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Mum's computer screen refreshed to display the latest genealogy sites, Burke’s and Debrett’s Peerages, and Excel spreadsheets. ‘You know I’ll find something; I’ve never been wrong yet,’ she promised.
She was right and I had full confidence in her abilities of research and detection. As I left the room to make us both a coffee, I could see her purchasing a Marriage Certificate for ‘Buckmaster-Brown’ ...
There was only one week to go until the event at Jo Malone and Lulu Guinness would take place at the Royal Exchange in the City of London. I had just arrived at Earls Court Exhibition Centre in London to meet with some interior designers and FF&E manufacturers, when my phone rang. The call was from Donald Ealand: General Manager of Chiltern Valley Chiltern Valley Winery & Brewery, based in Henley-on-Thames.
Fieldings Game & Country had been asked to supply The Home Club ’s guests with their fine cuisine after I had been impressed by the genuine top-quality service provided by Will and his family at the Game Fair and by the taste of his food – which was different, interesting and absolutely delicious. Will had introduced me to Donald, who would accompany Fieldings’ canapés with fine wines and liqueurs.
I had my guest list planned. On the list were: Maja, a beautiful Swedish model; Ciara, an gorgeous actress and model; Sulekha, also a model; Louise, a scientist working on cures for cancer at the Marsden Hospital in Chelsea and also a part time actress; two girls from Bentley; my sister-in-law; and a couple of fashionistas.
Also attending were: an haute couture fashion designer called Peter, who had impressed me with his experience at Armani and Dior before having his own atelier in Savile Row, London
As I was standing outside the Lulu Guinness store, talking with Peter and welcoming my guests, Will placed an unopened bottle of white wine between Peter and I and said, ‘Donald was truly sorry and, in the hope that he retains the relationship with The Home Club he has given me two crates of Chiltern’s latest creation before it has been given to Her Majesty the Queen.’
An Italian Architect who flew in from Venice that afternoon after working on the Doge’s Palace (along with his friend and fellow Italian, a tech entrepreneur); Jeremy Sutton; and my two brothers.
The evening was full of fun and frolics, in the company by the most beautiful people.
The women at the event were led upstairs at Jo Malone’s to be pampered.
They returned to the group grinning from ear to ear, before being handed pigeon canapés, scallops, and blood orange liqueur, which accompanied the delicious white wine.
We were all having so much fun, we decided to extend the evening at The Ned hotel, followed by taking a private table at The Brasserie, a modern European restaurant and circular bar with a domed skylight in a former bank building on Lombard Street.
We all sat chatting and I took interest in Louise, who reminded me that she had bought her beautiful red dress exclusively for the event. We exchanged numbers and decided to meet.
Louise Renouf is very attractive, tall, long blonde hair and has a feminine, down-to-earth nature. Added to that, she is smart, working on cancer treatments as a biologist, before taking some time to pursue her interest in acting and modelling. I was very keen to meet with her again and told her as much when we met again in Chelsea.
Henry, Echo and others had been negligent when making representations regarding VAT. The full details retain the oddities of the tread of corruption and injustice and now with an intentional concentration on bringing my company down and myself along with it. The dark forces were now frimly into yet another of my bsinesses and doing all they could to stop me from earning and bringing this story into the public arena.
Imagine how I might have suffered at the hands of HMRC as they yet again failed to carry out a proper review. HMRC had no idea of how I had prevented their embarrassment (and potential closure) from the information I received via Justice on Appeal and, later, on account of the information released to me by Alan Hunt whilst we were at HMP Blundeston. All of which, will be openly disclosed if challenged on the point. If uinchallenged, then it is naturally accepted. Gauntlet firmly down HMRC & Ors! (others)
With a little weight off my shoulders and time to play, I began to visit the tennis club more often. I thought more about Wendy and what excuse I would have make this time for not meeting up with her. I’m no prude, but I wasn’t feeling good about the situation. Every time I saw her at social tennis evenings, her skirt got shorter and her top tighter, as I made yet another excuse and apology, before relenting to arrange another plan to meet.
One Wednesday evening at social tennis, I was guided by Ross (the new Tennis Coach at TWC) to team up as Wendy’s double partner. I placed my sports bag on a chair placed between the clay courts and walked over to Wendy, noticing that she remained quiet and a little cold, which was out of character for her.
I tried to lighten the mood and cheer her up by making a few jokey comments to her, trying to make her laugh.
Eventually I raised a polite smile, before she said. ‘I suppose that I have to settle for the moment we shared at my party as our final moment together, then?’ as she walked close by me, looking at me before she went to the back of the court to collect the balls for serving.
‘Oh, so we’re playing, now are we?’ I replied with a smile, squatting down close to the net as she threw the ball up to serve, hoping to recover the situation.
I knew that this was my last chance if I wanted something to happen with Wendy. She then served me a reply, an ace, ‘I thought that you were a man of honour, doing what you say you will do, you have the badge don’t you?’
Ouch! It was 15-0 on the banter scoreboard and she was in front.
Now she really was back on form, releasing some pent-up frustration and giving me what I deserved before adding, ‘Men of honour don’t make promises they can’t see through and to do it to a woman. Well, I really don’t know what to say!’ - It was now 30-0
‘Okay, I know I deserve it, but the banter is too good and I know you’re enjoying it far too much’ I replied, going on the defensive, and as she tried to refrain from smiling.
Almost instantly we were getting back to normal: 30-15.
‘Let’s make a plan for next week,’ I threw out there, she looked at me and smiled, eyebrow raised inquisitively. 30-30 was now the score now, as she almost fell over the net laughing.
In trying a proverbial lob, I had just placed my proverbial tennis ball in position for her to smash a shot wherever she wanted to place it.
‘Oh, do you mean that you’re actually going to turn up next time and not wait for me to spend hours doing my hair, makeup and making myself look nice for you?’ 40-30, in her favour.
‘Is that it? Mr Honour, Patrick Honour,’ she said, as her final shot and She had won the game.
She was having a great time at my expense and I joined her in laughing out loud, as all I could do was to accept the situation, before adding, ‘I thought that you wanted that surprise. I suppose that you must be bored of my promises and you aren't interested in what I might have for you.’
Her mood changed: her nose began to wrinkle, and she walked up to me placing her right hand on my heart and said, ‘Last chance, take it or don’t take it, as you may never know what you’ve missed’.
‘I’ll see you here at 2.00 pm next Friday in the sports hall,’ I replied, immediately
We played out the rest of the set in near silence, as a more serious tone had settled into the artificial clay.
The heat of what was potentially to come was clearly in both our minds.
I was quite distant all week until Friday came around, as I felt just as uneasy as I had each of the previous times. I knew, however, that if I cancelled one more time, I would never find out what might have been with Wendy. I was daydreaming now, convincing myself to go through with it. After all, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I bought a bottle of tequila, lemons, salt and two small shot glasses before cycling down Church Road into the Club. I was early, and the entered the sports hall in almost pitch darkness. There are heavy, green, floor-to-ceiling curtains at each end of the hall and bare blockwork in between, which contained one tennis court, a few wooden chairs, and a single table between them.
I placed my bag on the chair, and set out the tequila and accompaniments, before covering them with a towel.
It was 1.55 pm, and she hadn’t turned up. I wondered if she had decided to teach me a lesson. As the thought crossed my mind, I heard a buzz from the coded lock and thought that she had arrived.
‘Hello?’ I heard a voice coming in through the door, but it was the tennis coach.
‘Oh, have you taken this court now?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ I replied. and he left.
The lock was soon buzzing again, and this time it was Wendy who entered the hall.
‘So sorry I’m late,’ she began, all flustered. ‘I’ve had the team looking over my place this morning, as he’s renting it for the Tennis Championships again. I thought that you might think that I wasn’t turning up and leave.’
‘No, what on earth made you think that?’ I replied.
She took off her tracksuit top and was about to begin in her leggings, before I lifted the towel I said, ‘To us, and to tennis,’ grinning away like a Cheshire Cat.
‘Oh, tequila!’ she said, taking the glass, shocked, yet smiling,
We touched glasses whilst I made the toast before we began to play.
She was a little nervous, out of her comfort zone, and as the first game drew to a close, I thought to play an accompanying game of my own.
‘Have you ever played Tequila Tennis before?’ I asked
‘No…’ she began but could see from my smile that I was inventing the game as I went along.
‘Great,’ I replied. ‘Let me show you’
We both went to the table again and took another glass.
The alcohol was soon taking effect and, as we relaxed, we were reminded about why we were there. I could see and feel that, as we looked at each other, we were wondering if we should do what was on both of our minds there and then. We went back on to court, however, and continued to play.
As I’ve mentioned before, Wendy is petite, blonde with shoulder length hair, attractive, fit and cute – and can match any man drink for drink, when she is allowed to do so, that is. She was often told how much she could drink by her referred' controlling partner, Luigi.
She was in the mood now – we both were – and when the next game ended, she began walking towards me, expecting to take another sip, when instead of pouring one, I thought to tease her by saying, ‘Two games before the next one and if you beat me this game, something else’.
She was now playing as many games as I could invent, and we were having so much fun. Oddly my game improved, which it really had to as she was determined to make me sweat by running me all over the court, demanding my surprise. As the final point concluded, she came over to me smiling, ‘I’m ready!’
We then met at the table. I poured her another glass and handed it to her.
‘A small kiss is customary with the next one,’ I said, as she was looking all around for a CCTV camera before leaning forward for a gentle solitary kiss.
She took off her leggings, changed into her short tennis skirt, downed the tequila and ran back to serve for the next game. Now she was teasing me.
We only had an hour together, as she was due home to get dressed, as she and Luigi were going to the Wimbledon Ball that evening. Another tequila was followed by another kiss, each time lasting a little longer: within 45 minutes, we had finished the whole bottle – and played a few games of tennis, too.
I wanted to make sure she got home on time and she looked a little dismayed. I hit two or three balls into the curtains at the back of the court and invited her to help me collect them. We walked across and, once there, I threw the curtains around us, so we were enclosed in a small area, just enough to keep us both squeezed tightly together.
We made the most of our little remaining time, but as we left, she was pining to stay. I asked her to join me for ‘one drink’ in the bar, and she agreed. As Wendy was the local sweetheart of Wimbledon, and knew absolutely everyone, I knew that her being alone at the club with another man would turn people’s heads.
After four or five drinks, and twice as many texts and missed calls, one of The Wimbledon Club’s members – former British No. 1, Buster Mottram – entered and, having no idea what was going on (and as is usual at the club), came over and joined us. Wendy soon left for home and to get ready for the Wimbledon Ball.
I bought Buster and me a few drinks and we sat chatting about The Home Club for a while before I left.
I’ll never forget our plan to chat the following day. I stood on the terrace at the tennis club whilst she took a spare office in work in London Bridge, when we both excused our behaviour, knowing that our relationship was about to get even more serious. I asked her to let me know which days were convenient for her to meet.
She replied that she could arrange to be with me at my place any anytime during the day other than when she had appointments, including her usual Monday shift at Ernst & Young’s London Bridge office. We put the date of 11 November in our diaries: 12.00 pm being the meeting time – and then we both waited, patiently and intently.
(Pictured right Buster Mottram)
I was still being invited to many exclusive events, with everyone asking about The Home Club how it started and where it was going. I rarely spent time explaining the gist of my history with more than three people at a time.
As my story, and the origins of The Home Club are complicated, and resolved to publish a magazine-style, feature summary in print whilst prepared to release a book in future. I wrote glossy overview of my life, added some photos, and published the document at the digital magazine platform, Issuu.
As soon as the feature went live, I received an email from Mr Andrew Gillett, a Solicitor at Jarmans Solicitors, based in Sittingbourne, which was the same solicitor’s firm as that of Nicola Manning. The content of the letter can be summarised as a threat in that, if I continued to post the names of the 13 Brand Ambassadors and Associates in my online publication. Unless I removed their names immediately by amending the publication, then I would be sued.
It was at that exact moment that I realised that all 13 of The Home Club ’s previous team were colluding together, yet I had no idea about their future plans or when the collusion had begun, only the words from Ria and the odd excuses given for each of them leaving The Home Club .
I had advanced insight as to how to uncover a potential conspiracy from my experience of reflecting on the outcomes of my previous trial. What was it that the dark forces wanted to remain hidden? Who was in charge and how could I uncover the full details of what was going on. I was already aware of the intent by the police to fabricate criminal cases against my brothers and myself. I was on the Police - Holmes Database beign tracked constantly and if there needed to be anything else, who might it be, I wondered... I returned to my mum's home to get into some detailed research into the background of each of The Home Club characters and then received a 'without prejudice' letter from the lawyers of Home House threatening litigation as their claim was that The Home Club was too similar to Home House. I replied and heard no more. I had no idea what was going on behind the scenes, but as with my brother's case and the foundation of Justice on Appeal, I was getting sharper and it was only a matter of time (and some luck) that I would uncover the fullness of this conspiracy.
Disclosure would be a major factor: although I had copies of all the emails between them that I was copied into, there would certainly be many more, now that I knew they were acting together. I also realised I had to lead them all to believe that I had addressed Mr Gillett’s email and moved on. As they had come forward, I now had insight into who to review further. It would be easier to name those that Mr Gillett was not acting for: Villa; Rick; Kaja; Barbara; Alex; and Victoria. The 13 others were Jarmans’ clients. There was no one left in The Home Club team and I was left alone to pick up the pieces. I was determined to uncover what had been going on, yet all I had to work with was this one lead. Mr Gillett’s first mistake opened the door to the truth a little.
I had left my riverside apartment and was staying in Wimbledon whilst I looked for a new place to live. The accumulating legal fees and the damages inflicted on my business were causing me to consider litigation against the entire team: not only Buckmaster-Brown and Dalgleish, but also the other Brand Ambassadors and Associates for their breaches of contract.
Wendy returned from her holidays and immediately went back to work. We planned to meet for lunch at the elegant, 19th-century former tea warehouse alongside Tower Bridge that serves classic French cuisine: Le Pont de la Tour.
We had the most amazing lunch overlooking Tower Bridge, which included champagne cocktails, oysters and a rare port wine to cap off the meal. Wendy had to return to work before we met again later that evening, at the Ivy Café in Wimbledon Village.
I also had a pre-planned meeting at The Ned with an expert in Fabergé jewellery and fine art. After a couple of further drinks, he wanted to carry out the PR for The Home Club which I said I would consider. The Home Club really didn’t need any PR, as the word was already out and interest still coming in – although most of that interest was from people I would not consider for membership. The Home Club isn’t a ‘buy-your-way-in’ club: it has the smallest conversion rate for new members, at less than 5 per cent of submissions.
I left The Ned and jumped into an Uber to meet up with Wendy and friends, realising that we would have to maintain a ‘friends’ façade and keep our hands to ourselves, even if only out in public at her local venue.
I was introduced to Sandra Strachan, who claimed to be the Editor in Chief at Lady Wimbledon magazine.
The fact that she built up her profile intrigued me, yet, she made little lasting impression by dropping as many names as she could recall. Lady Brocklebank, Lord Buckmaster-Brown and now Lady Wimbledon: ‘I’m connecting with so many people in Burke’s Peerage,’ I thought to myself.
I was then photographed with Wimbledon’s Darling magazine’s editor, Katrine Torr, who was a close friend of Wendy’s. Katrine was lovely, open and real. We spoke for quite some time as I stood opposite Wendy, feeling her look at me from the corner of her eye. When I turned to catch gaze, she gave me a smile and a ‘can’t wait until tomorrow’ look, which I reciprocated. The evening ended with a parting yet lingering kiss on Wendy’s cheeks.
I left the venue looking forward to Wendy’s arrival at my home at the usual time the following day.
My life was started to spiral out of control: life was in no way back to normal. On the one hand, all I could hear was ‘how do we join The Home Club and on the other hand – possibly due to my preoccupied position with dramas and fun, plus spinning a few plates in the air at once – I was dealing with multiple legal issues.
I called on Mishcon de Reya to review the contract: after reading the papers and evidence, the firm confirmed what I already knew – both Lord Buckmaster-Brown and Russell Dalgleish were in breach of contract.
No sooner had I found a notable and respected legal firm, than it transpired there was a conflict issue with one of the names in The Home Club ’s previous team, so I had to look for yet another legal team.
By pure chance, via a Google search, I found another highly regarded, London law firm: Shepherd and Wedderburn LLP at St. Pauls in the City of London.
I spoke with Douglas Campbell, who took all my legal papers and – along with Ben Pilbrow – asked me to meet at their London offices to discuss matters. We met in the boardroom and I was given their recital of the basics of contract law and that they were interested in taking on the case as, in their view, it had merits.
I left the meeting pleased to finally have a law firm on board that was confident of the prospects for success in the case. I was therefore surprised to receive their email on the following day,
‘Darren
It was good to see you yesterday and to speak to you on the phone this morning. I hope it was worthwhile from your perspective to talk the various issues through …
Since our discussion this morning, the conflict checks have come back and we seemingly have a commercial conflict with Russell, as I believe he runs a network with which our corporate department is involved. On that basis, I think we probably aren’t able to prepare the letter of claim for you in this instance …
I am sorry that we can’t help you, either in securing funding or in relation to the letter of claim. It was great to meet you and if we can be of any help in the future, please let me know. Equally, I am happy to introduce you to some of my colleagues in the corporate, property or any other departments, if that would be useful for your various business ventures going forward.’
I wondered how they could have missed this, as surely, they were to carry out a conflict check ‘before’ taking instructions and to review legal papers.
When I asked the firm to both explain and to give the name of the organisation that had caused the conflict, I received the following reply,
‘Darren
The organisation is called the Scottish London Business Network and we periodically host events for them at our offices. I believe Russell set up and now runs the network and the firm is involved as part of a wider programme integrating and cross-selling our services north and south of the border.
Neither Ben nor I had heard of either Russell or Michael (and neither of us has been involved in the Scottish Business Network). I reviewed our systems when you had sent only the high-level details, but in relation to MJB only. It was only when going through the entire papers that I came across their names (though they did not mean anything to me). Until yesterday, I thought you may have an ongoing relationship with Russell and Michael, so a claim against them would not be an option. This afternoon Russell’s name was flagged on the conflict check (carried out be me), which relates to names only. Beyond Ben and me, others do not know the details of your matter.’
(Douglas Campbell - pictured left)
What are the chances of all this I thought and yet, I couldn’t do anything about it. The Lord Mayor’s office was among the few entities that retained a straight line: I enjoyed another great breakfast with the new Lord Mayor, the Rt Hon. Charles Bowman, Lord Mayor of the City of London where I sat chatting to a businessman named Sean, to whom I chatted briefly as we exchanged business cards. I brought Wendy along with me, so that we could travel back to Wimbledon together for the rest of the afternoon in bed.
I met with many people at the City Giving Day breakfast and arranged to meet up with Mr Sean Taylor for lunch at the 1776 restaurant in Lombard Street on 12 February 2018. It was whilst we were discussing my background, fraud conviction and then The Home Club that he mentioned he had previously trained at Sandhurst Royal Military Academy. I decided to ask him whether he knew anything about Buckmaster-Brown. Sean said he would find out for me and send me an email with any details.
Over time, I had several expressions of interest from people working for well-known and respected concierge and lifestyle companies: they contacted me, looking for a change of direction. Jeremy Sutton had left Quintessentially to form his own travel company, as had many others from that organisation. I was glad to meet with Miss Julie Benjamini, who had previously had roles with Quintessentially as Head of Corporate Accounts in Russia and Managing Director of the lifestyle team in Azerbaijan.
We initially met at the tennis club to discuss potential business opportunities, as I was rebuilding The Home Club team and thought that her experience could position her as a potential Director or Managing Director.
She was helpful in allowing me to understand the inner workings of Quintessentially and about how their brand offered opportunities with associated partners. I wasn’t so keen to continue discussions with her at that time but decided to meet her again at The Ned hotel to try and find a way to do business together.
(Julie Benjaminini - pictured left)
I was acutely aware of the desire of luxury hotels to taking over business from private members clubs. Although there are 53 or so of these clubs in London, it is a very competitive marketplace, with only a handful serving the real needs and wants of new and repeat members. In my research, senior account managers at some of London’s private members clubs told me that the renewal of membership subscriptions was a real problem. I could see an opening in the market, so I decided to solve such problems and forge new relationships.
I was introduced to Mr Cesco Righetti, Finance Director at Bvlgari Hotel in Knightsbridge.
On my arrival, I understood that although anyone would be able to guess what kind of hotel this was due to the brand name, experiencing the venue only added to those expectations – and this was at the very heart of Knightsbridge.
I was shown around the hotel, the suites, and the spa, during a full tour conducted by Cesco.
We discussed The Home Club having an area dedicated to its members, from where they could access all that the hotel had to offer on a VIP-status level. I said I would consider the option and revert later, but my interest at that moment was to address the renewals market and forge relationships with all of the private members clubs and their members, filtering out those that might fit The Home Club brand to experience the added value of my trusted community.
Before I left, Cesco asked that I speak with his wife, Flavia Brutti-Righetti, at the Franklin Hotel, which was also five-star hotel located in Knightsbridge. After being given her details, I arranged to meet with her there.
The following day emailed me the following message from Sean Taylor, which was very intriguing,
‘Darren
There is no record of anyone of that name commissioning at RMAS on a Regular Course and we have also checked the Army lists 1983-1999 – ‘Buckmaster’ is pretty easy to check. We also checked just plain ‘Brown’ – there was an MP Brown commissioned into the TA Signals 23.05.1995, but it seems a bit old at 30. Of course, he could have enlisted under a slightly different name – or had an ACF commission. My gut feeling says probably not commissioned, and certainly not a regular’
Was Sean suggesting that Michael was not an officer in the military at Sandhurst Military Academy, and that I had in some way been hoodwinked. Michael had been so convincing, and Mei Sim had introduced us – and she was no fool. He even looked a little bit like the former British Prime Minister and knew so much about military issues, not only recent history but throughout the ages. I had to rethink whether Buckmaster-Brown was for real or not.
Surely this was not another case of a fake name being used, in the same way as Scott and Keri Jamieson, and Jeremy Poyntz?
Was Buckmaster-Brown a fake Lord? Had he mislead me into contract? What would he gain from his position as Chairman? Had Buckmaster-Brown, Dalgleish and Ors (others) infiltrated my company to understand its assets and IP and then forward it to a contact of theirs...?
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