1964 – TENNANT & TENNANT, SOLICITORS
LINCOLNSHIRE, ENGLAND
The secretary at Tennant & Tennant Solicitors shot Tio a disdainful look, then sternly announced that it was not protocol for the solicitor to do impromptu meetings, so there was no point in him waiting. Tio was having none of it, convinced that if he argued for long enough, made sufficient of a scene, he could achieve his outcome by sheer force of will and tenacity. If that meant this supercilious woman’s feelings becoming collateral damage in the process, so be it.
A whispered word from a clerk to the secretary and all was changed.
“He will see you now, Mr. Mourillon. Go right through.”
Tennant, a portly man in his mid-fifties ushered Tio into his office. The entire rear wall of his smoke-filled office was bedecked with uniform hard backed legal volumes, prompting Tio to wonder if they were there for effect. Did anyone actually read any of them? The dust suggested not.
Tennant wore a three-piece suit that had seen better days. Had Tio encountered someone of such unkempt, dishevelled appearance back home in Dominica, he would have thought it indicative of their lack of status. Not so, here in England. Only serious, professional people could afford to appear so scruffy and still somehow maintain credibility. It was a badge of honour, a sign of confidence that they had mastered their field sufficiently for them to indulge in true British eccentricity.
Tennant left Tio under no illusion at all that he thought it an impertinence that Tio had hired him in the first place. Even in their relatively amicable conversations – and this conversation was not going to be amicable – he sensed that this man thought the world not to be spinning quite correctly on its axis. Yes, he may be paying Tennant’s bill, but the correct order of things was that some deference should be accorded. And this goat of a man from Penville would not defer.
Did Mr. Mourillon from Cottage Beck Road not realise that there was an order of things here? Where Tio sat in that order was unclear, but it certainly was not at the top, nor anywhere near.
Tio, for his part, had never been any good at hiding his dislike of a person. It made for some very difficult conversations from time to time, and this was likely to be just such a conversation.
“Ah, Mr. Mourillon. Please sit down. I’ve just come off the phone with Clive Taylor.”
“You’ve...?”
“He’s apprised me of the situation vis-à-vis the bungalow you were hoping to buy in Roxby.”
Tio was by no means happy that Tennant had foreknowledge of his visit. He was behind the curve in a matter of which he should have been very much ahead of it. Tio had always prided himself on his ability to think and act quickly, but doing so required early possession of the facts – and right there he was in possession of very few of them.
“Were? I still am going to buy it.”
“No, it would seem you’re not, Mr. Mourillon, not if Mr. Cooper refuses to sell it to you. I’m sure he has his reasons.”
“Hang on, I am paying you to advise me, not agree with him. I know what his reasons are and they are not good reasons.”
“Be that as it may. It makes no material difference to the facts. And may I point out that I’m not necessarily agreeing with him. But I am advising you, Mr. Mourillon. I’m advising you that in this case there’s very little you can do.”
Tennant took several puffs of his pipe, much to Tio’s now very visible aggravation.
“If he doesn’t want to sell to you, there’s no provision within the law to make him do so. I’m sorry if that’s a matter of inconvenience for you, but there it is.”
As James Arthur Tennant spoke, Tio quietly seethed. The words dripped with contempt, bordering on open hostility. This was no time to be sidetracked by such things, Tio determined, the extent to which he was liked or disliked by Tennant was of no consequence. The fact that he could not or would not further Tio’s cause was of every consequence.
“Look here, Mr. Mourillon, I simply don’t see why you’re making all this fuss. If you can’t buy this property you’ll simply have to find an alternative one where no-one raises any objections, perhaps somewhere with a greater number of people similar to yourself. I really don’t see the problem in that.”
“It is not for him or you to dictate to me where I can live. I will live wherever I can afford to live, and I can afford to live here.”
“It would appear that you’re labouring under a misapprehension about the strength of your position, Mr. Mourillon. What seems to elude you is that you’re a guest here in this country. If I were a guest in someone’s house, I’d hardly think it appropriate to go into their dining room and start rearranging the furniture or ordering the householders around, be that Mr. Cooper or anyone else for that matter. Mr. Cooper is taking a perfectly reasonable stance. And my considered opinion is that you’d do well to cut your losses - such as they are – and seek to live somewhere... more... suitable.”
“Suitable?”
“Yes.”
“Who gets to decide what is suitable for me? Is it written in the law? I think your law protects me also. But even though I come to you to advise me, because you have gone to school to learn about the law, you want to ignore it. And now you talk to me about furniture and all that rubbish.”
As Tio spoke, he leaned forward and prodded Tennant’s desk to emphasise each point. Instinct told him not to fall into the trap of raising his voice too high. To do so would be to fulfil whatever archetype to which Tennant had doubtless already assigned him. No, he would stick to the facts and not deviate.
“Listen,” Tio continued, “I do not care what your opinion is about where I should live. If I want your advice on that, I will ask for it.”
“I do not appreciate your tone, Mr. Mourillon. It’s not the way things are done here. And as regards Mr. Taylor...”
“Who said anything about Taylor? It’s Cooper I’m talking about.”
“Yes. Yes. Of course. Mr. Cooper...”
“Save your breath. And another thing, you are finished as my solicitor. You are fired.”
Tennant laughed in a moment of sheer incredulity..
“Fired? You really do appear to have delusions of grandeur. You have no idea the way things are done...”
“So you keep saying. I think ‘you are fired’ means the same in any country.”
“Very well, you’ll have my bill in the morning.”
“You can send whatever you want. I am not paying it. You have not done your job.”
“We’ll see about that! Good day to you, Mr. Mourillon. Please close the door on your way out.”