58Gareth Hardcastle Gets on a Plane for Zurich
Chapter 59Celia Is Lost
Chapter 60New Plans for the Future
Chapter 61Gareth Hardcastle Makes the Wrong Move
Chapter 62Six Months Later
About the Author
Tony Laurence grew up safely and comfortably in the then largely unvisited, beautiful Dorset countryside and was educated by the sea. He is one of the lucky generations and has lived happily in English peacetime.
He was a managing director for many years, controlling a dozen commercial companies involved in national and multinational businesses. He now lives quietly with friends and laughter in Europe.
About the Book
Four hard working, financially comfortable young adults decide that they should be very rich and enter into a speculative shipping enterprise. They are swindled, they attract criminal charges and their lives are ruined, until they start to fight back. Travelling to Florida, Mexico, the Azores, the Turks and Caicos Islands, Germany, Switzerland and Japan, the adventure tests all of their characters to the limit, until the final climax.
Dedication
Dedication
Dedicated to Sarah
Copyright Information
Copyright © Tony Laurence (2018)
The right of Tony Laurence to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788484787 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781788484794 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781788484800 (E-Book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2018)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd™
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to real people and real events is coincidental and not intended. The characters and the story are all fictitious.
Chapter 1
Brief Encounter
He is walking slowly around the art gallery, ignoring the crowd, and stopping frequently to look long and thoughtfully at the paintings, which are hung on the walls, each one alone and deliberately coordinated with the lighting.
Kathy thinks that the man appears to be an unlikely hero. He is tall and fit looking, of course, as heroes should be, and he is casually dressed in an expensive way. A blue roll neck pullover, dark grey cashmere jacket, cream cotton trousers and comfortable luxurious looking shoes. It is as if he is smartly dressed for outdoor activity. He looks as if he could run well or walk briskly for hours. He has broad shoulders and seems to Kathy to be about 35 years old. He moved with fluid controlled physical confidence, like an acrobat, rather like, who is it? Thinks Kathy, a Hollywood movie star of 40 years ago that her mother used to like, Burt Lancaster? Was that the one? The man who had been a circus acrobat or a strong man in real life before he became an actor.
The man who Kathy watches in the art gallery has that sort of look. That sort of control. He has a much kinder face than Burt Lancaster. Kathy is looking at him from 20 feet away and she thinks that he has soft eyes, not hard ones. He has a sensuous mouth and whilst looking at the pictures, he has a little smile on his lips. Kathy is daydreaming. He is more likely a children’s piano teacher than a hero, thinks Kathy. Not likely to be the type to sweep her off her feet she considers ruefully.
Kathy is sitting on a long bench in the centre of the gallery. She and the man are in the middle exhibition room. Kathy has been watching him surreptitiously undercover of pretending to look at the paintings through the crowds.
The Van Gogh paintings have been lent to the London Gallery for a short season. Kathy has walked round twice already. She finds the paintings disturbing. How could somebody put emotion on canvas like that with just oil paint? The paintings seemed to Kathy to resonate with a mental urgency. A frightening intensity of feeling which conveys a lack of restraint. The painting of Crows in a Wheat Field makes Kathy tremble and feel unduly influenced. She had looked at the swirling wheat and the menacing crows. The textures of the pictures are almost three-dimensional and create such a vivid image that it was to Kathy as if the oil had been applied to the canvas only moments before. She believed that she could feel the emotional presence of the artist. Later, self-portraits are either unbearable to look at or unbearable to look a
way from. Insanity. But how could Van Gough have been insane if he could paint his own insanity in a self-portrait? How could a person do that? Kathy had not expected to be so influenced by the paintings. She had been to lots of other exhibitions, which had delighted her or entertained her, or impressed her with their skill and accomplishment, but nothing had been as powerful as this. It was beyond what pictures should be. It revealed too much. There is a loss of balance. A loss of calm and assurance. It is difficult to tolerate.
It was this which made Kathy seek out the central bench to sit down. She had felt overwhelmed. She now feels a little bit wobbly and thinks herself ridiculous because of it.
It is in this mood that she continues to daydream as she watches the man. The non-heroic one, as she has labelled him. He has elegant hands with long fingers. This contributes to his capable appearance. Kathy is thinking about this whilst resting from being swamped by the mental anguish of the paintings. She needs a bit of comfort. A big masculine hug would do it, she imagines. Followed by a mug of hot chocolate. Ordinary reassurances like the times she enjoys with her father when she sees him once a year. The man in the gallery is good-looking, reflects Kathy, just not cool. Not thrilling. Not exciting. Kathy is musing about this when the man walks towards her.
“Are you alone? May I join you?” he asks.
Kathy shrugs her shoulders.
“Thank you,” says the man and sits down beside her. “An exhausting exhibition.”
Kathy glances at him. He is perhaps only being polite. Finding something to say. “You mean the crowds?” Kathy answers. “The long queues outside?”
“No, not that,” the man replies. “I mean the paintings. The strength of them.”
“Oh,” Kathy finds herself speechless, “oh yes.”
“Nearly too much for me,” the man continues, “I’m glad that there are no more of them.”
They both sit in silence. Kathy doesn’t resent the man’s company. She now feels more at ease. She feels no obligation to speak. A few minutes passed by. The spectators shuffle past. A number of them are making notes in little books, or in their catalogues.
What are they writing? Wonders Kathy, are they noting that the colours or the sizes of the pictures? Or are they trying to write down how they feel? How are they doing that? Perhaps, after all, some of them are just making shopping lists for later. She smiles at the thought.
After about ten minutes and with no awkwardness in his manner, following their long silence, the man asks, “Fancy some fresh air? A stroll in the park? A cup of tea?”
Kathy looks at him for a sustained moment. Why not, she thinks.
“My name is Quinton Stoneborough,” says the man, and gives Kathy a very refreshing and cheerful smile. “My friends call me Quinn.”
Kathy is startled by his name and gives a little laugh. “I would welcome some fresh air,” she says. “And a hot drink. My name is Kathleen O’Donnell. Everybody calls me Kathy.”
“Alright,” says Quinn. “Did you leave a coat or anything?”
“No,” says Kathy. “I have everything with me.”
“Let us find the quickest way out then,” says Quinn.
Much to Kathy’s own astonishment, she takes his arm. It seems a natural thing to do and Quinn accepts her movement without any reaction. Eventually, they find themselves outside in the sunshine. The park is just across the road. Seeing the trees and the grass, and the formal base of flowers, Kathy feels the impressiveness of the exhibition falling away from her. She moves her arm from his very gently. He gives no indication of having noticed.
“Quite a lot to take in, in one go,” says Quinn as they walk across the grass to the distant central café, which is located near the lake. “You almost want to see just one picture at a time,” he continues.
Kathy speaks without thinking, “Too much feeling,” she says. “I am glad to be out.”
Quinn opens the door of the café for her. He finds them a table by a window and he buys Kathy a mug of hot chocolate. He sits down opposite her, and begins to chat lightly and without any personal references as he pours out the tea he has bought for himself. He draws her attention to the intricate woodwork of the café and to their craftsmanship involved in its construction. “It is often taken for granted,” he says. “It is a wonderful example of the Victorian age. It was designed with the park. It has been here during all of the present-day customers lives and for all of the living memories of their parents, and most of them wouldn’t be able to describe it or draw it.” He smiles kindly. “They wouldn’t miss it unless the council pulled it down for a modern one. And then they couldn’t tell you why they had liked it. Just that they had liked it.”
“What a funny thing to say,” answers Kathy.
“It’s some of the details which strikes me sometimes,” says Quinn. “Things that make up the small, almost unnoticed pleasures of life. As well as the noticed ones.” He smiles directly at Kathy who is again surprised and cannot be sure whether or not she has just received a compliment.
“Let us buy a sandwich or a bun,” says Quinn. “Then we can feed the ducks on the lake.”
Kathy is enjoying herself and simply going along with the events rather than making any decisions. I’m not sure that he’s my type, she thinks, but he is a welcome break from the emotion of the exhibition.
He wears glasses the kind, which have no real frames. Glass all around so that they don’t show up strongly. He is like Clark Kent, thinks Kathy and she laughs to herself. I have just met Superman and we are feeding the ducks together in a park. I feel as if I had known him before but he is certainly not my type. Just a nice man that’s all.
Quinn gives the ducks names as they feed them. And once named, the birds seem to Kathy to emerge as individuals. Percy, Clive, Albert, Walter, Doris, Enid and Dora. Quinn has to buy extra bread from the café as the flock grows and the quacking increases.
After a moment of laughing at the ducks, Kathy takes Quinn’s arm again. This is a lovely afternoon, she thinks. Quinn smiles gently at her.
They spend an hour together like old friends and then part company. Quinn does not ask Kathy any personal questions. Nor does he request a telephone number or suggest another meeting. He says goodbye warmly and walks briskly away, leaving Kathy at the lake. When he reaches the park gates, he turns and waves quickly before moving out of sight.
Chapter 2
Bianca Shipping Limited
“We don’t know anything about cement. Why should we invest in cement?”
“We’re not investing in cement. We are financing the shipping of cement from one country to another.”
“What about the cement?”
“We don’t care about the cement. It is loaded on at one port and unloaded at the other. The idea is that we finance the shipping. I should say, rather, that we pay for the monthly shipping in return for monthly payments. We provide a sort of credit base for the purchasers of the cement. We pay the Mexican manufacturers of the cement when the loaded ship leaves port and when it arrives in Taiwan, they pay us for it after they have unloaded it.”
“So between the suppliers in Mexico and the buyers in Taiwan, we make a financial profit?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“How much?”
“Around £400,000 a month profit.”
“On what amount of finance? How much money do we need?”
“Each load will cost around £2 million per month.”
“So we make 20% for a month’s finance?”
“Yes, but we have to find the first two million pounds.”
“Yes, and there are four of us so that is, um, what, about £500,000 each?”
“Yes, it is exactly, of course, £500,000 each. In return for putting the money back in every month, reinvesting it, we get £400,000 profit, or thereabouts, every month.”
“That is split between the four of us. That’s £100,000 each every month. As a return on £500,000, that is very satisfactory.”
There are thr
ee men and a woman in the room. All talking quickly and gesticulating as they speak. They are dazzled by the proposition under discussion.
The three men are:
Andrew Kyelean, a theatrical director and amateur singer. He is about 36 years old, very tall and thin, with prematurely grey hair cut short, and sticking up untidily above his enthusiastic face and his idealistic expressions of eagerness and excitement. He dresses as he thinks a theatrical director should, in corduroys and a cardigan over an open necked checked shirt with a button down collar. He is wearing a comfortable pair of suede moccasins. He has unusually big teeth so that, as he smiles, he looks like a young son of Dick Emery’s 1970s TV characterisation of a vicar. Andrew is fit. He is a keen and friendly tennis player. Andrew believes in the fundamental goodness of mankind. He sees the positive side of things. His work in the theatre and the choral society is rewarding.