I stood in the car park and waved Daphne on her way, hoping time would prove to be the great healer. Amazing how she couldn’t bring herself to blame her father even a little for dropping her in it for an entire lifetime. That she should be annoyed with me, was par for the course. I needed another drink and made straight for the bar, ignoring all and sundry, abandoning my usual caution and only looking around once I’d quenched my thirst.
‘Tony! Over here.’ Oh, lord. Vic was still here; I’d forgotten about her in all the excitement. ‘Char-lotte, let me tell you, will not, be handling anything for Tuffy. We have been having...’
‘A drink, or three?’
‘A girl’s, heart to heart, on the subject of men, and their needs. Ha!’ And there indeed was Charlie, sat meekly beside the Lady Victoria, though judging by the colour of the liquid in her glass she’d been following her normal modus operandi of not indulging! ‘We agree, she’s done all she can, Tuffy is a lost cause. I shall merely tell him to grow old gracefully, like myself. He must submit to my preferences or forego the marital bed.’
‘Right, excellent, very good.’
At which point Charlie stood up; ‘We must go Vic, we’re on a bit of a schedule, we’ll talk soon.’
‘So, it’s all off then, any thoughts of snaffling millions from Swiss bank accounts.’ Commented Charlie as she drove us homeward.
‘Archie said let it go, so I shall. Besides I have more than I could have hoped for, the meta data is vast, I can work out where my parents were, if not their motives, throughout my early years. Still, at the end of the day, can any of us truly say we know the mind of another?’
‘You mean us?’
‘I mean everyone.’
‘Don’t we all need to understand each other better? Shouldn’t we all be seeking even greater empathy?’
‘That’s very philosophical of you. But no, the answer to both your questions, is no. We just have to get on, as in like being in the presence of. Conversation, explanation is merely a way of passing the time.’
‘Very good, sir.’
Whit bank holiday Monday dawned bright and breezy, I was leisurely surveying the contents of my email when I was genuinely taken by surprise. ‘Charlie!’ I called from my seat in the media room.
‘Sir?’
‘An email from one of your co-conspirators.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Barney Benson, sounding me out would you believe, as to whether, should I receive a formal invitation, I’d be willing to accept a seat on the board of the Gruber Foundation.’
‘But? All that fuss that Daphne made, back along.’
‘Precisely.’
‘She must have changed her mind. How? What’s happened? You must have schemed this!’
‘No, no. Unless of course she feels grateful in some way, wants to show her appreciation.’
‘What have you done for her?’
‘Well, this whole secret world thing, I may have inadvertently done the right thing. She may have come to think of herself as a victim over the years, who knows?
‘More like she wants you on the inside pissing-out, rather than on the outside pissing-in!’
Later, in the afternoon, I was at my desk when my concentration was broken once more. ‘Are we in or out?’ Said the voice behind me, adding the usual surly, ‘sir’.
‘Good gracious, is that the time already?’
‘We’ve been in the garden for hours, whilst you’ve been skiving up here.’
‘Then you’ll know whether the weather says in or out.’
‘Out, in fact tea is already on the table, I’m just here to chivvy you out.’
‘Two minutes I promise.’
‘It had better be. Master Timothy wishes to discuss what he’s uncovered at your garden centre.’ And with that she was gone.
‘I mean I realise it’s none of my business, but it’s like people are holding out on me. It must be obvious to everyone that there’s a load more going on round the back. And then there’s that funny little counter that says, “farm shop” but which only appears to open for about half an hour at the end of the day. Some days it has a fair amount of stock, but most days barely anything.’
‘Well Tim, where to begin? Firstly, be in no doubt it is a genuine garden centre, right down to all the extras that such places have added down the years. The difference is that everything sold has come from farms and other business renting land or property from the Trust. And as a business it is directly owned by the Trust and of course is on Trust land. However, there is also the warehouse owned by the Trust, but officially nothing happens there. No money actually changes hands, it’s all bartering, gifting and exchange of goods. You see, the thing is... Why are you all giving me funny looks?’
‘I promise you this is the first I’m hearing about this.’ Charlie said to the others. ‘And we’re coming up to our tenth anniversary!’
‘Yes well, the thing is, I’m taking a risk here Tim, I don’t think your “uncle”, and certainly not my uncle, appreciate quite the trick we’re pulling here.’
‘I like to think I’m my own man, sir.’
‘Good lad, and don’t you smirk young Melisa, pay attention, your father let me tell you is on a buying spree right now, he’ll hoover up every scrap of land in the county and beyond, which either the Trust or the Duchy don’t already have.’
‘So, what is going on behind the handcrafted garden furniture, scented candles and home kitchen carrot cake?’
‘Thank you, Charlie! Well, farmers have always shared and shared alike with neighbours since the year dot, but these days there are extra difficulties. The days of the family owned, middle-sized, mixed farm, where you could be anything up to fifty per cent self-sufficient, are over. Margins are so tight, if you take an evening out to dig your own veg, well you’re burning money.’
‘But the trust’s portfolio has many specialised farms, including market gardens, orchards.’
‘Your ahead of me Tim. All within a few miles of each other, not to mention the craft brewery, and a bakery which is sort of semi-artisanal!’
‘But even so, sir. The transport, time, labour of moving stuff, ordering just when you want fresh produce?’
‘Do call me Anthony, or Tony, Tim! But yes, the trick was ordering online for a delivery within twenty-four hours by the next garden centre van coming your way, or a self-pick-up from the warehouse, but even that began to be uneconomic.’
‘So?’ Said Melisa.
‘Well I might as well say, you’re all in the loop anyway whether you realise it or not. So, I picked the lowest mileage garden centre van took it to Jack’s, he fitted it out with a computer comparable in size to those in our cars, sticks one of Eltham’s dishes in the roof and gives the driver the biggest screen possible, I bang in the best off-the-shelf estimating and logistics software and send the driver off to visit every likely location, every day for a week. Then we have our own map, real times, real distances at various times of day, real fuel consumption, real cost. Then I just had to programme in compulsory refuelling at Jack’s filling station. So, any farmer can feed to the driver’s screen in real time, anytime, or speak to him if it’s some kind of override like, cut flowers and beer for someone’s birthday or whatever! The driver just follows instructions on screen and the receiver gets estimated times of arrival and hopefully a pick-up too. Talking of hope, I’ve an idea that after a full year everyone will be back to traditional seasonal behaviour...’
No comments:
Post a Comment