91: The sun always rises

‘If tweed is for the country, and you always wear it at Checkley, why do you never wear it at the Park, which is just as much the country?’

‘At the club, I never wear tweed at the club, but I do occasionally wear it around the Park.’

‘That doesn’t answer my question!’

‘The club is, in essence, the town, in spirit.’

‘Very good, sir. I’ll lay out our clothes for the summer hols.’

It was the day of our departure for Checkley Manor. We were a few minutes from leaving when the inevitable finally happened. And it was I, who happened to be closest to the front door.

‘Anthony Arlington, I presume.’ Said the man at the door.

‘Who wants to know?’

‘I’ve been on the road for four hours; I’m not playing games. Is my daughter here?’

‘Ah! So, you’re claiming to be Charles Sparkwell, barrister at law?’

‘The very same. I’m not here for an argument, I just need to speak to Charlotte as a matter of urgency.’

‘Well, you’d better come in then. Do go on through to the reception room.’

He paused, somewhat abruptly, when he saw our cover stories from The Beacon; ‘You actually celebrate my daughter’s appearance in the public prints?’

‘Oh, indeed. A great source of pride.’

‘But it’s the country’s most notorious tabloid!’

‘It also has the largest circulation of any paper and their executive editor is a big fan of Charlie, do come on through.’

As soon as Sparkwell senior was seated and I’d taken my usual seat, I said; ‘When last seen, Charlotte was closing off the upper part of the house, we’re due to leave for our summer holidays within the hour. No doubt she’ll join us in a moment.’

‘Aren’t you going to call her?’

‘No, I generally find she appears when required. When she does, I’ll leave you alone to talk.’

‘Stay where you are Tony, I’d be glad of a witness.’ As anticipated, she’d clearly been skulking; ‘You almost missed us; we’ll be gone in minutes. You should have messaged.’

‘I’ll come straight to the point then. Your mother is dying.’

‘What! What of?’

‘Nobody knows, the medical authorities are at a total loss.’

‘Then how do you know she’s dying?’

‘Very well, she believes her time has come. She’s in distress and says she wishes to see you one last time. It’s all very upsetting. You may be able to calm her.’

‘Does she look ill?’

‘Well, she’s not been sleeping well, slow to rise, somewhat listless whilst going about her household chores.’

‘Well, we’re on a schedule. What do you think Tony?’

‘Checkley Manor is kind of en route, you could deliver me there, offer your apologies to uncle and auntie, then proceed up country later today.’

‘Excellent idea.’

‘But I have my car outside.’

‘Father, I simply refuse to be a passenger in your car, you’re not the greatest of drivers at the best of times. You can tell mother I’ll be along as soon as I can.’

‘Very well.’

‘That was a bit of a shock!’ So said Charlie as we observed her father drive away.

‘Let’s get out of here, we can talk on the way.’

‘Okay.’

‘Go to the mews, work the switch with the cars. You’ll be safer in number one car should you become distracted. I’ll lock the back gate behind you.’

‘Thank goodness you were here. There’s a load of stuff I ought to tell you.’

‘If I had to bet, I’ll be back within forty-eight hours. Still, I’ll phone mother from Checkley, try and assess a bit. They wind each other up, but they always calm down when I’m there. That’s the worst of it. I become the focus of attention, of concern, scapegoating as the therapists used to say. Now I’m doing well, they’re kind of lost. There’s more to this than meets the eye. Fact is, father married above himself, the house was a wedding present from Mum’s family. She made a Will, years ago, leaving what she had to me. She said at the time, it’s not much, just her building society account. She always claimed father could fend for himself. Henry Walpole is right about father, he always went for the money briefs. But I don’t know, and this never occurred to me until I got to know you, and your way of thinking, I wonder if the house isn’t in Mum’s name and he knows it.’

‘Oh, right. Does your father read The Times?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘Well, I think they still print the complete honours list, don’t they?’

‘Oh, God!’

‘Since the award is coming from our community your mother may think she’s lost you for good. No, perhaps that’s over the top. Pointless speculating with so little information.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. When father got keen about my marriage prospects, the thought occurred to me he was thinking of his own future financial wellbeing.’

‘Ha! No, best change the subject.’

Uncle was meek, and mild, when Charlotte explained her predicament. He merely suggested she should eat something and rest up a while. She said she’d phone her mother first. When she joined us again, she declared; ‘Well that’s as clear as mud!’ We all looked up expectantly. ‘She just sounded her usual self, but said she felt like she was at death’s door. I told her father was returning, and I’d be along later, she just replied, “bless you, darling”. You can’t tell sod all. What would you do Tony?’

‘God knows! You could just treat them both as if they were clients coming to you for a treatment. Though I suppose that’s easier said than done.’

‘I’ll sort myself out, then be gone.’

Later that day, uncle called me into the library; ‘Now, sit down young man, I’ve news for you. Might as well tell you whilst Charlotte’s not here, I’ve left all my worldly goods to your aunt. Now what do you make of that?’

‘Sounds like a perfectly rational thing to do.’

‘Which means, in the fullness of time, you’ll cop for the lot.’

‘Yes, but that’s not the beginning and end of it all, is it? I mean, if you drop dead fairly soon, Julia could have quite a long stewardship. I might only inherit at the very end of my life.’

‘Nothing to stop you making useful suggestions, spend as much time here as you like. Charlotte too. You’ve not made a new Will then? Since she came on the scene I mean?’

‘No. Everything goes to the Trust as before, but we have new green terms of reference for what would, is, now more or less, an entirely charitable concern. I don’t need to be worried about Charlie because she is tied to the Trust, she wouldn’t go unsupported if I dropped off the twig. Besides, she’s accumulating savings of her own now. Tell me, does death come in to everything after the age of fifty? Seems to me half my life is tied-up with other people’s Wills!’

‘My dear fellow, had you been born into the landed aristocracy, you’d have found your entire life, from cradle to grave, had been mapped out by the inheritance of previous generations.’

On the second morning, as I was piling a goodly helping of the Checkley plum preserve onto my breakfast toast, I looked up to see Julia giving me a suspicious look. ‘What?’

‘You did that yesterday too.’ She remarked.

‘Well, when the cat’s away. Excellent jam, you’ve not lost your touch.’

‘Don’t thank me, thank Mrs Gregson, I had help.’

My device pinged; ‘It looks like she was right. Forty-eight hours she said. Says she’s leaving now.’

‘Of course, she’s right. She’s always right.’ Said Julia.

‘I beg your pardon! What can you mean?’

‘Well, everyone ends up doing the right thing when she’s around, even you.’

‘Ends-up?’

‘Yes, you start off with some pretty dubious scheme, but by the end of it, it comes right, because of her.’

‘Umm. “Sparkwell, will see you right!” I could market that.’

‘Fatuous, that’s your problem. Have you ever heard Charlotte make a fatuous remark?’

‘Not in public, I suppose.’

‘Well, there you are then.’

I was in the walled garden when Charlie appeared. She stood a moment, looking around. ‘All right?’ I enquired.

‘Yes. By last night they seemed their normal selves, so... You, me, this, the Park, the Villa, it’s so much more real. Mother complimented me on being well dressed, that was a first!’

‘The world is back on it’s right axis then.’

‘Where the sun always rises.’

End of season seven.

90: Nest of spies

‘Well?’

‘Well, what?’ I replied.

‘What’s on?’

‘Nothing’s on.’

‘With you, something is always on.’

‘Today we simply wait to see what the day brings forth.’

‘Sod that, nothing comes of nothing. Time to get moving!’

‘No post?’ I asked.

‘No post. Online?’

‘Nothing stirs, at least nothing human!’

‘I’ve summoned Melisa, to be here by tea time.’ Announced Charlie as we were consuming our meagre lunchtime rations. ‘She can pick-up her copy of the placement report, check it over, before the other one goes in the post to her headmaster.’

‘At least she has a headmaster, that’s something. Or headmistress, I mean, rather than some other silly, ungendered title.’

‘Shut the door quickly. I think I’m being followed.’ Melisa scurried to the reception room window and peered down the street.

‘And whom do you fear is spying on you?’ I asked.

‘The family of course.’

‘Ah! Well, you’re a child, you should be used to that.’

‘Yes, but they’re all so evasive when you ask questions.’

‘Come on up to the media room, we’ll talk before tea.’

‘It would be highly unusual if anyone in your family was physically following you. Your father provided you with a top of the range mobile, he’s almost certainly set it up, so he knows your location, and if you’re here that’s no problem.’

‘What’s that?’ She asked looking at what I’d just put on the screen.

‘Your father’s mobile is on, and is in the garden shed at this very moment.’

‘Oh, my god!’

‘It’s okay, we’ve been playing this game for years. But he will know what I just did. It’s the way our network is set up. I mean there will be masses more you can do with your mobile in years to come if you care to learn how.’

‘I just keep getting an uneasy feeling everywhere I go.’

‘Well, in a sense, we’re all on tv now, cameras are everywhere. And if you’re sensitive to that, it’s not uncommon to feel you’re on stage all the time, unable to relax completely and just play as you please.’

‘But father and all his lot are expert in this stuff, then there is grandfather, mum’s dad. I don’t get straight answers from any of them.’

‘Well, just because someone knows a lot of secrets doesn’t make them a spy! It just means they have to abide by the Official Secrets Act, and keep their mouth shut.’

‘That’s kind of what they say.’

‘But anyway, we need to stop this anxiety of yours running away with you. You need to be confident about what’s fact, fantasy or simply stuff that is unknowable or uncertain.’

‘How?’

‘Wipe from your mind for a moment, any thought of spies or your German heritage. You are in grave danger of missing that which applies to absolutely anyone who looks into their family history, whoever they are, wherever they come from.’

‘What?’

‘You have four grandparents, eight great grandparents, sixteen great, great grandparents. Everyone’s family tree of descent grows massively as you go further back. Sooner or later, you come across people you dislike, or disapprove of. Some you may be able to empathise with a little, realise that had you been in their situation, you might have acted in a similar way. But all our ancestors experienced poverty and tyranny by today’s standards. Equally, if you could go back far enough, you’d find you are a direct descendant of someone, considered royal in their time.’

‘Okay.’

‘That’s your context, your starting point or baseline. So, with a little knowledge of German history, it should be obvious you’ll come across people who went along with unpleasant regimes as well as those who took a stand. Most people think and act in terms of day-to-day survival, even if you’re resisting a particular government, you’ll still have had to join a queue for the essential food or energy supplies your enemy controls, in that sense everyone ends up a kind of collaborator.’

‘But if Daddy’s family made money, ever since radios and electrics went into planes, they must have been in the arms industry, war profiteers!’

‘Sure. But you must ask what choices they had? Could they pick which side to be on? Come on, let us go in the garden, and have some of Charlie’s wonder tea.’

‘How are you, Mel?’ Asked Charlie.

‘A bit jumpy actually, you explain Tony.’

‘Melisa is a bit worried about her German family history, their involvement in the aeronautics industry, and the whole secrecy thing that comes with her father’s work.’

‘How old are you, Melisa?’ Asked Kenneth.

‘Sixteen.’

‘The only way to get over the old spying paranoia is to read about real spying throughout history. Anthony, you should lend her your ancient copy of Knightley’s, The Second Oldest Profession and Simon Singh’s, The Code Book.’

‘So, you’ve been spying around the media room then!’

‘Bad puns don’t become you.’

‘More to the point, how do you know about such things?’

‘National Service old boy, trained as a cypher clerk, down the coast from here as it happens.’

‘Is Barmy being asked to give consultation on this business in eastern Europe?’ Interceded Charlie.

‘More than likely.’

‘In that case he might be a bit anxious, Daphne would pick up on that, and so too the girls.’

‘That’s a point.’

‘Some people default to Moscow Rules when under pressure.’ Threw in Kenneth.

‘Oh, good lord!’ I exclaimed.

‘What are Moscow Rules?’ Melisa asked in all innocence.

I looked at Kenneth, he said; ‘You’re the great explainer Anthony.’

‘Well, the term has taken on a life of it’s own these days, some people even produce lists. What they don’t usually explain is that the expression comes from fiction, from the John le Carre spy novels.’

‘Or the late David Cornwell to give him his real name, one time MI6 officer.’

‘Thank you, Ken! In le Carre’s fiction, Moscow Rules should be followed by spies when in enemy territory, rules about being hyper vigilant. But it has a very specific context, the situation in the Cold War period when the Soviet Union existed. So, anyway, a western spy finds himself in say, Moscow, now the foundational rule, so to speak, is you must assume in all your day-to-day behaviour that your real identity and purpose is already known to the KGB and that you are always being followed. Therefore, every communication with your informer, or contact must appear innocent, unplanned. Now there is no list in the novels, just odd examples of procedure, I’m trying to remember examples?’

‘Oh, carry on old chap, you’re doing very well.’

‘Well, take being followed, we have this sense of the danger being behind us, but the real situation is likely to be very different. It’s almost certainly a team, men and women. All dressed differently, possibly with a couple of cars as back-up. The real danger is very likely in front of us... Makes one think of Nemesis.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Greek goddess of retribution.’ Offered Kenneth.

‘But that’s just where people go wrong. The goddess Nemesis, in her winged chariot, is inevitable retribution, something everyone faces eventually. She is way out in front of you, over many horizons, sets off at your birth, she is coming straight at you from the future... Anyway, that’s a bit of a diversion, what you really want to know about are dead letter boxes, crash meetings, and their relevance in a digital world.’

89: Fish out of water

‘What have you got planned, for whilst I’m away?’ Asked Charlie as I was about to wave her away at the mews.

‘Only a lunch with Walpole, so far.’

‘He’ll be able to explain father better than I can.’

‘Surely the train would have been easier?’

‘It’s actually a long way from the station, and much easier once I get there.’

‘Oh, well, enjoy the open road, or whatever.’

‘I’ll be back in time to oversee Melisa’s placement. Cheery-oh, pip, pip, as your lot would say.’

‘I’ll have the steak and kidney pudding, plenty of mashed spud and tell cook not to skimp on the gravy.’

‘And, cod and chips for myself. Something to drink?’

‘Oh! A glass of your best cooking claret please.’

‘A bottle of the house Bordeaux Red, thank you. Nice to see you getting into the spirit of things.’

‘One day, if I win the lottery, I’ll be able to afford to put-up myself, and return the favour.’

‘Stranger things have happened.’

‘I imagine you want me to talk about Charlotte’s father?’

‘Oh, not in the least. My approach has always been to avoid asking her, just listen on the odd occasions when she chooses to mention him. When she met you for the first time at the gallery, she was being genuinely respectful, she wasn’t playing the Valette.’

‘The only occasion we’d been in the same room before, was years ago, in court, when she came to watch her father in action. I meant to try and speak to her then, but she didn’t stay long. I don’t like second-hand gossip, I like to check out my facts, make up my own mind. I’m pleased to see her so happy, settled.’

‘Well, tell me what he’s like at the law then? From the horse’s mouth, so to speak.’ I said smiling.

Walpole looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘You know, that fellow they’ve got leading the opposition in parliament at the moment? Technically, he’s a bit like him. Always trying to impress the judge, rather than appeal to a jury. Hopeless for the defence, a natural prosecutor. But in other respects, quite different. Practices mainly in the civil courts. You see, in point of fact, not to beat about the bush, he’s a zealot!’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, yes. A zealot for the law, a law as seen through the lens of traditional, protestant, high church, Christian beliefs. That god bothering society of his has quite a few followers, but essentially, it’s him. And in your face, all the time. That’s what I can’t stand. So, utterly convinced of his own convictions. I imagine, and I do mean imagine, that’s what Charlotte couldn’t stick, she obviously read the bible for her own sake, chose tolerance, acceptance. I often read The Beacon, mainly for the law reports you understand, so I realise she does work for the homeless on the side.’

‘Yes, she’s been involved for a long time, persuaded our Trust to chip-in and taken a seat on their committee on our behalf.’

‘Charles, it is always Charles, never a Charlie, used to express his frustration with his daughter all the time. We shared chambers for a while. As I say, unverified gossip, not worth recalling.’

‘A little bird told me you were also acquainted with our Chief Constable Wainwright?’

‘Ha! I laughed like a drain when I saw her pictured with your Crimean gold.’

‘I got her out of bed that day.’

‘Really! No, funny how first encounters stick with you, she doesn’t appear to have changed at all, a stickler for correctness. Caught her with a left hook on her first appearance down the Bailey. Jack told you, did he?’ I nodded. ‘I met Jack, when I got him off a charge of handling. Smart guy, understands other’s expertise, behaved exactly as I told him to in the witness box.’

‘We have an informal, business relationship, I flatter myself I bring an air of respectability to his world.’

‘Oh, I’m sure. I ought to say, I’ve not mentioned to my wife that I’ve reconnected with Jack, and the likes of our Chief of Police, she has a tendency to believe gossip and pass it on without question.’

‘Absolutely. Understood.’

‘Still, a blessing in disguise, from time to time. You can bet that the news of Charlotte doing well for herself, keeping out of trouble I mean, has already got back to her mother. Terribly incestuous, the law.’

‘And for dessert?’

‘Jam roly-poly with custard, I think.’

We took our coffees to the log fire in the lounge and settled in. ‘Now, have I got this right, Brinkley is your accountant, Merriweather your solicitor?’

‘Correct.’

‘I was just getting settled in the law, as a barrister, when they go and let solicitor’s take the very bread from our mouths.’

‘According to Lawrence, Bernard’s problem is not so much the law, as not understanding judges.’

‘Oh, you bet! Most of the work may be done in writing these days, but that just makes judges even more bureaucratically minded. Bernard, as you call him, opened up a bit about Sparkwell QC giving him a mauling. Again, it all comes back to not being able to keep God almighty out of court, or do I mean, keeping the law out of the church. How can I put this politely, one shouldn’t be surprised if your friends continue to soft-pedal their relationship, particularly if they’re committed Christians? Being of that generation, they’d see Sparkwell senior as a real potential menace and your Charlotte, well as a probable victim, but also, as a possible ally.’

In order to wake up again after a heavy lunch, I took Walpole on a bit of a tour of the house and grounds beyond the confines of the club. ‘Whereabouts are you living?’ He mentioned a village on the edge of town with one foot in the countryside. ‘And how’s your wife taking to it all?’

‘Gardening. She, has become the world’s most enthusiastic gardener. Constant expeditions to your garden centre.’

‘Not really your scene?’

‘No. I’m the townie, feeling a bit like a fish out of water to be honest.’

‘But you’re the more sociable one?’

‘Oh, I’ll adjust. Just don’t ask me to do the digging and weeding.’

‘You should write your memoirs.’

‘Not the noblest of professions. And what I like to recall, well its all terribly out of date now.’

‘You could write a blog, about a townie trying to adjust to life in the country.’

‘I can’t think who’d be interested!’

‘Actually, it’s quite a controversial area, you should try reading my aunt’s magazine, wealthy townies importing their values. The eco-minded trampling over traditional agriculture. Charlie writes an occasional column.’

‘Does she? Is there no end to her talents? Where is she by the way, if you don’t mind my asking?’

‘On leave. Gone fishing. She and her pals have somehow got on the right side of the Duke of Northumberland’s gillie.’

‘My word!’

‘Is that the sea, that I can, see?’ Walpole asked after we’d wandered on a way.

‘It is indeed. One of the main reasons for remodelling the golf course, hence the new trees. You can also see the sea from the roof again, I won’t take you up there, problems with health and safety, insurance etc.’

‘Oh, I can believe it. You know the only reason Sparkwell senior isn’t a judge is he can’t play golf. No, I don’t quite mean that. But part of the social life of many judges is golf, and it’s hardly compatible with having a compulsion to bring religion into everything.’

‘You never took to the game?’

‘Oh, no! Absolute self-torture, just playing against oneself, no end to it. Mrs Walpole was keen I should play at one time, but then she was far more ambitious than I, to see me progress in the law. Do you suffer from having a partner with ambitions on your behalf?’

‘Only that I should be as much a fitness fanatic as she is!’

‘Ha!’

88: Talk of war

‘How long is this cost-of-living crises going to last?’

‘Good lord! Are you psychic, Sparkwell?’

‘I really couldn’t say, sir.’

‘The question is bothering Brinkley too. I’m currently reading his amended budget projections for twenty-two, twenty-three.’

‘And?’

‘He thinks, for what it’s worth, there should be no new projects and no further property sales this financial year.’

‘Will he get his way?’

‘Yes, I would think so. Just as well everything we wanted started, is started.’

‘But for how long is it going to last?’

‘Well, that’s unknown. The pressure on energy prices, which is pushing the inflation, will likely stay awhile. The war in eastern Europe following the pandemic following the disruption of Brexit. Mind you, there will be falls as well as rises, but you never know when it will level off.’

‘Why no property sales?’

‘Because, for reasons which are unclear, property prices continue to rise in a buoyant market, therefore also the valuation of the Trust’s assets, he hopes it will act as a hedge against inflation. Wisely, he also asserts, one should think twice about passing on rising costs in case they stifle demand, better to look for cost savings first.’

‘Not like you to accept a pep talk from Larry!’

‘I accept it, because he’s right. Don’t shoot the messenger.’

‘Does our happiness depend on riches?’

‘I beg your pardon! Is this the same Charlotte Sparkwell that we know and love speaking, the natural therapist, the fitness fanatic who can claim with some justification that joy is gravity defying behaviour, that love and happiness must be remade every day through exercise that takes us to our goal of human social connection, huh?’

‘I meant, have you sucked me into your world; of forever looking for the edge, of pecuniary advantage, financial power, have I become corrupted by association?’

‘Absolutely not. Quite the reverse. You have led me on a path of enlightenment. Just because you are no longer as poor as a church mouse, doesn’t make you a running dog of capitalism.’

Then she was pinged, and a moment later; ‘Oh my god! A message from Captain Bob. And a link, “see me on tv”, blimey!’

We sat and watched the five-minute clip on the big tv screen. It was some sort of ceremony in Port Stanley. Captain Bob, smartly dressed with medals, standing to attention. He seemed to be in charge of an elderly, but far from motley crew. They were clearly the guests of honour at some sort of anniversary celebration hosted by the town, or city as we must learn to call it; ‘Bob appears to be the star of the whole show!’

‘We need to share this with the rest of the world.’ Asserted Charlie. ‘We’re not doing anything for the rest of today are we?’

‘I’m due to check out the yacht again anyway.’ So said Charlie as we headed into town. ‘I’ll do that first, then meet you at the Harbour Cafe.’

At the cafe, the talk was all of the current war. Plucky underdogs fighting a clear and obvious enemy. That had been the way it seemed forty years ago as a child. Most of Captain Bob’s regular crowd were milling around. I kept my own council, setting up the laptop, until Charlie returned. ‘How’s the yacht?’

‘Fine, no problem.’ She started working the room as if she still worked there, then began rearranging a couple of the outside tables.

There were half a dozen souls who wanted to view the video in the end. Quite an involved discussion followed, with general agreement that the country would have been unlikely to get behind the government, if it had all happened today. Someone quoted Margaret Thatcher; ‘Our first duty to freedom, is to defend our own.’ People doubted anyone would regard the Falklands as our own anymore. Someone else, suggested Charlie take the video up to the shelter, on account of there always being ex-squaddies there, and that everyone there, knew Captain Bob.

‘You should take a picture Charlie, to send to Bob.’ I spoke. Then a thought suddenly occurred; ‘Did you ever go anywhere on the yacht?’

‘Oh, aye! She had no choice, living there!’ Chipped-in a third.

‘Smile, everyone! Only down the coast for a couple of hours, long enough to check out she was still seaworthy, as a sailing ship. But I got to learn a few of the ropes. Not that easy to organise a crew for sailing though. Sometimes we’d just go around the bay, if it was the engine that needed testing.’

On the walk to the shelter, I said to Charlie; ‘You might consider the potential of the yacht, as a training vessel, when looking to the future. That combination of a proper sea-going engine and sail only, if you see what I mean?’

‘Oh, right. Yes of course.’

We found the manager in the canteen. Someone had been doing some baking. Having shown her the clip, I then posted her the link. Charlie and she started talking shop, I sat and earwigged their chat. It seemed the manager thought it worth pursuing Captain Bob’s long held conviction that the local authority, the council and or harbour commissioners, had some sort of legal obligation to support the shelter because they had taken over from the old Seaman’s Mission. Apparently, there was some sort of historical precedent for providing temporary accommodation if the local community failed to do so. They then moved on to moaning about the perennial problem of the annual rough sleepers count, the one time in the year that the council really wanted their cooperation. The charities outreach staff were of course the best at finding and signposting the homeless to the shelter. It was in the council’s best interest to have full occupancy at the shelter at the very moment they did the count!

Someone offered me an iced bun. I hesitated, looking at Charlie. ‘Oh, go on.’ Said the manager; ‘After all, you paid for it.’

‘Thank you. Who was it who said it takes as much generosity to receive, as it does to give?’

‘Sounds like a definition of charity.’ She replied.

‘You two do realise you are talking about probably the worst council in the country, historically speaking?’ I asserted.

‘How do you mean?’ Asked Charlie.

‘Well, its been run by Buffy Trumpton’s party, almost continuously since the war. Once the country’s premier seaside resort, now dominated by the retired and disabled, the homeless and dispossessed from the rest of the country. They totally missed the rise of the heritage industry; practically destroying the work of Isambard Kingdom Brunel, our greatest engineer ever, and disregarded the legacy of Agatha Christie at one time the world’s best selling author.’

‘Whilst you’ve been living here over fifty years, and, you went to school with half the jokers who run the country now! What’s your excuse?’ Countered Charlie.

‘There’s only so much one man can do.’

‘At least you and the captain are keeping us afloat.’ The manager kindly offered.

‘Is it important to your punters, clients, or whatever you’re calling people this week, to be close to the harbour side?’

‘What are you thinking?’ Asked Charlie.

‘Well, you could pursue an alternative strategy of distancing yourself from the authorities altogether.’

‘Nothing we’d like better, but they own the building, the half-way house too. And come to that, the precinct where the shop is!’ So retorted the manager.

‘I know that look, Tony has spotted an opportunity, but I warn you whatever it is, it will profit him too.’

‘Well, it might occur to you too, young Sparkwell, if you paid as much attention to the Trust’s property portfolio as you should. I’ll say no more.’

‘Talking of youth, who’s this young lass you’re foisting on us in a few weeks time?’ Asked the manager.

‘Daughter of a family friend, smart as hell, curious about people. She asked Charlie if she could fix it, so as to prevent the school sending her somewhere they thought would be appropriate.’

‘You do realise I’m on leave next week?’

‘Of course.’

‘We’re meeting in the borders.’

‘Good lord!’

‘I’ll be driving the length and breadth of the country, at the invitation of a Duke.’

‘Blimey, as you might say. Now I may know nothing about fishing...’

‘True.’

‘But isn’t that stretch of the Tweed just about the most famous, the best and most difficult to get permission to...’

‘Correct.’

‘Don’t tell me, his grace is a reader of The Beacon?’

‘More likely his gillie!’