142: Chilling out

In an effort to avoid ghosts of Christmas’ past, we’d decided to stay on at Checkley until the new year and in the process hopefully earn ourselves some brownie points from the uncle. I’d had the perfect excuse to curtail involvement with the book club and Charlie was relieved of the obligation to produce an ideologically unsound Tea.

But our mutual preoccupations travelled with us and Checkley is an excellent place to ruminate. It being mid-winter I took the opportunity to be brutal in my pruning of the vines. Charlie had her own concerns in the woods, but helped me in the walled garden off and on, particularly in the collecting and tying up of the pruned branches, which if allowed to dry in the barn would burn very rapidly and hot, excellent for barbeques and getting big wood fires underway.

‘I’ve been thinking about Kenneth, when did it start, this thing with Elisabeth?’

‘A year or two after she became a widow, I think.’

‘You said he told you that she’d told him about the circumstances of your parent’s death.’

‘Correct. But alas, that doesn’t help, or appear to help. The reason everyone took the official explanation at face value is that their car, although it went over the edge, didn’t catch on fire. The only passports found by the authorities were the British ones. They showed they’d left Switzerland that day, entered from Italy a week before. It looks like their deaths had nothing to do with anything.’

‘Has adding everyone’s passports to your chart helped?’

‘No not really, not yet. It shows two things so far, one my folks were fans of motoring tours of Europe, and two they never mixed travel on different passports. They were always one thing, or the other.’

‘What next?’

‘Add in data from father’s diaries and daybooks I suppose.’

‘Maybe Ken put himself alongside your aunt because he had the passports?’

‘Capital mistake to theorise without facts, Watson!’

But in truth I was still processing the cascade of news and gossip I’d been hit with at the Christmas lunch. Prudence seemed to have given up not just on Rory but the rest of us. Was that a good or bad thing? But perhaps I shouldn’t have been so dismissive of Rory? That he’d been able to apply his mind to anything, must be a good thing. Perhaps I should do the same, write my own novel. Now what would make a good subject, the way we live now, something from the past, or both? It would need to be positive though, on when the going was good, rather than like most modern writing which seems so, well, downtrodden and doom laden. And so much wishful thinking, rather than trying to get closer to the truth of something. But what about subject? I seem to, of necessity, acquired a mountain of knowledge, albeit a bit superficial, about railways of late. But that was a turn-off for most readers unless it contained the romance of travel with steam locomotives. And even then, thrillers on trains were as well-worn as a Rory Flotterton plot.

That Walpole should have become so territorial about his new home county was rather nice in a way. And fully committed to the railway, though it still wasn’t clear whether Helene welcomed him getting out from under her feet, or not. Was I wrong to be pragmatic with the elder Sparkwell, Walpole was outraged by the man on Charlie’s behalf, should I be the same? Well, it’s action that counts and it would be beyond arrogant to claim an understanding of her experience.

Junior Jack was clearly getting above himself, but that was fine, he’d already showed signs of new learning over the past few years. Charlie was right to seize the opportunity to help him out. The question now, was would the atmosphere of the club and maybe the history of the house, lead him to undo the modernisation of his hotel in order to match what was coming with the railway? At least he had some old photos on the walls of reception I’d noticed, upon which to contemplate.

The real Jack had already embraced respectability; it was just a question of no backsliding. Wainwright? I must find out if she planned to stick around the area, and do what? As for the cabal, the young Turks...

‘Ta-dah! Hey there you two.’

‘Who the devil?’ I mumbled as I looking up from my reverie. There, striking a pose in the entrance to the walled garden, stood Melisa. ‘Where did you spring from.’ I said more audibly.

‘We’re on a Christmas tour, of Tim’s relatives. There are bloody hundreds of them! This is day four, I think.’

‘Well, well, well.’ I replied.

‘How long are you stopping?’ Asked Charlie.

‘Arrived in time for lunch, staying overnight, then off to God knows where tomorrow. Still, Tim says these Gregsons are the really important ones. Can't think why, they’re hardly his closest relatives.’

‘How was lunch?’ I asked.

‘Bit heavy for me, Tim wolfed it down though, all the time hanging on Mr Gregson's words. I was surprised, he was telling him, basically, he should be grateful to you for all you’re doing for him and do whatever you tell him.’

‘Ah, yes that would sort of make sense.’

‘Then Tim asked him if there was any chance, he could take time off today to show him the whole estate and would his lordship and you mind? Then this Gregson said; “Just you leave his lordship to me boy”, and “I’m sure young Missy here could head-off Mr Anthony at the pass”. Then he told me where you’d be, and here I am.’

‘So Mel, you know Tim better than any of us, what does he want, career wise, what does he aspire to?’

‘Well, he doesn’t think that far ahead really; he’s fixed to go to the Park for his first placement, wants your garden centre to be the second, says there is some mystery about it he hasn’t discovered yet.’

‘Really.’

‘But when we entered the grounds this morning, he said how would I like to spend my summers here?’

‘And what do you think of that?’ asked Charlie.

‘Well, it’s all a bit samey, I mean, when you’ve seen one field, you’ve seen them all, haven’t you.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Tim did the garden for you before we left, I left him for a couple of hours with a thermos.’

‘I know, I get notified of any activity on security.’

‘What, pictures?’

‘Sure, anything around the back gate, back door, front door.’

‘Right.’

‘I’ve always thought he’s a bit of a voyeur on the quite.’ Charlie butted in.

‘So says the greatest exhibitionist I’ve ever met.’ I shot back.

‘Is it true what they say at the club, about there being a sextape online of you two?’

‘I wouldn’t dignify it with the title, Sextape, more like badly edited scraps from the Park’s old static security cameras back in the day. So bad, it’s not easy to work out who is doing what to whom.’

‘The stuff we’ve accidental recorded at home is much better!’ Charlie proudly announced.

‘How could it be accidental, if the cameras are by the entrances?’

‘You must have noticed the ones in the treatment room, put there to intimidate private clients.’ I asserted.

‘Oh, right.’

‘Hardly surprising if you think about it, a professional masseuse fetishizing the materials of her trade.’

‘Ha! Says the man who always joins in with enthusiasm.’

141: Christmas curfuffle

‘She’s left me!’

‘Who?’

‘My wife of course.’

‘Prudence?’

‘Who else?!’

‘It, er, just seems so unlikely, she’s not been in touch with me.’

‘Why would she?’

‘Well... What have you done Rory?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You must have done something, or not done something.’

‘All I did was show her the first few pages of my novel.’

‘Novel! I didn’t even know you could write; I thought Prue did all that for you.’

‘It was putting pen to paper that caused her to leg it to her sister’s, now I’ve got writer’s block.’

‘What’s the book about?’

‘A political thriller of course. Murder, mayhem and sexual intrigue at the heart of Westminster. A dastardly villain, foiled by the hero and his girl assistant.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Certain to be a best seller, what with all my inside knowledge and that. That’ll show her.’

‘What exactly did Prue disapprove of?’

‘She said, she accused me of sexing-up a tired old narrative copied from real life.’

‘Thought the villain was based on someone did she?’

‘Yes. A Machiavellian master of spin, who’ll stop at nothing to get to be Prime Minister. Behind the soft eyes, the soft soap and the touchy-feely approach lay a mind obsessed with power.’

‘I see. Of course, something not so different was done on tv about thirty-five years ago if I recall. Though then the PM was very much played as a Shakespearian villain.’

‘Yes, well I was still at school then.’

A moment later we were interrupted by Walpole; ‘Anthony, a word in your shell-like, sorry to intrude.’

‘My dear fellow, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘I have; I’ve been haunted for three days now.’

‘Good lord.’

‘Tell me I’m hallucinating, they’re not living here, are they? I saw him, and what was presumably his wife, coming out of our supermarket! Helene didn’t notice thank God, otherwise she’d have insisted we be sociable. It was then I thought I must be seeing things.’

‘Henry! You were carrying the state-of-the-art mobile device given you by the railway?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then why, oh why didn’t you immediately text Charlie? Why worry for three whole days until you bumped into me? I mean, the one person in the world likely to be most sympathetic, the one person even more sensitive to the whereabouts of her father than you!’

‘I didn’t want to worry her.’

‘Sparkwell KC and the mother-in-law by proxy, have been coming and going since the summer, he’s retired. They have finally settled on a property in a rather obscure corner of the county, with the aid of friend of the Trust, Thayer.’

‘So, you have the situation entirely under control?’

‘You think I’d, let the side down?’

At which point up wandered Junior Jack. ‘Grand palace you've got here Tony, Charlie about?’

‘Of course, probably rounding up committee members to serve lunch to the staff. Christmas tradition. Talking of which, Christmas Eve is members only. Who let you in?’

‘I am a member. Hah, that’s floored you. Can’t work out how I’d get in on merit rather than have you pulling the strings.’

‘I’m quite respectful of your merits John, taking over from your father as chair of the hotel company and the numerous other leisure interests, director of the railway; but here, here you need influence, two members at least who think you’d fit in, no longer one of them, but one of us.’

‘All right, that’s enough thinking time, who proposed me and who seconded?’

‘And names that would resonate with the current committee, well Charlie would fit the bill as one, the other...’

‘You can’t think can you, I always knew the day would come when I out-smarted you, beat you on your own ground. Think about it, you can let me know any time, no cheating mind.’ Then he walking away, leaving me in peace, I hoped, before lunch kicked-off.

‘Tony!’

‘Ah! The real Jack.’

‘What mate?’

‘As opposed to John who only has the nickname Junior Jack, sorry I’m being bombarded with new news today. How’s tricks?’

‘Electric buses by Christmas they said, ha!’

‘But the buses have arrived, some are on the road already being tested. I saw it on the news.’

‘Must be true then!’

‘The bus company depot is just down the road from you. They’ve put them all in the timetable on their premier routes, allowing cascading on other routes.’

‘And just a few boneshakers to be retained for filling-in, in the unlikely event.’

‘But somewhere along the line someone has cocked-up otherwise you wouldn’t look so gleeful.’

‘Just because a recharger has the capability to rapidly recharge, doesn’t mean it always does.’

‘Oh dear, and if they’re downstream of you, so to speak, and you have increased demand.’

‘It’s really about switching, phasing and timing, or something like that, so they tell me, rather than actual demand, but yes, they can’t recharge fast enough for the number of units they need to push through to meet the timetable. Very embarrassing. If you use the route passing the depot and have just got use to the clean, quiet and sweet smelling, then along comes a broken down...’

‘I see.’

‘...and that’s not the worst of it, you have the new battery trains in view on your journey more often than you might think, and have to pass the rich bastards coming out of our place, not to mention public service vehicles charging away.’

‘Lightens the heart.’

‘I’ve something else that’ll amuse you even more. Wainwright’s retiring.’

‘Retiring! She’s younger than I am, I still think of her as a hot babe.’

‘I’ll tell Charlie.’

‘Sparkwell is in a league of her own I’ll have you know, uncategor-risable.’

‘That’s not a word.’

‘It is, has been for thirty years. Anyway, they’ve not kicked her out, have they?’

‘Thirty-five years of service, full pension. Looking to consult, on the side.’

‘Then you should bury the hatchet, put her on a retainer.’

‘Not a chance. It wouldn’t be gamekeeper turned poacher, she’d be reporting back to the new lord of the manor within days.’

‘Met Mel’s Dad yet?’

‘Sure. Nice bloke, checking us out for his daughter’s sake, but respectful with it. I like that. I assumed he was a mate of yours.’

‘We were at school together.’

‘Course’ you were.’

‘Excuse me Jack, I have to find Charlie before the bun fight begins!’

I had to wander for a bit, but then turning into the corridor, I saw them. All three of them. Standing, but in a huddle nonetheless. Benson, Layton and Sparkwell. Archie seemed to be doing most of the talking, putting them straight about something. Charlie, nodding, listening, could she truly be trusted? Surely, she must be potentially, my greatest blind spot. I decided I had time to stand and stare. Let them notice me. When they did, she came over and said, conspiratorially; ‘It’s the drive-by solicitors.’

‘What?’

‘Out on the white-collar industrial estate, at the end of the motorway. And the others of course, financial consultants, administrative types. They’re the ones leading the pack over sports ground advertising. Only the middle classes can afford tickets these days, and new grounds are all out of town.’

‘Then why the hell are Bernard and Brinkley aping them, their strategy is meant to be niche marketing?’

‘Well, that’s Barney’s point. And Archie thinks we should stay traditional because AI will make, those on the make, redundant soon enough.’

I tried not to smile my satisfaction, since we were clearly being observed; ‘Why are they here today?’

‘Archie’s the guest speaker.’

‘Oh! Excellent, a man of discernment. So, changing the subject entirely, you’ve been asserting your influence I hear, and now it seems there are two people you’ve slipped passed the membership committee whilst no one was looking?’

‘Well, Barney was proposed by Archie, I just seconded him.’

‘And Junior Jack?’

‘I helped him with the form, then proposed him. Like you did for me.’

‘Who seconded him?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘We’re meant to be full-up!’

‘But what’s the point of influence if you don’t use it?’

‘Where the hell is Mackintosh when one needs him?’

‘He’s got his own manor to run.’

140: Swing

‘Captain’s orders, sir. You are to report to his cabin afore noon.’

‘Not aft.’

‘No, sir.’ 

‘How’s his mobility been lately?’

‘Not good, he needs a lift anywhere beyond Royal Oak, his mind seems okay though.’

‘I see, what does he want to talk about?’

‘Absolutely no idea.’

Throughout the autumn, we’d been playing musical chairs, literally. First, we cleared Ken’s flat, anything usable or valuable we stacked around the ground and first floors of the villa. Then we ascended to the second floor and contemplated the two attic rooms, still not in use and still full of the surplus possessions of the late Aunt. We both agreed about the objective, that being to provide two, all be they small, guest bedrooms, but we lacked the will to act. After a couple of days rest and recuperation however, we found the will. Inevitably, more came out than went back in. The two new single bedrooms looked very nice though!

Charlie then took a photographic inventory of what she felt might be useful to Royal Oak, their response was very gratifying, they handed the entire project to the removals division of the not-for-profit second-hand furniture and domestic appliance shop. They in turn gave us their exclusive attention for a day, loading our entire surplus onto the van, proceeded to Royal Oak and allowed them a generous amount of time to select and unload anything they fancied. They then proceeded to the shop for their selection, leaving only the detritus for the dump.

In all this great turnaround, I had at the back of my mind thoughts of my parent’s role in life and what might have spurred Ken’s interest. Charlie had naturally set aside his ‘documents of life’, and graciously allowed me temporary custody of his two passports, which I determined to use to add data to my infographic along with my own first passport and those of the aunt Elisabeth.

‘I’ve been thinking about Ken’s memorial.’ Said Charlie as she steered me towards my encounter with the good captain. ‘It has to be gardens related.’

‘That does have a certain logic.’

‘Maybe the Trust could use the funds to sponsor scholarships in horticulture.’

‘I wasn’t aware young Tim was short of a bob or two.’

‘Bob’s what?’

‘A colloquialism from another age, let me rephrase; I'm not aware Tim is short of the readies.’

‘Well, not necessarily him, but there could be several annually, if the money was properly invested.’

‘Perhaps.’ We were coming to a halt at Royal Oak. ‘Right now, there’s something a little more pressing that I need to discuss before we go inside.’

‘Well?’

‘Mel still volunteers here once in a while, right?’

‘Half a day a week usually, why?’

‘Have there been any rumours about her coming from a wealthy family?’

‘I don’t think so, and anyway she doesn’t come across that way.’

‘If they find out, don’t let Bob, or anyone else for that matter, touch her for funds for the charity.’

‘I don’t get it, I mean I know she’ll push a twenty in the collection box from time to time.’

‘I’ve been at this game for thirty-five years, if she’s approached now, it’ll backfire. It has to come from her. The point is, the Gruber Foundation is a good long-term bet for real funding, numbers that could make their future secure. But it has to be done right. Bob would muck it up. So too, any professional beggars from the charity industry who may be hanging around. Okay? Right, let’s get on with it, I imagine it’ll be hard cop, soft cop again today.’

Royal Oak looked noticeably more, well, ship-shape than on my previous visits. It was also losing its institutional look, helped along a little by some of the pieces we'd donated. Inside the old Admiral’s study, that we so flippantly refer to as “the captain’s cabin”, the transformation was altogether of a different order. Gone were the disorganised contents of the yacht; organised they now made the room look even more cabin-like. It appeared long and cramped, demanding order, with barely enough space for his narrow cot. Two, high chairs and a large plain table, strewn with architect’s drawings, illustrations and lists, rather than maps and charts. Charlie slipped into the free chair, I found space to stand behind her, for all the world like a consort for a queen. ‘Now then, Anthony, time to move to the next phase, our most pressing problem, housing, where can our clients move on to?’

‘Why are you asking me?’

‘Damn it man, you’re one of the biggest property and landowners in the county. And there’s a housing crisis!’

‘Our town properties have an over ninety per cent occupancy, only those in the process of being sold or restored can in any sense be called vacant. And our rural properties have an actual one hundred per cent occupancy rate, one out one in, cheap rents offered to other family or community members. We, in our small way have a profitable farming community, because they’re not owners. Bit like you, your cheap rent is a chance for you to get on your feet, whilst we carry the cost of the building’s upkeep. Besides, your problem isn’t future housing for clients, it’s future work.’

‘But decent secure housing... Many will never work, and those that do will need secure addresses, benefit support...’

‘Sod the practicalities, they’ll take care of themselves, the clients will want to sort them, my point is you’re putting the cart before the horse.’

‘How so?’

‘You sold the idea of this place to me on the basis that clients with mental health issues had particular problems, they feel confined by conventional homes, need to be outside a lot of the time, free to roam, never been able to settle to a timetabled life, least not one that isn’t of their own design, but they do need purposeful work. Perhaps work is the wrong word, purposeful activity, by which I mean, whether paid or not, they must be able to see, at the end of every day, the product of their endeavours. And the same is true of the would-be craftsman, as it is for someone who is just being there for someone else. The kind of place to call home, follows from that.’

‘I see. You’ve clearly thought this through. Which suggests to me, you do have something in mind.’

‘No, just bring me an individual who is enthusiastic about any of the Trust’s activities, then if suitable, accommodation will be part of the package!’

It was Swing Night, the club’s calendar having had something of a rescheduling this year, the golf had been given its own final night entertainment and the Awayday had moved from post-season to pre-season. I was driving on our way to the dance, for we were in traditional mode for the evening event. Charlie had one of her party frocks on and that required the holding open of doors.

‘When I saw Margot yesterday for my hair, she asked if I required colouring. How bad is it getting?’

‘It’s not bad anything! I’ve always liked the style, keeping it up and the sometimes fringe. As for going grey, I really don’t care.’

‘It was noticeable when I did the podcast apparently.’

‘And yet, the Don thought you didn’t look your age!’

After the first dance, I lost track of Charlie. Fiona our part-time marketing manager had included dance cards with the invitations, I doubted they’d catch on. Inevitably I was soon in the company of Daphne; ‘Your Bel has seriously gone to town with the look, I notice.’

‘The New Look, is all she’s about these days, become obsessed with the nineteen forties. She says she wants, to be somebody, something in the media, but you have to have apparent novelty, she intends to be a revival! I blame you, it was these themed dances that gave her the idea.’

‘Then I’m more than happy to take responsibility.’

‘You know she’s good at languages? Well she’s got the sixth form on her side, in her desire to study a four-year French literature course at university, can you believe it?’

‘Four-year?’

‘It’s a sandwich, with a year studying in Paris. Apparently, it’s what you do these days if you want to be finished!’

‘It’ll cost a fortune.’

‘The foundation will pay.’

I don’t know about you but I never walk into a room without a deliberate hesitation. A check in the step, a slight leaning back on the ball of the trailing foot. On this occasion I’d noticed Mel and Tim propping up the bar, sat facing each other. Then I remembered something Charlie had said about Mel becoming a member in her own right using part of her grandfather’s inheritance. Tim was still in work clothes, Mel in something matching. Both of them were drinking pints, of the draught bitter the committee had recently demanded, I’d managed to steer them towards a micro-brewery renting from the Trust.

‘I say, your sister is cutting a dash.’

‘Isn't she just.’ Mel replied

'What brought this on?’

‘She wants to be like mother, isn’t it obvious.’