135: Valet parking

‘...then I had to change my trousers, with the Don cooing over my tatts!’ Exclaimed Sparkwell as she chauffeured me towards the club.

‘At least you knew he wasn’t admiring the rest of you.’

‘Oh! I almost forgot, why is Captain Bob so happy?

‘One royal visit that went off without a hitch? The promise of further patronage?’

‘More than that, I knew him long before I met you, remember? It was like, the visit had solved all sorts of stuff, a weight of his shoulders. He said; “Tell Tony we did it, we bloody well did it.” I know the only reason you two would cut me out, is it must be politics.’

‘Politics and the bureaucracy that comes with it. Now then, national government and local government are by no means the same thing. However, you remember with the railway how we took advantage of the chaos of the end of one parliament and the start of the chaos of another, well, our local government is in the limbo of reorganisation. What the county and the cities are responsible for is changing, just as the districts are disappearing. I’ll be better able to explain after my lunch with counsel for the defence.’

As we entered the Park, Walpole could be seen hovering by the unusually open back door, it being of course the original front door to the house. The scene made our legal eagle look like the owner of a very fine country seat. ‘I’ll drop you at the door, sir.’

‘Very well, Sparkwell.’

‘Then proceed to park, I’ll be around should you require me.’

I did my best to gracefully exit the two-seater. Approaching, I proclaimed; ‘You look like the lord and master of all you survey!’

‘Oh, thank you very much, I must say the ambience here does give one a rather unique feeling of ownership.’

‘And the look suits you.’

‘You flatter me.’

‘Not in the least. Only too appropriate, since today you’re my host.’

Then his gaze shifted to the carpark behind me; ‘What’s your paramour doing, exactly?’

I turned; ‘My valette, is merely preparing to vacuum the interior. Keeping everything spick and span. She’s a very disciplined woman, especially when in uniform.’

‘I see. I don’t mean to be rude, but there’s always seems something, well, borderline kinky about your relationship.’

‘I say! Steady on old man.’

‘During my career I was often forced to spend long hours viewing the prosecution evidence held by Vice, decidedly un-erotic videos, but one learnt to recognise the traits of the sub and the dom.’

‘Sparkwell and I enjoy a high trust relationship, I can assure you.’

‘Ah. Of course, you could hardly swop around roles all the time without it.’

‘We’re not in the cells below the Bailey now, and I’m not your client.’

‘Just a bit of fun. In the hour of our great victory.’

‘You think we, have won?’

‘Oh, yes. And to cap it all you’ve made Charlie a star.’

‘Well, given her fifteen minutes of fame anyway.’

‘I’ve known The Beacon a lot longer than you. I’d say she’s well on the way to becoming a national treasure. Helene reads, every day, the print edition of The Beacon’s principal rival, her world view is built upon it. Now they normally have the edge when comes to royal stories, but now they’ve been utterly humiliated. And no doubt had to pay Don a small fortune for the privilege.’

‘Let’s go in.’

‘Of course.’

We passed by the flight simulator, it had an ‘Out of order’ notice on it; ‘What! Not again. What is it this time?’

‘Barmy’s uploading a software update of his own devising.’ Said an anonymous voice.

‘One wonders why, when all it’s only ever used for is refighting World War Two.’ I said as an aside to Walpole.

In time we settled to lunch. ‘So, what makes you confident everything’s in the bag?’

‘At my last meeting at county hall, when they finally signed off on footpaths, bridepaths, lineside fencing and reinstalled level crossings, one of the officials said we’d better hurry up with car park applications because reorganisation was already causing endless delays. It was on the tip of my tongue to declare; “There will be no car parks” when I thought there might be an advantage to keeping quiet.’

‘You think they are thinking they can just sit back and watch the chaos of choked country lanes and mass illegal parking as seen in other parts of the country where, unlike us, lines are cut off from the network? And with the additional assumption that we’ll be encouraging it in a desperate attempt to maximise visitor numbers in order to turn a profit.’

‘Waiting their moment to hit us with court orders and massive fines.’

‘How could they not know?’

‘Filter bubbles! Ideological and geographic.’

‘Blimey! As Charlie would say.’

‘Anyway, I then decided to snoop a little, mindful of what you and Bernard have said about the status of Royal Oak. One or two of the councillors also sit on health and social care committees. Similar delays in enforcing regulations, similar sitting back thinking they’ll hit Charlie and Co at a time of maximum impact. A combination of bureaucratic pettiness and moral superiority. And an addiction to spending other people’s money.’

‘Just in time then.’

‘Two knockout blows delivered on the same day. The ultimate endorsement. And lots of free publicity.’

‘We win in the final court of appeal, before they even litigate.’

‘Nothing can stop you now Anthony.’

Suddenly there was the sound of a most appalling scream, male in origin was my guess, and emanating from just outside in the garden.

In the push to get to the front door, originally the back door, and the collision outside, caused by working out which direction to go in, I lost sight of Walpole. We, the crowd, however were soon forced to pull-up just short of the spa by the scene that presented itself, it looked to be some form of water torture. To one side of the spa’s little drinking fountain, there was what might be described as like a large, broad, garden water butt, full and overflowing. Amongst the overspill creeping across the ground towards us were clearly visible ice cubes. Inside the container was what appeared to be a naked Tuffy, desperately struggling, but failing to extricate himself. Alongside stood Sparkwell, now in fitness trainer’s apparel, clutching a stopwatch and clipboard, looking on with cold detachment.

Walpole, who’d succeeded in nudging his way through the cheering and goading crowd, declared; ‘I’m reliably informed it’s a freebie from the Rep trying to sell the spa a sauna, it’s a DIY garden cold plunge.’

Soon Tuffy seemed to exhaust himself, calmed down, and realised the quickest way out was the reverse of the way he got in. On emerging he was revealed to be wearing white undergarments, now clinging and transparent, exposing his much-shrivelled appendage. After he’d rapidly departed, the crowd quietened down considerably. Someone commented; ‘What I don’t understand is how she got him in there in the first place?’

Some wit replied; ‘Led him up the garden path, literally.’

No one questioned the treatment being metered out. Knowing Tuffy of old, everyone rather took it for granted that the punishment fitted the crime. Walpole drew me to one side; ‘There you go, I told you. Tell me, what does she call herself in private, Mistress Charlotte?’

134: Royal train

As a non-executive director of the railway, it’s a pleasure to sit back and watch things happen. I may occasionally scratch backs and twist arms as you know, but I’m content to let others do the heavy lifting. However, on this occasion I felt a minor miracle was about to unfold, way beyond my humble abilities. A most unusual bank holiday special had appeared on everyone’s operating timetable. The royal train would leave Windsor with his majesty on-board (the Queen having diplomatically absented herself), travel non-stop to the Abbey station, have one of its diesels exchanged for a Manor class steam locomotive, then proceed to the end of the line at the old naval port.

But how was such a thing possible? And the expense! Well, someone has to open a reopened railway line, which it was, technically. Phase One had allowed the government to pay for the relaying of track and new signalling as far as the port, to which, the local operator was providing a service for the first time in over fifty years. The steam railway which had been restricted to the old, new line, now ran on new rails as far as the Abbey station. The King was killing two birds with one stone, since he was on his way to the naval college to unveil their tribute to his beloved parents.

But what raised it all to the level of the miraculous, was the fact that Mr and Mrs HRH were hot footing it on the very same day to a location just a few miles away across the bay. Now we all know, the throne and the heir to the throne must not travel together for security’s sake. But normal trains are a cheaper option than long car journeys or helicopters, so the juniors were to follow the royal train on the next available service, praying it ran to time! 

However, as the day approached, none of the above was on Charlie’s mind; ‘How am I supposed to be in two places at once, and with a change of costume?’

‘Er...’

‘You’re going to have to help me out.’

‘Really? I was planning on watching the entire day’s events from the comfort of the media room.’

‘I know that smug look, you’ve already worked it all out, probably deliberately set it up this way.’

‘Don’s chopper.’

‘I beg your pardon!’

‘Well, Don’s proprietor’s helicopter to be more precise. All you have to do is drive to the Park early on the day in question and be at our helipad with your knapsack containing your change of clothes.’

‘Never been in a helicopter before. Where do we land?’

‘On the railway’s harbour wall, plenty of space now.’

‘And at Royal Oak? The garden isn’t that big!’

‘One of your ex-marine residents has agree to train you to abseil down.’

‘Fuck off!’

‘No but seriously, in matey’s cliff top field next door.’

‘Why Don?’

‘Well Wainwright’s chopper will be full-time on normal tourist season duties and we have no leverage with the Royal Marines or Air Sea Rescue or the Air Ambulance come to that...

‘I meant what deal have you made with Don, what have you committed me to behind my back, again!’

‘Don gets aerial video of two royal events uploaded on to The Beacon’s website before any other media have woken up. There’s also the possibility of livestreaming, if I can manage to feed the Drones Club footage.’

‘There’s a real Drones Club?’

‘Actually, I think they call themselves the Drone Group of the heritage railway, run by a chap who used them before he retired from Network Rail.’

‘Blimey!’

‘They’re very good, the drones have learnt the route as the line was being relayed, or rather the computer which runs the drone. Learnt to avoid low bridges, no I don’t mean that, avoid high bridges, anyway one of them should appear to sit just above the locomotive’s tender. But all that is only if everything comes together, Barmy has been liaising on our behalf with Eltham, he’s promised to tilt a satellite in our direction, hence avoiding possible interference with official state security.’

‘What if it rains?’

‘Well, that’s the beauty of modern video, low light, poor weather, no problem.’

‘I mean us, the real people involved.’

‘You’ve got your porter’s cap.’

She chose to ignore that one; ‘And how come your Brenda is first in the line-up, after I’ve offered to take the royal baggage?’

‘Our local MP has been doing stirling work I’ll have you know, arbitrating over the minefield of demarcation disputes between rail unions, volunteers and the new paid workers doing train operations with heritage locos and rolling stock.’

‘Was that the real reason you greased so hard to get her elected, to stop the unions putting the kibosh on everything from day one?’

‘A minor consideration.’

‘I think we might have a case of Murphy’s Law.’

‘Not sure that’s politically correct anymore.’

‘Still real though, “anything that can go wrong, will go wrong”!’

But despite Charlie’s concerns, talking it through, gradually made the whole enterprise seem more plausible.

On the day, I’d barely got Charlie out the back door before the front doorbell rang. Looking at the hall monitor, I was surprised to see the face of Archie Layton, uninvited, and who to the best of my knowledge had never visited before.

‘Any chance of a quick word? On my way to the station for the HRH’s pick-up for Royal Oak.’

‘Come through to the kitchen, coffee’s on.’

‘There you go, passports returned. I’ve been given advice, to pass on to you.’ He said, looking distinctly nervous.

‘And that advice is?’

‘Let it go. Can of worms. Forget the whole thing.’

‘Why?’

‘Not sure I understand myself.’

‘Try.’

‘The Swiss have a myriad of rules to keep the world at bay. Things are a bit easier these days, but in the seventies, it was a whole lot worse. Those passport numbers are real and match the names. Swiss passports, for foreigners were almost impossible to get. To stay more than five minutes in the country you had to have a sponsor, housing was impossible, often had to get a friend to sell you land, build your own home as proof of assets, periods of residency etcetera. Total nightmare.’

‘Tell me about the money.’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes what?’

‘Yes, there are assets, cash deposits, property, investments maybe, held by the state, claimable in theory by the heirs and descendants of the couple named in the passports. That’s all I could be told.’

‘Thank you. I owe you.’

‘Makes you think, were it not for Nazi looters and the Jewish state, those records would be rotting away in various basements, rather than on digital databases.’

‘You'd better go, you don't want to be late for HRH.’

In time I settled in, with live images from the Don’s chopper on one screen and the drones on another. What The Beacon’s internet channel were doing with them I couldn’t see, but what with the royals doing their own media these days and posting quickly on Eltham’s platform, legacy media would be way behind. The BBC would realise they’d missed another event, reluctantly buying still images and thirty second clips, then finally posting thirty-six hours after the action.

All seemed to be running to schedule until HM actually stepped from the train. Without the benefit of audio, I could only imagine the dialogue, though I felt confident someone was recording it for the historical record. Charlie, with porter’s trolley on hand touched her forelock, the King seemed amused, then turned to a flunkey who produced some actual luggage! So, after the line-up and a look at the engine, Charlie had to follow the royal party pushing her unanticipated load. Once out of the station the King then made an unscheduled stop on the harbour wall to admire Captain Bob’s yacht, clearly, he’d been briefed. But not so the rest of the party, only lowly Charlie bringing up the rear, was able to answer his enquires. She had actually sailed in the damn thing after all. Finally, they moved on to the steam launch waiting to take His Majesty up stream. As he turned his back to step aboard, Charlie suddenly deserted her post and sprinted towards the helicopter which had already re-started its engines. It took me a moment to realise the drone hovering over the station, had never stopped tracking Charlie, and now using it’s zoom lens demonstrated to the world her undoubted fitness, made possible by her expertly tailored trousering! Don held open the door, she threw in her cap, her jacket and finally herself. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your point of view, The Beacon’s camera now faced directly at the royal party as the launch was slowly coming around. First hysterical laughter, then as the camera rose skyward cheering broke out and much waving as they passed overhead towards the sea and the short hop across the bay. Thank goodness for a son who was not above talking to his father I reflected.

133: Any other business

Who was it who said; ‘A committee is an animal with four back legs?’ I was staring out of the window to where the new trench, for the new water pipe, was being dug. Then I remembered, John Le Carre in The Honourable Schoolboy, I think? The fact I had time to cogitate, and remember the quote and ponder its source, is a measure of how distracted, or do I mean dissociated, one becomes whilst chairing the club dining committee these days.

Health had somehow crept onto the agenda, or rather the lack of it. As I let them ramble a little longer, the thought occurred that it may have been the influence of Sparkwell at the Spa and Sports Committee that had caused the subject to somehow jump domains, escaping their ‘safe space’ and invading ours! We were on the final item, a routine review of the menu, but somehow it had morphed into the obesity crisis, the psychological impact of our alleged comfort food, and now, the detrimental effects of food additives.

‘But we must consider our activities in the context of the climate crisis.’ Tuffy lobbed in from left field.

‘Enough!’ I asserted. ‘We’re drifting, gentlemen.’

‘Perhaps we need a new committee?’ Added another.

‘We've got four already! Every extra layer of management makes us less efficient and can only lead to higher fees in the future. Now, can we please move on to any other business.’ They had none, thank goodness. But I did; ‘There is one matter I think we should give thought to, the forthcoming official visit of our new MP, the issue being how much she needs to be, well, managed?’

‘Has anyone met the woman? I hear she’s a bloody Trot, sounds like trouble to me.’

Discretion prevents me naming the individual. I simply mused; ‘Well I’ve been in the same room as her a couple of times, can’t say I gleaned much about her.’ Now I concede, I was ‘perhaps being economical with the truth’, but I did want to keep control, make myself Brenda’s personal guide.

‘Well, I don’t imagine any of us have got even that close, I vote the chair should take on the responsibility, I don’t see it’s any business of ours.’ Thank you Tuffy, I thought to myself, somehow our association still worked, even if only unconsciously.

‘I don’t think there’s any need for us to vote on this, Tony?’ Said someone else.

‘So be it. Meeting closed.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘Oh, good lord, look at the time, Sparkwell is having guests for tea. I must go.’

As I was legging it down the corridor, Cat drew alongside; ‘Your meeting, finally over?’

‘Finally. But I’m late for a Sparkwell tea now!’

‘Oh dear. Still, this will only take a minute.’

‘And?’

‘Tuffy has gone a bit off-piste again, been boasting in the bar, more than once, about Charlie having tattoos, getting chaps to guess how many, and where.’

‘Not the act of a gentleman. There’s only one he could know about, and that from an accidental glance.’

‘I’ll take your word for it, as a gentleman! Clearly, he’s been colouring his narrative.’

‘Leave it with me.’

As I entered our jolly home, via the pantry, a tall young male figure with wayward hair but a reassuring lack of face adornment, sprang to his feet. This was Timothy at close quarters.

‘Pleasure to meet you, sir. I’ve been hearing all about the Arlington Trust.’ Rather formal I thought.

‘Excellent. Apologies for my lateness, delayed by a committee. You’ve had a tour of the garden?’

‘I came in the back way.’

‘How are you Mel, been a while?’

The conversation was a little stilted for five minutes or so, as everyone repeated everything, that had been said before I arrived. Then I pitched in; ‘My thought Tim, was that if you were prepared to take us on, cash in hand of course, then we might also be able to meet all your work placement requirements from across the Trust.’

‘I’ve seen all the websites. You’re also connected to Checkley Manor I understand, a nice house.’

‘Indeed. Well, we seem to be on the same page. I should tell you however that I’m only one of the trustees of the Trust.’

‘Understood.’

Now I stood up, about to leave for a momentary comfort break; ‘Mel! You want to watch yourself, you may never get rid of this chap.’

Upon my return a few minutes later, there was much ribbed laughter. ‘Tony, Mel won’t tell Tim and me what the infamous “unfortunate incident” at her parents wedding was all about.’

‘Don’t tell them!’ Melisa said, looking rather flushed.

I thought, with the boyfriend present, this might be just the moment; ‘I can’t see why not, you were unwell after all, and a small child wasn’t to know.’

‘This is so embarrassing.’

‘Oh! So, it was Mel herself who was the trouble, even then?’ Chided Charlie.

‘Well, it was more the sound really. She was heard, rather than seen by everyone in the church.’

‘Oh, god.’

‘She threw-up in the baptismal font.’

Charlie was driving us to Crawford Park for the Brenda Radnor visit. We were discussing how the situation should be played. Then I realised I hadn’t told her of Tuffy’s latest misdemeanour.

‘I suppose if it was a day I was wearing my shorts, and had to bend a bit, he might have caught a glimpse. As for the others, not a chance.’

‘You never talked about them?’

‘Not to him.’

‘Well, that’s all much as I’d surmised. I leave appropriate retribution, to your good self.’

The visit started with a coffee in the lounge, then I guided Brenda to the spa. ‘Ah! Here’s someone you should meet. Charlotte Sparkwell, chair of the Spa and Sports Committee, and coincidentally my partner in life. Charlie, meet your local MP.’

They shook hands. ‘You look familiar, have we met?’ Brenda asked.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘But? Wait a moment, I’ve seen your face, several times. I know, it was when I was searching The Beacon for local stories before the election, so you and he are...’

‘Ah, but what a tangled web we weave.’

‘Please, do have a complementary, spa special pro-vitamin drink, this one is apricot, but there are others.’ Charlie interceded.

‘Well, I’ve just had a coffee...’

‘Oh, but you really must try one of Charlie’s pick-me-ups. Entirely organic don’t you know. Works wonders after a late evening.’

‘It’s a recipe of my own invention madam. Mixed using our own spring water.’

Having inspected a sample treatment room, the aqua therapy pool and dodged questions about unionisation, I escorted our representative of the old left, out of the mood-altering aromas into the fresh air surrounding the pond.

She made an excellent choice of question; ‘How do you think our government is doing Tony?’

‘Well, I really only concern myself with local issues, but if pressed I’d say they might be on firmer ground if they went back to fighting the class war. Capital and labour may have opposing interests, but they share the same reality.’

‘Intersectional, woke mob, half the country has gone full tin-foiled hat!’

‘I think we understand each other.’

‘Got any more surprises for me?’

‘Well, maybe just one.’

‘And this is the conference centre. Open for hire, at rates commensurate to its surroundings. Of course it’s easy enough to move the chairs, store the screen etcetera. It was originally the ballroom, with sprung floor, still used for musical evenings.’

‘Very grand.’

‘But also with two withdrawing rooms, one serves as a seminar room for “break-out sessions” as required, the other is our media room, often used as a podcast studio. Oh look! The man himself.’

‘What the hell is he doing here?’

‘Good-day all!’ Said a smiling Don with open arms.

‘Had you not realised? Brenda, let me introduce you to the host of one of our nation’s most popular podcasts, The Don Wooley Show. Treat him right, he might let you be a guest!’

132: Vibe shift

Standing thigh deep in a northern stream, with March winds blowing from the east, is not my kind of a holiday. Fishing has its seasons apparently, fish which may be caught at one time and not at another, although they all get thrown back in the end. It makes little sense to me.

When Charlie is away, I don’t usually give her much thought, out of sight is out of mind. However, I was taking the opportunity of bringing my hand written journal up to date, writing down all those snatches of dialogue that in time form the core of my episodic reminiscences. I draw heavily on these field notes for my prose, ‘where the dialogue carries the weight’, as we writers like to say.

Charlie often claims I have the luck of the devil and she may be right. I’d barely returned the current volume of the journal to the safe, when a sudden draft told me there had been a breach of the back door. A week seems to pass so quickly these days. I sallied forth to greet her. ‘Or right, darling!’

‘Yes, thank you, sir.’

She can be quite quiet and distant for a while after returning from a trip. It wasn’t until tea, with just the two of us sat opposite each other across the kitchen table, that she opened up; ‘Something really weird happened when I was away.’

‘Oh, good!’

‘What? You’re pleased? You should be concerned!’

‘Bad stuff can be good; one can always gain from disorder.’

‘Anyway, you know how our Wi-Fi connection in the cars has always been good for the last couple of years?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Well, I’ve got all the subscriptions to all of the services and my security is so good it’s almost instant switching. So, hardly any dead locations or interruptions.’

‘Okay. Well where we were staying coverage is practically non-existent, everyone was complaining. Then I suggested they try connecting to the car. So, to cut a long story short, by the end of the week four or five people had realised they could stream videos from anywhere, all at the same time, as long as they were within twenty feet of the vehicle!’ Then she added after a pause; ‘They all wanted to know about it, all I could say was my partner was a real geek and I had no idea how it was done.’

‘Ever heard of a chap called Eltham Makepeace?’

‘Of course I have, he’s the richest man in the world!’

‘Well, that rather depends on the state of global stock markets from one week to the next. But, if he is, then he’s also the largest individual taxpayer in the world, think of that! However, in the marketplace of ideas, he certainly stands alone. But to come to the point, over the last few years his rockets have been launching multiple low-level communication satellites. At first, they covered very isolated or poor areas of the globe, but they’ve spread, Greenland, Iceland, Faroe Islands, arctic Norway, and they often overlap. Even though there is no official UK coverage yet, some of us have been volunteering to turn our vehicles into test dishes...’

‘You and Eltham are tech-bros?!’

‘In a manner of speaking, I don’t know him personally, though we were once in the same room together, I think Barmy has his private numbers.’

‘People worry about their privacy, whether he can be trusted, use our data to make money.’

‘Can’t think why, firstly he has all the money he can possibly want, two, he’s had the highest of security clearances for years because of his innovative rockets. Besides he’s only temporary, part-time, volunteer tech support for the White House. Personally, I find the idea that Eltham may have hacked the president’s brain quite reassuring.’

Charlie gave me what can only be described as a sideways look, opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. After another pause; ‘Anyway that’s as maybe. I’ve got other news.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘I gave a lift part of the way home to Martine.’

‘Ah! Our nation’s leading female angler.’

‘Precisely, sir. We got to talking charities and royal patronage.’

‘Don’t tell me, you couldn’t help showing off your connections, only to have her trump you.’

‘You know? How do you know?’

‘I don’t, I was guessing on the basis that she’s more famous than you, so far.’

‘Yes. I suppose that follows. If I tell you this it must remain on deep, deep background.’

‘Understood.’

‘Well, the royals have always been great fishing people, the Duke used to tutor all his children and grandchildren. People assume they’re sitting on some of the best fishing in the country and access is restricted to the very few.’

‘...And your Martine, with her fame has been getting a taste of it.’

‘This is my story!’

‘Mea culpa, as Frimley would say, pray continue.’

‘She started this charity thing, small fishing groups for people in recovery from one thing or another. And a certain HRH, persuaded Mrs HRH to take tuition from M who then drew her into the group, subsequently she’s agreed to be their patron. But it’s very hush, hush, for now.’

‘Very good.’

‘So, as a thank you Martine has been introduced to a couple of very exclusive locations. Now then, how have you been mis-using your time, sir?’

‘I bought Archie a lunch at the club.’

‘Scheming?’

‘You might think so. I showed him the rogue passports. I wasn’t anticipating him having an answer, but I thought he might know someone in the know. A bank security type. I knew Archie did transactions with the Swiss from time to time, so anyway, he’ll nose around and let me know. Oh, and guess what?’

‘What?’

‘You know, he does make me laugh, Archie. The bank offered him promotion, some manager job higher up the food chain, he turned them down.’

‘How come?’

‘He told them they’d be mad to do so, that they’d make more money by leaving him right where he is! The HR person who made the offer clearly wasn’t aware of how much of the branch’s business comes via him, and what with the Trust benefiting from AI, and Barmy’s military industrial complex coming on board too.’

‘He’s getting quite settled at the club.’

‘He has enough of a salary to meet his needs, he’s in it for the game. He senses the vibe shift, goes with the flow.’

‘Anything else happen?’

‘Spoke to Bernard a couple of times. By the way, he’s made an appointment for the two of you to visit this guy who drew up Ken’s Will. You need to take along all his paperwork, especially stuff on the flat ownership, whilst he will turn up with the official paperwork for making a claim on the estate on behalf of the Trust. The idea is you let the local solicitor be the executor and collect his fee, but have a cosy informal chat about Ken’s relationship with the Aunt, yourself and myself and this place.’

‘Sounds okay.’

‘Tell you what, Bernard and Lawrence seem ever more convinced that advertising at sports grounds brings in business. You know most billboards at grounds are digital these days?’

‘Sure.’

‘Well apparently, they’re all on a global network now, managed by some financial institution. So, you can just go online and purchase time anywhere, anytime.’

‘So, what’s that got to do with us yokels?’

‘Well, that was my reaction, not only do none of our teams qualify for international tournaments, there are times when the number of fans travelling to away matches barely fills a minibus. Yes, I’m suspicious. Maybe Bernard was trying to flush me out, find out how much I knew.’

‘Sport’s not exactly your thing.’

‘Quite! Next time you meet with your co-conspirators, your cabal of the younger generation, you might care to sound them out.’

‘Very good, sir.’

131: Break-in

It happened on the morning of Kenneth Murchison’s funeral. Over the previous few months Charlie, ably assisted by Melisa, had been Ken’s principal carer. He’d asked her to be his executor, but had produced no Will. He simply handed her a smallish package to be opened only after his demise. She’d had me place it in the safe.

Now, on our way to the crematorium with myself at the wheel, she asked to stop by Ken’s flat to check on something or other. As I pulled up and parked, we found ourselves next to a police patrol car containing two male officers casually chatting. Charlie asserted; ‘Somethings up, I recognise one of them. An Inspector Dobson.’

As we locked the vehicle and made towards the apartment, Dobson lowered his window and said; ‘Ms Sparkwell, there’s a gentleman checking out old Murchison’s flat, one of the funnies, court order and all that, we’re just here to maintain the peace, shout if he’s any trouble.’

The front door was open, but didn’t appear to have been forced. ‘Halt! Who goes there?’ Said Charlie, as we tentatively entered.

‘Friend or foe?’ I added for good measure!

I recognised the figure, wearing hat and gloves, who emerged from the bedroom, it said; ‘You are Charlotte Sparkwell. And you, Mr Arlington, we’ve met before. Just routine, no cause for alarm.’

‘Who the hell are you and what do you want?’ She demanded.

‘Standard procedure, when a former employee dies. Can’t be sure they haven’t hung-on to something they shouldn’t have, as it were.’

‘His name is Wieck, Casper Wieck, retired former something or other, with the same, not so secret organisation, which once employed Daphne’s daddy.’ I added helpfully.

‘They asked me to step-in, fact is I’m the last to remember working with Kenneth, odd fellow. Not thought to be one hundred per cent, one of us. Still, all appears as it should be. I’ve tried to make it all look undisturbed, alas, not as decorous as I used to be. Well, I’ll be on my way. Good day to you both.’ At which point he doffed his hat to Charlie for a split second, before toddling off.

And after a pause I said; ‘Well, clearly, he hasn’t taken anything. One up to Ken then.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I assume anything worth retrieving is in our safe!’

‘But I thought that would be a Will, letters and things.’

‘Bit heavy for just that!’

It was a modest sending off. Charlie and myself, Melisa and Daphne plus a few from the book club. But just as we were waiting for the service to begin, I felt a hand on my right shoulder. Turning my head, I saw the other hand on Charlie’s left shoulder. A bowed head said; ‘The funeral pyre is traditional for the nomad.’ Then Wieck sat down behind us.

Funerals are for the living I thought to myself. I’m not much one for church attendance, births, deaths and marriages of course, otherwise I’m a bit of a Christmas and Easter Anglican. Just following the habits of parents, aunts and school really. As the service proceeded, I was distracted by thoughts of the last time I had been sat there. On that occasion the only persons present had been Kenneth and myself, apart from the lady vicarage of course. All three of us masked, there to bare witness to Aunt Elisabeth’s final journey, everyone else had to parade outside in the cold.

Afterwards we held a modest wake at our place. Wieck not invited. And after they’d all gone, I asked; ‘When do you want to open Ken’s parcel?’

‘Soon-ish.’ She replied. ‘Right now, I’m thinking about the garden, we’ll need some expertise to keep us on track, otherwise it will just go into decline again. We’re already behind.’

‘Is Mel still seeing young Timothy?’

‘Yes, but he’s full-time on his course. Probably already fed up with people asking him to do their gardens.’

‘Then offer him a deal.’

‘What kind of deal?’

‘Well, you get Melisa to make the approach of course. She tells him something like; “You’re meant to be getting experience in all sorts of environments, well I know someone who could get you into lots of different gardens, and behind the scenes at a garden centre. In fact, I know they need a bit of help with their own Victorian garden etc...” You know, that sort of crack.’

‘You’d have to pay him!’

‘Of course, but it would also give Mel an excuse to keep drifting around.’

‘Always the art of the deal, do you ever do anything without the expectation of a favour in return?’

‘Reciprocity is everything.’

‘Okay, open the safe.’ Said Charlie that evening. When I handed her Ken’s modest parcel, she added; ‘We’ll open it at the kitchen table, more appropriate. Can I borrow your best scissors, this is seriously taped-up.’

I watched as Charlie struggled with the tightly packed package, after a few minutes she said; ‘You do it!’ I stuck at one end and eventually managed to slide out the contents. Looking up, her expression seemed to say carry on. There were three items, wrapped around by a fourth, a paper document. It turned out to be a Will, drawn up by a local solicitor about ten years previous. It appointed them as executors and stated that Kenneth Murchison wished to leave all his worldly goods to Mrs Elisabeth Hayward.

‘What do we do?’

‘Give it to Bernard, let him see how far he can get on our behalf. Meanwhile maintain his flat as it is, send any bills to Lawrence.’

Next there was an old plastic pocket photo album. Glancing through, it appeared to be a sort of portable aide-memoir to Ken’s life, starting in childhood and ending with a few snaps taken by Charlie in the garden. About half way through there was a black and white of Ken and another man standing on a flat roof in some tropical location, behind them was an old radio transmitter tower and various antennae. Fascinatingly, Ken appeared to be dressed in a GPO telephone engineer’s uniform from the nineteen sixties. Charlie asked; ‘Where’s that? When was that?’

‘Who knows, there may be writing on the back of some, or all of them. He did say he’d once got as far as Singapore.’

Finally, there were two battered passports, Charlie casually open one; ‘Oh my God, take a dekko at this, he looks a bit like you!’

‘I beg your pardon? Oh, my lord, oh my ears and whiskers.’ I looked at the second. ‘Why the hell didn’t he talk this through?’

‘What?’

But by now I was intrigued. I quickly scanned both documents back to front; ‘Eh, we have, two seemingly genuine, Swiss passports issued in the mid-seventies, but with false names, at least I hope they are!’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because one features a photo of my father, the other of my mother.’

After a pause she asked; ‘Is that good or bad?’

‘Wait here.’ I ran upstairs and fished around in the bottom of my desk.

Upon my return I switched off the kitchen light and turned on my little device. She asked; ‘What’s that?’

‘Mini UV light.’ I started to scan the passports page by page.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘Invisible writing. Or rather numbers to be more precise.’

‘You think your parents might have been spies?’

‘Oh, no! I’m looking for bank account numbers, hidden assets!’

130: I never signed up for this

‘There’s been a big row at the first meeting to start the Foundation.’ Said Melisa, as the four of us were settling in for a tea break. I was beginning to admire the way she would bring quite personal issues to the table, seeking a variety of opinion.

‘Really?’

‘I was dragged along; I can hardly think why. Your Bernard and Brinkley were advising on how it should be set-up.’

‘How was it resolved?’

‘It wasn’t.’

‘What precisely was the row about?’

‘Well, membership of the board. We were told we needed a solicitor, an accountant, Mum and Dad, myself, Bel when the time was right, and independent advisors. Someone financial, but not directly connected with us, and well, also someone with experience of running this sort of thing, but who has the interests of the family at heart.’

‘Oh, dear.’

‘Well, it was obvious to me, Bernard and er, Lawrence yeah?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Dad just said fine, no problem.’

‘But?’

‘Mum said; “It doesn’t seem at all obvious to me.” What else, oh yes; “Don’t we know him only too well.” And; “He’s already got my husband and daughter wrapped around his little finger!” I told you, she’s mad.’

‘I’m afraid she’s always seen me as, not quite a gentleman.’

‘But that’s precisely what we need. Someone on our side who can see others coming.’

‘With the Trust, Tony is always seen as a bit flash, a leader who needs to be reined in a bit by the rest of us, it works remarkably well.’

‘Thank you, Charlie!’

‘You know perfectly well what I mean.’

‘But then, I must just tell you, Dad pipes up and says to the whole meeting; “My wife once dated Tony, thirty years ago, I’ve never quite understood what caused the breach.” Mother of course just gave him one of her looks, I said something like, but mother you turn to Tony as a friend as much as anyone.’

‘And?’

‘She responded by saying; “I’ll veto any such suggestion of bringing Tony on board, until I’ve vetted him, and maybe even then. Fools rush in, where angels fear to tread.” And that was that.’

‘I’ll stand by for the third degree then.’

‘Interesting choice of word that, “vetted”. But none of my business really, so I’ll ask the awkward question, what does Daphne have against you?’ Said Kenneth.

‘Oh! Not your theory that Daphne was some sort of recruiting sergeant for her father surely? Besides, Daphne just thought I wasn’t good enough for her, too much ducking and diving, too much on the make. Come on, let’s get back to the garden.’

Being vetted by Daphne, inevitably meant buying her lunch at the club. ‘How’s Barmy, behaving himself for once?’

‘Oh, yes. Been very thoughtful about Daddy.’

‘Melisa seems to be holding up well.’

‘Yes, yes. Look Tony, I’ve had to put my foot down, with everyone who will be associated with the Foundation, said I’d veto any attempt to bring you onto the board. They all thought you an obvious choice.’

‘Such is your right. Though even I think I’d be an obvious choice.’

‘It just wouldn’t do, would it? You’d have us all dancing to your tune.’

‘Would I?’

‘Of course. Buffy was right, all those years ago.’

‘What on earth has he got to do with anything?’

‘He was the one who warned me off you at university.’

‘Good God! He and I have been arch enemies since school, he’ll rubbish me to anyone, to this very day.’

‘He called you a puppeteer, a manipulator, willing to bend any rules for you and yours.’

‘Tell me, did you pass on this intelligence to your handler?’

‘Who?’

‘Daddy!’

‘There were no secrets between us, I asked his advice about everything.’

‘And took it?’

‘Naturally.’

‘But he was a secretive manipulator by profession. Do you remember where we actually first met?’

‘At the meet and greet for the Burton Society, Daddy recommended it as a club to join.’

‘Daphne, whatever I am, you and Barmy and Melisa are definitely part of me and mine, okay? No one gets to choose when or where they are born, their sex, their parents, upbringing and precious little about their education and peers. It is the stuff of adolescent discontent. Your father was a part of the secret world, where a degree of deception was mandatory. Now tell me, all those dozens of occasions when you’ve asked me to explain Barmy’s activities to you, was that genuine bewilderment or had Daddy given you a list of questions?’

‘Of course not! Daddy liked you, though he did look genuinely shaken when he heard how you and Barmy had hacked Downing Street, NATO and the global summit.’

‘And ever after his former employer has been courting Barmy into becoming the secret world’s leading techno head?’

‘You know I can’t talk about that.’

‘Well, let’s leave it there, you know I’m always available to you, as and when.’

‘Thank you.’

A while later Charlie had me on my back in the treatment room, in a state of deep relaxation. In such altered states, just letting go, one is likely to ramble unselfconsciously and without inhibition; ‘How’s the coup going by the way?’

‘I’ve been applying your rule of ensuring it’s only chicken feed one gives away and not the crown jewels.’

‘Excellent.’

‘It looks like Barney Benson is on course to chair both the Trust and the Gruber Foundation in the future. I think he was hoping you’d be there to help out with both.’

‘What Daphne wants, Daphne will always appear to get.’

‘You mean I’ll be opening our door for her, and Barmy, and Melisa as much as ever?’

‘Oh, I should think so.’

‘Think or know?’

‘Know. Habits are hard to break. My influence will persist.’

‘Power without responsibility?’

‘One can always avoid trouble, if you can run fast enough.’

‘Well, I know I can, not sure about you!’

‘I was speaking metaphorically. Someone is always about to get in the neck, but not us. We live in strange times, surrounded by strange people, talking of which how’s Captain Bob?’

‘You don’t miss a trick, do you?’

‘I try not to.’

‘I talked to him about patrons and sponsors; Archie’s royal connection and Benson’s connection to money looking for a home.’

‘And the upshot?’

‘Royal Oak is drafting a letter to update our one-time royal visitors; well, they did say we should keep them informed.’

‘A word or two of strategic advice. You are writing out of courtesy and respect. Don’t give the least impression you might be looking for money, indeed you could suggest that’s all taken care of, and certainly not coming from public funds. They are already paying for several mental health projects themselves. In fact, try not to want anything. Literally inform, briefly remind them of what they said on their visit, give an update, then links to the new website. A brief letter, which you’ll call just a note, though typed on your official notepaper and signed by Captain Bob RN. When the flunkey decides, he must show it to HRH, he’ll respond; ‘What do they want?’ The flunkey will be forced to reply; ‘Nothing, sir.’ Then it will be; “Oh, what are they up to these days?” And you’re in.’

‘So, what do we want then?’

‘To demonstrate you’re a success, where it’s at, you want them, to want to be associated, with you!’

Then after a long pause I found myself saying; ‘I feel like I never signed up for any of this?’

‘This what?’

‘Everything.’

‘Well, if you didn’t, I most certainly did not. We’ve been carried along by events.’

‘Perhaps I should take a step back, going forward. I could become a guru, a holy man even.’

‘To whom, sir?’

‘Everyone.’

‘You’re too egotistical, it would rapidly turn into a cult. Your job is to keep me satisfied. Everyone else can just, join the queue.’

‘Very well, Sparkwell. I’ll keep calm, and you can carry-on.’

End of season ten

129: A book lover's book

I’d known it was a mistake the moment I’d agreed to it months earlier. I only had myself to blame. I’d allowed myself to be persuaded by Kenneth. He’d said how difficult he now found reading and perhaps I’d like to take over leading the Boxing Day book club. Then I’d found myself under pressure to choose a book so as to give the others time to read it. Of course, I’d just snatched an old favourite from the shelves. Now I only had a few days left to work out the case for possibly the unlikeliest bestseller of all time when it was first published over fifty years ago. I comforted myself with the thought that it was short. I’d read the author’s other works, knew a lot of biographical detail, but all the same. The only thing clear, was that the title needed explanation, I decided to start with that.

‘I suppose you’ll be expecting another Aunt Elisabeth tea?’ Said Charlie, breaking in on my thoughts.

‘It’s not me, it’s the others.’

‘Yeah, yeah. You just don’t have the will to refuse them.’

Melisa was kind enough to deliver Kenneth, and surprised me by accepting his invitation to sit in. He began by introducing me; ‘Tony’s choice today is, blessedly, a very short book and unusually for us biographical in nature, a book of selected correspondence. But I know it’s a book lover’s book, I read it first, oh, longer ago than I care to remember. Tony.’

‘Thank you, Kenneth. I think what caused me to reach for this volume was the sense that the author would have felt entirely at home in the modern world of the Internet and social media. She’d undoubtedly have been an influencer. Her lack of formality, her brevity, despite being a professional writer, is of course in sharp contrast to the recipient of her letters. Even her choice of typefaces is redolent of today. I think I can best be of service by saying something of the historic context of the book. 84, Charing Cross Road was just a small bookshop in a sea of bookshops, large and small, in nineteen forty-nine. Even more than twenty years later, when Helene Hanff finally got her wish to visit London, the Charing Cross Road was where everyone went, when in search of books that could not be found on a WH Smith bookstall. If a book was still in print then the giant Foyles had it, or at least they could get it for you. If out of print, then you could trawl the street for a good, clean copy. I regret to report that today, 84, Charing Cross Road is a McDonalds. Although it rates a blue plaque on the wall. The average time spent in that fast-food chain was once calculated as seven minutes! I imagine all of us have spent longer browsing in a bookshop. Now, who’d like to start the discussion?’

‘She implies she was more or less starving in her New York garret, is that true?’

‘Yes, but there was an element of choice to it, her first love was Broadway. She was for decades determined to be a playwright. And was singularly unsuccessful. 84, was her second book. The first was Underfoot In Showbusiness, an autobiographical account of her struggles.’

‘It’s often portrayed as a love story. Do you think she was in love with Frank Doel, despite them never meeting?’

‘No, I think they were pen pals, her love was for the England of English literature, he facilitated that. I think you need to understand how much of an autodidact Helene was. As a result of educating herself via the public libraries of Philadelphia and New York, she stumbled on the work of Arthur Quiller-Couch and allowed herself to be led by him.’

‘Quiller-Couch was a professor of English Literature at Cambridge.’ Said the lady who used to work at the library. ‘He was a Cornishman of course, but partly educated in our county. Everyone called him Q.’

‘He was keen that everyone should approach literature through the language used, how it was grounded in the real world around them, so great emphasis on biography and historical context.’ I commented.

At this point the ex-librarian opened her copy of 84 at a page she’d marked and said; ‘February 9th 1952, she’s talking of Walton’s Lives, I quote; “Q quoted enough of it so I know I’ll like it. Anything he liked I’ll like, except if it’s fiction. I never can get interested in things that didn’t happen to people who never lived.” End quote. Bit of a challenge to our little group, don’t you think Tony?’

‘Indeed. There’s another letter somewhere, in which she confides she feels she ought to know about Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and asks for a modern English version. Later she comments something like, if he’d written about what it was like to be a lowly clerk at the court of Richard III, she’d have learnt old English for that!’

‘Nobody writes letters anymore.’ Someone said. ‘I mean a letter is private, and you hardly know what you think until you start writing, its personal, you know the person you’re writing to.’

‘I guess that’s what really dates my choice. If most of you have read the edition which includes The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street, the diary of her first visit to London after the publication of 84, you’ll know that Joyce Grenfell, one of the great letter writers of the twentieth century, rapidly contacts Andre Deutsch in the hope of contriving an introduction to Helene. My bookshelves heave with Joyce, one volume contains almost daily letters, from childhood onwards, written to her mother, younger sister of Nancy Astor, another volume of lifelong letters to her childhood friend Virginia Graham.’

‘Nobody even writes emails, if they can help it. Instant opinions offered online, where do our reflections go? Sorry, I must be sounding like a terrible old bore.’ Offered Kenneth.

‘Did you approve of the play and the film, Tony?’ Said another.

‘Well, by the standards of the modern theatre and Hollywood, absolutely! Both faithfully reproduced in the script as many of the letters as they could. Just a two-hander really. A split stage and a split screen. Bookshop, interior. Small New York apartment, interior. Rather jolly and intimate.’

Then suddenly my reverie was interrupted by the sound of an approaching tea trolley. Melisa jumped up to help Charlie serve all us oldies. Aunt Elisabeth’s best china tea service, decorated Christmas paper napkins, side plates for sandwiches, followed by a fork for the consumption of gateau. Later a desert bowl and spoon for trifle. Conversation switched to the decline of letter writing in general, whilst I thought of all that washing up. Someone spoke of postcards and airmail letters from afar. Soon we were on to the decline of the Royal Mail. Four deliveries a day in London once upon a time someone claimed. Had anyone preserved a travelling post office I was asked. I had to concede I wasn’t that much of an expert on railways.

After a while I thought to myself, this room is beginning to take on the atmosphere of a Victorian tea, in a very upmarket care home, contrived with the sole purpose of facilitating reminiscence therapy. Was I becoming fascinated by just the past now, back with the History I'd started with as an undergraduate? Enough, no more dying from a severe attack of nostalgia. Get me out of here, no get these people out of here.