137: Father, mother and me

‘Oh my god, they’re coming to visit.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘Nice! You’ve met him.’

‘Well, it’s a situation that’s doable, at least for a short time. When are they are coming?’

‘Not for a while.’ Charlie replied, her head in her mother’s handwritten missive. ‘And father’s finally retiring. I don’t believe it. Oh no! He wants to “take the opportunity to look at properties in the west country.” Well, they can stay off the Riviera for a start. And she wants me to recommend a hotel. I suppose the Grand is, well, what they’d consider grand.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, you are slow sometimes, send them where you’ve got a man on the inside, the Manor House.’

‘Right, I wasn’t thinking.’

‘Junior Jack is just the fellow to keep your father in order, looming in the lounge. And another thing, you’ve got friends, if your parents are moving it’s a chance to find out all the legal ins and outs of your family, steer them towards Barney Benson, better still go in on the ground floor and hit them with Thayer, it’s what that building is for.’

‘County Estates is outside father’s price range I should think.’

‘But Thayer will offer to find them their ideal property, if he knows what’s good for him.’

For once it was me inviting Daphne for lunch at the club. After the usual pleasantries I tried to get swiftly to business. ‘We need to have a serious talk Daph, ghosts from the past are, unsettling me, shall we say.’

‘Gosh! Not more accusations about me being an agent for my father I hope?’

‘No. But let me apologise in advance, I do have to ask you about your father’s world. If you’re able to answer, please do so, if not, try to distinguish between don’t know, and not at liberty to say.’

‘Hell, this had better be important. I’ve had enough of trips down memory lane. So, what’s this all about?’

‘I don’t know, that’s the point. Who or what is, or was, Casper Wieck?’

‘A hanger-on of Daddy’s.’

‘They worked together?’

‘Sure, and used to see each other in retirement.’

‘Just, how senior was your father in the end?’

‘Deputy Chief.’

‘And Wieck?’

‘Head of Personnel.’

‘Sounds a bit euphemistic!’

‘No, but yes. I mean government communications is a big employer, the seventies, a time of expansion for them. Lots of positive vetting. But yes, sort of internal security as well. And...’

‘Yes?’

‘Look Tony, there were all sorts of formal channels for distributing the product, with Whitehall committees attached. But once in a while, there had to be informal, face to face contact with odd individuals from the other agencies. Wieck would handle that. When I was a kid, if Daddy had to be contacted out of hours, it would be Wieck who came to the cottage. That was the only time, you know, hand on the shoulder afterwards; “You know Daddy’s work is a bit secret, no need to mention the visit”. My point is, Wieck was the only one who really knew anything about the world of the spooks.’

‘And what was Murchison’s role?’

‘Ken? He was entertainment. Same generation, only stayed a few years, the butt of jokes often, I mean he was the last of his kind, had to oversee, climbing telegraph poles, messing with mechanical exchanges, you know, your actual adding extra kit to wires, international cables, museum stuff. And radio of course. Amuses Barmy to this day. What’s this really all about Tony?’

‘He was genuinely attached to my aunt Elisabeth, not just the gardener, left an old Will, leaving her everything. Why was Wieck at the funeral?’

‘Out of respect?’

‘Tidying up loose ends more like, only he didn’t succeed. How’s Barmy?’

‘Fine, I think. In Germany, with a solicitor, one of your lot. Wills again, one of his many relatives dropped off the twig. Barmy thinks he can snatch another chuck of the family fortune for the foundation. Mel keeps saying all that nonsense will stop with her, rather admire her for it.’

Over the years Charlie and I have tried to limit our visits to Head Office, in our great cathedral city. Killing as many birds with one stone as possible. And we’ve got into the habit of entering by the ground floor and working our way up. The first surprise of the day was to find Barmy lounging with Thayer at the back of the shop; ‘I was told you were in Germany.’

‘That was yesterday. We were talking about you. Ways of turning cash into bricks and mortar.’

‘I was saying, how profit, in rural enterprises rarely tells you about the real value of assets like land and buildings.’ Thayer explained.

‘Quite right.’

‘Brinkley sent word he wants to see you two. And since you’ll be going that way you might care to deliver these papers regarding your old apartment. Tell him he has forty-eight hours to fix it, whatever the fix is, before those details go in the window, at market price!’

‘Number forty-two is sold?’

‘Finally.’

‘Right. Now, we never arrive without a purpose, over to you Charlie?’

‘My father is retiring, looking for a property in the west country, we were wondering if you could, I can’t believe I’m talking like this, help manage the situation, facilitate an outcome, conducive to all parties...’

‘Being as how, you’ve just told the whole world you’ve never got on!’ Thayer interrupted.

‘Did I? Oh god.’

‘Fear not, point them in my direction, I’ll endeavour to keep all parties satisfied. Now, you don’t want to keep Lawrence waiting, besides Mr Gruber here, by all accounts is an even more important client than you Tony.’

‘That man is getting ideas above his station.’ I said as we ascended the back stairway to the first floor.

Upon entered, Brinkley’s voice boomed; ‘In here you two.’ I was beginning to regret the comprehensiveness of security in the building, but then I only had myself and Fin Heptonstall to blame!

Just as Brinkley opened his mouth to speak, I shoved Thayer’s papers in his face, then took up my usual position of admiring the second-best view.

‘Yes. Yes.’ He mumbled whilst perusing the papers; ‘Mackintosh has been much on my mind of late. In more ways than one. Are we committed to this?’

‘Gentleman’s agreement, handshake and everything, an offer to treat, and an acceptance.’

‘Leave the law to Bernard, Tony. You have noted the difference in these figures?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thayer knows the market.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I...’

‘Cat has already paid in kind, future prospects with Jack’s garage look very rosy.’

‘Jack! This office has no truck with him.’

‘Then I’m your cut-out, I keep you squeaky clean!’

‘Yes, well that’s as maybe. And now, Mackintosh wants to institute a park run, of all things, Charlotte?’

‘It’s an idea, it would have to be a cross-country event, not enough paths and they’d have to stay off the golf course, he suggested a paper chase, keep it traditional.’

‘Insurance will never wear it. Plus, with your MP’s visit, this leaves the whole park organisation severely exposed.’

‘Larry, you’re not making any sense.’

‘It doesn’t matter how well you’ve sweet-talked her; MPs have to account for their every action these days, two forms, it’s either expenses or the register of freebies!’

‘So?’

‘Public documents, it won’t be her, just some, beady-eyed left-wing journalist, one article, one call to the tax office, that’s all it takes. We need to formalise certain internal arrangements at the Park.’

‘How?’

‘Three departments, say Spa and Sports, Conference Facilities, House and Hospitality. Clear accounting, if Macintosh is organising events for Spa and Sports, that’s consulting or volunteering, not the club which is just renting from House and Hospitality. Wooley rents from Conference Facilities, however much he wines and dines guests in the club, follow?’ He said looking in Charlie’s direction.

‘The whole point of the Park is it’s informality.’ She replied.

‘It’s appearances and reality again Charlie, paperwork makes stuff, official.’ I interceded.

‘Oh, right.’

‘Agreed?’ Asserted Brinkley.

‘Agreed. Where’s Bernard?’

‘Incommunicado.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘At home, in Spain, the doctors have ordered complete rest. No online, no nothing.’

‘What’s happened?’ As I was asking, Charlie spied something behind Brinkley’s chair and rose to investigate.

‘Fell over in the outage, hairline fracture, whole foot and ankle strapped up, stick and everything...’

‘In the outhouse?’

‘In the power cut!’

‘Another one!’ Charlie exclaimed, holding up a new bottle; ‘Irish whisky not enough? Bespoke again I suppose.’ Turning it to the light she continued; ‘Seriously? “Brinkley’s Rum”, oh come on!’

‘Care for a glass?’

‘No thanks.’

‘Slip-up stairs and you’ll find Bernard now offers, raspberry and lemon liqueurs.’

‘Charlie, we’re leaving. Clearly, we’re paying these people too much!’

110: Wine, whisky and gin

For once I was doing the driving. Charlie had her head in documents she should have already learnt, marked and inwardly digested. We were bound for the old bank in our great cathedral city, and meetings, various.

We began on the ground floor. ‘Have a glass of wine?’ Said Thayer almost before we were over the threshold. He very intentionally showed us the bottle. The label showed a vineyard on a steep slope leading down to a valley bottom being traversed by a narrow-gauge steam train. The wording above the view read; “County Estates Special Reserve”, the wording below in smaller type, “Douro Valley Table Wine”.

‘I say! Most befitting.’

‘It’s a head office initiative, adds a touch of class I shouldn’t wonder, what do you think?’

‘Oh, simply oozes history.’ I reassured him.

‘Here, let me pour you one.’

‘Well, I drove here, I may be driving...’

‘Go ahead, I’ll drive back, I need to keep a clear head, not at all sure I understand what all these meetings are about.’ Asserted Charlie.

‘They’ve been tying themselves in knots upstairs. Correct me if I’m wrong, but they seem to think you’re irresponsible, throwing money left, right and centre. See it as their job to rein you in.’

‘And what do you think?’ I asked.

‘All I tell them, is all I know. You told me to judge each purchase on its individual merits, that’s what I do, they all stand up, as far as I can tell.’

‘This wine is really quite acceptable, shame Porto ever sort to fortify it really, though of course one understands why.’ I was met with blank stares. ‘Yes, well anyway. The whole point of today is timing. Or rather to “be prepared”, so we don’t get tripped up by the timing. When, the consortium jumps to become one unified company, depends on when, the government makes its minor legal adjustments. We must be clear about what remains trust property, and what is exchanged for shares in the new railway company. Right?’

‘Er, right.’

‘Yes, right.’

‘Well, onward and upward then!’

As we entered Brinkley’s office, the one with the second-best view, we were met by the sight of our dour and usually abstemious accountant sitting back in his chair with an unexpected grin on his face and clasping what appeared to be a glass of whisky. ‘Celebrating?’ I enquired.

‘Indeed, I am. The numbers are in, crunched, and pawed over. In summary, we will be exchanging your Tufnell land inheritance for fifteen per cent of the new company. If the company then wants other buildings or any cash injections they can be negotiated for after the consortium has been dissolved. Furthermore, we already have informal agreement from the, er, personal accountants for Gerald, Jack and Brian. Cheers! Oh, I’m forgetting my manners. Any of you care for an Irish?’

Lawrence then proceeded to produce glasses and one of those bottles that looks like a decanter. It had blazon on its side; “Brinkley Associates”, plus the same strange copperplate squiggle that adorns their correspondence. ‘Well, just a taste, if you insist.’ I replied.

‘But all these documents, I can’t work out where all the cash has come from for all the purchases over the last year!’ Asserted Charlie.

‘Close the door a moment Thayer, if you’d be so kind. There are appearances, Charlotte, then there is reality. Tony, who is of course a constant worry, to you in your role as carer, to Bernard and I who can’t stop thinking of ourselves as being in some form of loco parentis, has played another investment blinder. All that digital monitoring of people’s behaviour is producing cash we’d rather not have hanging around. Over one hundred and thirty new models of car, lorry - and tractor I’m told - globally, have driver monitoring systems from the company Tony so casually references as his American investments.’

‘Oh, right. But we only own ten per cent.’

‘Size isn’t everything. We should move upstairs, I sense the creaking of old beams, Bernard pacing the floor.’

Each time I enter the second floor it seems more open plan, more about spaces, fewer desks and what is office, melds into reception, into kitchen and easy chair areas, no hierarchy at all. Bernard, in his semi-retirement seemed to be truly delegating.

‘An, “Integrated Transport Partnership”. That’s what we're going to be investing in?’ Said a rhetorical and slightly frazzled Bernard looking at his papers as we all settled in the conference room.

‘An, ITP. Under the nineteen ninety-three act and the two thousand and fourteen EU directive, with the additional flourish of a statutory instrument or two.’ I helpfully added.

‘I can't believe Lawrence and I are giving all this our precious time. And the new company is to be called the “English Riviera Railway Company”, good lord!’

‘ERR’

‘Or, the ER, R!’ Quipped Thayer.

‘Oh, cheer up Bernard, don’t be such a killjoy.’ Said Brinkley, to the astonishment of all of us. ‘It’s an ideal retirement project for us. And if I may be so bold as to quote your new friend and colleague Henry Walpole, speaking recently on regional television; “A chance to finally mend the relationship between British Railways and the preservation movement, in this the sixtieth anniversary of the Beeching Report”.’

Bernard, for the first time to my certain knowledge, seemed lost for words. At least for long enough for me to notice the bottle, cans of tonic and glasses on a tray, placed beside the comatose owl. ‘Oh, help yourselves.’ He declared with a careless waft of his arm.

‘Blimey! Mother’s ruin. “Merriweather and Stollard”, “organically flavoured gin”, gosh!’ Now Charlie was joining in. ‘Where did this come from?’

‘Both Bernard and I took advantage of a new small firm which negotiates such arrangements...’

‘A bespoke gin, from a boutique company.’ Said Thayer to no one in particular.

‘Enough!’ Barked Bernard, drawing himself up, clearly determined to take back control. ‘There’s a flaw in your plan Tony. You’ll be stuck with a Light Railway Order at best, you won’t be able to go more than twenty-five miles per hour throughout your so-called network.’

‘Wrong.’

‘How?’

‘Only certain items of heritage rolling stock will need a restrictive speed limit. The railway, in its entirety will be re-laid by the same contractors used by Network Rail and to the same standards.’

‘Who the hell will pay for all that?’

‘The government, they will be able to claim, and rightly so, that new and old upgraded services are being introduced. It’s just two operators. Side by side at the old naval port, the latest passenger stock for the Sunday, up Bay Express to Paddington on the short platform, alongside the previous day’s down, steam-hauled heritage service on the long platform.’

‘And what about the dodgy viaduct, huh?’

‘It’ll get the proper maintenance. The new rolling stock will split as it always did in the old days. The modern five-car, aluminium bodied stock weighs less than the heritage train. And it gets to go faster, obviously. The avoiding lines through our station get reinstated. More trains than ever before.’

‘Very well, put in your political fix Tony. Just tell us when to jump and we’ll jump.’

‘You’re drunk! I’ve never seen you drunk before.’ She said, as the landscape passed in a blur.

‘How time flies.’ I replied. ‘Five years, now I’m tipsy on the strength of half a glass of wine, two sips of whisky and a well tonic-ed gin!’

‘Too old, can’t take your booze any longer. And your memory is going, it’s almost six years, actually.’

‘Really? Good lord. Regrets?’

‘Of course not! Well, the odd minor irritations, sir.’

‘Well, you can’t have everything.’

‘You seem to.’ Was there a note of sarcasm in her voice?

‘That is because I am content, as your pal Kenneth once said, to be a large fish in a small pool.’

‘Very good, sir.’

95: The history man

‘What are we doing today?’

‘I don’t know, but I know where we are going this evening!’

‘Oh, a glamourous dinner, before taking in a show, on tour before the West End? No?’

‘No, they’re still in official mourning.’

‘The cinema then?’

‘No, none of that.’

‘What then?’

‘We are going to a lecture on local history.’

‘You really know how to show a girl a good time!’

‘By a professor of international repute let me tell you, who just happens to use our county as his field area.’

‘And my presence is required to what end?’

‘To better understand the machinations of your employer with regard to the property portfolio of the late great Mr Tufnell senior.’

‘Terrific!’

Our extra mural exertions took us to the more respectable of the county’s two universities.

‘Good evening, everyone, as you can see from the first slide, I have called tonight’s lecture, Our Man-made Landscape. I feel more than justified in retaining the Man, not just as the indefinite pronoun but in the literal sense too, our landscape was built by men for men, you may say; “but women toiled in the fields too”, but what they did and why they did it... Well, need I elaborate? Besides I believe myself to be too ancient now to draw censure, to be cancelled as I believe the phrase has it, indeed many believe me already dead, or at least of so little consequence as to be literally brushed aside in the rush of the canteen that was once the Senior Common Room and home to so much competitive debate over the inadequate ideas of one’s table companions. That was a joke by the way, laughter is still permitted during my little entertainments. As you will have already noticed, I am the last to wear an academic gown on anything other than ceremonial occasions of self-congratulation. It is remarkably efficient in preventing the chill reaching these old bones and at signalling to others in advance, that I should be given a wide berth. However, the key to my academic longevity and continued relevance, and this will be my final point in these introductory remarks, is simply that none of my students has ever risen up to successfully challenge my ideas, no one as yet has, in the intellectual sense, killed his tutor. No tall, angular, neurotic Wittgenstein has dispatched the old pompous and diminutive windbag, Russell. And of course that dreadful old queen, who’s name escapes me for now, has finally been banned from the airwaves, the one who made a name for himself out of hundreds of hours spent pawing over the laundry lists of Tudor monarchs, to the great delight of fans of the televisual extravaganza, always claimed he’d literally killed his former tutor, the old man’s lifeless body having been discovered slumped over his desk, which had lying upon it a copy of the aforementioned’s latest paper, pointing out over a hundred errors of fact and interpretation in the old tutor’s later writing.’

‘Slide two, is an archival photograph showing my old tutor looking down from the summit of one of the highest hills in the realm. No, no, I didn’t push him off. He was far too wise a fellow for such a fate. It was he who would point out that wherever you stood in the British Isles, however close you might think yourself to nature, in reality the entire landscape was a man-made one. Let us examine this example more closely, there, just below the summit are the scree slopes, absent of scree. I confess, I was one of those undergraduates in bygone days, who in youth enjoyed the occasional scree run, thus doing my bit to destroy the planet. The tree line used to reach to within a hundred feet of the summit, part indeed of the arboreal forest which once encircled the entire temperate zone of the northern hemisphere, its partial demise, here in this part of the United Kingdom certainly, due almost entirely to man’s cutting down trees with metal tools, in order to create charcoal fires, with which to fashion even harder metals, to cut down even more trees. The short grass that can be seen here, is the result of grazing by deer and sheep, who of course like nothing better than the shoots of new trees, which would have reforested the area...’

There was a great deal more of this, before he finally got to his principal focus of the evening; ‘Slide Ten, gives us a feel for the sheer impact of railway building, on the left, I offer you a scan of Bradshaw’s railway map of nineteen-seven, the railways had reached their greatest extent at the turn of the century, extending over twenty-three thousand miles, now of course reduced to something less than half that figure. Coincidently, the Edwardian era was also the period of highest profitability for the railways at any time in their history, whether privately or publically held. I ask you to note not only their sheer reach, but their remarkable density, even in the more rural areas. They literally divided up the nation. On the right, an enlargement of our own county, here note not only the coverage but the plethora of stations, here are halts, both on the mainline and branch lines, usually short wooden platforms from which a potential passenger could literally hail a local train or request a stop from within the train...’

What must have once been a crisp fifty-minute lecture, finally staggered to a close after an hour and a quarter, but none the worst for that, it ended with a considerable amount of applause, the kind of public endorsement few academics could claim. We hung back, hoping for a quick word. When the hall was all but empty, I chanced my arm; ‘Professor, I wonder if I might be permitted a rather speculative question about the future?’

‘You can always try!’

‘There is an interest in opening up old railways, I wonder would you consider it a practical proposition given the land is parcelled up and in the hands of so many different interests?’

‘My dear fellow, were I considering reviving old railways, my attention, far from being on dubious rights of property and the law’s delay, would be focused on the Department of Transport itself, the greatest opposition coming from within! At the time of all the kerfuffle over closing railways there were, if memory serves, about two hundred and fifty civil servants dealing with British Railways, against about two thousand concerned with road transport. I’m sure there are a lot more now, though I doubt the ratio has changed. Sorry to disappoint. Now then, young lady, have we met before? You don’t look like one of my students, but you do seem vaguely familiar.’

‘I don’t think so, sir.’

‘Not unless you’re a reader of The Beacon.’ I offered, as a glib aside.

‘Of course! You’re Charlie Sparkwell, what a delight, may I have your autograph? Er, here, sign my lecture notes.’

I confess, to peering over her shoulder, the dedication above the title on page one read; ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Charlotte Sparkwell xxx’.

A week or so later we made our next visit to our great cathedral city. Charlie left first, in number one car, to pick up Captain Bob. Ten minutes later I set off in the other. On arrival at the old bank, we had the great good fortune to get adjacent parking opposite our intended destination. After intense negotiation over the previous few days, the Forsyth Will was finalised, with attached memorandum of guidance, leaving it up to Charlie whether she opted for being a rich woman or simply a generous one. It took but a matter of minutes for them to formally sign it, in Merriweather and Stollard’s conference room. Afterwards the two of them amused themselves in reception whilst Bernard, Brinkley, Thayer and I had an informal conference.

Bernard paced the room throughout my pitch, while the owl sat comatose but slightly menacing in the centre of the table, now Bernard’s eye was caught by something outside the window. ‘Good lord, they’re identical! I’m surprised you don’t have them wrapped, one with “his” and one with “hers”.’

‘To all but the eye of love, one sports car in British racing green, looks much like another.’ Offered Thayer.

‘Closer to the GWR’s and British Railways’, Brunswick Green actually.’

‘Ah! Now, yes, that’s just it, isn’t it?’ Broke in Bernard. ‘Let me see if I’ve got my ducks in a row here Tony. Mr Tufnell senior spends forty years buying up railway land on the off-chance BR will one day want it back, they don’t, he dies, another fifteen years pass, nothing happens, you now want Lawrence and I to waste what time we have left to us, creating a company - working title, “Steam West” - owned by Mr Tufnell junior and the Arlington Trust, to hold all these properties and update the land registry. And, because there is talk of an avoiding line for the coast, these properties aren’t worth anything on the open market, they’re just a bargaining chip to get any revived railway looking like, what, they did in Victorian times?'

‘To get the railway the community wants.’

‘And none of this actually stops a compulsory purchase order, if the Department of Transport has the will to see it through.’

‘Well, they might need a new act of parliament...’

‘Tony! This is a non-starter, imagine, every one of sixty-seven bits of land would need re-surveying, I mean what’s this one, for example; “including plate-layer’s hut”, what in the name of God was that, in nineteen sixty-five, or at any other time?’

73: The art lovers

‘I’m on the train.’

‘And you’d like a pick up at the station.’

‘At two-thirty.’

‘No problem, see you then.’

‘You haven’t made any changes, have you?’

‘No.’

‘That’s all right then. Bye.’

‘What are we doing today?’

‘We, are off to meet the art lovers.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘A new exhibition apparently, poster art, nineteen thirties to the present day.’

‘Surely it all started earlier than that?’

‘Oh, I think so, but this is the mass-produced stuff, like thousands of copies of railway posters, commercial art and advertising, that sort of thing...’

‘I’ve something to say.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘I’ve decided against a cleaning lady, if I get unhappy with your standard of upkeep, I’ll step in myself, much as I did at the apartment.’

‘Okay, but you do surprise me sometimes.’

‘I can’t do it, give orders, especially to someone in a servant kind of a role. I’m not you, I can’t judge the moment, or what to say, know the difference between a schoolmaster, the vicar, a gardener, a farm manager, insult your uncle in the first half of a sentence, then praise Julia in the second half. I can do equals when we’re alone, be a subservient servant or uppity servant in public, but that’s it. Daphne’s wrong, I’m not being understanding, I just don’t understand.’

‘There’s just one thing, what’s going on when you give orders to kitchen or bar staff?’

‘They’re not my orders, they’re the customers.’

‘We are just dropping in, it’s not a do?’ So asked Charlie as we walked the harbour side.

‘Correct, but it is the opening day, and they’ve only been going an hour, so no doubt there will be those who wish to be seen to be there.’

‘Welcome old man. Charlotte, do step this way.’ So said Tuffy, holding open the door. ‘There are just a few exhibition pieces, the rest are prints for sale, various ages, conditions, rarity. But the thing is we are now the sole local agent for new print runs from the National Railway Museum Collection, hoping it will be a nice little earner on the side, so to speak.’

As we wandered, Charlie confided; ‘How does Lady Victoria cope with Tuffy? I mean all the obsequious attention? I know I’d find it terribly, cloying. Worshiping someone, not the nicest thing you can do.’

‘Well, I imagine always having been a Lady, helps. She must understand what’s genuine. And if it’s for real, it is flattering. She has a natural confidence, she’ll know how much rubs off on him, she’ll know she’s good for him. She’ll also know of Tuffy’s reputation for falling in love every five minutes, and how, somehow, she’s managed to bring an end to all that. Tuffy may not appear much of a catch, but there is every sign the devotion is real.’

We ruminated awhile on the romance of train travel before the war, and wondered how much of it had been for real. After a minute or two I saw a familiar face approaching. ‘I say, Walpole! What ho.’

‘I didn’t think anyone spoke like that anymore?’ He appeared to be in the company of a lady, a little taller than himself.

‘He doesn’t usually, only when he’s especially happy.’ Interceded Charlie. ‘How are you sir? A pleasure to meet at last.’

‘Charmed. Likewise. Ah, yes. I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Helene. Helene, this is Anthony, part owner of Crawford Spa and his partner Charlotte Sparkwell.’

‘Surely, not by any chance...’

‘Yes, one time tearaway daughter of my old sparing partner down the Bailey.’

‘Good lord. You never mentioned any of this before Walpole.’

‘Well, it hardly seemed relevant.’

‘How are you finding life on the Riviera, Mrs Walpole?’ I asked.

‘Most relaxing. A lot less worry now, since I was able to drag Walpole away from the criminal bar, such sordid cases he’s been doing these last few years.’

‘Are you the art lover, Mrs Walpole?’ Asked Charlotte.

‘Oh, indeed. But alas only from a distance. Walpole never got the money briefs, unlike your father. I’m afraid we’ll never be able to afford the luxuries of your spa.’

‘Well, Charlie here managed to get herself signed-in as a guest most weeks, for the better part of eighteen months, made herself so essential to the life of the place I was eventually forced to persuade our accountant to put her fees on expenses.’

‘I’ve never understood the world of finance, one reason why I stuck to a life of crime.’ Commented Walpole.

‘An idea occurs to me, perhaps the two of you would like to be our guests on the club’s annual outing?’

We were just working our way towards the door again when we came across someone else previously known. ‘Good lord, Thayer! What are you doing here? Lady Victoria isn’t going bust just yet, is she?’

‘Not that I’m aware of, sir. I’m just inveigling myself with local society, better to improve contacts. Oil the wheels of business.’

‘Well, I guess we are amongst the well healed. Thank you for your negotiations on our behalf by the way. Has Brinkley paid you yet?’

‘No, but in fairness I only submitted the account a week ago.’

‘Still, one of the advantages of being on the premises, eh!’

‘Let’s go to the Harbour Cafe, I’ve not been this way for ages. And I’ve had word that Captain Bob wants to speak to me. Talking of whom, how do I properly account for my time at the night shelter?’

‘Ah, good question. I would say, any time spent in meetings or doing anything that smacks of administration can be legitimately marked up as Trustee work - and expenses claimed accordingly. But obviously, informal chatting with clients is something else. Ah, I’ve got it, any time spent where you need to be supervised by a qualified worker should count as voluntary.’

‘Yes, that works.’

Sure enough, the captain was holding forth to his table of followers when we arrived. After ordering at the counter, we took a vacant table outside. ‘By the way, just for the record,’ whispered Charlie, ‘it’s Captain Robert Forsyth RN.’

‘Thanks for telling me.’

‘Glad to catch you two together. I need your help, both of you. Charlie knows me as well as anyone, and since you’ve spent a lifetime looking after a family fortune, you’re a disinterested expert. Fact is, one really ought to make a Will.’

‘Ah, yes indeed. Do I take it your classic yacht is worth more than you paid for it?’

‘My god, Charlie said you were quick! Fact is I can trust Charlie to know what to do with my possessions, what I really value, who might value them or benefit from them after I’m gone, I just need someone with the clout to make it happen.’

‘Well,’ I said picking up my mobile, ‘the answer is probably to name Charlie as your executor, then - given she’s now a Trustee of the Trust - she can get my people to do the leg work, but still have the final say. Besides, she’s totally taken me over when it comes to moral or ethical decisions... Bernard! I need to make an appointment on behalf of an acquaintance. Just a case of drawing up a Will, but a chap with a lot to leave and a close personal friend of Charlotte. His name? Captain Robert Forsyth RN. Yes, I’m sure Lawrence will be interested too.’ I placed a hand over the phone. ‘Are you free next Tuesday morning? Sparkwell can chauffeur you over to our great cathedral city.’

‘Why all this now Bob? You’re not ill, are you?’ Asked Charlie a few minutes later.

‘Apart from the usual ailments of old age, no. The fact is, I’ve signed-up for a cruise. I’ll be off to the Falklands this winter, to take part in one of the fortieth anniversary tours. Had thought of sailing myself, but was advised against it.’

‘Thank god for that.’

‘Would have done, just can’t guarantee supplies of fuel at the south Atlantic ports. Still, one feels one has to be there of course, so an organised tour it had to be. It’ll be nice to see the old place again, though during the conflict itself, we never got near it.’

‘How come?’

‘By that time, I’d transferred to the old Merchant Marine, in charge of a refuelling vessel. Stuck in mid-Atlantic, doing ship to ship transfers. Hell on earth at times, terrified of collisions. Bloody suicidal for the boys on deck.’

64: The great bank heist (part one)

‘An invitation, sir.’ So said Charlie shoving the silver salver under my chin.

‘How do you know?’

‘I got an identical envelope.’

‘So, you’re standing there, waiting for me to open it, when you already know what’s inside.’

‘I wouldn’t want to spoil your enjoyment.’

‘I see. Oh look, who’d have thought, an invitation to attend upon the day that County Estates open their new branch.

‘Should be a laugh.’

‘Absolutely. We shall combine it with a visit to Bernard, I’ve got all of father’s Trust related documents sorted and ready to pass over. And, with your cooperation, we could have some fun viz-a-viz, the basement.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘I’ll explain later. Meanwhile you might add these invitations to the growing collection above the fireplace in the reception room.’

‘I notice Mrs Hayward’s portrait remains unhung, with her face turned to the wall, sir.’

‘There are some things it’s better she doesn’t see.’

Arriving at the old bank, we paused to survey the properties on offer in the window display. Most, as one would expect, were for desirable rural homes plus a few farms. One stood out, shouted-out, its exceptionalism. ‘Melbury Buildings!’ Exclaimed Charlotte; ‘All I did was mention it in passing at the first online Owl meeting. You wouldn’t think a place like this would “soil their hands” with it.’

‘Ah, well that’s part of the deal; that business should trickle down from the top of the building to the bottom, then creep along the street to the new bank.’

‘Who was Melbury anyway?’

‘You’ve never heard tell of “One-coat” Melbury?’

‘Sartorially challenged, sir?’

‘Well, no doubt he was, on many occasions. But no, the sobriquet came from him having started-out as a jobbing builder. New residents would move in and discover his one concession to interior design was a single coat of whitewash.’

‘Whitewash?’

‘An early soluble paint, the emulsion that didn’t stick. You must have found yourself pressed-up against a few old barn walls in your time, only to discover later you were covered in white power.’

‘What an imagination you have. But he must have made it big in the end?’

‘One of the first to call himself a developer, became a councillor, chair of the Bay Council planning committee.’

‘Named the building after himself then?’

‘His vanity soon caught up with him. Took to cutting corners in a big way, went bankrupt. Then it emerged, he’d offered and taken backhanders, did time for it.’

‘Blimey.’

‘The gossip was that he liked to check-in to various B&Bs and Guest Houses all along the coast road, sign his name simply, Melbury, hoping to be taken for a Lord by gullible proprietors.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘Well, I overheard odd things as a child, but he does appear in father’s office day books quite a bit, not the gossip as such, but the old man was clearly keeping an eye on this particular development years before the Trust actually acquired it.’

‘But if this Melbury had cut corners...’

‘Nerves of steel father, hung-on through the whole bankruptcy thing, the discovery building standards hadn’t been met. Arguments over obligations to tenants, government covering the cost of bringing it up to standard. The legal obligation to put it on the market, waiting through the lack of interest.’

‘So, in the end he gets it at his price.’

‘Precisely.’

‘I’m Thayer.’ Said the man who approached us as we entered the cut-above property emporium, speaking with a distinctly local accent, from north of the Moor if I had to guess.

‘Pleased to meet you. I say, pardon me for being so forward and all that, but I thought your lot all buggered off to Essex in the seventeenth century?’

‘We did, but we weren’t all convinced by the puritanism, neither did we want to build a new England, so we came home. I was told you was local, but didn’t sound it.’

‘Ah, well, the old school. Anyway, let me introduce to my PA, Charlotte Sparkwell. Do excuse the cardboard box, more work for Merriweather.’

‘Welcome to County Estates, Ms Sparkwell. Much more than a PA, if the press is to be believed.’

‘Greatly exaggerated, sir.’

Then we were interrupted; ‘Tony! Ms Sparkwell.’

‘Charlie has a present for you Bernard.’

‘Good Lord!’

‘The gap in the Trust archive has been closed, and is indeed intriguing.’

‘Excellent, Lawrence will be exited.’

‘They are the original documents, I’ve scanned those I’ll want to look at again, I think we need to make this a bit formal, demand a receipt and all that.’

‘My goodness, I’ll ring upstairs, we can creep up the back staircase, once you’ve had a good look around.’

‘Talking of which, what’s the current situation with the basement?’

‘I’ve no idea. Haven’t been down there since the reinforcements for the lift shaft were done. Dusty and a lot of rubble I should imagine.’

‘Are the doors still locked?’

‘Doors? Plural? Tony, you’ve had access to this place a lot longer than Lawrence or I!’

‘Yes, but I don’t hold any keys.’

‘Ah. Point taken. What’s the sudden interest in our nether regions?’

‘It’s in the box, if you can read between the lines. A search for any and all keys please.’

‘Very well, this may be altogether too much for Lawrence, he may need to take one of his power naps.’

To cut a long story short, I managed to cause a good hour’s disquiet on the two floors above whilst we enjoyed snacks, nibbles and a glass of something, all the time interrogating Thayer about the top-end property market throughout the county. Bernard looked quite flushed when he finally returned. ‘This is your receipt, this is the key for the basement that’s kept at reception for whenever the lift engineer turns up, and that, is the ever-expanding collection of unidentifiable-s!’

‘Excellent, shall we proceed?’

‘Can anyone come along?’ Asked Thayer.

‘The more the merrier.’ I replied.

The lighting was better than I remembered, updated when the lift was seen to no doubt. I pointed out to my companions, the scars on the walls and floor. ‘Once upon a time there was a cage, with a locked gate, with the strongboxes and safe inside. Now, that should be it.’ I kicked aside various collapsed old packaging and debris.

‘Should be what?’ Asked Bernard.

‘The original safe of the old bank.’

‘Doesn’t look anything like a safe.’

‘Top loaded, like an old washing machine, there you go, two keyholes.’

‘Good lord! Well, we sure as hell haven’t got keys here for anything like that!’

‘You were lying.’

‘Well...’

‘You spent the whole time watching the rest of us, you knew the layout, the fact it was used as a safe room. You’ve already got the keys.’

‘It was question of flushing Bernard out onto open ground. I needed to know what he already knew. He, will wait for Brinkley to go through the documents with his accountant’s eye for misplaced details. Eventually the two of them will realise there is a story, and that some of the documents are missing, but of course they can’t demand them. As for the keys, it’s not a question of getting the right ones, but whether they will turn the locks which haven’t moved for at least sixty, possibly a hundred years!’

‘Well?’

‘Well, what?’

‘What do you expect to find inside?’

‘I don’t expect anything. Now, time for an unannounced visit to Cat Mackintosh.’

‘Don’t tell me, he has safecracker on his CV along with everything else.’

‘Not quite, but he will know about cleaning, lubrication, rust removal etc. I’m also expecting to get his situation report on the state of the Park, post Summit.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘I asked him to do a sweep, for any bugs left behind by the conference dwellers.’

‘Foreign spies, disguised as diplomats?’

'Oh no, I’m much more concerned about our own side.’