145: Electric diner

‘Where are we going?’ I asked, as Charlie veered off the usual route to the Park.

‘Jack’s.’

‘But you filled-up a couple of days ago.’

‘I know. But there have been developments, and I need to show you.’

‘You could have just told me.’

‘Well, no not really. You rely too much on me you know. When it comes to the filling station, the classic car workshop, Jack’s other nefarious activities, Fiona, even Mel these days.’

‘You’re my eyes and ears Sparkwell, give me details.’

‘In case you’ve forgotten, sir, the deal was, all those years ago, that I take care of the car, singular. In exchange for free use. What you neglected to explain, was just what your relationship to Jack really is. I really don’t know, what you need to know. But I do know you need to see this.’

‘Yes, you’re quite right, as usual.’ Having parked in the car park we sat and stared. The name above the entrance to what I still think of as the new pay point, come shop, come cafe and comfort break area at the filling station, had changed. Somewhat larger, and now a flashing neon sign, it read Electric Diner.

‘Very American.’ Was her only comment.

‘But at least it’s not on the roof, projecting to the sky. That would have required planning permission one assumes.’

‘Come on.’ Said Charlie, making to exit the vehicle.

‘There’s more?’

‘Of course, the whole interior is made out like a diner.’

‘You’re telling me Jack has forked out for a full interior redesign just a couple of years after the original was built?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Didn’t come to me for the money!’

‘Maybe he’s doing better than he’s letting on.’

Whilst the pay point and shop looked substantially the same, the cafe area was altogether different. We took seats at the counter.

‘What can I get you folks?’

‘Blimey!’

‘I say!’ I added, as a uniformed Melisa smiled upon us. ‘Still Jack’s general dogsbody I take it?’

‘No!’

‘Skirt’s a bit short.’ Said Charlie.

‘I’m just here for ten days, overseeing the opening, I’m Jack’s right hand these days.’

‘Masquerading as a waitress in a burger joint. Anyway, what do you recommend?

‘Double cheeseburger with extra fries, a tenner each.’

‘What!’

‘Proper big buns, hand-flipped hamburgers.’

‘Flown in a new short order Chef from Vegas, has he?

‘No, same staff.’

‘Still must have cost a bit.’

‘Jack says the filling station is a profit centre.’

‘First in a thousand years! Two coffees, thank you.’

After we’d had a chance to take in the ambience for a minute or two, the truth suddenly dawned. ‘I know where he’s got this from, Eltham.’

‘How come?’

‘He’s been roaming his social media, picked up what’s been developing with recharging for Makepeace’s US EVs.’

‘Well?’

‘There’s three or four now, combination drive-in, or drive-by, rechargers plus burger joints and cinemas, all retro nineteen fifties style. You park, plug-in, order a meal from the car, it’s delivered to you as you watch a movie on the big outdoor screen.’

‘And pay from your device, presumably.’

‘Of course.’

After a few more minutes Mel returned; ‘Sure I can’t get you anything to eat?’

‘No, I have to keep a tight rein on Tony’s appetites.’

‘So, what are you saying Mel, Jack’s training you up as some kind of personal assistant?’

‘Thinks I’m management material. Good at reading people, seeing opportunities for what they are. He also, well, I think he’s sees how you and Charlie operate and...’

‘He’s older than I am! And he’s been married to his childhood sweetheart for over forty years.’

‘I didn’t mean like that, what do you take me for?’

‘He knows Mel, he’s deliberately misunderstanding, he can’t help himself.’

‘So, does he want you to sell cars, or be a female enforcer perhaps?’

‘I don’t know, all I know is it works, I sort of gather information in, and he says he can think aloud when I’m around, bounce ideas of me.’

‘Oh well, if you’re that important, you should be able to name your own price. Anyway, onward and upward, Charlie we must hit the road.’

‘Might see you later then Tony.’

‘Really?’

‘Well, you’re off to your secret session with Tim, aren’t you?’

‘Not so secret it would seem.’

I went in search of George, our senior grounds person. For although I sort a private consultation with Tim, I’d no intention of queering the pitch for him. He was after all, a student under George’s supervision. I found him sitting on one of the new, old-style park benches, on the far side of the pond, finishing his tuck. ‘Afternoon George.’

‘Mr Arlington, sir.’ He said, doffing a non-existent cap and rising to his feet.

‘Oh, lord. Not you as well, I get enough of that from Sparkwell.’ I said sitting down.

‘But you do deserve respect, you found these benches, they’re actually comfortable to sit on!’ Now he sat back down again.

‘Thank you. Cost a fortune though, we must devise a way of doing our own repairs in the fullness of time.’

‘We have some wood set aside from the new water pipe business, I’ll keep an eye out. Now then, you’re here to ask me about that young Tim, am I correct?’

‘You are indeed.’

‘Soon as he mentioned he was doing your garden, I thought, hello! Not like we’ve had students before.’

‘Well, how’s he doing?’

‘Fine. Good worker, I’d give him a job. But he, has ideas.’

‘And that’s bad?’

‘No, but he’s no Joseph Paxton, is he?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, we must remember Paxton was only twenty-three when the duke offered him the position of Head Gardener at Chatsworth.’

‘Yes, but in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re half the size of Chatsworth.’

‘But the house is a similar age.’

‘Oh, I get it. You like him because you, think he’s like you.’

‘Where is he by the way?’

‘Chatting up the old biddies in the walled garden.’

I stood a moment, half shielded by the iron work of the gates. Tim was demonstrating something about digging to a group of our bungalow residents. Either that, or it was their way of getting someone else to do the work. Enough I thought and strode forth. ‘Afternoon all!’

‘Afternoon Anthony.’ Said Ada.

‘I need to borrow young Tim here for a few minutes I’m afraid.’

‘You will bring him back won’t you, we’re learning ever so much.’ Said another.

‘Of course.’

Once out of earshot, behind the wall where the lean-to potting sheds used to stand, I asked; ‘Did you get the package?’

‘Yes, I’ve made a start, fascinating read, I hadn’t realised your uncle was really such a distant relation of the original earls.’

‘I was hoping it was the details of the original parkland and gardens that would fascinate!’

He laughed; ‘They do sir, honestly, it’s just, well as the title says, “Cattle Rustlers to Courtiers”, the occupants are intriguing. All my ancestors seem so deferential, even some of the living specimens...’

‘Quite, now then, lets walk. My uncle’s scheme always was restoration, the club, the spa, conference facilities, merely a means to an end. The walled garden, a case in point, a reasonable compromise provided the users don’t develop an allotment mentality. The expansion of the golf course to eighteen holes, an opportunity to reorientate the entire place back to what it once was, a house and park with uninterrupted vistas all the way to the sea. Unashamed anti-modernism if you will, big C conservation and not a windmill in sight. Would your lecturers approve?’

‘Probably not. But you’ll get no objections from me.’

‘Good lad.’