well. I have spoken to the architect and all he now needs is a more detailed letter of complaint. This he will show to his insurers and they will authorize the work.’
‘Yes, you are quite right, Señor Braddon, the insurance does run for only ten years from completion, but as you have started proceedings, that time has been stopped.’
‘Yes, Señor Braddon, I am doing everything that can possibly be done.’
There had been the preliminary hearing, designed to discover whether the parties could come together and reach an agreement. The lawyers for the other side had denied everything and the only consequence of the action that Braddon had ever been able to discover was that he was presented with a bill for the court fees.
There’d been the need to photograph the cracks for the court records. After they were taken, a notario had had to certify the photographs were a true likeness of the cracks; another eighty-odd thousand pesetas . . .
‘I know he was only in your house for fifteen minutes, Señor Braddon, but notarios are always expensive. We have a saying, “If you wish to dine off silver plates, become a politician; if off gold ones, a notario.” ’
And then, one morning in March, Braddon had gone to Roig’s office for the umpteenth time to try to get someone to do something, and the secretary had said—in her fractured, hesitant English—that she was sorry, but Señor Roig was out; however, it was fortunate that the señor had called as there was a letter for him. It proved to be brief and to the point. Roig was very sorry, but he could no longer act for Señor Braddon since his wife was cousin to the aparejador’s wife and it was not right to go to law against one’s own family.
When, almost incoherent with rage, he’d shown the letter to a friend, he’d learned just how devious Roig had been. In order to make a valid claim against the architect, the aparejador, and the builder, it was necessary within the ten years to bring an action in the courts. Yet despite all Roig’s encouraging reports, no step had been taken which, in this context, started the action; that could only happen when certain papers were signed and deposited.
‘Then what happens about the time-limit?’
‘Since the case hasn’t started, you’ve got to get those papers deposited as soon as possible and before the ten years are up.’
‘But they are almost up.’
‘Are you quite certain you didn’t sign anything asking for the case to be brought?’
‘Roig never told me I had to; he kept saying that everything which had to be done, had been.’
‘He obviously meant you.’
Braddon had not found that amusing.
Nor had he been amused when he discovered that he could not call in another solicitor until he had paid the bill of Roig; in other words, pay him for all the work he had not done. He finally understood why the island’s lawyers were called the Mafia by the general public.
CHAPTER 9
Alvarez felt sorry for Braddon and wondered why he’d ever been so ill-advised as to come and live on the island? It was so obvious that he was far too unworldly ever to be able to meet a cunning peasant on equal terms.
‘He swindled me,’ said Braddon furiously.
‘Yes, dear,’ said Letitia, ‘but nothing you can say or do now will alter what’s happened so there’s not really much point in going on and on about it, is there?’
‘If this were England, I could drag him through the courts and see him struck off the Rolls.’
‘But we aren’t in England.’
‘And whose bloody fault is that?’
‘Señor,’ said Alvarez, hoping to outflank a domestic row, ‘after receiving that letter, did you return to Señor Roig’s office?’
‘I did. And I told him just what I goddamn well thought of him . . .’
‘Joe,’ said Letitia, ‘do try and calm down; it’s not good for you to get so excited.’
‘How did he react to what you said?’ asked Alvarez.
‘Didn’t like it when I told him he was nothing
‘Yes, you are quite right, Señor Braddon, the insurance does run for only ten years from completion, but as you have started proceedings, that time has been stopped.’
‘Yes, Señor Braddon, I am doing everything that can possibly be done.’
There had been the preliminary hearing, designed to discover whether the parties could come together and reach an agreement. The lawyers for the other side had denied everything and the only consequence of the action that Braddon had ever been able to discover was that he was presented with a bill for the court fees.
There’d been the need to photograph the cracks for the court records. After they were taken, a notario had had to certify the photographs were a true likeness of the cracks; another eighty-odd thousand pesetas . . .
‘I know he was only in your house for fifteen minutes, Señor Braddon, but notarios are always expensive. We have a saying, “If you wish to dine off silver plates, become a politician; if off gold ones, a notario.” ’
And then, one morning in March, Braddon had gone to Roig’s office for the umpteenth time to try to get someone to do something, and the secretary had said—in her fractured, hesitant English—that she was sorry, but Señor Roig was out; however, it was fortunate that the señor had called as there was a letter for him. It proved to be brief and to the point. Roig was very sorry, but he could no longer act for Señor Braddon since his wife was cousin to the aparejador’s wife and it was not right to go to law against one’s own family.
When, almost incoherent with rage, he’d shown the letter to a friend, he’d learned just how devious Roig had been. In order to make a valid claim against the architect, the aparejador, and the builder, it was necessary within the ten years to bring an action in the courts. Yet despite all Roig’s encouraging reports, no step had been taken which, in this context, started the action; that could only happen when certain papers were signed and deposited.
‘Then what happens about the time-limit?’
‘Since the case hasn’t started, you’ve got to get those papers deposited as soon as possible and before the ten years are up.’
‘But they are almost up.’
‘Are you quite certain you didn’t sign anything asking for the case to be brought?’
‘Roig never told me I had to; he kept saying that everything which had to be done, had been.’
‘He obviously meant you.’
Braddon had not found that amusing.
Nor had he been amused when he discovered that he could not call in another solicitor until he had paid the bill of Roig; in other words, pay him for all the work he had not done. He finally understood why the island’s lawyers were called the Mafia by the general public.
CHAPTER 9
Alvarez felt sorry for Braddon and wondered why he’d ever been so ill-advised as to come and live on the island? It was so obvious that he was far too unworldly ever to be able to meet a cunning peasant on equal terms.
‘He swindled me,’ said Braddon furiously.
‘Yes, dear,’ said Letitia, ‘but nothing you can say or do now will alter what’s happened so there’s not really much point in going on and on about it, is there?’
‘If this were England, I could drag him through the courts and see him struck off the Rolls.’
‘But we aren’t in England.’
‘And whose bloody fault is that?’
‘Señor,’ said Alvarez, hoping to outflank a domestic row, ‘after receiving that letter, did you return to Señor Roig’s office?’
‘I did. And I told him just what I goddamn well thought of him . . .’
‘Joe,’ said Letitia, ‘do try and calm down; it’s not good for you to get so excited.’
‘How did he react to what you said?’ asked Alvarez.
‘Didn’t like it when I told him he was nothing
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