For once I was doing the driving. Charlie had her head in documents she should have already learnt, marked and inwardly digested. We were bound for the old bank in our great cathedral city, and meetings, various.
We began on the ground floor. ‘Have a glass of wine?’ Said Thayer almost before we were over the threshold. He very intentionally showed us the bottle. The label showed a vineyard on a steep slope leading down to a valley bottom being traversed by a narrow-gauge steam train. The wording above the view read; “County Estates Special Reserve”, the wording below in smaller type, “Douro Valley Table Wine”.
‘I say! Most befitting.’
‘It’s a head office initiative, adds a touch of class I shouldn’t wonder, what do you think?’
‘Oh, simply oozes history.’ I reassured him.
‘Here, let me pour you one.’
‘Well, I drove here, I may be driving...’
‘Go ahead, I’ll drive back, I need to keep a clear head, not at all sure I understand what all these meetings are about.’ Asserted Charlie.
‘They’ve been tying themselves in knots upstairs. Correct me if I’m wrong, but they seem to think you’re irresponsible, throwing money left, right and centre. See it as their job to rein you in.’
‘And what do you think?’ I asked.
‘All I tell them, is all I know. You told me to judge each purchase on its individual merits, that’s what I do, they all stand up, as far as I can tell.’
‘This wine is really quite acceptable, shame Porto ever sort to fortify it really, though of course one understands why.’ I was met with blank stares. ‘Yes, well anyway. The whole point of today is timing. Or rather to “be prepared”, so we don’t get tripped up by the timing. When, the consortium jumps to become one unified company, depends on when, the government makes its minor legal adjustments. We must be clear about what remains trust property, and what is exchanged for shares in the new railway company. Right?’
‘Er, right.’
‘Yes, right.’
‘Well, onward and upward then!’
As we entered Brinkley’s office, the one with the second-best view, we were met by the sight of our dour and usually abstemious accountant sitting back in his chair with an unexpected grin on his face and clasping what appeared to be a glass of whisky. ‘Celebrating?’ I enquired.
‘Indeed, I am. The numbers are in, crunched, and pawed over. In summary, we will be exchanging your Tufnell land inheritance for fifteen per cent of the new company. If the company then wants other buildings or any cash injections they can be negotiated for after the consortium has been dissolved. Furthermore, we already have informal agreement from the, er, personal accountants for Gerald, Jack and Brian. Cheers! Oh, I’m forgetting my manners. Any of you care for an Irish?’
Lawrence then proceeded to produce glasses and one of those bottles that looks like a decanter. It had blazon on its side; “Brinkley Associates”, plus the same strange copperplate squiggle that adorns their correspondence. ‘Well, just a taste, if you insist.’ I replied.
‘But all these documents, I can’t work out where all the cash has come from for all the purchases over the last year!’ Asserted Charlie.
‘Close the door a moment Thayer, if you’d be so kind. There are appearances, Charlotte, then there is reality. Tony, who is of course a constant worry, to you in your role as carer, to Bernard and I who can’t stop thinking of ourselves as being in some form of loco parentis, has played another investment blinder. All that digital monitoring of people’s behaviour is producing cash we’d rather not have hanging around. Over one hundred and thirty new models of car, lorry - and tractor I’m told - globally, have driver monitoring systems from the company Tony so casually references as his American investments.’
‘Oh, right. But we only own ten per cent.’
‘Size isn’t everything. We should move upstairs, I sense the creaking of old beams, Bernard pacing the floor.’
Each time I enter the second floor it seems more open plan, more about spaces, fewer desks and what is office, melds into reception, into kitchen and easy chair areas, no hierarchy at all. Bernard, in his semi-retirement seemed to be truly delegating.
‘An, “Integrated Transport Partnership”. That’s what we're going to be investing in?’ Said a rhetorical and slightly frazzled Bernard looking at his papers as we all settled in the conference room.
‘An, ITP. Under the nineteen ninety-three act and the two thousand and fourteen EU directive, with the additional flourish of a statutory instrument or two.’ I helpfully added.
‘I can't believe Lawrence and I are giving all this our precious time. And the new company is to be called the “English Riviera Railway Company”, good lord!’
‘ERR’
‘Or, the ER, R!’ Quipped Thayer.
‘Oh, cheer up Bernard, don’t be such a killjoy.’ Said Brinkley, to the astonishment of all of us. ‘It’s an ideal retirement project for us. And if I may be so bold as to quote your new friend and colleague Henry Walpole, speaking recently on regional television; “A chance to finally mend the relationship between British Railways and the preservation movement, in this the sixtieth anniversary of the Beeching Report”.’
Bernard, for the first time to my certain knowledge, seemed lost for words. At least for long enough for me to notice the bottle, cans of tonic and glasses on a tray, placed beside the comatose owl. ‘Oh, help yourselves.’ He declared with a careless waft of his arm.
‘Blimey! Mother’s ruin. “Merriweather and Stollard”, “organically flavoured gin”, gosh!’ Now Charlie was joining in. ‘Where did this come from?’
‘Both Bernard and I took advantage of a new small firm which negotiates such arrangements...’
‘A bespoke gin, from a boutique company.’ Said Thayer to no one in particular.
‘Enough!’ Barked Bernard, drawing himself up, clearly determined to take back control. ‘There’s a flaw in your plan Tony. You’ll be stuck with a Light Railway Order at best, you won’t be able to go more than twenty-five miles per hour throughout your so-called network.’
‘Wrong.’
‘How?’
‘Only certain items of heritage rolling stock will need a restrictive speed limit. The railway, in its entirety will be re-laid by the same contractors used by Network Rail and to the same standards.’
‘Who the hell will pay for all that?’
‘The government, they will be able to claim, and rightly so, that new and old upgraded services are being introduced. It’s just two operators. Side by side at the old naval port, the latest passenger stock for the Sunday, up Bay Express to Paddington on the short platform, alongside the previous day’s down, steam-hauled heritage service on the long platform.’
‘And what about the dodgy viaduct, huh?’
‘It’ll get the proper maintenance. The new rolling stock will split as it always did in the old days. The modern five-car, aluminium bodied stock weighs less than the heritage train. And it gets to go faster, obviously. The avoiding lines through our station get reinstated. More trains than ever before.’
‘Very well, put in your political fix Tony. Just tell us when to jump and we’ll jump.’
‘You’re drunk! I’ve never seen you drunk before.’ She said, as the landscape passed in a blur.
‘How time flies.’ I replied. ‘Five years, now I’m tipsy on the strength of half a glass of wine, two sips of whisky and a well tonic-ed gin!’
‘Too old, can’t take your booze any longer. And your memory is going, it’s almost six years, actually.’
‘Really? Good lord. Regrets?’
‘Of course not! Well, the odd minor irritations, sir.’
‘Well, you can’t have everything.’
‘You seem to.’ Was there a note of sarcasm in her voice?
‘That is because I am content, as your pal Kenneth once said, to be a large fish in a small pool.’
‘Very good, sir.’
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