Relative Error

By Dawn Marsanne

Over several generations and from humble beginnings, the Ellard family built up an impressive group of businesses, becoming highly respected in the area. Keith Ellard is largely responsible for their management and begins to find this role increasingly demanding. As his father's health deteriorates, further responsibility falls upon him, and he struggles to cope. Under pressure, he makes an error of judgment, which causes his world to unravel. Keith battles to restore his equilibrium but has to cope with another chance event which begins to uncover a family secret, causing further turmoil in a family where grievances still exist due to decades-old family disputes. As the wider family grapples with these issues, will division or reconciliation result?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dawn Marsanne
• Release date: Sep 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393142140

Dawn Marsanne

Having worked in the pharmaceutical industry for almost twenty-five years I wanted to write a novel which explored some of the serious issues in the field. The reproducibility of scientific data is a common problem which has recently been highlighted in the news and this forms the basis of my first book Adverse Reaction. I particularly enjoy reading thrillers and suspense novels and I have tried to create a fast paced story which holds the reader's attention. Many of the themes of the book occur in everyday life and I have used the backdrop of research to illustrate them. There are relatively few novels which are set in the laboratory environment so I saw this as an undeveloped area but at the same time scientific details are kept to a minimum to allow the work to be accessible to readers of a non-technical background. As I finished the novel I became sufficiently interested in the characters I had created to develop them further and the six book Persford Reaction Series was born. Since then I have written to standalone novels, A Form of Justice and Relative Error. Waves of Guilt is the first in a new series and is now joined by a sequel, Layers of Deceit.  Follow me on twitter @dawn_marsanne

Book preview

Prologue

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‘Can I get you a drink, Emily? I’m having one.’

‘No, thanks.’

‘How are you feeling today?’

‘Can’t you guess?’

‘Sorry. I know it’s hard for you.’

‘Have you managed to do much?’

‘I’ve been gardening. Planting some bulbs for the spring.’

‘Oh, well that’s good,’ he replied. His voice lacked emotion as he was wrapped up in his thoughts. James drank his whisky, then refilled his glass. He sat down and looked at his feet, avoiding his wife’s gaze.

‘You seem anxious,’ said Emily. This was somewhat an understatement. Her husband’s unease was emanating from every pore. His customary confidence was absent.

‘That obvious?’

Emily nodded.

‘I’ve something to tell you. I’ve let you down.’

‘I know, but I’ve been wondering when you would have the courtesy to tell me.’

‘You know?’

‘I guessed. I heard you on the phone.’

‘I’m so sorry. It was just a...,’ he paused. ‘A moment of madness.’

‘A misjudgement?’

‘Well, yes. It was. Will you forgive me?’

‘I don’t have much choice, do I?’

‘Of course, you have a choice, but I’m begging you not to give up on me. I love you.’

Emily sighed. ‘I’ve always loved you.’

‘I know. I don’t deserve you. Everything I’ve done with the businesses is for you, for our family.’

‘You’ve worked very hard. There’s no denying it.’

‘There’s something else I need to tell you,’ said James. ‘I’ve made a mistake, but there is a solution. Please listen to what I’m going to suggest.’

Chapter 1

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Keith Ellard was having a stressful day, just like all his days were of late.

‘Yes, I understand you are stretched and have a lot on your plate, Stacey but we simply must have more staff for the Dutton wedding on Saturday.’

He had hoped that Stacey’s phone call would be a brief update, but a few sentences into the conversation had served to increase his stress levels even further.

Keith tried to stay calm and wandered over to the window of his office to look at the late spring sunshine glinting on the tranquil sea, hoping that the beautiful view would help to assuage his irascibility. His eye muscles relaxed as his vision took in the coastal panorama, the light wind barely stirring the off-shore wind farm, hated by some and loved in equal measure by others. To him, the regular rotary motion of the huge blades was comfortingly hypnotic and in no way offensive. A fishing boat was making its way back to nearby Ramsgate, pursued by a flock of excited gulls, hoping for a share of the spoils.

‘I’m so sorry, Keith, I don’t know how Donna got so mixed up with the numbers. She’s had a lot of family problems, did I tell you?’ added Stacey, lowering her voice at this point. ‘Her husband is contesting her for custody of the children, and the solicitor isn’t hopeful, it’s such a shame and the children are all upset...’

Keith raised his eyes heavenward. He couldn’t care less about Donna’s marital problems, traumatic though they might be. ‘Stacey, Stacey,’ he interrupted, ‘let’s return to the matter of staffing.’

‘Oh, yes, sorry. I just wanted to put you in the picture.’

He switched his phone to speaker and placed it on the windowsill so he could examine his fitness tracker bracelet which was showing a pulse rate of ninety-five, a measly five hundred and seventeen steps and a woeful calorie consumption so far that morning. At fifty-three, Keith had the physique of someone possibly ten years younger, thanks to his almost religious gym routine. His six-foot athletic frame carried not a pound of extra weight, his abdominal muscles the envy of other middle-aged men at his local gym. Some had suggested he was addicted to working out, but he preferred to use the descriptor, dedicated. So many people in his line of work were largely sedentary and by his age were taking blood pressure and cholesterol medication. Keith was determined that he would postpone pill-popping, as he derogatorily thought of it, for many years.

‘I get the picture quite clearly, but I’m trying to run a business here, not a counselling service.’ As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. He could visualise Stacey bristling at his retort. ‘Sorry, that was unkind of me, I just want us to sort this out,’ he said quickly, hoping his apology would placate Stacey. ‘So, some suggestions, firstly, try the College, then go further afield to the usual agencies,’ he instructed. ‘Use your initiative, welcome to my world,’ he was sorely tempted to say to his manager at Cliff View, the prestigious wedding venue, owned by the Ellard family business. Stacey did an adequate job but soon became flustered when things didn’t go according to plan. Her thought processes became muddled, and she was unable to think analytically or logically.

As Stacey stumbled her way through some excuses, he took some deep breaths and stretched his arms above his head to try to lessen the tension he could feel in his shoulders. His index finger traced the deep worry line on his forehead, which was becoming even more prominent. In some lights, it looked like a scar from an injury or an assault, instead of years of compounded anxiety which was marring his once good looks.

‘Look, Stacey, I understand how difficult things are at the moment, I really do, and you are doing a great job,’ he lied. ‘Try to have confidence in yourself. It’s no good if you think you aren’t coping.’

As Keith uttered his familiar mindless platitudes, his eyes fixed on the sea, and he watched a pilot boat make one of several of its daily trips past his property. No matter how bad or how stressful his day proved to be, Keith never failed to appreciate the enviable view he had from his house. On clear days, the French coast was visible from White Lodge although today there was a slight haze on the horizon. However, huge container ships and oil tankers were still visible in the distance.

The architecturally designed property had been built in the 1930s, and Keith’s father, James, had taken ownership of it shortly after his marriage in 1955. James had relinquished residence of White Lodge ten years ago after the death of his wife, choosing to live in a bungalow approximately a mile away.

‘OK, well call me back in an hour, say, and let me know how you are getting on. If you can’t reach me for any reason, give Anna a call. Bye for now.’ Keith disconnected, stabbing at his phone with fury. ‘Christ,’ he muttered.

The Dutton wedding on Saturday was a large affair, over two hundred guests for the sit-down meal, followed by a further hundred and fifty for an evening party. The couple had booked the venue two years ago, and photographers would capture the whole event for a feature in a Kent Life magazine as well as the couple’s wedding album. Everything needed to go smoothly, and the favourable publicity should help bring in further business for years to come. Five days to go and they were short of staff to wait at tables and serve drinks. It was unbelievable that they were having to start scratching around for extra people at this late stage. At this rate, he and his wife, Anna would have to step in and work on the ‘shop floor’ as he thought of it. Today’s incident was a further example that Stacey would really need to up her game, otherwise, they might have to let her go or transfer her to a less stressful job in another of the Ellard businesses.

Keith glanced once again at his fitness tracker and climbed on to his exercise bike whilst he looked through his electronic calendar for the day ahead, wondering whether he could squeeze in an hour at the gym. After five minutes, he dismounted and opened the small window as the spring sunshine was gaining some strength and heating the south-east facing office. The property was ideally positioned to benefit from the solar panels which they’d had fitted a few years ago. Whether they were economically advantageous was a moot point but the fact that they were willing to embrace green technology at home and in their businesses, wherever architecturally possible, served to gain them some kudos in certain quarters.

A few years ago, he had contemplated installing a home gym so that he could partake of small bursts of exercise at any point during the working day, but he enjoyed the atmosphere of a communal gym, the company of fellow businessmen and the chance to network. Several other friends were in the hospitality business, and it was important to keep his pulse on developments and deals in the local area. His mobile rang.

‘Hi, Charlie!’ he answered breezily, slowing his pedalling to a gentle pace.

‘Morning, Mr Ellard, er, sorry to bother you but there’s a bit of a problem here I’m afraid.’

Keith sighed, another problem to sort out. Was there no end to it today? It had to be something serious for Charlie, the highly competent manager of The Vines to need to call him. This particular property, an upmarket wine and cocktail bar, was the latest acquisition to the Ellard group.

The bar had opened in time for the previous Christmas and was in the centre of Broadstairs, a quaint seaside town on the Kent coast. Unlike many resorts which had enjoyed their heyday in the Victorian era and were now looking slightly faded and past their best, Broadstairs had retained its charm and was thriving. There had been a resurgence in Britons holidaying at home, and the relative affordability of property prices had attracted many from London to relocate or buy weekend homes, controversial though that was with many local people in the area. Day-trippers also frequented the beautiful blue flag beaches in the summer, making the town centre bustle with life. Each August, the Folk Festival attracted many visitors, considerably boosting the takings at eateries, pubs and cafes.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked, dismounting and wandering over to his desk, where he picked up a pencil and began twirling it between his fingers.

‘Well, we had a leaking pipe, and the plumber fixed that, however, the water got into a bank of sockets, causing the electricity to trip out and...,’ he paused, ‘here’s where it gets a bit tricky.’

Keith could tell from Charlie’s tone when he began the story that this was going to be something out of the ordinary. He could feel all the energy draining from the room, and his trip to the gym would doubtless be postponed until that evening. ‘Carry on,’ he prompted.

‘Well, he had to take off all the panelling, and he reckons that some of the wiring doesn’t comply with regulations.’

‘What? But it was all checked and signed off? I don’t understand.’

‘No, neither do I, not completely. But he reckons that someone at the council made some mistakes signing off some electrical work. The error has only just been picked up, and we are due to get a letter about it very soon. So, the company I called out on the emergency, I should say that our usual electricians, Allens weren’t available, well the guy reckons it’s not safe as it’s in a public building. Not until they’ve done some checks which means we can’t open at lunchtime, or until they are completely sure it’s OK.’

Charlie waited for a response and feeling uncomfortable with the silence, added, ‘Sorry, I’m not explaining it very well, it’s just been a bit stressful here.’

‘No, it’s OK, I’m just thinking,’ replied Keith as he rubbed his hands over his lush mane of naturally curly light brown hair. He kept his hair immaculately trimmed each month, clipped short up the back but with longer layers on top. His fingers lingered on a springy curl on his crown, and he twisted it back and forth. He could feel his left eye begin to twitch, a sure sign that his stress levels were peaking.

‘I think it’s best if I come over, instead of carrying this on over the phone. I’ll be with you in about ten minutes.’ He inwardly suppressed his sigh of emotion and frustration. Charlie didn’t deserve any criticism, he was an able employee and soon might find himself manager of Cliff View instead of Stacey.

‘OK, thank you, Mr Ellard, see you soon.’

Keith disconnected, ‘Doesn’t it just get better and better?’ he muttered as he went to find his wife to update her with the latest disasters to befall their business. Mid-morning and already there were two problems to sort out, ‘Great fucking start to the week,’ he added as he ran down the wide staircase, jumping the last three steps, and wincing slightly at a twinge in his back. He stopped momentarily in his tracks as his hand strayed towards the protesting muscle, trying to pinpoint the tender spot.

‘Anna? Anna? Where are you?’ he called, walking towards the kitchen as his first port of call.

Chapter 2

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Michael Ellard nervously sipped his coffee as Gordon, his usual business advisor at the NatWest Bank in Canterbury, looked over the documents and jotted some figures down on a pad. This was the crunch meeting Michael had been dreading for weeks, and despite his positive pitch and upbeat manner, he had a horrible feeling of dread spreading through his body. His stomach had been churning that morning, and although it had settled once the appointment had started, he wasn’t holding out much hope of a favourable response.

‘So,’ said Gordon, looking up from the paperwork, ‘thanks for all the accounts and estimates, it’s a very comprehensive package.’

‘Yes, well I’ve managed to reduce the quote for the new roof and building work, and it’s now really competitive.’

Gordon smiled sympathetically. ‘I’m sure it is, however, looking at your projected turnover and current cash flow, the repayments on a further advance just don’t look manageable.’ He paused. These were always difficult conversations, made harder when it was a long-standing client. Until fairly recently, Michael had been a good customer, but the business was suffering badly from competition, and there was no visible plan in place to stem the falling turnover.

‘I acknowledge that we have lost some customers recently, but we feel that we can win them back. The new player on the scene might be benefiting in its location, but we pride ourselves on personal service, and we have a lot of older customers who value our advice.’

‘It’s hard, believe me, and I do understand how this has been a blow to you, but I just can’t see how you will be able to compete with the Park Pharmacy. It’s just so convenient for people to step out of the new super-hub surgery and into the adjacent building. There is ample parking and well,’ he shrugged as if reluctant to carry on labouring a point which his client knew only too well.

Michael sighed. Deep down he had anticipated this response, but he owed it to himself, if only for his self-respect to put his case forward.

‘In my report, I have indicated that we have had several customers returning to us as they felt we offered better advice. We are confident that we will recoup some of our lost turnover.’

‘I have read that information, but again, I have to reiterate that a further loan of fifty thousand in the current climate is just not possible. I’m very sorry. Our suggestion is to look for new premises which are within your budget and to look at putting Welling Road on the market.’

‘Who’s going to want to buy it in the current condition though? I’m hardly going to get enough to buy anywhere else, am I?’ Michael’s tone was verging on belligerent but what did it matter, what was there to lose?

Gordon flicked through the paperwork again, mainly to create a break in the discussion, rather than to glean any further information.

‘The Harker Street business is doing better and looks viable in its own right,’ said Gordon, positively, ‘however, the turnover is still not high enough to make up for the shortfall in Welling Road.’ He smiled weakly. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s the way the bank has to look at it.’

‘I get the message’ replied Michael, avoiding Gordon’s gaze.

‘Perhaps it might be time to consider a radical change?’

‘Sell up and retire you mean?’

‘Perhaps that would be the best option.’

Michael shook his head. He’d come to the meeting for business advice, not life counselling.

‘So, I should throw in the towel then? Even though I’m only fifty-eight?’

‘We are happy to manage your business account as it stands, it’s just the extra money which we aren’t able to advance,’ said Gordon, tactfully. He had years of experience of dealing with disappointed clients and knew how to avoid being drawn into a dispute which solved nothing.

‘Very generous of you,’ replied Michael, sarcastically.

‘I’m sorry we can’t be of further assistance,’ replied Gordon, gathering up the documents and lodging them in the Ellard folder.

‘So am I,’ said Michael, rising from his seat whilst avoiding Gordon’s gaze. ‘Thanks for your time.’

‘Not at all. I hope that you continue to see a return of customers to your shops. Shall we meet again in three months?’

‘Yes, providing I’m still in business.’

They shook hands and Michael left the room without waiting for Gordon to open the door for him. He would let Penny know the result of the meeting, but that would have to wait until he had put some distance between himself and the bank. He needed a drink or several before returning home, and fortunately, he’d had the sense to take the train that morning. Checking his phone for any missed calls from his shops, he wandered through the city to find a welcoming pub.

Chapter 3

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James Ellard, Keith’s eighty-five-year-old father, was meeting with his solicitor, Simon Frenlow.

‘More coffee?’ asked James. They were meeting in his bungalow rather than at the solicitor’s office in town. Although James was physically mobile, he had given up driving a few years ago and was clearly becoming frailer, so it was more convenient for Simon to come out to him.

The spacious bungalow was in a tranquil setting, surrounded by immaculately kept gardens about four hundred yards from the sea in Broadstairs. In addition to the deterioration in James’ physical condition, his short-term memory was clearly failing, and Simon had noticed a sudden change in the last few months. Evidence of his diminished mental capacity could be seen in the Telegraph crossword on the coffee table which had only a few completed clues. A year ago, James would have been able to complete it with ease, without recourse to word-checkers.

‘No, thanks, I’m fine, I’m trying to cut down a bit, but I don’t think I’m succeeding.’

‘I wouldn’t bother, one minute they say you should limit yourself to three cups a day or something like that, the next it’s the best thing to ward off cancer. I’ve no time for all the latest health ideas. I’ve got enough things to worry about as it is.’

‘You’ve probably got the best approach,’ replied Simon, ‘how are you, anyway, you look well?’

‘Thank you, that’s kind of you to say, but I can’t pretend that I feel in the best of health. At least I’m still reasonably mobile, so I mustn’t complain.’

Simon nodded. ‘Well, that’s good. It’s good you moved here when you did, so many people don’t plan ahead.’

‘Anyway, let’s get down to business.’

‘Yes, well, I’ve got the paperwork for the sale of the two properties and as we agreed I’ve drawn up the documents to put the proceeds into a bare trust, in favour of your three grandchildren.’

‘Yes, this is, er...’

‘Gladstone Road and Hailsham Avenue,’ prompted Simon.

‘Yes, that’s fine. Will Gerald handle the investment side as usual?’

‘Yes, he’s compiling a report which he’ll send through to you.’

‘Good. Well, that all seems in order. I’ll sign the transfer documents for the sales.’

Simon passed over the papers which had various pages marked with post-it notes. James uncapped his fountain pen which he’d used for many years and added his signature with a characteristic flourish.

‘Super,’ replied Simon. ‘Things should be completed in the next fortnight. It’s been very straightforward.’ He collected up the paperwork into his briefcase, then picked at a minute piece of fluff on his trousers as he wrestled with the desire to make a contentious statement.

James could sense that Simon, whom he regarded as a friend as well as a legal advisor, seemed troubled. The octogenarian had an inkling as to what was about to transpire, the hint had been there when Simon had steered the conversation around to health matters. The two had worked together for the past twenty years, and sometimes James felt, or even wished that Simon could be his son. He possessed some desirable attributes which Keith lacked. Namely an unflappable approach and an eloquent style of communication which was never abrasive or aggressive.

‘Did you want to discuss something else, Simon?’ asked James, raising an eyebrow in expectation.

‘Well, yes, I did, but I’m worried you might take it the wrong way.’

‘How about a drop of sherry? It’s almost lunchtime now.’

‘OK, why not, just a small one.’

James rose from his seat using his solid, leather-topped desk to help him and walked slowly over to the sideboard to pour two dry sherries.

‘Thanks. We’ve known each other a long time, and I speak as a friend as well as your solicitor,’ he paused, then drained most of his sherry in one gulp.

James nodded encouragingly and sipped his sherry.

‘The thing is, well, in a nutshell, so to speak,’ Simon paused, conscious that he was hesitating, ‘we need to plan for the future and think about whether we should consider passing over control of the Ellard family business to Keith.’

Simon’s speech had increased in speed slightly as it always did when he was nervous. The second half of the sentence had summarised the pertinent issue, but now he braced himself for the backlash. He had broached the matter ten years ago, and James’ response had confined the subject to the background where it had remained until now.

‘Another sherry?’

Simon looked at his almost empty glass and intended to resist, but his mouth answered affirmatively, ‘Yes, please.’

‘I would like to point out a few things, if I may?’ said James, seriously, as he sat back down and handed Simon his refilled glass. ‘Firstly, I am in no way losing my mental capacity.’

‘Oh, no, I didn’t mean to....,’ began Simon but he was silenced as James raised his hand.

‘Although I admit my memory might not be as good as it used to be. However, I doubt that it is much worse than anyone of my age?’

Simon knew that certain aspects of James’ mind were as good as they had been thirty years ago when they had first met, and he could bring to mind details of business deals in the past, but just recently he’d phoned on consecutive days asking the same question with no memory of the previous enquiry. Trying to get him to realise that would be a mammoth task, too great for this morning’s meeting.

‘It’s true. My health is deteriorating, but I’m reluctant to just hand over the whole of the family business to Keith. As you know, in the past there were a few issues, as one might describe them.’ James raised an eyebrow at Simon to emphasise his last point.

‘But that was years ago, he’s doing a sterling job nowadays, isn’t he?’

‘He is and I’m proud of him, but sometimes I just worry about him. He seems too hot-headed and stressed out. I’m not sure he could cope with extra responsibility.’

‘We are only talking about formalising things to make it easier when,’ he stopped abruptly.

‘When I die you mean?’

‘I well...,’ Simon paused, ‘we have to face facts, don’t we?’

‘We do indeed. I value your input, and you are right, however, we need to protect the business and include some clauses so that there are restrictions on how the money is spent, should Keith wish to make some changes. Do you think that would be possible?’

‘Well, I assume so, yes, I think that would be possible. I’d need to work on it, of course, depending on what you suggest.’

‘You know that my main concern is to protect the Ellard portfolio. At times I feel that Keith has a reckless streak.’

Simon remained quiet. He felt uncomfortable listening to criticism of family members.

‘You seem shocked?’ said James.

‘No, well, I’ll make sure I do what is best for the family, of course,’ replied Simon, evasively.

‘Do you know, at times I think Keith possesses some traits from the other side of the family. Uncle Sidney never was good with money. In fact, that whole side of the family never made anything of themselves.’

Simon felt this assault on family members who were in no position to defend themselves was grossly unfair. Besides, to claim that the other Ellards had never achieved anything was patently not true. James had many good points, and no one could deny how successful the Ellard family had been, but surely there was a time to forget past grudges? It was unfair on the current generation as they weren’t responsible for the actions of their forebears. As a solicitor he did as instructed, it wasn’t his job to question the reasons behind the directions he was given.

‘Thanks for coming over,’ said James, remaining seated, his voice had begun to sound tired.

‘My pleasure, I’ll see myself out,’ said Simon. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

James raised his hand. As he moved from his desk to an easy chair, he glanced through the window and saw Simon driving away. James relaxed in the chair, putting his head back, allowing his shoulders to drop. Though not completely bald, his hair was thinning rapidly, and a few silver strands were attached by static to the velvet-covered headrest. After two glasses of sherry on an empty stomach, he was feeling sleepy, and he soon drifted into the world between slumber and wakefulness. Sounds from outside; seagulls, a vehicle driving past and dogs barking penetrated his mind, mingling with memories of his late wife. The recent conversation with Simon had brought his family into focus, and as his mind relaxed he travelled back in time.

Images of family members loomed before him. Generations became blurred as personalities interchanged, producing confusing dialogues, some containing snippets of actual conversations. James was troubled, his head shook from side to side, and a few muffled cries escaped from his lips. Voices were distorted as if the words were echoing down a tube, rendering them indistinct.

James dozed for around fifteen minutes before his dream was interrupted by his housekeeper and carer, Wendy calling out a cheery, ‘Hello, Mr Ellard,’ as she returned to the bungalow to prepare his lunch.

Wendy poked her head around the door to James’ study.

‘Can I get you anything, Mr Ellard?’

‘No, thank you,’ he replied.

‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes, quite alright, Wendy. Why do you ask?’

‘Just checking you