113: Conclave

‘Shrublands!’ Exclaimed Sparkwell.

‘Correct.’

‘You do mean the care home that masquerades as a health farm?’

‘You’ve been there I take it?’

‘Very occasionally. Why choose such a place for your secret conclave?’

‘Well, we can use the community room for free.’

‘You know what I mean!’

‘Jack is confined there.’

‘Permanently?’

‘Who knows. Anyway, according to Junior Jack the only practical solution is for us all to trail out there.’

‘And why am I required to attend, sir?’

‘Security detail. You’re the only person who can disarm Junior Jack with just a wink.’

‘Why would I need to?’

‘Jack, despite his infirmity, still keeps an iron grip over the family firm, much to the annoyance of Junior Jack and young Jimmy.’

‘The sons you were at school with?’

‘Before I escaped the blackboard jungle at the insistence of the Aunts, and the assistance of the old family trust. But the point is the boys have remained rough around the edges and tempted to take the law into their own hands, because Jack failed to delegate and let them learn the ropes, educate themselves.’

‘Actually, for once that makes sense, remembering what Junior Jack was like when he was a bouncer.’

‘And given we’ll be in a care home, surrounded by the fragile boned.’

‘Okay, you win.’

In the end, all us visitors were sat around the community dining table as if awaiting the arrival of a King. One end of the table had been left free in expectation of a wheelchair, but it had the effect on all of us, of feeling we were being kept waiting by a status conscious boss. Charlie, having facilitated chairs and fruit juice, hovered somewhere beyond the open double doors. When Jack finally arrived, pushed by Junior Jack, he gave a faintly royal wave. When settled, he grunted somewhat curtly; ‘Well Gerry?’

‘Er, thank you Jack. Well, this is just an informal meeting, make sure we’re all up to speed. The formal proposals have all gone in, not sure how long we’ll need to wait for a response, Anthony?’

‘According to my source we should expect a formal letter of rejection within a couple of weeks.’

‘What?

‘Rejection!’

‘That’s the way it works, apparently. The rejection letter which we receive will have a set of recommendations as to how we should have framed our proposals had we known what we were doing. We take a rap on the knuckles, then follow the recommendations to the letter, whatever they are. But, if I’ve read our source right, then their proposals will be everything we really want.’

‘What a performance!’

‘The bureaucracy has to justify its existence, if they just accepted everything, they’d never get a budget, or two floors of prime central London real estate.’

‘Bastards.’

‘How, er, well placed is your source, Anthony?’ Asked Brian.

‘A senior ex-civil servant, in the ORR. There’s really nothing underhand about it, procedures are ultimately public documents. Public servants are there to give the public, advice. If one has the wit to know who to ask, that is.’

‘But we all signed off on the original proposal!’

‘Ah! I see your concern. The changes will all be procedural, about timing, fitting in with all else that’s going on locally. The main difference will be splitting the timing into three phases, one contingent upon completion of the previous, which suits us obviously, since the whole thing will take years anyway. All the legal hurdles, adjustments if you like, are already in the bag. There’s just one, minor contingency we need to prep for.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘All this is being done without the need for a new act of parliament, however, parliament does get to scrutinise, if it be so minded.’

‘But we’re running out of time!’

‘Oh, I rather hope it will go all the way to the wire! A slightly rushed approval probably suits us.’

‘You’ve got some bottle, Arlington! One day you’ll come a cropper.’

‘I think he’s right Dad.’

‘Oh, you do, do you?’

‘You never get beyond the fancy talk, Dad, that family trust of his is three times richer than it was in his father’s day, from everything I hear.’ At which point Junior Jack favoured me with one of his evil grins, pure schoolyard.

‘Well, the more progress we can make this year the better.’ Said Brian. ‘It is after all the fiftieth anniversary of us taking over our part of the existing railway, and this year is also the centenary of the GWR Castle Class locos.’

‘Yes, thank you Brian.’ Said our nominal chairman. ‘Well Anthony, I’m told you were tasked to come up with something to waylay any potential hold-out?’

‘Ah! Now then, gentlemen, we may just have had our first genuinely lucky break!’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘Brenda Radnor, that stalwart trade unionist of the old Left, has just been adopted as parliamentary candidate at the next election. In all likelihood a much-respected resident of that picturesque village that we all love and hate, will now be our next member of parliament.’

‘How the hell does that help us?’

‘She, will bask in the glory of bringing much needed employment to our neck of woods, and we, the true origin of those jobs, will keep quiet about it, when in the fullness of time the line to Morestead is unimpeded.’

‘Don’t ask, Jack.’ Said Gerald.

‘At least we’ll be shot of that dithering toff Flotterton!’

‘Dumping on old school “chums” now is it, Tony? Can’t wait to tell Jimmy!’ Followed by an even more intense evil grin.

‘Is there anything else you have for us Anthony? Before we move on.’ Asked Gerald.

‘Um, well, I have high hopes we can get the station that never had tracks nor trains, back.’

‘How? We’ve never managed it.’ Said Brain.

‘I’ve brought in a ringer, as our American cousins might say. A specialist in polite tea shops. An expert in picking up gossip amongst the more mature clientele, a veritable Miss Marple.’

At which moment Charlie clanged the unfamiliar swing door to the kitchen as she carried a fresh jug of juice; ‘Anyone for more?’

‘You can fill me up, darling!’ Said Junior Jack, turning on the charm.

‘I’m exhausted, having to survive only on juice, that is.’ I said, as Charlie steered us home. ‘Still, mission accomplished.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

‘You’ve got Junior Jack just where you want him.’

‘Have I?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘You approve then?’

‘Absolutely. Just, be sure it’s chicken feed you’re giving away and not the crown jewels!’

‘We need to go via the other Jack’s filling station.’

‘Okay.’

‘Wow! I had no idea.’

‘When were you here last?’

‘Well, three or four months I suppose, what with you doing all the driving these days, maybe longer.’

‘But you were right, it works because of location, and all these guys hanging-out are taking their official breaks here now, whilst their publically-owned vehicles are charging.’

‘He’s a clever sod, Jack. The town’s leading petrol head, is fleecing the climate-changers.’

‘Jealous?’

‘It’s the street-smart thing that I don’t have. Mind you, the sooner the ordinary parking is extended the better, because those workers still in petrol vehicles will want to join their mates in here. Ambulance crews and police officers not just filling-up but loitering, that’s what we want. Amazing how good the coffee tastes too!’

‘Wainwright would go ballistic!’

‘But everyone’s a winner, it’s the natural hub, it will look like the cheapest option in her budget too. Have you noticed what the screens are showing? Pension and insurance ads.’

‘Poor sods.’

‘Actually, given they have no choice over which card they use for fuel, we need a fix for that. Find a way to make sure the discretionary purchases only, determine the content on screen...’