‘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.’
