And Thereby Hangs a Tale

Liam had never taken a great deal of interest in Majorcan politics, and he made a point of not supporting either main party when it came to the local elections. He made it a policy to donate exactly the same amount to the campaign funds of both the major parties so he could continue to deal with whichever one was in power.

Over the years, it had always been a close-run thing between the Partido Socialista Obrero Español and the Partido Popular, with power changing hands every few years. But to everyone’s surprise, when the election result was announced from the town hall steps later that year, the Green Party had captured three seats and, more important, held the balance of power, as the other two parties were evenly split with twenty-one seats each. Liam didn’t give the result a great deal of thought, even when the Mallorca Daily Bulletin informed its readers that the Greens would join a coalition with whichever party was willing to support their ideological aims. The most important of which, as had been stat

ed in their manifesto, was not to grant any future planning permission in Valldemossa.

This suited Liam as it would cut out any further rivals, making his the last project to be approved by the Supreme Court in Madrid. But once the resolution had been passed in council, with the backing of both main parties, the Greens, encouraged by their success, immediately announced that any projects currently underway should have their planning permission rescinded. This time Liam was concerned, because his lawyers warned him that even if the Supreme Court eventually overruled the council’s decision, his project could be held up for years.

“Every day we’re not working will cost us money,” Liam warned Pepe. He realized that if the Greens were able to get either of the two main parties to support their proposal, he and Pepe would be bankrupt within weeks.

When the council met to take a vote on the Greens’ resolution, Liam and his team sat nervously in the public gallery waiting to learn their fate. Passionate speeches were made from all sides of the chamber, and even after the last councillor had offered his opinion, no one could be sure how the numbers would fall.

The chief clerk called for the vote, and for the first time that evening the chamber fell silent. A few minutes later the Mayor solemnly announced that the Greens’ proposal to rescind all current planning permissions had been carried by twenty-three votes to twenty-two.

Liam had lost all his few bobs in a few minutes.

Every one of his workers immediately deserted the site. Un-finished houses were left without doors or windows, cranes stood unmanned and expensive equipment and materials were left to rust. By the time Liam recalled his late father’s wise advice, it was too late to turn the clock back.

The company’s lawyers recommended an appeal. Liam reluctantly agreed, although, as they had pointed out to him, even if they were eventually able to overturn the council’s decision, by then years would have passed and any possible profit would have been swallowed up by interest payments alone, not to mention lawyers’ fees.

The Allied Irish Bank quickly responded to the news from Valldemossa by placing an immediate stop order on all Liam’s accounts. They also issued a directive instructing Casey, Miro & Co., and any of its associates, to repay the outstanding thirty-seven-million-euro loan at the first possible opportunity, although it must have known that neither Liam nor Pepe could any longer afford the airfare to Dublin.

Liam informed the bank that he intended to appeal against the council’s decision, but he knew, and so did they, that even if he won, they still would have lost everything by the time the Supreme Court reached its verdict.

An appeal date was set for the Supreme Court of Madrid to sit in judgment on the Valldemossa project, but before then Liam and Pepe had been forced to sell their homes, as well as what was left of the company’s assets, to pay lawyers’ bills on both sides of the Irish Sea.

Liam returned to the Flanagan Arms for the first time in twenty-three years.

When Liam and Pepe appeared before the Supreme Court two years later, the senior panel judge expressed considerable sympathy for Mr. Casey and Mr. Miro, as they had invested ten years of hard work, as well as their personal fortunes, in a project that both the Valldemossa council and the Supreme Court had considered to be bold, imaginative, and of civic importance. However, the court did not have the authority to overturn the decision of an elected council, even when it was retrospective. Liam bowed his head.

“Nevertheless,” the judge continued, “this court does have the authority to award compensation in full to the appellants, who carried out their business in good faith, and fulfilled every obligation required of them by the Valldemossa council. With that in mind, this court will appoint an independent arbitrator to assess the costs Mr. Casey and Mr. Miro have incurred, which will include any projected losses.”

As Spaniards were involved, it was another year before the arbitrator presented his findings to the Supreme Court, which necessitated a further six months of making some minor adjustments to the costs so that no one would be in any doubt about how seriously the court had taken their responsibilities.

The day after the senior judge announced the court’s findings, El Pais suggested in its leader that the size of the award was a warning to all politicians not to consider making retrospective legislation in the future.

The Valldemossa Council was ordered to pay 121 million euros in compensation to Mr. Liam Casey, Mr. Pepe Miro, and their associates.

At the local council election held six months later, the Green Party lost all three of its seats by overwhelming majorities.

Pepe took over the business in Majorca, while Liam retired to Cork, where he purchased a castle with a hundred acres of land. He tells me he has no intention of seeking planning permission, even for an outhouse.

POSTSCRIPT

Observant readers who have followed the timescale during which this story took place might feel that even if the Green Party had failed to overturn Liam and Pepe’s planning permission, they would have gone bankrupt anyway following the sudden downturn in the world’s economy, and without being paid any compensation. But, as I said at the outset, no one would believe this tale unless they were told that an Irishman was involved.

POLITICALLY CORRECT

12

“Never judge a book by its cover,” Arnold’s mother always used to tell him.

Despite this piece of sage advice, Arnold took against the man the moment he set eyes on him. The bank had taught him to be cautious when it came to dealing with potential customers. You can have nine successes out of ten and then one failure can ruin your balance sheet, as Arnold had found to his cost soon after he had joined the bank; he was still convinced that was why his promotion had been held up for so long.

Arnold Pennyworthy—he was fed up with being told by all and sundry, That’s an appropriate name for a banker—had been deputy manager of the Vauxhall branch of the bank for the past ten years, but had recently been offered the chance to move to Bury St. Edmunds as branch manager. Bury St. Edmunds might have been one of the bank’s smaller branches, but Arnold felt that if he could make a fist of it, he still had one more promotion left in him. In any case, he couldn’t wait to get out of London, which seemed to him to have been overrun by foreigners who had changed the whole character of the city.

When Arnold’s wife had left him without giving a reason—at least, that’s what he told his mother—he had moved into Arcadia Mansions, a large block of flats, which he liked to refer to as apartments. The rent was extortionate, but at least there was a hall porter. “It gives the right impression whenever anyone visits me,” Arnold told his mother. Not that he had many visitors since his wife had walked out on him. Arcadia Mansions also had the advantage of being within walking distance of the bank, so the extra money he paid out on rent he clawed back on bus and train fares. The only real disadvantage was that the Victoria line ran directly below the building, so the only time you could be guaranteed any peace was between twelve-thirty and five-thirty in the morning.

The first time Arnold caught sight of his new neighbor was when they found themselves sharing a lift down to the ground floor. Arnold waited for him to speak, but he didn’t even say good morning. Arnold wondered if the man even spoke English. He stood back to take a closer look at the most recent arrival. The man was a little shorter than Arnold, round five feet seven inches, solidly built but not overweight, with a square jaw and what Arnold later described to his mother as soulless eyes. His skin was dark, but not black, so Arnold couldn’t be sure where he was from. The unkempt beard reminded him of another of his mother’s homilies: “Never trust a man with a beard. He’s probably hiding something.”