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Regulars
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Written by Michel Kallipetis QC
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Monday, 03 December 2007 00:00 |
 THE EARLY morning train to anywhere is grim: an indeterminate brown liquid, which served either as tea or coffee, accompanied by a slice of brownish cardboard, laughingly described as the 'healthy option', should have warned me that the day was not going to be as straightforward as the 'Mediation Bundle' suggested.
The ring binder had been savaged by a maniac courier who had practised his karate on the spring mechanism so that it would not open or close but lay open like a half cooked mussel in a second rate moules mariniere. The position papers had been stapled together by a bored paralegal so that reading them required removing the twisted metal bands with the consequent torn nail and bleeding finger. The blood spattered brief had informed me that this was a section 459 Companies Act dispute between family members of a well established and respectable manufacturing firm. A tedious vista of company accounts, expert valuations and management reports suggested a grey day to match the skies and my mood. How wrong can one be!
'Mr Kallipetis, I am not paying for treacherous behaviour.' Thus I was greeted by the pater familias of this once great household name. My 'Good morning, please call me Michel' received the reply: 'I will not countenance perfidy.' I met the elder son, his younger brother and Mother, a delightful lady who had brought her knitting because she thought it 'might be a long day'. The open session began with younger son/Petitioner greeting his father with a cheery 'Good morning Dad' and the blunt rebuff 'This is a bloody fine hole you've dug for yerself this time!' The preliminary plenary session was punctuated by father's constant abuse of his younger son, interspersed with tut tutting from mother as she knitted one and purled two, while the two brothers tried to deal sensibly with shareholdings, transfer of contracts and the usual business of splitting up a family business. My questions to mother, who happened to hold the controlling interest in the shares, were answered by father, until I invited him to come and sit by me 'so that he could help me with the documents'.
Private sessions proved no easier. Father dominated his room, his solicitors, his elder son, his fellow directors and dear sweet mother. Younger son did not need to convince me why he wanted out, but every offer he made was dismissed as 'treachery', 'perfidy', and thinly veiled threats to bring in father's 'good friend the Chief Constable'. Lunch was a welcome break from the tiresome family squabbling. I gazed out of the hermetically sealed window, designed to keep the stale air circulating and fresh air out, considering which train home I could decently catch, when the finance director sidled up to me for 'a quiet word'. 'Have you noticed a bit of tension between father and younger son' he asked, while trying to remove the remains of his egg mayonnaise sandwich from his club tie. 'Now you mention it' I replied, 'yes I have a bit!' 'Do you know why?' he asked. 'No' I said. 'Would you like to?' he asked with an insouciant smile which told me that he was dying to tell me. 'If it helps' was my cautious response. 'Well' he whispered, looking right and lift to make sure that no-one was within earshot, 'they have both been dating the same secretary in the office!' With a knowing wink he took away his halitosis and the rest of his egg mayonnaise sandwich.
After lunch and a glass or three of the partners' house wine (Chateau Lafitte 1990), father was in expansive mood. He knew lots of people 'in the law'. 'Mr Justice X and Y, did I know them, were bosom pals' 'Would you like me to have word with them to help your career?' was an offer I could easily refuse. The very thought of being anywhere near the bosom of X or Y! Politeness decreed that I enquire further. 'How well do you know them?' 'Oh they have stayed with me and I have photos of us all out ten pin bowling together' 'Really' I said, 'I would love to see those.' 'Would you really, I'll go and get them, its not far.' 'That would be very nice, are you sure it isn't' too much trouble?' 'No trouble at all, its only quarter of an hour's drive and Percy is downstairs with the Rolls' as he marched off towards the lift.
I had half an hour! A quick meeting with the two brothers and the finance director produced a plan for the hiving off of some business, repayment of director's loan accounts, future trading and a share sale at the price already agreed by their respective accountants. Mother, as controlling shareholder (for tax reasons as father had explained) readily agreed and the solicitors set about drawing up the necessary agreements and orders.
X and Y looked suitably ridiculous in their ten pin bowling gear. Someone should have told X that judicial braces did not enhance his profile especially over a short sleeved T shirt with a portrait of Marilyn Monroe' chest on his! Chatting to father about his judicial friends, I mused whether they would relish the prospect of his being in Chancery in a public legal brawl with his son. He began the mantra of 'not paying for treachery' but the vision of seeing his 'judicial chums' in an official setting caused him to pause. Bit by bit he began to warm to the idea of a compromise. Several hours later, the solicitors were still wrangling over the drafting but father had been persuaded by mother that 'this is really for the best Dear, and I want to go home before it gets dark', as she packed up her wool and needles and the half finished Arran sweater for her grandson. Father realised that he was outflanked, and turned on his solicitors for their tardiness in drawing up the agreement. He signed with a good grace but would not shake his son's hand. He shook mine with an ominous valedictory 'I will be speaking to Mr Justice X and Y next week'.
I had missed the last train. 'Not to worry, we've booked you into the local Thistle where we have corporate rates' said the hosting solicitor as he left. Younger son invited me for dinner at his favourite French restaurant where I met femme fatale now Mrs younger son. She was a worthy Helen of Troy and I could well understand why her affections were much sought after. After her third cointreau on crushed ice she confided in me that 'His Dad', indicating benign younger son nursing his fourth vintage cognac, 'tried to get me to go out with him but I wasn't having any and told his missis. She told me to accept but make sure that I got a photograph of us together to give her for a rainy day!' My vision of dear sweet Mother, oblivious, as I naively thought, to the underlying reasons for the tension between father and younger son, evaporated like morning dew in Morocco.
Last week I saw Mr Justice X at a drinks party. 'I gather you met my acquaintance (father) the other week. Did he show you any photos?' Nothing in particular, I dissembled. 'Hrrmph' as he left. 'Next time you're giving me a hard time in the Court of Appeal', I vowed, 'I'll work in a reference to ten pin bowling if it kills me!' Even grey days have a silver lining! |
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My Toughest Mediation 
