53: Sparkwell's return

‘Where the hell are you?’ Said Charlie, down the line.

‘At the Villa.’

‘You’ve moved us!’

‘Only me and my stuff, take a look around, you’ll find you’re still fully intact. What’s that crash?’

‘I just dropped my fishing tackle. Oh, now I see, I think? The camera has gone from the treatment room I notice.’

‘Yes. I’m speaking to you from the Media Room, first-floor front. But anyway, I couldn’t move you without your consent, but then I couldn’t show you what you might wish to move to; without moving myself - if you see what I mean?’

‘That might be logical in your world but I’m not sure... I’ve only been gone a week; you must have been scheming this for ages.’

‘Well not really. The builders finished here the day after you left. You commandeered the car so I had to leg it to Jack’s for a courtesy vehicle and he was moaning about how much his lads were underemployed and suddenly I had a brainwave...’

‘Don’t bother.’

‘All done for free, payback for our road trip. Anyway, get yourself over here. It would appear I’ve got some even bigger news you may have reservations about.’

‘Oh my god, what?’

‘Have you been living in total isolation?’

‘Of course.’

‘Not listened to the news?’

‘Why would I?’

Charlie arrived rather recklessly. I’m sure some curtains must have twitched in the avenue. She practically ran up the path, clearly, she must have put the radio on. ‘Don’t you ever do that to me again. I almost crashed. Are you out of your mind? Talk about getting above yourself, and just what role in the proceedings had you got in mind for me?’

‘Firstly, the idea came from the top; secondly, they’ve asked for you, more or less full-time until the summer.’

‘But, but... You’ve only got six of the bedrooms in commission!’

‘Correction, we’ve got state rooms as grand as anything they’ll have ever known, they just need the dust blowing off.’

‘What!’

‘And if they’re not satisfied, they can make do with the servant’s quarters above.’

‘Seriously, Tony. What’s this all about?’

‘Buffy’s revenge, I think. His chance to stick it to the rest of the world.’

‘How?’

‘He wants us, as we are. The club. Right down to the regular menu.’

‘Well let’s pray they’re not here on a Thursday.’

‘Why?’

‘Well! I’m pleased you’ve forgotten, as chair of the Dining Committee you must have approved it once upon a time - Spotted Dick with lumpy custard.’

‘Oh yes. Happy days.’

‘So, you promised Prudence foreign statesmen, are you going to deliver an HRH too?’

‘Well, unknown as yet. But we do have a banqueting room familiar to their ancestors.’

‘Well, you’ve changed this room.’

‘Yes, back to what it must once have been. Ground floor front, therefore a literal reception room, somewhere to meet visitors and decide whether they should be allowed any further on to the premises.’

‘Do take a seat madam, I’ll see if the young master is at home.’

‘Or, do take a seat, whilst I prepare the treatment room, there’s mineral water on the sideboard.’

‘What?’

‘Step this way.’

‘How come it’s so light? And where’s the dining table, you said it was a genuine heirloom.’

‘The table is in three bits in one of the top floor bedrooms, only took the lads five minutes, it was designed to be taken apart. The ceiling and walls above the picture rail have new white paint and LED ceiling lights, see? And, this back wall is now white, whilst the remaining posh wallpaper has had some sort of damp spongy treatment, that brings back the original slightly reflective effect.’

‘The floor?’

‘That I admit is a bit of an indulgence, has to be sealed again apparently, when the wood has dried out a bit more. Oh, and the patio doors have been rehung and tinkered with, easy to leave ajar now, for fresh air and birdsong on spring mornings. So, moving on, only minor changes to the kitchen and pantry.’

‘Fresh paint and?’

‘Just a thorough clean-up really, food was quite a priority with the Aunt.’

‘What’s happened to the backdoor?’

‘Oh yes, I almost forgot, it has in fact been replaced. So, no more bolts but a dead lock as well as a sprung lock - now an alternative way to ingress and egress the property.’

‘Honestly this isn’t fair, you’ve been doing this to make me want to be here, rather than creating your own space. Now, it’s like I owe you!’

‘You haven’t seen upstairs yet.’

‘Oh cripes.’

‘So, master bedroom one, street facing, becomes proper family withdrawing room come library - henceforth to be known as the Media Room.’

‘Now that is cool.’

‘Well yes, and apart from Barmy’s garden shed I can’t think of one to beat it. Indeed, my wraparound screen is bigger that his.’

‘Looks like you’re still at the same place with your father’s documents as you were when they were downstairs?’

‘Yes, and likely to stay that way if I have to be hands-on with the Summit. Anyway, moving along, real master bedroom, garden facing with new improved bath and shower arrangements.’

I left a long pause, until she broke the silence; ‘All plumbed in, but no tiles yet.’

‘Correct.’

‘Well, I’m not signing-up for cleaning. Either you do it yourself or get someone in. And the car?’

‘Bernard is in negotiation to get Uncle Thomas’s mews garage back.’

‘Mews?’

‘At the confluence of the two back lanes that serve the avenue.’

‘Now you’ve lost me.’

‘An ancient, pre-historic version of a residents association, formed out of the freeholders, to look after the mews, the back lanes, the avenue, and the common lawn behind the trees.’

‘It’s all private? You wouldn’t know it.’

‘Long may it stay that way.’

‘You said you would be using last week to settle the reconstituting of the Trust!’

‘Well, that’s slightly delayed on account of it can only happen once Bernard and Brinkley have put their own semi-retirement plans into operation.’

‘You’re in charge, aren’t you?

‘Of course, but they have to do it all of their own free will and fly-off to the sun in the firm belief it was all their own idea.’

‘You know you said I’d have to find out about those two on my own. Well, I’ve discovered nothing, so perhaps you’d better come clean.’

‘All I know, all anyone knows - and this’s the point - is, you know that Art Deco block of flats between here and town? That’s where they live.’

‘Together?’

‘No. They each have a second floor flat; they live across the corridor from each other.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘And, about twenty-five years ago, when this arrangement began, they each went halves on a timeshare in Spain. The only gossip ever to emerge, is that they nearly always take annual leave at the same time.’

‘They don’t look the part, do they?’

‘I’m not sure that’s an appropriate question these days?’

‘You know what I mean! Brinkley looks positively, Dickensian.’

‘Indeed, the miserly clerk, sat on a high stool at one of those high desks. Whilst Bernard looks like the country squire, fresh from tearing a strip off the stable lad.’

‘So, what happens, they keep their financial stake in the whole set-up I take it?’

‘Absolutely. They just hand over most of their clients to the staff they’ve been bringing along the last couple of years, with the exception of the Trust, the Park and the club accounts. If you go to the websites of Brinkley Associates, and Merriweather and Stollard, you will find them describing themselves as Consulting Accountant and Consulting Solicitor respectively.’

An afterword to book one

There have been suggestions, more or less from the start, that this blog should carry some sort of disclaimer. You know the sort of thing, ‘..all characters are fictitious and bear no resemblance to real personages, alive or dead’. Equally, calls have been heard for an explicit recognition of the writing’s literary antecedence, of its clearly derivative nature. Some have gone so far as to assert it borders on plagiarism and that surely some copyright law must have been breached.

My reply is; ‘Guilty, your honour! Of all charges.’ There is nothing original in it at all. All the words are borrowed, but barring a few half sentences, not used in the same order. I’ll go further and say this is true of all writing, for all time. We are a social species, everything we know has come about as the result of one brain learning from another, a recombination of the thoughts, feelings and ideas of others.

‘So, how did it all come about?’ I hear you ask. Well, one day a few years ago, the thought occurred to me that in writing the Jeeves stories, Wodehouse was deliberately turning the concept of Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes on its head! The grim reality of criminality, is replaced by a world of fantasy and fun. The brains are given to the sidekick, rather than the principal, whilst the narrator remains the fool. Sometime later, I found myself cogitating on whether there could be a modern version of the Jeeves, Wooster relationship - after about three days I concluded there could not. However, in the process I was left with those few aspects of their partnership which just might be plausible.

One aspect of the double act, as portrayed in the short episodic form of a magazine serial, which surely would not survive these days, is the notion of individuals having a persistent and enduring character, someone who doesn’t change over time, indeed who appears to stop time itself. Yet in truth, all double acts learn from each other and become more similar over time. The comfort of certainty, just didn’t seem credible today.

The short form of the magazine serial seemed also to have an equivalence with the blogpost. Modern distractibility suggested maximum dialogue with the minimum of description - along with a word limit of fifteen hundred. ‘But from whom does he take his inspiration?!’ I hear you cry. Well, it is my first attempt at fiction, so better to stick to what one knows. And after all, at the end of the day, you can only hope to be humorous if you are writing about what has made you, laugh.

Those of you who know me personally, or indeed those who have read my other blogs, know I’ve spent a time-rich, if not financially rich, lifetime haunting cafes - using them to read, write and socialise. Over the years I’ve struck up a number of acquaintanceships with waitresses. And yes, one had done a degree in sports science, and another was a yoga instructor who was also certificated in various forms of massage.

And of politics and the minor aristocracy seen from the perspective of the nouveau riche? Well, like many ordinary folk of the late 20^th century I’ve seen the inside of more country piles than I care to remember. I was state educated, but as a teenager did do a couple of short summer courses at public schools, the names of which would be familiar to many of you. Again, given what I’ve written elsewhere, I can hardly deny an over familiarity with Waugh, Powell and Greene. As for politicians they’re everywhere, in increasing numbers, in person and in the media - more and more is known about them, at a time when they seem to achieve less and less. Or is that all changing as I write?