54: Charlie's country house caper

‘Were you asleep?’

‘Er, yes, what time is it?’

‘Have you been lying-in all the time I was away?’

‘Well...’

‘I’m coming over.’

I had enough time to get showered and dressed, but when I got downstairs, Charlie was already moving about the kitchen with disapproval. ‘This is never going to work. How long before Merriweather fixes the garage?’

‘It’s not a fix, the fact that it’s ours has already been established, it’s just a question of how brutal Bernard has to be removing the current occupant.’

‘There’s some kit of mine in the boot, bring it in whilst I tidy-up a bit. What is on today’s schedule anyway?’

‘I’m going to show you our new local shoppe, and you are going to buy a hard copy of The Beacon!’

‘Why?’

‘Souvenir issue. I thought you’d already know that?’

‘I’ve been preoccupied with your backsliding.’

As we were walking down the hill, Charlie asked; ‘How long is your arch enemy going to keep up with all these lockdowny restrictions?’

‘For people like us, about another forty-eight hours I should think.’

‘What?’

‘We, are about to become key workers. Furthermore, long delayed improvements to the Park are suddenly going to take-off again. And of course, in four months, everything will have more than paid for itself.’

‘I love you. God knows why, but I do. Sneaky bastard.’

With no details, the quality press did their best with; ‘Privileged elite to meet at exclusive country hideaway’. Whilst, The Beacon had; ‘PICTURE EXCLUSIVE Inside Buffy’s High Tech Country Conference SEE CENTRE PAGES’

‘How did they get any of this?’

‘Off Wooley’s device of course, he was there for almost a month at election time remember? Wait till you go to your app, there’s video.’

‘Oh my God, we’re all in these pics.’

‘Yes, but imagine you’d never been there. There’s no sign of the club’s actual activities, just what the headline says.’

‘So, the Lefties are all disapproval, but the biggest readership, of ordinary people, get the inside story.’

‘Bleed’in tragic innit!’

Charlotte gathered her composure and did a thorough inspection of the shelves of our new, local retail cooperative. As we were heading back up the hill she asked; ‘So just what is my role meant to be in all of this?’

‘Well, I understand you will be contacted soon. Didn’t you give your number to the head of Buffy’s security detail?’

‘Oh, right.’

‘The idea, which we’ve only very tentatively explored so far, is that you should be Buffy’s, Special Protection Officer whenever he is in the vicinity of the Park.’

‘But they just gave me odd bits of advice about crowd control psychology...’

‘Ah! No, this is more personal. What I think he wants is for you, using your exceptional waitress come Maître d’hôtel skills, is to place yourself between him and the guests.’

‘You’re joking!’

‘You understood that one all right.’

‘Too bloody right!’

‘An uppity French president, who’s clearly been pussy-whipped his entire life. An East German house-frau, who from the look of her has been enjoying sugary fancies under the table for decades - and a US president who between falling asleep at regular intervals, is determine to show his virility!’

A week or so later we found ourselves sitting in the car in the abandoned carpark at the Park, staring at the locked-up house. We’d each received our orders via text - me from some Cabinet Office official, she from her new ‘handler’ - to be there at eight-thirty sharp.

‘We’re twenty minutes early!’

‘Well, I am a little anxious I suppose.’

‘So, just what work on this place is going to magically get done?’

‘That rather depends on how many personnel we’re allowed. A couple of gardeners - with their high-tech machinery - gets the golf course finished. Finding three or four underemployed workers from the National Truss gets the inside tarted-up. Plus, four or five of the regular staff need to be allowed back in pretty soon. The big question mark, will be communications.’

‘How come?’

‘Only the ballroom and the two adjacent withdrawing rooms have fibre optics, connecting to the antennae and the dish on the roof. All the other Wi-Fi comes via the landline telephone network, I don’t even know how far we are from the end of the fibre optic roll-out.’

‘Surely if they want more than we’ve got, they’ll have to pull springs?’

‘Absolutely. But there is a certain amount of negotiation required over who pays and presumably the work would have to start soon.’

‘There’ll come a point won’t there when you’ll lose control of the conference, I mean the whole place.’

‘Yes, and I’m reliably informed that although the contract will have a date, these things creep up on you, more and more people you know nothing about start arriving and you gradually become side-lined. I suspect you will be the only one truly on the inside come the four days. The only other people you’ll really know will be confined to the kitchen and the office.’

‘If you’ve been reading Buffy right.’

‘Indeed. Hello! A flashing light, car and mobile, well I’ll be damned. Open your window.’

‘Chopper approaching, one o’clock, Merlin.’

‘Ah. Markings?’

‘Can’t tell, just looks greyish black.’

‘Close the window.’

‘These notifications indicate someone on my network in the vicinity. Someone on that chopper and defiantly not the two people we are here to meet, someone extra.’

‘The man himself.’

‘I hope not, I know for a fact he’s meant to be opening a factory in Pontefract!’

‘Who then?’

‘Not telling, I’m having a little bet with myself.’

‘But surely you could go to, whatever counts as an address book in that system of yours?’

‘Sure, but if I open it, he, I’m assuming it is a he, will know.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘The lights flashed, because my kit picked-up his personal device on which he was searching to see if we were here. There’s always a way of knowing.’

‘Did he know, you’d know, if he located you?

‘I don’t know.’

We saw the group of suits for just a few seconds as they came along the path from the helipad. ‘I’m none the wiser.’

‘I am,’ said Charlie. I turned my head.

‘Ha! He’s pretending to be nonchalant; he’d have had to run to get here in that time.’

‘The black mask is a bit scary.’

Our visitor opened the driver’s side door. ‘Charlie! Wonderful to see you again, like old times ya?’

As she jumped out, she said; ‘He knew it was you, didn’t tell me though, lights flashing everywhere.’

‘Thanks a bunch Charlie. Discretion is more important than ever if we’re to pull this one off.’ I replied.

‘Don’t listen to the man, you’re a star, all the Navy flyers love you.’

‘What?’

‘This place, always on the fight path for them and the RAF, what with the camp on the top of the Moor, Marine training only a few miles away, everyone using the coast to navigate. Last eighteen months, they’ve all seen the transformation in the grounds...’

‘Barmy, what the hell are you doing here?’ I interrupted.

‘Navy in charge of the whole thing, controlling the air space, we’re offshore right now, those guys were inspecting the airport an hour ago, we provide the transport.’

‘You know what I meant.’

‘I’m their link man, I know the inside here, besides I’m the only person on the flagship who can get into the club portal.’

‘So, who came with the chopper?’

‘Your Cabinet Office guy, Charlie’s protection guy, the other three are spooks of some description.’

‘That’s all we need!’

‘But best bit is, according to your guy, Buffy and Carrie are the only ones in Downing St. who can access the portal, so you know, they go around showing it off to the select - good work, Heptonstall right?’

Then the house alarm system went off.

‘Oh my God!’ said Charlie.

‘Can’t even force a window.’ I said, as an aside to Barmy.

‘Shouldn’t we do something?’ She exclaimed.

‘Hang-on a second, I’ll check whose sleep-in caretaker this week. Ha! Charlie, tell your “asset” to let the burglars in.’

53: Sparkwell's return

‘Where the hell are you?’ Said Charlie, down the line.

‘At the Villa.’

‘You’ve moved us!’

‘Only me and my stuff, take a look around, you’ll find you’re still fully intact. What’s that crash?’

‘I just dropped my fishing tackle. Oh, now I see, I think? The camera has gone from the treatment room I notice.’

‘Yes. I’m speaking to you from the Media Room, first-floor front. But anyway, I couldn’t move you without your consent, but then I couldn’t show you what you might wish to move to; without moving myself - if you see what I mean?’

‘That might be logical in your world but I’m not sure... I’ve only been gone a week; you must have been scheming this for ages.’

‘Well not really. The builders finished here the day after you left. You commandeered the car so I had to leg it to Jack’s for a courtesy vehicle and he was moaning about how much his lads were underemployed and suddenly I had a brainwave...’

‘Don’t bother.’

‘All done for free, payback for our road trip. Anyway, get yourself over here. It would appear I’ve got some even bigger news you may have reservations about.’

‘Oh my god, what?’

‘Have you been living in total isolation?’

‘Of course.’

‘Not listened to the news?’

‘Why would I?’

Charlie arrived rather recklessly. I’m sure some curtains must have twitched in the avenue. She practically ran up the path, clearly, she must have put the radio on. ‘Don’t you ever do that to me again. I almost crashed. Are you out of your mind? Talk about getting above yourself, and just what role in the proceedings had you got in mind for me?’

‘Firstly, the idea came from the top; secondly, they’ve asked for you, more or less full-time until the summer.’

‘But, but... You’ve only got six of the bedrooms in commission!’

‘Correction, we’ve got state rooms as grand as anything they’ll have ever known, they just need the dust blowing off.’

‘What!’

‘And if they’re not satisfied, they can make do with the servant’s quarters above.’

‘Seriously, Tony. What’s this all about?’

‘Buffy’s revenge, I think. His chance to stick it to the rest of the world.’

‘How?’

‘He wants us, as we are. The club. Right down to the regular menu.’

‘Well let’s pray they’re not here on a Thursday.’

‘Why?’

‘Well! I’m pleased you’ve forgotten, as chair of the Dining Committee you must have approved it once upon a time - Spotted Dick with lumpy custard.’

‘Oh yes. Happy days.’

‘So, you promised Prudence foreign statesmen, are you going to deliver an HRH too?’

‘Well, unknown as yet. But we do have a banqueting room familiar to their ancestors.’

‘Well, you’ve changed this room.’

‘Yes, back to what it must once have been. Ground floor front, therefore a literal reception room, somewhere to meet visitors and decide whether they should be allowed any further on to the premises.’

‘Do take a seat madam, I’ll see if the young master is at home.’

‘Or, do take a seat, whilst I prepare the treatment room, there’s mineral water on the sideboard.’

‘What?’

‘Step this way.’

‘How come it’s so light? And where’s the dining table, you said it was a genuine heirloom.’

‘The table is in three bits in one of the top floor bedrooms, only took the lads five minutes, it was designed to be taken apart. The ceiling and walls above the picture rail have new white paint and LED ceiling lights, see? And, this back wall is now white, whilst the remaining posh wallpaper has had some sort of damp spongy treatment, that brings back the original slightly reflective effect.’

‘The floor?’

‘That I admit is a bit of an indulgence, has to be sealed again apparently, when the wood has dried out a bit more. Oh, and the patio doors have been rehung and tinkered with, easy to leave ajar now, for fresh air and birdsong on spring mornings. So, moving on, only minor changes to the kitchen and pantry.’

‘Fresh paint and?’

‘Just a thorough clean-up really, food was quite a priority with the Aunt.’

‘What’s happened to the backdoor?’

‘Oh yes, I almost forgot, it has in fact been replaced. So, no more bolts but a dead lock as well as a sprung lock - now an alternative way to ingress and egress the property.’

‘Honestly this isn’t fair, you’ve been doing this to make me want to be here, rather than creating your own space. Now, it’s like I owe you!’

‘You haven’t seen upstairs yet.’

‘Oh cripes.’

‘So, master bedroom one, street facing, becomes proper family withdrawing room come library - henceforth to be known as the Media Room.’

‘Now that is cool.’

‘Well yes, and apart from Barmy’s garden shed I can’t think of one to beat it. Indeed, my wraparound screen is bigger that his.’

‘Looks like you’re still at the same place with your father’s documents as you were when they were downstairs?’

‘Yes, and likely to stay that way if I have to be hands-on with the Summit. Anyway, moving along, real master bedroom, garden facing with new improved bath and shower arrangements.’

I left a long pause, until she broke the silence; ‘All plumbed in, but no tiles yet.’

‘Correct.’

‘Well, I’m not signing-up for cleaning. Either you do it yourself or get someone in. And the car?’

‘Bernard is in negotiation to get Uncle Thomas’s mews garage back.’

‘Mews?’

‘At the confluence of the two back lanes that serve the avenue.’

‘Now you’ve lost me.’

‘An ancient, pre-historic version of a residents association, formed out of the freeholders, to look after the mews, the back lanes, the avenue, and the common lawn behind the trees.’

‘It’s all private? You wouldn’t know it.’

‘Long may it stay that way.’

‘You said you would be using last week to settle the reconstituting of the Trust!’

‘Well, that’s slightly delayed on account of it can only happen once Bernard and Brinkley have put their own semi-retirement plans into operation.’

‘You’re in charge, aren’t you?

‘Of course, but they have to do it all of their own free will and fly-off to the sun in the firm belief it was all their own idea.’

‘You know you said I’d have to find out about those two on my own. Well, I’ve discovered nothing, so perhaps you’d better come clean.’

‘All I know, all anyone knows - and this’s the point - is, you know that Art Deco block of flats between here and town? That’s where they live.’

‘Together?’

‘No. They each have a second floor flat; they live across the corridor from each other.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘And, about twenty-five years ago, when this arrangement began, they each went halves on a timeshare in Spain. The only gossip ever to emerge, is that they nearly always take annual leave at the same time.’

‘They don’t look the part, do they?’

‘I’m not sure that’s an appropriate question these days?’

‘You know what I mean! Brinkley looks positively, Dickensian.’

‘Indeed, the miserly clerk, sat on a high stool at one of those high desks. Whilst Bernard looks like the country squire, fresh from tearing a strip off the stable lad.’

‘So, what happens, they keep their financial stake in the whole set-up I take it?’

‘Absolutely. They just hand over most of their clients to the staff they’ve been bringing along the last couple of years, with the exception of the Trust, the Park and the club accounts. If you go to the websites of Brinkley Associates, and Merriweather and Stollard, you will find them describing themselves as Consulting Accountant and Consulting Solicitor respectively.’

An afterword to book one

There have been suggestions, more or less from the start, that this blog should carry some sort of disclaimer. You know the sort of thing, ‘..all characters are fictitious and bear no resemblance to real personages, alive or dead’. Equally, calls have been heard for an explicit recognition of the writing’s literary antecedence, of its clearly derivative nature. Some have gone so far as to assert it borders on plagiarism and that surely some copyright law must have been breached.

My reply is; ‘Guilty, your honour! Of all charges.’ There is nothing original in it at all. All the words are borrowed, but barring a few half sentences, not used in the same order. I’ll go further and say this is true of all writing, for all time. We are a social species, everything we know has come about as the result of one brain learning from another, a recombination of the thoughts, feelings and ideas of others.

‘So, how did it all come about?’ I hear you ask. Well, one day a few years ago, the thought occurred to me that in writing the Jeeves stories, Wodehouse was deliberately turning the concept of Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes on its head! The grim reality of criminality, is replaced by a world of fantasy and fun. The brains are given to the sidekick, rather than the principal, whilst the narrator remains the fool. Sometime later, I found myself cogitating on whether there could be a modern version of the Jeeves, Wooster relationship - after about three days I concluded there could not. However, in the process I was left with those few aspects of their partnership which just might be plausible.

One aspect of the double act, as portrayed in the short episodic form of a magazine serial, which surely would not survive these days, is the notion of individuals having a persistent and enduring character, someone who doesn’t change over time, indeed who appears to stop time itself. Yet in truth, all double acts learn from each other and become more similar over time. The comfort of certainty, just didn’t seem credible today.

The short form of the magazine serial seemed also to have an equivalence with the blogpost. Modern distractibility suggested maximum dialogue with the minimum of description - along with a word limit of fifteen hundred. ‘But from whom does he take his inspiration?!’ I hear you cry. Well, it is my first attempt at fiction, so better to stick to what one knows. And after all, at the end of the day, you can only hope to be humorous if you are writing about what has made you, laugh.

Those of you who know me personally, or indeed those who have read my other blogs, know I’ve spent a time-rich, if not financially rich, lifetime haunting cafes - using them to read, write and socialise. Over the years I’ve struck up a number of acquaintanceships with waitresses. And yes, one had done a degree in sports science, and another was a yoga instructor who was also certificated in various forms of massage.

And of politics and the minor aristocracy seen from the perspective of the nouveau riche? Well, like many ordinary folk of the late 20^th century I’ve seen the inside of more country piles than I care to remember. I was state educated, but as a teenager did do a couple of short summer courses at public schools, the names of which would be familiar to many of you. Again, given what I’ve written elsewhere, I can hardly deny an over familiarity with Waugh, Powell and Greene. As for politicians they’re everywhere, in increasing numbers, in person and in the media - more and more is known about them, at a time when they seem to achieve less and less. Or is that all changing as I write?

52: The final problem

‘I’ve just had a shock, two shocks in fact.’ So said Charlie as she came through the front door.

‘Sit down, I’ll make some of your special tea.’

A few minutes later. ‘There you go. In your own time, as they say.’

‘You know the other week I went to the surgery for the introductory interrogation after registering with your Doc.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I got on quite well with the nurse, so I kind of just let her get on with it, let her poke about, check-out whatever, send for testing etc.’

‘Yes.’

‘Today, they sent me to the clinic for the results. They wanted to double check a few things, I ended up talking it all through with the specialist for about half an hour! They think I should be using some form of artificial contraception because I could get up the duff at any time.’

‘And this after you’d explained your entire history, again. So, what did you say?’

‘I just said I’d do things my own way thank you very much. Then she suggested counselling on account of either I was unconsciously avoiding doing anything that would up my chances of getting knocked-up or, simply using unreliable methods of contraception and being irresponsible. What do you think?’

‘I think modern medicine has very little in common with hard evolutionary genetic science, nor is it the wisdom of our ancient ancestors! Do as you like, I’ll go with any outcome. Although, as I’ve implied before, if you were inclined towards motherhood, I’d be quite prepared to facilitate the grandest and most traditional of weddings, and use the resources of the Trust to secure the health and happiness of our offspring.’

‘How grand?’

‘Now you’re asking the right questions. The cathedral with the bishop presiding. Didn’t you say a while ago your father had some such idea in mind?’

‘Not even he could pull that one off, he’s not that influential. His Lawyers as Christians thing is pretty small fry.’

‘Then he’d have to ask for some local help.’

‘You?’

‘No, but perhaps one of our local country bumpkin solicitors and his sidekick.’

‘Really, is this something to do with the Trust?’

‘No, no. But Bernard and Brinkley do provide certain services to the diocese in matters temporal. Your father might find them uniquely placed to affect the desired outcome. Cat Macintosh may despair at the woke-ness of the Church of England in spiritual matters, but they remain quite traditional when it comes to certain aspects of their governance, their property, and land.’

‘You’ve thought this through!’

‘I confess, certain possible scenarios have flittered across my mind in idle moments since I was able to link your father to Bernard.’

‘Don’t tell me, father prosecuted him and crushed him in court.’

‘Apparently. But, all rather neat don’t you think? You take your father for a shed load of cash; he thinks his problem is finally off his hands.’

‘But seriously, is there anything about me that would suggest I’d make a good mother?’

‘Not right now perhaps, but if you did become, with child, there’s no knowing how your brain and body would react, almost instantly. But anyway, you said you’d had two shocks.’

‘Oh, yes. Coming back in just now from the other direction I walked along the front of the terrace. Suddenly I thought I was going to have a heart attack. One of the front doors banged open, on to the street, like the wrong way. You said they were all sealed up to make larger apartments.’

‘Oh lord. Yes. Sorry, I should have explained.’

‘And out flies Jim all masked-up with a black sack over his shoulder big enough to hold a body. God!’

‘Yeah, there’s two of them, one towards each end. Additional fire exits from way back. But these days they’re nowhere near the official mustering point, so, not advised for use.’

The following day I decided to take advantage of the partial relaxation in covid-19 rules, to get a haircut. ‘I’m only off to the barbers for a good trim, shouldn’t be more than an hour.’

‘Hang-on, I’ll come with you, I need the exercise.’ As soon as we were outside, she asked; ‘Where do you usually go?’

‘Only to Alex’s around the corner.’

‘I couldn’t recommend them, sir.’

‘What do you mean, you “couldn’t recommend them”, I’ve been going there for years!’

‘For a gentleman of your description.’

‘And just what do you mean by a “gentleman of my description”?’

‘Well, your hair is older than your body now. With most people it’s the other way around. If you care to follow me, just a short way up the town, I’m sure I could get you a quick consultation with Margot, the hair magician.’

‘You want it really short. Un-comb-able, you mean.’

‘Oh no, well not necessarily, just whatever she recommends.’

‘You want me to place myself in the hands of an unknown crimper?’

‘Only unknown to you!’

‘This feels like a major concession to me, another stage in your rise to total domination over my dominion.’

‘You, want something in return.’

‘There you go, thinking several moves ahead now!’

‘Well?’

‘I want you to sit down with pen and paper and write me a mission statement. Just a hundred and fifty or two hundred words, a first draft to give the direction of travel.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I want you to imagine you are the chief executive of a charitable trust, with a mass of property assets, including nearly a thousand acres of productive land and tens of millions in cash and investments. I want to know what you personally, given the world you live in, think the priorities of such an organisation should be.’

‘And you’ll submit to having your head restyled?’

‘Of course.’

‘Done.’

‘Fact is, pretty soon I’m going to have to concede, to the Trust having a proper Board of Trustees, with a variety of expertises. It’s just too big for one person to effectively control, soon it will attract more attention from various government agencies, plus if I am to be the end of the line, well, let’s see how much influence we can have over a future we won’t be a part of!’

‘We’re here.’

‘Once more into breach, summon up the blood, etcetera!’

‘Can one get attention in this sparkling emporium without an appointment?’ No sooner had I mumbled these words to my companion, than a majestic lady of middle age approached.

‘Oh, my goodness! Charlotte. It’s been a while, is this your new chap?’

‘Margot, Tony. Tony, Margot.’

‘I’ve given over control of my hair to Charlie here, she says I must let you do whatever you will with it.’

‘I say, you are serious about him darling! Who’d have thought. Take a seat for a while, I’ll finish up with my client and have a think about your problem.’

We were left to admire the surroundings.

‘So, you want to start thinking about the future of the Trust now, so the right people get to be Trustees?’

‘Sure, and who is allowed to just advise and who has to share legal responsibility for its conduct.’

‘But if I just dropped a couple of kids for you, we could all go on enjoying a grand country living?’

‘The two aren’t mutually exclusive.’

‘Charlotte! Let’s have your lad over here.’ Once seated, with the two of them peering at the back of my head and Margot using her comb to explore, like the school nit nurse, I realised I was no longer in control - of anything in my life. ‘As you know from your massage darling, nothing really grows symmetrically, see, thinning more on that side.’ I tuned-out, focused solely on the breath, letting go of the good thoughts as well as the unwelcome. ‘I can do this all in five minutes with just the scissors, then you must use the home shaving kit to remove as much of his body hair as you require.’

(End of Book One - this blog will return, sometime, maybe...)

51: Doing archaeology

Charlie was doing her usual trick of asking what the “agenda for the day” was as we were towelled off after showering - so as to better take control of my wardrobe!

‘We need to settle on a strategy for dealing with the contents of the Villa.’ I replied.

‘Aren’t you putting the cart before the horse?’

‘What can you mean?’

‘Well shouldn’t you be in secret session with Brinkley and Merriweather deciding the fate of the Villa first?’

‘Well, the thing is, you remember the first time I took you there...’

‘I mean it should be a piece of cake for you to get as much time as you want to sort the possessions.’

‘Well, yes...’

‘There, jeans, tea shirt, leather jacket, trainers - ideal for dusty sorting, box carrying etc.’

‘You think we should be making a start today?’

‘For a few hours. Look, you don’t really know what there is yet, what the significance of what there is, is. You won’t know what can go, until the very end. Even sorting one room at a time. I mean as soon you hit on a document concerning anyone, you’ll have to stop and read it to know whether it has implications for everything else!’

‘Point taken.’

‘Besides. You’re a bit emotionally distracted now anyway. You may need weeks to take it all on board when it comes to your father’s stuff, as well as your Aunt’s. You’ve just got to feel your way around, at your own pace. However long that turns out to be.’

‘But there must be an efficient way of doing it.’

‘May be, but it’s not really about a house clearance is it, least not for you. It’s a learning process, you want the history to use, think of it like acquiring a skillset.’

‘Oh, right. So speaks the voice of the sports scientist, you mean take a thin-slice through each room...’

‘Try several.’

‘Then start to make links, so as to make one chunk, of the whole. Then make other chunks elsewhere.’

‘You just have to decide what the game is, if it is a game? If there are any rules at all!’

‘Well, the game is obvious - it’s archaeology.’

‘What?’

‘Digging up the past.’

We were sat in the kitchen of the Villa. Taking a break. Charlie, improvising a lunch from the Aunt’s well stocked freezer. ‘Why don’t I persuade the Trust to allow you to rent this place or better still buy a long lease, cheap? It would give you some long-term security. Then you could afford, with a loan or two, to remodel the place however you liked.’

‘With respect sir, for someone so smart, you have an amazing ability to miss the bleedin’ obvious.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘For a start that’s your fantasy, not mine. In your grand scheme of being master of all you survey at Checkley, with this as the town house, presided over by yours truly, you’re ignoring reality. Pandemic aside, if you inherit the gentleman’s manor house, realistically it won’t be for another twenty years or so!’

‘Possibly, possibly.’

‘You’ll be seventy! You’ll be like your uncle is now, trying to take it easy and keep-up at the same time. You won’t have the energy for any grand plans or schemes. If you want an ancestral home, this is all there is. A four-bed detached, thoroughly middle-class home with pretentions - which is what you really are! Take it, transform it into whatever state you want, then ask me whether I’ll join you. And be prepared for the reply that it is not within the terms of employment of a valet, sir - to be housekeeper and cleaner in a place of this size, thank you very much.’

‘I see, this is you putting your foot down is it?’

‘Sometimes I think you’ve got me completely back to front. I’ve been reading up about real val-ets, they only really existed between about nineteen hundred and nineteen thirty, and there weren’t that many of them! Yes, they were at the top of the tree, in that they had the same pay and status of a butler but without the drudgery or responsibility for others - freedom in other words. If they had the sense to let their employer set the pace, they could slip-stream behind and enjoy an unprecedented quality of life for someone of their background, a dozen country-house weekends every year, a car, a couple of foreign holidays and a transatlantic trip every few years. The opportunities for tips, were out of this world! But their freedom, their power, came from being able to walk away at a moment’s notice, knowing they could go work for any number of other people, who they already knew all about!’

‘I think I see where this is going.’

‘Amaze me, Holmes.’

‘Something about not being able to appreciate a butterfly if you try and hold it in your hand.’

‘I live in the here and now. If I’m content, I’ll still be here tomorrow.’ Then, eyeball to eyeball; ‘Love is found in the moment, like joy - it has to be remade every day.’

It wasn’t long before one of our sessions at the Villa coincided with one of Mr Murchison’s half days in the garden. ‘Good afternoon young man.’

‘How are you, sir’ I asked, as if he were a kindly schoolmaster or the vicar.

‘So far so good, staying out of the way of almost everybody.’

‘Charlotte’s here too, we try and put in a couple of hours sorting most days.’

‘I told Elisabeth she was becoming obsessive about family history, “who will care about all this?” I’d challenge her. “My nephew did read history Kenneth; he’ll know perfectly well what to do!” Ha! Just for the record, she never ran you down to other people, in case you ever wondered.’

‘Thank you. I understand you’ve spoken with her executor.’

‘Odd chap, still, seems I’m to carry-on, but consult with you about the future, I understand you are the Trust now.’

‘Well, the way it works is I come up with a proposal, then the lawyers and the accountants tell me whether I’m allowed to do it or not! The burning question of the hour is, do I want to live here, or do we rent or lease it to someone else. If I did move in, well I remember this garden the way it was forty years ago, I’m wondering whether it’s possible to bring it all back?’

‘Follow me.’ Murchison proceeded to the shed, took out a spade and with surprising ease, cut a section about sixty centimetres deep into the fallow veg garden. ‘So, what do you see?’

The soil was grey to black. ‘It’s not red!’

‘Now the borders aren’t quite as good, gets worse towards the house, but nonetheless. The house foundations are on the Meadfoot, but someone has shipped the soil in from somewhere down the road that’s Heavitree stone. A century of digging and composting. Elisabeth once brought out a couple of, well, Edwardian photos I suppose they must have been, they’d been found by Thomas Hayward somewhere. Find them, and you’re away. Where there’s a will, there’s a way!’

‘Come on then, give me the full tour, bring me up to speed, and I’ll fix it for you to have tea on the patio with Charlotte.’

50: An act of will

‘What are you expecting to happen?’

‘I don’t know. As I said, I’ve no idea what her intentions were.’

‘What did she have to leave?’

‘Well, the Villa and its contents. Uncle Thomas owned the house, bought it when they married, did it up, paid off the mortgage. It’s only been in later years that she’s drawn on the Trust. Although I assume, she had an allowance when young. It seems everything is coming to an end. If I’d had a cousin, or two, things might have been very different.’

We rose in the lift to the top floor, reception seemed abandoned. ‘I’ll wait here whilst whatever happens, happens.’

‘Thanks babe.’

After a minute or two Brinkley appeared, masked like the two of us. ‘I’ve been asked here to represent the Trust. Bernard’s been very proper about things, not breathed a word about Mrs Hayward’s estate.’

‘What did you make of the funeral?’

‘I can’t every recall one like it. Thank you for the music Anthony, most consoling.’

Then Bernard came out of his office. ‘Morning Ms Sparkwell. I shan’t keep you long Tony, Lawrence. I propose just to read the Will - it’s not long - take any immediate questions, otherwise I see no reason not to do the rest by email or video conference.’

He was right, it was short and to the point, I suppose I should have expected that. ‘Okay then,’ I said as Bernard did that trick of folding and tying a legal document without actually looking at it. ‘Charlie and I will do a systematic search of the Villa in the next few days and we’ll deliver anything legal, financial, insurance like...’

‘Jewellery.’

‘Oh yes, of course.’

‘One other thing Tony, your Aunt did mention on the occasion she signed the Will, that amongst her possessions are all your father’s papers. Now they will be yours to do with as you see fit, but in truth neither Lawrence nor I have ever had the opportunity to review them. There is, historically speaking, a bit of a gap in the Trust archive.’

‘You intrigue me strangely.’

‘Quite. We are ourselves intrigued. Also, it is possible some of her documents may be quite explicit about the death of your parents.’

‘Yes, I always knew, if I made a fuss, I could find out more. Anyway, I’ll certainly undertake to ask your advice before consigning anything Trust related to the bonfire!’

‘So, onward and upward.’

Charlie and I walked in silence through a local park. ‘Let’s sit here, I’ll explain. Aunt has left the house to the Trust to do with it what it will. Her possessions she’s left to me. But there is an attachment, non-binding you understand, asking the executor, Bernard that is, to allow Murchison to carry on tending the garden for as long as he wishes. And that’s it.’

‘How strange. Is it strange?’

‘I guess if one knew the nature of their relationship, it wouldn’t be strange. Attempting to deduce it from the request, could be fraught with mishap, capital mistake to theorise from too little data…’

‘Okay, enough of the Sherlock.’

‘Perhaps I should be calling him Kenneth from now on.’

‘So, what now?’

‘Well, if you’ve a mind to, you’re welcome to join me over the next few days doing a proper search of the Villa.’

‘With what purpose in mind?’

‘At the moment, just looking for stuff the executor needs sight of; financial and legal records, anything to do with assets and liabilities, so one must be on the lookout for unpaid bills too. Don’t want the utilities to suddenly fail. Bernard can do the actual informing of people. Do you know anything about jewellery?’

‘Do I look like I do?’

‘No, we’ll just have to collect any and all we can find, give it to Bernard so he can arrange valuing. Problem is, both he and I know there is some which is old and valuable, and is already listed as assets of the Trust.’

‘How come?’

‘I’m guessing, but items handed down through the generations, that at the time must have been worth more than, say, ten grand in today’s money?’

‘And neither of you can tell one from t’other?’

‘Well, there are descriptions somewhere and presumably on insurance documents too, but all in the name of the Trust so, his problem. And, apparently, Aunt confirmed to Bernard that she still had all my father’s papers, stuff I’ve never seen. I could have asked, not sure why I didn’t.’

‘Mad, completely crazy. Fifty years old.’

‘Makes no difference, as you’ll discover. In my head, my memory of my parents is from a time when I didn’t know anything about the adult world. Let’s get to the car, I’m beginning to feel cold.’

‘I’ve not heard anything from Cat for a while, he wasn’t at the livestream, in fact, yes, he’s not actually logged-in to the new website yet, in any capacity. Of course, we’ve not met since that day at the Park when the lockdown was announced.’

‘Whereabouts does he live?’

‘All over the place, no fixed abode.’

‘I never picked up on that!’

‘You mean, one nomad recognising another?’

‘Yes.’

‘Although, I think, these days he goes home a lot, his parents are quite elderly.’

‘Somewhere grand, no doubt.’

‘Well, they’re the only people I’ve met with a moat!’

‘Blimey, a castle.’

‘No, no. Seventeenth century brick and timber jobbie, with legendary Civil War connections, changed hands several times between Royalists and Parliamentarians. Full of damp basements and places of concealment. Semi-fortified, would be the correct terminology I suppose. The moat is a rectangular thingy, with a nice decorated drawbridge - any modern pole-vaulter worth his salt could get across it. Cat never did of course, lost a couple of his nine lives in the attempt. They’re the injuries he’s most reticent about. What are you staring like that for?’

‘It’s all coming out now, there’s a deep strain of madness running through the whole damned lot of you.’

‘I say! Good old British eccentricity if you please.’

‘Wait a second, the water goes right up to the wall, right? What’s the point...’

‘Ah, but the moat, strictly speaking, is the trench, with sloping sides. It has to have otherwise it would undermine the foundations of the building, it’s only in modern times with an abundant, year-long supply of water, that you have this illusion of this great water barrier.’

‘Er...’

‘I’ll text him, enquire after the health of his folks.’

A while later. ‘Ah ha, a reply, “sorry to have been out of touch”, “been isolating with Ma and Pa, they quite fit”, “had a bit of a mishap, fixing the...” Oh, good lord!’

‘What?’

‘Er, oh, right, “mishap, fixing the weather vane on top of the bell tower.” “was abseiling down when foot went through one of the decorated windows.”

‘Is he badly hurt?’

‘Oh, no. “Been spending my time with the glass people at the cathedral”.

‘Which cathedral?’

‘He means Lincoln. The house is a good sixty road miles away, but Lincoln was once the largest diocese in country, he gave me a tour years ago, quite fun being on the roof. Rather my favourite gothic building.’

‘I know it. My father really is crazy religious - along with his group of Christian lawyers, he dragged me everywhere.’

‘Oh, really.’

‘Cat must have been defying the pandemic rules all over the place!’

‘How does one fix a stained-glass window anyway?’

‘Well don’t look at me. I’ve just spent countless days staring at them!’

49: Obsequies for an aunt

The double doors of the larger chapel were thrown open, the opening number of my playlist of music clearly audible. The funeral director had marshalled all those who had insisted, come what may, on being there, into a socially distanced line either side of the cortege. I walked alone. Thankfully it became obvious who I should invite to join me inside. The doors remained open.

As we left the chapel, I mumbled through my mask: ‘Mr Murchison, my apologies, I always assumed I’d be running around trying to organise a much grander affair. There was a notice but, I’ve not even attempted to contact many, they’d just have had to be turned away.’

‘I was very attached to your aunt, such a remarkable woman in many ways. She put up such a front to the world. I flatter myself I was able to breakdown her defences; I shall always remember our afternoons on the patio.’

‘I, er, I’m sure you were a great support to her.’

‘You must introduce me properly to your girl Sparkwell sometime, I’m sure we have much to discuss, matters of mutual interest.’

‘That wasn’t a funeral, that was a guard of honour.’

‘Yes. Yes, you're right. Bizarre, but strangely appropriate.’

‘Did you love her?’

‘Love, hate, who can tell? We were tied for life, she was always there in the background, lurking.’

‘You’ll miss her.’

‘Yes, but all said and done I prefer you as my moral compass.’

‘She was always giving me instruction in your wellbeing.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘She took it for granted I’d comply and stick around, for the foreseeable - as you might say.’

‘Just one thing, promise me you’ll grow more like me and not more like her!’

The following day we made a second visit to the Villa. ‘I want to walk you through everywhere. Rummage a bit. Fact is, I’ve had an email from Bernard Merriweather saying I should turn-up next week for a reading of the Will. I don’t know what’s in it, I don’t even know who the executor is. It’s quite possible I didn’t know auntie as well as I thought. Murchison made a couple of cryptic comments yesterday which I didn’t quite follow. This might be the last time we have free unfettered access, legally speaking.’

‘I hope she leaves you the house, on condition you live here and hang her portrait at the end of the corridor, just there, so every time you...’

‘Okay, sorry for laughing at you.’

‘You want sex?’

‘What!’

‘You said it might be the last time…’

‘I’ll pass on that one, I’ll gamble on there being, another time.’

‘When was the house built?’

‘I would guess, eighteen sixties or seventies, I was wrong to call it Edwardian, I think it must have been earlier, built to accommodate the ever-growing middle classes, the clerical class and the growing number of small business owners pushing the products of industrialisation. So, servants would come in by day, perhaps a cook and a maid. Their domain would’ve been the kitchen and the pantry.’

‘Did you actually stay here at all?’

‘Oh yes, when not at school, fifty-fifty split between here and Checkley. Quite a lonely place at times, only one of the four bedrooms occupied full-time, as it were. The garden was the centre of activity, veg garden beyond the bower, pantry door always open, tea on the lawn.’

‘All this furniture is old, was it handed down?’

‘Yes, sort of. Uncle Thomas had the property modernised in the sixties, but kept and renovated what remained of all the original fixtures and fittings, all the Victorian versions of fitted cupboards etc. Then, it was furnished with bits pinched from all the Trust properties Auntie had grown up knowing.’

‘Pinched?’

‘Well, you know how dominating she could be. I think she must have marched-in on quite a few sitting tenants and removed items they thought were theirs, for the use of, as long as the rent was paid!’

‘You are quite like her really.’

‘I beg your pardon! Would you care to explain that last remark?’

‘Well, grafting quite hard and doing what it takes - to hang on to the past. Like, continuity, traditional values.’

‘Oh, okay, that’s all right then.’

‘She even accepted you putting it about a bit, in a, “that’s what blokes do”, kind of a way. Just thought it had gone on too long.’

‘Where did that come from? Just for the record, Charlie, I’ve been a serial monogamist, I’ve never been unfaithful.’

‘This character looks a bit like you, who is he?’

‘That’s father. Look in the background, that’s the apartments as a building site.’

‘Oh, yes…’

Having persuaded my fellow investors in the Park development company and the key committee members of the club, that now was an ideal moment to switch our marketing strategy from protecting a private hideaway, to advertising ourselves as a commercial concern - albeit a very exclusive one - I proceeded to do a one-man virtual re-launch. Armed only with the Park and the club mailing lists, I signposted everyone to Twitter, Facebook and YouTube accounts. From there they could get to the website and if members, to their own portal. Forty-eight hours later I posted on Twitter and Facebook a forthcoming live-streamed event!

‘Wow!’

‘Wow indeed.’ It gives one a ridiculous sense of power operating from one’s own media suite, set-up as if presiding from the platform of the Park ballroom to a packed audience of virtual attendees.

‘What do I do?’

‘Stand off camera, sign-in with your tablet now. We go live in five minutes.’

‘You’ve put me in the front row, I don’t want to be in the front row. I should be off to one side, surveying all, covering your back.’

‘Explore touchscreen from that page.’

‘Oh my God, I’m half way to the ceiling now.’

‘Okay, so you have privileged administrator access to today’s event, everyone else can only change their seat - just the perspective really - within the seating area. You, can go where you like. But you’ll only be seen by anyone if you walk into shot here on Camera One.’

Inevitably it was but a matter of moments before she switched to a fixed grip and by exploiting tilt, was dancing around the room. ‘Going live, five, four...’ I warned her.

The event was, by necessity, really just a modest student induction-like session, but to get there at all - signing-in and loading portal - involved them all in a twenty second compulsory viewing of a walk into the virtual club. Fin had managed to catch, and edit in, Charlie in uniform, doing one of her “step this way, sir” type silent gestures.

All went according to plan, though rather boringly, until the Q & A. Instinctively I punched in Barmy first, who’s avatar I’d registered in my periphery. A safe place to begin I reasoned, can’t go wrong with him, after all he’s far more accomplished at this game than I am... Within a few seconds I realised I was about to be totally upstaged. As he asked his long serious question, somehow his camera slowly zoomed-out revealing more and more grey, then blue sky, then a faded in roaring clatter sound as the dark menacing shape of a Royal Marine attack helicopter appeared to hover, insect-like over his right shoulder.

The only other incident of note, came at the very end when I felt duty bound to allow Tuffy a question. ‘Where’s Charlotte?’

Charlie reacted as if talking to Julia or Uncle, standing behind me and leaning over; ‘Hi everybody,’ she said, waving at the camera. But of course, she wasn’t in uniform, she was in her yoga kit, with a top that owed more to the fashion designer’s crayon than the practical practitioner, the real illusion was suddenly shattered by a virtual, exaggerated cleavage!