As autumn slowly closed upon us and we all adjusted to life under the new King, The Beacon announced, in an exclusive, our former prime minister’s future intentions. It seemed the Don had secured the rights to the story of Buffy’s premiership, to be told in a series of two-hour interviews for The Don Wooley Podcast. It had already been some weeks since the Park committee had approved and adopted the proposed changes to it’s media room. I rather assumed both Buffy as well as Wooley would want to use it. I was at a loss to know why they hadn’t been in contact, surely, they didn’t think I’d be willing to bid for their presence? They’d have to take their chances with the booking system and pay the going rate. Ditto the idea of regularly broadcasting the podcast.
There were other things on my mind at the time. Even if railway building was going to be a sometime, maybe never kind of a plan, I still needed to get sorted title to the properties, and what of Mr Tufnell senior’s other possessions? Having scanned what was required from the diaries and notebooks, I decided to return them via Victoria at the gallery. ‘We’re off to the New Realist Gallery today.’ I announced, assuming my paramour was present; ‘I’m hoping you can distract Tuffy.’
‘Again! What’s the sleight of hand this time?’
‘Oddly enough, the aim is not to confuse Tuffy.’
‘Can we include some refreshment at the cafe? I need to consult Captain Bob about the shelter committee.’
‘Yours to command.’
We were both staring in disbelief so long, Tuffy actually came out onto the pavement to see what was wrong. There in the window, given pride of place was one of those hideous constructions one is forced to witness for a month or so every year whilst walking the promenade. ‘Enjoying our modern trash?’ He enquired.
‘Enjoying is hardly the word. It sits below your shop sign which clearly states, New Realist Gallery! What’s going on? Vic has no truck with modern art!’
‘We’ve just hired out the window for the month, nice little earner, fact is this is the “Start Here”, for the trail.’
‘What, all the cringe art on the front is meant to be viewed in sequence?’
‘It’s themed, apparently. Telling the story of climate change through recycling.’
‘You know it doesn’t matter how well crafted this stuff is, it’s still the result of dustbin diving. It still leaves general public on a downer, feeling depressed about the world. Where do these artist’s get their cash? Can’t believe anyone buys this kind of thing.’
‘One of the arts bodies I suppose, maybe it’s the council.’
‘Come on, let’s go inside.’
Almost immediately we were confronted by Victoria saying; ‘What brings you here Tony?’ Charlie hadn’t yet had the opportunity to get Tuffy out of the way.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘we were sort of wondering why we hadn’t heard from you about getting underway with sorting the older generations possessions. Needs some planning, right?’
‘Rather distracted by the solicitors at the moment,’ said Tuffy. ‘I’m a bit disappointed about assets and all that, to tell the truth. Mother doesn’t seem to have left much in terms of cash. Well, less than expected on that front anyway.’
I saw an opening and took a chance. ‘Ah! Well, I may have good news then. Here are your father’s diaries returned, all in good order.’
‘Where did you get them?’
‘From the study of course, hope I wasn’t out of order, you did say you couldn’t make them out. I have to tell you they’re not in code, but written using your father’s own abbreviations and shorthand, a few minutes spent rereading the half a dozen or so letters he sent me during his lifetime, got me familiar with his script again.’
‘I didn’t know father wrote to you.’
‘Oh yes, I treasure them to this day, he did a lot to buck me up in hard times. Anyway, it allowed me to make some sense of the property deeds.’
‘What deeds?’
‘Well, at first, I couldn’t understand why the last time I saw your mother, she insisted I take this bunch of keys, here, there you go, you’d better take charge of them now. That one, opens a safety deposit box at our bank, guess what was inside?’
‘Cash?’
‘Alas, no. Only title deeds to sixty-seven bits of property across the county.’
‘My God! I knew it. I knew father wouldn’t have let us down in the end. Where are these deeds?’
‘Oh! Perfectly safe, in my safe at the villa. You can pick them up on your way to your next appointment with the solicitors, it’s still old Blythe, isn’t it?’
‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you’d thrown in the towel. Also, you know Bernard gave me a crash course in Wills and Executors before Bob’s was finalised - well property is property, not possessions!’
‘So then, I’ll give you one clue, what did I say when I first opened the letter with Mary’s Will in it?’
‘Oh! For goodness’ sake, I can’t remember trivia like that!’
It was still warm enough for the good Captain’s crowd to be sitting out at the Harbour Cafe, though the man himself had yet to turn up. We took a table just along from the old sea dogs. ‘There’s something Bob wants to put to you.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘He can explain better than me. You know a while ago you said when we were at the shelter about distancing ourselves from the council and how I should take a closer look at the Trust’s property portfolio.’
‘I see, I think.’
‘Well, he has a proposal.’
‘So, this is a set-up, you lured me here.’
‘Absolutely! Sir.’
‘Just the man I want to see.’
‘And good morning to you too.’
‘Charlie has explained, has she?’
‘Only that she hasn’t the bottle and that you’ll do the explaining.’
‘Age, authority, has certain benefits, ask the King! And it is a matter of public record, the ownership of property.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘You see, our problem is, we’ll never be able to satisfy the demand for beds the way things are, the recession, cost of living and everything. We want to drop the council in it, force them to act. More or less do a moonlight flit, declare that we’re now a specialist charity for those who are homeless because of enduring mental health issues and just need to be outside a lot of the time. We can’t keep trying to deal with the whole range of problems that turn up at the moment and which really only have political solutions.’ Then he hesitated a moment before saying; ‘Myself, and a couple of the ex-marines who have become regulars at the shelter have been up to see The Grange, that is the property you were thinking of I take it?’
‘Yes, just because of the naval connection really, it overlooks the sea, just five minutes walk from the harbour side, but with enough seclusion, enough of a garden. Plus, the little lodge come gatehouse thing.’
‘Great minds think alike. And you must know the history of the place. My lads were very impressed with your security and the way the outside is maintained. Took them a good five minutes to find the alternative method of access, so to speak. So, anyway, we had a good look at the house from the garden, they appreciated immediately the way it was built. Funny, there’s always a tension on board a ship, between the captain and a detachment of marines, they have to submit to our authority, but they’re land lovers confined, isolated if you like, no purposeful work to do. Anyway, my point is they get the house, especially when I explained it was originally designed and built for an ex-admiral. Given it’s been a care home latterly, how much can we put back?’
‘Well, now you’re putting me on the spot, asking specific questions, in a public place. This is where I go into, official “negotiating on behalf of the Trust” mode, I’m afraid. If you want a more informal chat about these wild imaginings, then fix a date with Charlie to come up to the Villa, for tea, alone!’
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