143: Road to nowhere

The new year may start slowly for some, but for us it had a vigour, not to say a vim. So far, my role within the new, old railway, had been one of facilitation and enlightened self-interest. Now, with more disruptive works coming, I needed to assert myself more. Any public discontent would not be ameliorated by consultation, only by practical evidence of improvement. Setting the right tone, the psychology of our restoration if you like, was paramount. As a non-executive director, I normally attended all the meetings that now took place in our boardroom at the Abbey station. But then came the day, when all the other board members foregathered without me, in expectation of watching a televised news conference, which they knew would happen, but which the rest of the county and the nation, most assuredly did not!

Charlie was driving me to this media event, which was being held at the headquarters of the national park, located in that modest town which serves as the main southern gateway to the Moor. On the way we were held up by traffic lights, due to restoration work underway at the town’s old railway station, the principal stop on the line to Morestead. Part of the works involved actually narrowing the road, Walpole having achieved a major coup by establishing that fifty years ago the local authority had acted illegally by pinching a three-foot-wide strip of land from the old British Railways.

Just as we were creeping forward, thinking these lights will change again any second, our dashboard screen sprung alight; ‘Blimey!’ Exclaimed Charlie.

‘Here we go, here we go, here we go...’

‘Shut-up!’ She said as we just escaped on amber. Then on the screen I could see a police patrol car appear from behind a hedge and take up position, up our arse, so to speak; ‘What does he want?’

‘Well,’ I speculated; ‘They’re not flashing at us, perhaps they’re here to escort us.’

‘There will be loads of VIPs, you’ll probably be the dodgiest one there.’

‘Quite. And we should be mindful of the fact this may be Sonia’s last chance, to have a go.’

‘Are you worried?’

‘Barmy and I have had contingency arrangements in place ever since he started doing government work.’

After being waved into our allotted parking, there was an almost immediate tap on the driver’s window from a suit, and as the window descended, so did a smiling face; ‘Charlie! Great to see you.’

‘Oh no, not you again.’ I groaned out loud.

‘Back by popular demand, with royal protection, sir. I’ll come round and escort you in.’

‘It’s because he’s an ex-marine.’ She said in our last moments of privacy.

‘I didn’t know that.’

On our way into the park authority building, security said; ‘The national park are hosting today, at your suggestion I’m told, so you’re alongside HRH as the major landowners, but slightly off to one side. The minister is the only speechmaker and the press haven’t been briefed, so questions will be limited. Speak later.’

‘I understand you are old friends, Anthony.’

‘In a manner of speaking, your royal highness.’

‘He’s back at the wife’s insistence, must be glad to be shot of the politicians. Be my feed when you think I need it. How’s Charlotte?’

‘Fine, in amongst the press, using the Trust’s mobile to take background pictures for The Countrywoman, but under embargo until after Kensington Palace, of course.’

‘Thank you. You’d be surprised how many Duchy farm kitchens have a copy of that mag open on the table.’

‘May I pass that on, sir?’

‘You may.’

The nation’s transport supremo could be seen bustling through the melee towards us; ‘Your royal highness. Arlington, I want you to know I’m only going along with this because Brenda has me by the balls!’

‘Brenda Radnor, sir. Our local MP, and the minister’s new PPS I understand.’

‘How I’m supposed to square this circle I don’t know.’

‘I find just sticking to the speech as written usually works.’ Said HRH with a glint in the eye.

‘Your Royal Highness, ladies and gentlemen. It is highly appropriate that today’s announcement of government investment should be made from the headquarters of the national park, located as we are in the town which will see the most immediate benefit. And alongside the Duke of Cornwall, Anthony Arlington, together representing the major landowners involved and whose cooperation has made today possible. For I can tell you now, this county will see, the completion of its motorway all the way to its western border. Detailed printed plans will be available after I have spoken. Over the next twenty-five years, with great care and sensitivity to the current and future needs of this rural environment, plus the need to correct the mistakes made when the current dual carriageway was constructed, the economy and environment will be enhanced. Within weeks work will begin on this short section, before moving east towards your great cathedral city. Let no one be in any doubt, the widening will be to the south side of the existing road. The eastern end will be elevated to allow a bridge over the new, old railway. With proper earth embankments, with tree cover, and the bridge constructed from the same stone as the original railway, from a disused quarry on Duchy land, allowing it in turn to be flooded and a wetland conservation area created. The current gateway junction to the Moor, will be reversed with the carriageway on top, the access roads underneath. With the growth of electric vehicles, noise and air pollution will take care of itself. The rainfall from the road itself will be collected to create new wetland conservation areas. The modifications to the road’s route will allow the size of the national park to increase, with all the protections for the environment and communities that affords. Access to the temporary roads required for construction will be given to the railway too, allowing ballast, sleepers and short rails to be delivered, the trialling of dual construction, cost-saving techniques for the more challenging work coming later to the east. Within weeks of the bridge’s completion, train services will return to this town...’

Once it was all over, with HRH gone skyward, the minster off with a police escort to the next stopping train with a first-class carriage, the national press in the car park searching for a decent signal, I wandered back towards our vehicle. I was met by the sight of Charlie leaning against the car, arms folded and looking decidedly miffed. I assumed, because she was being blocked by a police patrol car beside which stood none other than the Chief Constable herself.

‘Home Sparkwell and don't spare the horses.’

‘Not so fast Anthony.’

‘Sonia! Couldn’t resist a last fond farewell? Congratulations on your retirement, today your last public appearance?’

‘Next week, actually. But you, are going to be seeing a lot more of me in the future.’

‘Excellent! Your place or mine?’

‘I could impound this vehicle.’

‘Really?’

‘Using an unlicensed communications network to impede the work of law enforcement.’

‘Oh, come now, the Moor is covered in dead zones, and the park authority’s car park is notorious, something to do with overhanging tree cover in a hollow, so I’m told. You’ll find the local press tend to slip down the road to the pub car park. But your lads could have told you that.’

‘Charlotte told me she uploaded twenty high-definition pictures in seconds to her magazine via the car and your so-called “media room”. Explain!’

‘You left out, “via one of Eltham Makepeace’s satellites.”

‘Ha! Condemned out of your own mouth.’

‘Everything is legal, until the Crown makes it otherwise.’ Then I took out my phone.

‘What are you doing?’ She said as flashing dots lit our car’s interior in the winter gloom.

‘I just pressed my panic button. I confess that having a satellite channel does cause a little disruptive noise to terrestrial users that get too close, yet you noticed HRH got away without a hitch. You remember the double royal visit, oh no you weren’t there. Anyway, proof of concept, state security working alongside our drones and the Don’s moving cameras both operating on Eltham’s satellite internet. There need be no law when an unwritten, informal hands-off, unspoken agreement works perfectly well. We’re not in Europe anymore, their system is too old, too slow, not good with fast moving objects in close proximity. And no need to worry over Charlie’s photos, they’re embargoed until the palace have posted.’

Then Sonia’s work device pinged; ‘Sir? Yes, sir. No! I mean yes, at once. Thank you, sir.’ She looked at me with that film noir, curled lip. ‘Get him out of my sight Charlotte.’

‘I can’t until you move your vehicle, ma’am.’

‘Very well.’ Then another ping. ‘That’s my own mobile now. How’s that possible? “Eltham Makepeace is following you.” Oh, God. “Eltham Makepeace posted on your profile” Hell! “Congratulations on your retirement” Balloons and everything. I’ll delete it.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t do that. Whoever your retirement project is with, would be most unhappy. You’re going to be a major league media influencer within hours.’

End of season eleven

118: Busted!

‘Jack!’

‘Tony. Not seen you two at home before.’

‘Coffee all?’ Said Charlie, entering the reception room.

‘Thank you, my love. Some special occasion, is it?’

‘Indeed, it is. It’s time for you to go entirely legit.’

‘This wouldn’t be about the letter we received this morning, would it?’

‘Your noticed to quit. Four weeks.’

‘You think we should be thinking of disposal, rather than just moving on.’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because good things will happen. And with you going, others will be encouraged to pull their fingers out.’

‘What good things?’

‘I'll come to affairs of state in the fullness of time. First and foremost we are going to create a publicity stunt, a good old piece of street theatre. A few of the great British public may notice your departure Jack, along with associated criminal elements, but then we need something to put a rocket up the arse of all the others who may be reluctant to make the time and take the effort.’

‘You’re beginning to lose me mate.’

‘We of the ER, R, require the whole of the old goods yard to be cleared as soon as possible. But we, are also acutely aware that for most of the town, it is, in its current state, their principal eyesore! The sight of old shipping containers, converted into storage units, stacked three high and painted bright blue, being removed will be the first practical sign of the new railway’s good intentions.’

‘Well, I can see that would suit you, but shifting some dodgy stuff takes time...’

‘Precisely, and the only thing that would really speed that up would be the imminent arrival of a dawn raid by the police, with the media close on their heels. News of our good works could not fail to reach all corners of the county, perhaps even the nation.’

‘And you could guarantee you’d wait for the all-clear from me before you tipped them off?’

‘Absolutely. And I’m pretty sure the Chief Constable herself would lead the raid.’

‘You don’t what to embarrass her too much, causing her to move on, or be moved on. Right now, Wainwright is the Chief Constable of our dreams.’

‘Understood.’

‘So just what is in it for me?’

‘Well, as soon as the yard is cleared and the railway has its sidings back, they can become home to our new battery-powered commuter trains.’ I paused to let my announcement sink-in.

‘You cunning bastard! That is devious beyond words.’

‘How come?’ So asked Charlie in all innocence.

‘The council have recently realised I pulled a bit of a fast one with the new filling station.’ Continued Jack. ‘We set-up to have enough poke off the National Grid, to be a much larger consumer than we’re actually likely to be for the foreseeable. They, don’t have the capacity for any of their green schemes and have to wait in the Grids upgrade bottle-neck queue, along with the rest of the county. There’s been pressure on me to voluntarily give up capacity... But we’re less than a quarter of a mile from Tony’s yard.’ Now he was smiling. ‘Green trains across the Bay. Fuck me, we’ve got’em all!’

‘I wonder gentlemen, might I be permitted to be the one to grass you two up?’ Asserted Charlie.

‘Why, ever?’ I asked.

‘Captain Bob is anxious we should establish cooperative relations between Royal Oak and the police. This way I could go direct to Sonia herself.’

‘Oh, well! Carry-on Sparkwell.’

‘Get in.’ Were the Chief Constable’s first words, according to Charlie.

‘No, this has to be a confidential walk.’

‘Oh, very well.’

‘Who’s he?’ Was her first question.

‘Inspector Dobson, Informal Economy and Cyber Crime.’

‘Blimey.’ And after walking a few yards, she began; ‘I'm worried about Tony, he seems to be getting more and more involved with Jack, our iffy second-hand car dealer.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘I don’t want him involved in the seamier side of things anymore. Anyway, I hear things. I know where Jack's so-called “lock-up” is and I know he has to move it all this week, he's had notice to quit.’

‘And you’re willing to volunteer this information?’

‘Yes, I know you can't offer me anything. But I needed to talk to you anyway, we, that’s Captain Bob and the committee at Royal Oak were hoping we could carry on the constructive relationship we had with you at the old homeless shelter?’

‘Ah. Now, tell me Charlotte, how is it whenever one talks to Anthony, he always manages to give the impression he's doing one a favour?’

‘Well, I don’t know...’

‘The last time we spoke he claimed Jack had good documentation to back up all the goods he has.’

‘Oh, it is good, but it is false. I’ve heard Jack say it’s okay at first sight, but wouldn’t stand up to proper investigation. And the goods themselves were nicked; they’ve just passed through a few hands since.’

‘Where is he moving everything to?’

‘Well, this is the thing, I don’t know, but Tony’s been urging him to dispose of everything, I was thinking it could be your last chance to nail him.’

‘Well, Inspector, what do you think?’

‘We have spent a lot of time and money on this guy, down the years, ma’am.’

‘Yes, so where is the lock-up?’

‘Its two of the old sea containers at the railway goods yard, 326 and 327.’

‘We need him there, in the act of moving goods.’

‘Could be any day in the next week, it might just be a couple of hours’ notice.’

‘That’ll be enough.’ Said the Chief Constable, with a faraway look in her eyes. Then, after a pause she began to wander away, saying over her shoulder; ‘Give my regards to Captain Forsyth when you see him next.’

‘She won’t sell many ice creams at that speed.’ I quipped without thinking.

‘Radio silence unless strictly necessary.’ Said Jack’s voice emanating from the dashboard.

I was watching Charlie with camera two, normally resident in the treatment room, but with the zoom lens added, recording the approaching motorcade. A moment later I said; ‘Three, two, one! The first vehicle has just turned off the main road.’

‘Okay. Wait for everyone to pass then get the hell out of there.’

‘Good luck Jack!’

Charlie was quiet until we were almost home; ‘Explain to me again why Wainwright won’t work out she’s been set up.’

‘Well, if you recall, at the time of the Great Crimean Gold Heist, she complained about having to deal with so much paperwork concerning our good selves. She said that you, despite having had a bit of a dodgy past, were nonetheless always trying to do the right thing! She believes you are acting in good faith; your information was good; you just couldn’t tip them off fast enough. I mean, if all’s going to plan right now, then Wainwright will believe herself to be but minutes too late. She’ll conclude you’re the innocent one, in all the whatever.’

Turning the station yard security cameras into a live feed had been a piece of cake for Fin Heptonstall.  Arriving back in the Media room, I started viewing the recorded takeout. The fact that one of the cameras now pointed directly at Jack’s containers, with enhance-able audio was neither here nor there. It was all plain to see, Jack emerging from one of the now empty containers, the arrival of the police, much conversation, the insistence on viewing the contents of Jack’s van, even the revelation of the only item of note – the nineteen thirties petrol pump due to be delivered to the new, old garage at the Abbey Station this very a.m. The icing on the cake came at the very end, the arrival of our friends in the media. I packaged it all up, added Charlie’s footage and emailed it all off to Don Wooley.

My favourite moment had come at the very end, when an unseen media voice shouted; ‘Chief Constable! Would you care to explain why you are arresting one of the Bay Area’s most prominent businessmen?’

‘No comment.’

105: Pictures at an exhibition

I was sat in Lady Victoria’s executive chair in the bowels of the New Realist Gallery, with just the gentle hum of her dehumidifier for company, watching the activity above via her security screen. The system had recently been installed by the ever-reliable Fin Heptonstall, who naturally favoured the software used by the Trust. I could have watched it all from home, but that would have been cheating, besides I might want to make a timely intervention. Vic used to claim that you could tell by the intensity of the sound coming from her conditioning device just where Tuffy had got to in his daily round of adjusting windows, opening and closing the street doors and especially when he was out the back by the bins. Now with the new cameras, all was on show, all the time.

It was the opening day of the grand travelling exhibition of Steam West’s plans for the future of the county’s heritage. These days my fixed point of reference for understanding any social encounter is Charlie. Today she was low key, as was I, strictly one of the backroom boys. But it was her social orientation that cued my attention. I adjusted one of the cameras slightly and saw the object of her curiosity. It was Chief Constable Wainwright, who had clearly found a dead spot in security. She was adopting a power pose, but she didn’t seem to exude the quiet confidence that’s meant to go with it. Her self-hugging, folded arms practically crushing her hat. She was dressed, as usual, in the baggy white shirt and black trousers version of her uniform. Not having been the organiser of the event I had no idea whether she was here by invitation or not. Still, we’d not crossed swords for a while so I decided to have a word, or two.

‘This is a nightmare.’ She declared.

‘Oh, I don’t know, seems quite a convivial gathering.’

‘I meant this plan, a congestion nightmare.’

‘Well, only during various phases of construction, par for the course surely?’

‘Turning even more of the country into a heritage theme park.’

I moved a fraction closer and adopted a more confidential tone; ‘You know you’re not at all like other senior officers I’ve met, not that I’ve met that many you understand. They’d have turned-up much more formally attired to a do such as this.’

‘Men you mean.’

‘Oh, indeed. Edoardo, my tailor don’t you know, often tells of how ranking officers used to creep into his premises asking for alterations to their uniforms, for the more distinguished look.’

‘Vanity.’

‘No doubt. But, easier to adopt the commanding attitude if one is particularly smartly turned out on parade, one would think. And, though it’s hardly my place to say, it is rather obvious from your gait that you have a tight, trim figure below the crumpled...’

‘Shut it! Your Charlotte has been watching since you crept over. My men, have always taken it for granted, I’m gay.’

‘Oh! Right. And you think that helps with crowd control. But surely if you had a fully tailored uniform with traditional skirt, the right heals, and were prepared to flirt in both a nice and nasty way, that would be even more effective at keeping the zoo in order. And more authentic.’

‘Is this all you?’ She said, accusatively changing the subject. ‘Your Trust is just listed as one of seven partners in the consortium. It would be just like you to be the organising brain at the centre of this spider’s web of intrigue.’

‘Better to think of my role as, well a facilitator, helping to make what others want, happen!’

‘This, influence you seem to have over everyone, how does it work?’

‘Ah! The soft power thing. Well. That would be telling.’

‘I was approached by a very senior officer at an association meeting the other day, he said he wanted to “clarify” - that was the word he used - why I’d been turned down for the last few posts I’d applied for. He claimed my work in the peninsula was vital to London, almost as if we were some sort of adjunct to where the action is. I’m supposed to be keeping a lid on all sorts of things.’

‘Top bureaucrats do have a terribly obscure way of talking about things.’

‘And still, despite the Head Boy taking over, ever more files featuring your name, land on my desk.’

‘I suppose, being a loyal subject of the Crown, arouses deep suspicion these days...’

‘What’s this?’ She said pointing to some imaginative architect’s drawings.

‘Ah! Yes, in order to reinstate the full forecourt at the Abbey station we’ve had to purchase the short stretch of street adjacent to it.’

‘But...’

‘Yes, your eyes do not deceive you, within a few months the Railway Arms will have reverted to being a traditional pub, the original greasy spoon cafe will re-emerge to complement the eventually revived refreshment rooms at the station, and the old garage will miraculously re-appear again - with a genuine pre-war petrol pump.’

‘But this is all obstructing the pavement!’

‘Which is an illusion, the current wide pavement is mainly made up of land owned by the properties. That’s how we out-smart planning regulations.’

‘And just where do you think you’ll find such a petrol pump in this day and age?’

‘We already have it. It’s been in Jack’s lock-up for years.’

‘What! Right. Now you tell me, right now, where this lock-up is, my team have been hunting for it forever. We have strong reason to believe...’

‘You don’t wanna know.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, it would only cause embarrassment.’

‘Oh dear, how sad, never mind. Give!’

‘I meant to you. Jack’s been expecting you. He has the documents to hand; he can prove nothing is knocked-off.’

‘How come you’ve got these GWR insignia everywhere, not even the current operator can use them!’

‘Because every one is an enlargement from old photos that we own. We bought the publisher who bought out the previous publisher who spent all that time acquiring old photographic collections. They used to operate from part of the old maintenance depot across the way.’

‘Wait a minute, I’m beginning to see this now. This isn’t about old steam trains, they’re just a sort of “loss leader”. This is an old fashioned land grab. Old buildings for restoration, to create prestige buildings for high rents and expensive leases. What if the government holds out, or the unions won’t budge?’

‘We just keep on coming. I doubt they realise yet that we already rent the upper storeys of the Abbey station building, company HQ as it happens, although no one ever goes there, we’ve already got “Station House” on our letterhead.’

‘Someone will challenge you, I will, if I can find a legitimate reason.’

‘We have our defences set.’

‘What?’

‘A ghost from the past. Your old sparring partner, Henry “never plead guilty” Walpole is already on our team.’

‘Oh, my god!’

At which point Charlie wandered over; ‘Morning ma’am.’

‘Sparkwell.’

‘Is he behaving himself?’

‘He just tried to pick me up!’

‘Indeed. I usually find he has ulterior motives on such occasions.’

‘He does? What?’

‘Alas, he’s not taken me into his confidence. But it probably involves misdirection, distraction or disorientation; followed by sleight of hand, or you, simply not noticing anything he doesn’t want you to.’ Charlie had been looking around the room in a suspicious manner as she said all this.

‘I see. Excuse me a moment, I must take a closer look at those panels over there.’

When Wainwright was out of earshot, I said; ‘You really shouldn’t.’

‘I’ve spent far too long following you around, not to!’

‘So, what have you observed this morning Watson?’

‘I’ve been chatting to E. Bloomfield-Jones, founder and managing director of Bloomfield-Jones Consulting, the consortium’s PR company.’

‘Ah! I’ve not had the pleasure.’

‘I’ll tell you something funny, she’s a woman too.’

‘Good lord.’

‘And you might well have had the pleasure, she was a contemporary of Lady Victoria’s at St. Hilda’s, an ex-dancing partner perhaps?’

‘I’d better make efforts to find out!’