96: The art of trash

As autumn slowly closed upon us and we all adjusted to life under the new King, The Beacon announced, in an exclusive, our former prime minister’s future intentions. It seemed the Don had secured the rights to the story of Buffy’s premiership, to be told in a series of two-hour interviews for The Don Wooley Podcast. It had already been some weeks since the Park committee had approved and adopted the proposed changes to it’s media room. I rather assumed both Buffy as well as Wooley would want to use it. I was at a loss to know why they hadn’t been in contact, surely, they didn’t think I’d be willing to bid for their presence? They’d have to take their chances with the booking system and pay the going rate. Ditto the idea of regularly broadcasting the podcast.

There were other things on my mind at the time. Even if railway building was going to be a sometime, maybe never kind of a plan, I still needed to get sorted title to the properties, and what of Mr Tufnell senior’s other possessions? Having scanned what was required from the diaries and notebooks, I decided to return them via Victoria at the gallery. ‘We’re off to the New Realist Gallery today.’ I announced, assuming my paramour was present; ‘I’m hoping you can distract Tuffy.’

‘Again! What’s the sleight of hand this time?’

‘Oddly enough, the aim is not to confuse Tuffy.’

‘Can we include some refreshment at the cafe? I need to consult Captain Bob about the shelter committee.’

‘Yours to command.’

We were both staring in disbelief so long, Tuffy actually came out onto the pavement to see what was wrong. There in the window, given pride of place was one of those hideous constructions one is forced to witness for a month or so every year whilst walking the promenade. ‘Enjoying our modern trash?’ He enquired.

‘Enjoying is hardly the word. It sits below your shop sign which clearly states, New Realist Gallery! What’s going on? Vic has no truck with modern art!’

‘We’ve just hired out the window for the month, nice little earner, fact is this is the “Start Here”, for the trail.’

‘What, all the cringe art on the front is meant to be viewed in sequence?’

‘It’s themed, apparently. Telling the story of climate change through recycling.’

‘You know it doesn’t matter how well crafted this stuff is, it’s still the result of dustbin diving. It still leaves general public on a downer, feeling depressed about the world. Where do these artist’s get their cash? Can’t believe anyone buys this kind of thing.’

‘One of the arts bodies I suppose, maybe it’s the council.’

‘Come on, let’s go inside.’

Almost immediately we were confronted by Victoria saying; ‘What brings you here Tony?’ Charlie hadn’t yet had the opportunity to get Tuffy out of the way.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘we were sort of wondering why we hadn’t heard from you about getting underway with sorting the older generations possessions. Needs some planning, right?’

‘Rather distracted by the solicitors at the moment,’ said Tuffy. ‘I’m a bit disappointed about assets and all that, to tell the truth. Mother doesn’t seem to have left much in terms of cash. Well, less than expected on that front anyway.’

I saw an opening and took a chance. ‘Ah! Well, I may have good news then. Here are your father’s diaries returned, all in good order.’

‘Where did you get them?’

‘From the study of course, hope I wasn’t out of order, you did say you couldn’t make them out. I have to tell you they’re not in code, but written using your father’s own abbreviations and shorthand, a few minutes spent rereading the half a dozen or so letters he sent me during his lifetime, got me familiar with his script again.’

‘I didn’t know father wrote to you.’

‘Oh yes, I treasure them to this day, he did a lot to buck me up in hard times. Anyway, it allowed me to make some sense of the property deeds.’

‘What deeds?’

‘Well, at first, I couldn’t understand why the last time I saw your mother, she insisted I take this bunch of keys, here, there you go, you’d better take charge of them now. That one, opens a safety deposit box at our bank, guess what was inside?’

‘Cash?’

‘Alas, no. Only title deeds to sixty-seven bits of property across the county.’

‘My God! I knew it. I knew father wouldn’t have let us down in the end. Where are these deeds?’

‘Oh! Perfectly safe, in my safe at the villa. You can pick them up on your way to your next appointment with the solicitors, it’s still old Blythe, isn’t it?’

‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you’d thrown in the towel. Also, you know Bernard gave me a crash course in Wills and Executors before Bob’s was finalised - well property is property, not possessions!’

‘So then, I’ll give you one clue, what did I say when I first opened the letter with Mary’s Will in it?’

‘Oh! For goodness’ sake, I can’t remember trivia like that!’

It was still warm enough for the good Captain’s crowd to be sitting out at the Harbour Cafe, though the man himself had yet to turn up. We took a table just along from the old sea dogs. ‘There’s something Bob wants to put to you.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘He can explain better than me. You know a while ago you said when we were at the shelter about distancing ourselves from the council and how I should take a closer look at the Trust’s property portfolio.’

‘I see, I think.’

‘Well, he has a proposal.’

‘So, this is a set-up, you lured me here.’

‘Absolutely! Sir.’

‘Just the man I want to see.’

‘And good morning to you too.’

‘Charlie has explained, has she?’

‘Only that she hasn’t the bottle and that you’ll do the explaining.’

‘Age, authority, has certain benefits, ask the King! And it is a matter of public record, the ownership of property.’

‘Absolutely.’

‘You see, our problem is, we’ll never be able to satisfy the demand for beds the way things are, the recession, cost of living and everything. We want to drop the council in it, force them to act. More or less do a moonlight flit, declare that we’re now a specialist charity for those who are homeless because of enduring mental health issues and just need to be outside a lot of the time. We can’t keep trying to deal with the whole range of problems that turn up at the moment and which really only have political solutions.’ Then he hesitated a moment before saying; ‘Myself, and a couple of the ex-marines who have become regulars at the shelter have been up to see The Grange, that is the property you were thinking of I take it?’

‘Yes, just because of the naval connection really, it overlooks the sea, just five minutes walk from the harbour side, but with enough seclusion, enough of a garden. Plus, the little lodge come gatehouse thing.’

‘Great minds think alike. And you must know the history of the place. My lads were very impressed with your security and the way the outside is maintained. Took them a good five minutes to find the alternative method of access, so to speak. So, anyway, we had a good look at the house from the garden, they appreciated immediately the way it was built. Funny, there’s always a tension on board a ship, between the captain and a detachment of marines, they have to submit to our authority, but they’re land lovers confined, isolated if you like, no purposeful work to do. Anyway, my point is they get the house, especially when I explained it was originally designed and built for an ex-admiral. Given it’s been a care home latterly, how much can we put back?’

‘Well, now you’re putting me on the spot, asking specific questions, in a public place. This is where I go into, official “negotiating on behalf of the Trust” mode, I’m afraid. If you want a more informal chat about these wild imaginings, then fix a date with Charlie to come up to the Villa, for tea, alone!’

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?’

94: Funeral

‘Today I fear, is going to be one of those days.’

‘What days?’

‘Where I end-up taking charge, without trying or wanting to, and Tuffy much to his own annoyance, ends up being caught in the cross fire because he can’t see to get out of the way.’

‘Well, just make sure I’m told what I need to know, when I need to know it.’

‘Full dress, valette uniform please. And I must be in a black tie and as low key as possible. I don’t know, but I suspect I’ll be “sir-ing” as much as you today!’

It was nice to be attending an old-fashioned church funeral. The same church that I’d last attended to see Prudence married, and where some fifteen years before we’d said goodbye to Tuffy’s father.

‘Where on earth have you been?’ Demanded our host at the west door.

‘We’re not late, are we?’

‘No darling, spot on actually.’ Interceded his wife.

‘We’ve got a church full of people and I don’t recognise any of them!’

‘Friends of your mother presumably.’

‘She saw practically no one after father died.’

‘Well, friends of your father then, here out of respect.’

‘I don’t remember any of them from father’s funeral.’

‘Well, we were both a bit out of it that day. Your mother stepped-up to the mark and handled formalities.’

‘They are all of about her age Tony.’ Added Lady Victoria.

‘Right.’

‘How did you know to dress like that?’ Tuffy was being accusative again.

‘Er, look, do you mind if Charlotte and I sit up front with family?’ I said turning again to the better half.

‘Of course not, Tony.’

‘Well, as we seem to be the last, follow us.’ I said and moved forward pausing only when level with the first backs of heads, and consequently blocked the others behind us. A few seconds was enough, I spied some of Mr Tufnell’s business cronies and rivals, local dignitaries, I chose one sat about half way down the nave.

Placing a gentle arm on his shoulder, and whispering as if he were slightly deaf, I said; ‘Good to see you sir, there’s a grand tea at the house later, all of Mary’s former dinner guests welcome.’

When we were seated Victoria, whispered; ‘What are you playing at, I’m only set-up for about half a dozen at the house! There must be fifty of these wrinklies.’

‘Fear not, they’ll self-select, only a handful will turn up.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Remember our conversation at the gallery? We need them.’ And then the music stopped.

Half way through the second reading my device pinged. Well, its only set up to tell me what I need to know, so I checked it, a text from Archie with a link to the Palace site, a sort of ‘be prepared’ health bulletin, I decided to tell no one.

Back in the fresh air, Victoria suggested I take her place next to Tuffy. I said; ‘Right, you greet them, thank them for coming and point out where in the churchyard, if anything else needs saying, I’ll say it.’

‘Thanks, old man.’

There were three of them, plus the gentleman I’d spoken to, who, once upon a time, had been the last Town Clerk and first Chief Executive of the Bay Council - we’re slow to change in these parts! They all said, in their own way, what a wonderful hostess Mary had been. I chipped in with; ‘You are coming back to the house Mr...'

As Sparkwell and I returned to the car, I speculated; ‘Amazing, is it greed, avarice, a sense of fun? Four men prepared to admit they know Mr Tufnell’s great secret, knowing I’m their last best chance.’

‘Well, at their age, they can’t be in it for anything but the game!’

‘Tuffy, I wonder if I might be permitted to show our guests your father’s study? Ideal for a little reminiscence therapy I should think, I might even be able to offload some of your father’s more obscure books, for a fair price of course.’

You could see the confusion, the desire to be relieved of these people, the fear I might be getting one over on him. ‘Oh, yes, naturally old man.’

‘We’ll let you entertain the ladies.’

A few minutes later I was able to say; ‘Gentlemen, welcome to the treasure house of Omar Khayyam!’

‘We’re none of us bookish Anthony, as you well know. Still, good enough ruse I suppose.’ So said Gerald.

‘Soak up the atmosphere everyone, whilst I find another chair.’ When we’d settled, I continued; ‘I imagine you’ve all been here before?’

‘Oh no, we were never allowed this far.’ Said the ex-Town Clerk.

‘Really. Anyway, let me brief you over the Will. Tuffy gets the house and cash, however; the possessions are to be shared out between Tuffy and myself.’

‘Well, at least that keeps the idiot son out of it.’ Said Gerald.

‘But I feel duty bound to inform you that, with Mary’s blessing, Mr Tufnell’s diaries and address books, all his vital numbers, are currently in my safe at the Villa, along with the entire contents of the anonymous safety deposit box.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ Groaned Brian.

‘I could send my boys round!’ Asserted Jack.

‘Jack, your boys and I were at school together until age thirteen, if you sent them round, we’d just be sat at the kitchen table drinking tea and reminiscing about the fights we’d had on the playground tarmac.’

‘Really Jack, you should make an effort to stay informed. Anthony is, Mr Electronic Surveillance, saying it’s all in his safe is like saying it’s all in Fort Knox!’

‘Besides, my girl could flatten the lot of us.’

‘She knows?!’ Said Brian, alarmed this time.

‘As of today, only the absolute minimum. I’ve cut her out as much as possible.’

‘Good lad. Now then Anthony, what do you know of Mr Tufnell’s business affairs?’ Said the local bureaucrat.

‘Not much, which is why we’re sat here. He was a trader, buying and selling wholesale, modest bits of import, export. My interest was only aroused when I realised, he was living a lot more modestly than he needed to.’

‘Does the British Railways Property Board, open brackets, nineteen forty-seven, close brackets, Limited, mean anything to you?’ Asserted Brian.

‘Er, well, trying to remember my modern history, stage one of a nationalisation scheme, bring the property of all railway companies, and what was on that property, under the control of a single private company, which just happened to be owned one hundred per cent by the Crown.’

‘Very good. Now what do you imagine that included in our neck of the woods?’

‘He means within the relevant local authority boundary of the time.’ Added the public administrator.’

‘Blimey! As my partner would say. All the track and adjacent land, stations, locomotive depots, maybe the quarries from which the stone to build the railway came from, or at least the documents relating to change of ownership. Oh, was the grand intended retirement home of the great engineer owned by the company? And the end of the line, not only the station but the quay, and on the other side of the river too. But then the nineteen seventy-three local government act changes the boundaries. Where is this all leading?’

‘Ha! You’re the university educated one, now what happen when the railway decided to sell-off bits of land?’ Brian continued.

‘I was told this one quite recently, the preservationists were mad as hell, they wanted time to raise cash, but bits were sold almost instantly to local authorities.’

‘And what would we call that, Anthony?’ Said the quietly spoken local government officer.

‘Creative accounting. Selling something to yourself, given the amount of central government grant to local councils, to make closing railways look like good cost saving. Look, you’d better cut to the chase before the Lady Vic gets suspicious.’

They all looked at each other for a moment or two. ‘Your father bought property to boost the income of your Trust, okay?’ Said Gerald.

‘Yes.’

‘But his mate Tufnell got a bee in his bonnet about that guy who was brought in to shut railways. He spent his spare cash on every bit of ex-railway land he could find between our cathedral city and where the old transatlantic liners used to tie-up! Including, from some local councils, some of whom, were more than happy to oblige.’

Then Brian continued with; ‘Governments today seem increasingly interested in opening-up old lines; they imagine it will be as easy to get old land, as it is to get new land but...’

‘They’re in for a great big fucking surprise!’ Interrupted Jack.

93: Panic

‘All done, Mr Cleverly.’ I spoke. ‘And I can quite appreciate the bank’s desire to move on, I’ll do what I can to expiate matters.’ Back in Archie’s office I was met by expectant smiles. ‘Well, we mustn’t delay the staff Charlie, onward and upward.’

Back in the street; ‘Well?’

‘Bit of luck that, being able to just breeze in, I quite thought such arrangements were a thing of the past, there was no indication as to how many boxes were still in use, so to speak.’

‘You know damn well what I meant. Are we now the possessors of a wad of escape cash, several false identities and an automatic pistol?’

‘You really are quite romantic when you want to be. No, none of that, just more notebooks and old documents, masses of them, they weigh a ton! So, to the Villa, for as long as it takes for me to do an initial assessment of the two bags.’

‘Archie was really quite nervous.’

‘He shouldn’t be, they have us and we have them. In the fullness of time a local media event, highlighting our discoveries, might solve their problem.’

‘But surely, they could just get the police and some sort of officer of the court and the crooks are busted.’

‘You’re still not getting this. Remember your heuristics. Separate in your mind; empathy, feeling what others feel, from “theory of mind”; the realisation that others think differently from you. The bank, are bricking themselves over what is in the boxes of the honest punters, okay?’

‘But?’

‘Just suppose the bank does decide to end the service and open the boxes, the owners of the contents are anonymous and most probably long dead. The crooked stuff? Ten per cent at most. The vast majority is the property, if they only knew it, of well to do and influential locals - jewels, historic artefacts, documents giving title to, investment certificates of one sort or another. Some of the best of the city was flattened in the war, killing their owners. Before you know it, multiple multi-million-pound lawsuits from people claiming to be the rightful owners of the same stuff!’

‘And you think you can gain kudos by helping them avoid all that by publicising something you don’t actually know anything about yet!’

‘Just thinking ahead.’

‘We need to tell Julia something! It’s getting late.’

‘Er, text; “MT frail but okay, hope to return by tomorrow evening”.’

Charlie was towering over me as I was trying to make sense of our cache of documents by arranging them on the floor of the media room. ‘Done. Now, what have we got?’ She asked.

‘In essence, Mr Tufnell’s name on title deeds for numerous properties, across the entire county it would seem, but what’s odd is these are piddling bits of land. Mainly brown field sites, occasionally built on. I can’t see rhyme nor reason to any of it.’

‘Someone must know.’

‘Sure. But which of his contemporaries would be in the know? And how to get them to talk?’

On our way back to the manor, we couldn’t resist dropping-in at the Park. There was raucous laughter and cheering emanating from the bar. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Buffy’s gone.’

‘Gone where?’

‘Sacked, thrown-out, they’ve deserted him. He’s gone too far. The right-thinking element have told him to walk.’ Said one of Buffy’s long-time critics.

‘I see.’

‘Glass of bubbly old man?’

‘I’ll just stick with the black coffee, if it’s all the same, need to keep a clear head.’

We retreated to the lounge, only to be confronted by Prudence, pacing the ground before the hearth.

‘It’s the end, certain defeat at the next election, money gone, Rory jobless, hopeless, the shame of it, Tony you’ve got to help, I’ll do anything, I’m begging you.’

‘You need to show patience, Prudence.’

‘What?’

‘You’re local, Rory’s local, that’s your appeal. You fight for the seat with all gusto, unapologetic about Buffy, if you lose, you merely stay where you are, campaign for the local party, fight the next election after that, return in triumph, the problem is the money. Rory’s unfit to do anything else, you have to find the cash doing something part-time that will raise enough. Focus on that.’

‘That’s all very well for you to say!’

‘I know, but that is the answer, the only answer.’

‘But how?’

‘Well, you’ve got two years to put your plan B in place, hang around here as much as possible, the money is here. With the individual members. Who likes you, who do you get on with, what do they need that you can supply, get my drift? Oh, and remember, membership here, is a fixed cost in your accounts.’

‘Er?’

I walked towards the garden for some fresh air, Charlie had drifted off somewhere as is her habit. I needed time to think. As I wandered towards the pond, I was surprised to find Don Wooley, newspaper man extraordinaire, seemingly on much the same mission. ‘Wouldn’t have thought you’d be operating from here at a time like this?’

‘I’ve been sneaking into the conference area and using the fibre, it’s still copper wire in the first-floor bedrooms. I don’t think that Fiona likes me!’

‘I see. Okay, well I can get the issue of more fibre throughout the occupied parts of the house further up the “to do list” because the relative cost is falling, Fiona is another matter entirely. Fiona always has to be in the room, so to speak. She is the public face of the Park, she’s the one in front of the camera. She may not have authority in decision making but she does have to be included. Charm her Don, after all she’s an old friend of Charlie’s, Charlie got her in here.’

‘Shit! Er, look I’ve got an idea about your conference centre, let’s go inside and have a look.’

It turned out the Don was concerned about the smaller of the two rooms leading off from the ballroom. ‘So, you don’t like the tables and chairs?’

‘Most of the time it’s being used as a media room now, no point in it looking like a college seminar room when by the simple act of replacing them with a sofa and a couple of chairs from upstairs, you have the grand country house decor along two sides, and your cameras and a perch for the technician come director on the other two sides. Now what does that set-up make you think of?’

‘The posh-ist Breakfast Time or Daytime tv studio ever?’

‘Exactly! Or to be more precise the summer residence, or perhaps winter residence, of The Don Wooley Podcast. Daily rent for at least three months of the year.’

‘I like it.’

‘Not that different from your home set-up really?’

‘Who, told you that?’

‘Oh! No secrets between me and Charlie these days, I know all about her, spread out on the chaise-lounge, whilst you fiddle with your gadgets.’

‘I beg your pardon!’

‘Fear not, she’s one of the special people. Anyway, what do you think Buffy will do now, now he has time on his hands, write his memoirs?’

‘Buffy doesn’t write.’

‘Really? Now that is interesting.’

‘Apart from reading agendas, and scribbling notes for speeches, he is a cultural desert!’

‘What are you two conspiring about?’ Came a voice from the doorway.

‘Charlie!’

‘There’s progress at the stables to be inspected, sir. Before we hit the road.’

‘Well, don’t let me detain you any longer.’

‘I’ll speak to the committee.’

‘What’s he doing?’

‘Distressing a brick!’ Our stone mason’s mate, had just chucked a brick into the portable cement mixer, whilst the man himself was attending to a piece of the decorated stonework which intermittently broke the monotony of the brick work. Only the garaging of the minibus could be said to be complete.

Speaking from atop the portable scaffolding, the boss said; ‘We’ve been taking a few days off from your Magdalen Place properties, while matey rescues bits of wrought iron guttering and down pipe from the back, to make the front entirely genuine again, so the back alas, will be entirely fake.’

‘Which it’s going to look anyway because of the sure-ing-up you’ve had to do?’

‘Well, that’s the way we see it, sir.’

‘No worries! Right then Sparkwell, we can’t hang around here watching other men work, we have places to be and things to do.’

Back at the manor about a week later, Julia sort me out in the grounds; ‘Tony, I’ve just taken a call from Victoria Herring.’

‘Oh, lord.’

‘I’m sorry, Mary’s gone. Passed away whilst still at the house apparently.’

92: Sweating

‘It’s not working!’

‘No, no it isn’t.’

‘All that trouble you went to.’

‘Yes.’

‘Rory’s lost his nerve, he’s dithering.’

‘He should bowl as fast as he can, Buffy has a good variety of shots.’

‘What? What has cricket got to do with a parliamentary committee?’

‘You can draw an analogy with cricket, for anything! Besides, Buffy has always had a cricket bat by his desk since school.’

‘Even in number ten?’

‘According to Carrie.’

‘Anyway, they can’t hog the conversation much longer, and they certainly won’t get away with more jabbering about your Anglosphere ambitions.’

We were sitting watching the television in the library at Checkley Manor, with the shutters closed. The heat had forced us indoors and onto a Mediterranean timetable. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before the rest of Rory’s Whitehall watchdog forced the questioning onto ‘conduct unbecoming’ and the ‘dignity of office’. Buffy remained ebullient, but looked relieved when Rory started looking at his watch and asking the honourable members to keep questions short, to which one unintended wit replied; ‘Yes well, I think we all understand the Prime Minster’s time is almost up.’

‘Oh dear, oh dear.’

‘You, are going to need, a Plan B, old boy.’ I turned my head, just to check, yes, definite signs of her suppressed smirk.

It came out of the blue, as these things always do. ‘Have you checked your mobile?’ Asked Charlie.

‘No.’

‘A text from an M.T. “Come soonest STOP Be unobserved STOP” What on earth?’

I could feel my temperature drop, it’s what lets you act without falling apart. ‘It’s an emergency, pack everything, as if we were gone for good, drive around to the front and wait, fifteen minutes.’

‘But?’

‘So that everyone knows we’ve been called away. I’ll talk to Julia.’

‘Is she dying?’

‘Of course, but this must be about something that she needs to communicate in private, whilst she can still make herself understandable, rightly or wrongly she thinks this is her last opportunity. Not easy to arrange if you think about it, Tuffy and Victoria out of the way, maybe she’s off to hospital or a care home. I’m treating it as an emergency until I know different.’

‘But you think you know.’

‘Something about father, mother maybe, via her late husband.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Town.’ Then, five minutes later, I had Charlie pull off the road. Saying nothing, I showed her instead. I switched off my mobile, then reached under the dash and pulled the plug on the computer, finally I stepped out, turned around, ferreted under the bench and pulled the plug on the extras. I then looked at Charlie in expectation. She turned off her two mobiles, showed me her off tablet and laptop.

‘This is Moscow Rules, is it?’

‘Well, not quite, just dead methods.’

‘Park here, just a short walk. But, er, keep your driving gloves on.’ I then extracted a modest selection of tools from the boot, small enough to fit in my pockets. I found a fold-away bag and then we were on our way, down the lane.

‘Where are we?’

‘Back of Tuffy’s house.’

‘Oh yes! Why?’

‘The message said unobserved, so...’

‘M.T. Mary Tufnell.’

Things were very overgrown, but the back door was unlocked. Inside the atmosphere said age, neglect, and the presence of a young female in the last few hours, carer not nurse or doctor. ‘Presumably the other two doors are unlocked, if so, the house is empty apart from Mary and we now have a plausible story for being here if interrupted.’

‘Two?’

‘This is the lower basement. Nonetheless we’ll need to lock all three before leaving by the front.’

When we came out on the ground floor I said; ‘We’ll try the first-floor withdrawing, but my guess is the bedroom.’

A few minutes later, at the bedroom door, I said; ‘Stay here, delay anyone arriving as long as possible, something like; “Tony is here about the deplorable state of the back and the yard, he always knows how to get things done cheap” etc.’

I knocked, no answer, I opened the door a little; ‘Hello! It’s Anthony.’ No answer, I went in and closed the door. She nodded towards the chair by the bed. ‘Before we talk, if you can give me the keys to the basements, Charlotte can lock them again right away.’ She pointed to them. I took them out to Charlie, then returned.

‘You took your time.’ She said it with that glint in the eye that Tuffy never seemed to notice.

‘We were at Checkley Manor.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, your summer holidays.’

‘You’ve got a young female carer.’

‘Not for long.’ A hand went beneath the covers, then reappeared, clenched. ‘My husband put these in my hand on his death bed, he was incapable of explaining, and I’ve never been able to find out.’

I felt metal in the palm of my outstretched hand, I extracted a bunch of small keys with my free hand, whilst holding on with the other. ‘Well now, these ancient ones open boxes, I imagine, in the late-great’s study, but this is a modern-ish safety deposit box key, and the letters and numbers tell us, oh, how convenient!’

‘Yes?’

‘Mary, there are different sorts of accounts, I may not be able to gain access until after your Will comes into force, it may even require Tuffy’s cooperation.’ All I got in reply was a blank stare. ‘Yes, er, Tuffy mentioned a while back you’d had him make a start on the office, but that he’d come unstuck with the day books, said they were written in some sort of code, perhaps I can help?’

‘Permission granted.’

There was a knock at the door. I placed the small keys in an inside pocket. Then collected, and returned to their rightful place, the basement keys. I remained standing. ‘I’m leaving now, you’ve put us on a tight schedule. I owe you everything, and I love you for everything you’ve done. To borrow a quote; “We will, meet again”.’

‘I believe you.’

‘Hold on here for a few more minutes.’ I said as we came to the study door. Mr Tufnell had kept the place neat to the end. Mrs Tufnell had kept it as her late husband liked it. Tuffy had just left it where he’d got to and walked away. Which was good, for what I thought I needed, was on the top of the pile. I extracted the non-transparent reusable supermarket carrier. We left by the front door.

‘Where to, sir?’

‘What time is it?’

‘You know bloody well I don’t wear a watch, but you still do!’

‘Jack’s filling station for a comfort break. How do you normally approach Archie Layton, text or phone first, or just walk in?’

‘Phone.’

‘Phone him from Jack’s, on whichever mobile you normally use, if he’s there, say you’ve a load of dosh to pay-in, hoping to get there before closing, let him assume you’re on your own.’

‘Shouldn’t you be briefing me?’

‘I don’t know. I would say, “you don’t wanna know”, but I don’t know that either. Therefore, using dead methods, it’s a series of physical cut-outs if and when required.’

Later, at the multi-story in our great cathedral city, we went fully back online. ‘Why now?’ She asked.

‘Well, we don’t want our system, our network, saying something other than the usual when in the presence of the Trust’s own banker’s security. And bank security tends to make all the running online anyway, internet giants and governments slipstream behind them more often than you’d think. Now, there’s another bag in here somewhere.’

‘Ha! Tony. What an unexpected surprise. Er, what’s going on?’ I was holding up the key. ‘Is that one of ours?’ Archie said, promptly shutting the door.

‘Well, I’d hardly be here otherwise!’

‘The thing is, I don’t really get involved in such matters. No authority, I’ll have to bring in Mr Cleverly, okay?’

‘Sure.’

The aforementioned arrived suspiciously quickly. After formal introductions; ‘If I could just view the key, sir. Thank you. I’ll use your terminal a moment Mr Leyton if I may. There. We don’t offer these key-holder accounts anymore, sir. Moved to a different system. As soon as you are happy to discontinue, do let us know. Still, nice to know it is in the hands of such a prominent client of our mainstream services. If you care to follow me sir, I’m sure Archie will keep Ms Sparkwell company.’

‘Oldest part of the new bank now, funny that. I rarely get to see it. Quite un-upgraded. I’ll be just by the door, sir.’

Right, take your time, no matter what’s in the tray, all in number two supermarket bag. Although, give the impression of sorting a little and just taking what you need.

91: The sun always rises

‘If tweed is for the country, and you always wear it at Checkley, why do you never wear it at the Park, which is just as much the country?’

‘At the club, I never wear tweed at the club, but I do occasionally wear it around the Park.’

‘That doesn’t answer my question!’

‘The club is, in essence, the town, in spirit.’

‘Very good, sir. I’ll lay out our clothes for the summer hols.’

It was the day of our departure for Checkley Manor. We were a few minutes from leaving when the inevitable finally happened. And it was I, who happened to be closest to the front door.

‘Anthony Arlington, I presume.’ Said the man at the door.

‘Who wants to know?’

‘I’ve been on the road for four hours; I’m not playing games. Is my daughter here?’

‘Ah! So, you’re claiming to be Charles Sparkwell, barrister at law?’

‘The very same. I’m not here for an argument, I just need to speak to Charlotte as a matter of urgency.’

‘Well, you’d better come in then. Do go on through to the reception room.’

He paused, somewhat abruptly, when he saw our cover stories from The Beacon; ‘You actually celebrate my daughter’s appearance in the public prints?’

‘Oh, indeed. A great source of pride.’

‘But it’s the country’s most notorious tabloid!’

‘It also has the largest circulation of any paper and their executive editor is a big fan of Charlie, do come on through.’

As soon as Sparkwell senior was seated and I’d taken my usual seat, I said; ‘When last seen, Charlotte was closing off the upper part of the house, we’re due to leave for our summer holidays within the hour. No doubt she’ll join us in a moment.’

‘Aren’t you going to call her?’

‘No, I generally find she appears when required. When she does, I’ll leave you alone to talk.’

‘Stay where you are Tony, I’d be glad of a witness.’ As anticipated, she’d clearly been skulking; ‘You almost missed us; we’ll be gone in minutes. You should have messaged.’

‘I’ll come straight to the point then. Your mother is dying.’

‘What! What of?’

‘Nobody knows, the medical authorities are at a total loss.’

‘Then how do you know she’s dying?’

‘Very well, she believes her time has come. She’s in distress and says she wishes to see you one last time. It’s all very upsetting. You may be able to calm her.’

‘Does she look ill?’

‘Well, she’s not been sleeping well, slow to rise, somewhat listless whilst going about her household chores.’

‘Well, we’re on a schedule. What do you think Tony?’

‘Checkley Manor is kind of en route, you could deliver me there, offer your apologies to uncle and auntie, then proceed up country later today.’

‘Excellent idea.’

‘But I have my car outside.’

‘Father, I simply refuse to be a passenger in your car, you’re not the greatest of drivers at the best of times. You can tell mother I’ll be along as soon as I can.’

‘Very well.’

‘That was a bit of a shock!’ So said Charlie as we observed her father drive away.

‘Let’s get out of here, we can talk on the way.’

‘Okay.’

‘Go to the mews, work the switch with the cars. You’ll be safer in number one car should you become distracted. I’ll lock the back gate behind you.’

‘Thank goodness you were here. There’s a load of stuff I ought to tell you.’

‘If I had to bet, I’ll be back within forty-eight hours. Still, I’ll phone mother from Checkley, try and assess a bit. They wind each other up, but they always calm down when I’m there. That’s the worst of it. I become the focus of attention, of concern, scapegoating as the therapists used to say. Now I’m doing well, they’re kind of lost. There’s more to this than meets the eye. Fact is, father married above himself, the house was a wedding present from Mum’s family. She made a Will, years ago, leaving what she had to me. She said at the time, it’s not much, just her building society account. She always claimed father could fend for himself. Henry Walpole is right about father, he always went for the money briefs. But I don’t know, and this never occurred to me until I got to know you, and your way of thinking, I wonder if the house isn’t in Mum’s name and he knows it.’

‘Oh, right. Does your father read The Times?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘Well, I think they still print the complete honours list, don’t they?’

‘Oh, God!’

‘Since the award is coming from our community your mother may think she’s lost you for good. No, perhaps that’s over the top. Pointless speculating with so little information.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. When father got keen about my marriage prospects, the thought occurred to me he was thinking of his own future financial wellbeing.’

‘Ha! No, best change the subject.’

Uncle was meek, and mild, when Charlotte explained her predicament. He merely suggested she should eat something and rest up a while. She said she’d phone her mother first. When she joined us again, she declared; ‘Well that’s as clear as mud!’ We all looked up expectantly. ‘She just sounded her usual self, but said she felt like she was at death’s door. I told her father was returning, and I’d be along later, she just replied, “bless you, darling”. You can’t tell sod all. What would you do Tony?’

‘God knows! You could just treat them both as if they were clients coming to you for a treatment. Though I suppose that’s easier said than done.’

‘I’ll sort myself out, then be gone.’

Later that day, uncle called me into the library; ‘Now, sit down young man, I’ve news for you. Might as well tell you whilst Charlotte’s not here, I’ve left all my worldly goods to your aunt. Now what do you make of that?’

‘Sounds like a perfectly rational thing to do.’

‘Which means, in the fullness of time, you’ll cop for the lot.’

‘Yes, but that’s not the beginning and end of it all, is it? I mean, if you drop dead fairly soon, Julia could have quite a long stewardship. I might only inherit at the very end of my life.’

‘Nothing to stop you making useful suggestions, spend as much time here as you like. Charlotte too. You’ve not made a new Will then? Since she came on the scene I mean?’

‘No. Everything goes to the Trust as before, but we have new green terms of reference for what would, is, now more or less, an entirely charitable concern. I don’t need to be worried about Charlie because she is tied to the Trust, she wouldn’t go unsupported if I dropped off the twig. Besides, she’s accumulating savings of her own now. Tell me, does death come in to everything after the age of fifty? Seems to me half my life is tied-up with other people’s Wills!’

‘My dear fellow, had you been born into the landed aristocracy, you’d have found your entire life, from cradle to grave, had been mapped out by the inheritance of previous generations.’

On the second morning, as I was piling a goodly helping of the Checkley plum preserve onto my breakfast toast, I looked up to see Julia giving me a suspicious look. ‘What?’

‘You did that yesterday too.’ She remarked.

‘Well, when the cat’s away. Excellent jam, you’ve not lost your touch.’

‘Don’t thank me, thank Mrs Gregson, I had help.’

My device pinged; ‘It looks like she was right. Forty-eight hours she said. Says she’s leaving now.’

‘Of course, she’s right. She’s always right.’ Said Julia.

‘I beg your pardon! What can you mean?’

‘Well, everyone ends up doing the right thing when she’s around, even you.’

‘Ends-up?’

‘Yes, you start off with some pretty dubious scheme, but by the end of it, it comes right, because of her.’

‘Umm. “Sparkwell, will see you right!” I could market that.’

‘Fatuous, that’s your problem. Have you ever heard Charlotte make a fatuous remark?’

‘Not in public, I suppose.’

‘Well, there you are then.’

I was in the walled garden when Charlie appeared. She stood a moment, looking around. ‘All right?’ I enquired.

‘Yes. By last night they seemed their normal selves, so... You, me, this, the Park, the Villa, it’s so much more real. Mother complimented me on being well dressed, that was a first!’

‘The world is back on it’s right axis then.’

‘Where the sun always rises.’

End of season seven.

90: Nest of spies

‘Well?’

‘Well, what?’ I replied.

‘What’s on?’

‘Nothing’s on.’

‘With you, something is always on.’

‘Today we simply wait to see what the day brings forth.’

‘Sod that, nothing comes of nothing. Time to get moving!’

‘No post?’ I asked.

‘No post. Online?’

‘Nothing stirs, at least nothing human!’

‘I’ve summoned Melisa, to be here by tea time.’ Announced Charlie as we were consuming our meagre lunchtime rations. ‘She can pick-up her copy of the placement report, check it over, before the other one goes in the post to her headmaster.’

‘At least she has a headmaster, that’s something. Or headmistress, I mean, rather than some other silly, ungendered title.’

‘Shut the door quickly. I think I’m being followed.’ Melisa scurried to the reception room window and peered down the street.

‘And whom do you fear is spying on you?’ I asked.

‘The family of course.’

‘Ah! Well, you’re a child, you should be used to that.’

‘Yes, but they’re all so evasive when you ask questions.’

‘Come on up to the media room, we’ll talk before tea.’

‘It would be highly unusual if anyone in your family was physically following you. Your father provided you with a top of the range mobile, he’s almost certainly set it up, so he knows your location, and if you’re here that’s no problem.’

‘What’s that?’ She asked looking at what I’d just put on the screen.

‘Your father’s mobile is on, and is in the garden shed at this very moment.’

‘Oh, my god!’

‘It’s okay, we’ve been playing this game for years. But he will know what I just did. It’s the way our network is set up. I mean there will be masses more you can do with your mobile in years to come if you care to learn how.’

‘I just keep getting an uneasy feeling everywhere I go.’

‘Well, in a sense, we’re all on tv now, cameras are everywhere. And if you’re sensitive to that, it’s not uncommon to feel you’re on stage all the time, unable to relax completely and just play as you please.’

‘But father and all his lot are expert in this stuff, then there is grandfather, mum’s dad. I don’t get straight answers from any of them.’

‘Well, just because someone knows a lot of secrets doesn’t make them a spy! It just means they have to abide by the Official Secrets Act, and keep their mouth shut.’

‘That’s kind of what they say.’

‘But anyway, we need to stop this anxiety of yours running away with you. You need to be confident about what’s fact, fantasy or simply stuff that is unknowable or uncertain.’

‘How?’

‘Wipe from your mind for a moment, any thought of spies or your German heritage. You are in grave danger of missing that which applies to absolutely anyone who looks into their family history, whoever they are, wherever they come from.’

‘What?’

‘You have four grandparents, eight great grandparents, sixteen great, great grandparents. Everyone’s family tree of descent grows massively as you go further back. Sooner or later, you come across people you dislike, or disapprove of. Some you may be able to empathise with a little, realise that had you been in their situation, you might have acted in a similar way. But all our ancestors experienced poverty and tyranny by today’s standards. Equally, if you could go back far enough, you’d find you are a direct descendant of someone, considered royal in their time.’

‘Okay.’

‘That’s your context, your starting point or baseline. So, with a little knowledge of German history, it should be obvious you’ll come across people who went along with unpleasant regimes as well as those who took a stand. Most people think and act in terms of day-to-day survival, even if you’re resisting a particular government, you’ll still have had to join a queue for the essential food or energy supplies your enemy controls, in that sense everyone ends up a kind of collaborator.’

‘But if Daddy’s family made money, ever since radios and electrics went into planes, they must have been in the arms industry, war profiteers!’

‘Sure. But you must ask what choices they had? Could they pick which side to be on? Come on, let us go in the garden, and have some of Charlie’s wonder tea.’

‘How are you, Mel?’ Asked Charlie.

‘A bit jumpy actually, you explain Tony.’

‘Melisa is a bit worried about her German family history, their involvement in the aeronautics industry, and the whole secrecy thing that comes with her father’s work.’

‘How old are you, Melisa?’ Asked Kenneth.

‘Sixteen.’

‘The only way to get over the old spying paranoia is to read about real spying throughout history. Anthony, you should lend her your ancient copy of Knightley’s, The Second Oldest Profession and Simon Singh’s, The Code Book.’

‘So, you’ve been spying around the media room then!’

‘Bad puns don’t become you.’

‘More to the point, how do you know about such things?’

‘National Service old boy, trained as a cypher clerk, down the coast from here as it happens.’

‘Is Barmy being asked to give consultation on this business in eastern Europe?’ Interceded Charlie.

‘More than likely.’

‘In that case he might be a bit anxious, Daphne would pick up on that, and so too the girls.’

‘That’s a point.’

‘Some people default to Moscow Rules when under pressure.’ Threw in Kenneth.

‘Oh, good lord!’ I exclaimed.

‘What are Moscow Rules?’ Melisa asked in all innocence.

I looked at Kenneth, he said; ‘You’re the great explainer Anthony.’

‘Well, the term has taken on a life of it’s own these days, some people even produce lists. What they don’t usually explain is that the expression comes from fiction, from the John le Carre spy novels.’

‘Or the late David Cornwell to give him his real name, one time MI6 officer.’

‘Thank you, Ken! In le Carre’s fiction, Moscow Rules should be followed by spies when in enemy territory, rules about being hyper vigilant. But it has a very specific context, the situation in the Cold War period when the Soviet Union existed. So, anyway, a western spy finds himself in say, Moscow, now the foundational rule, so to speak, is you must assume in all your day-to-day behaviour that your real identity and purpose is already known to the KGB and that you are always being followed. Therefore, every communication with your informer, or contact must appear innocent, unplanned. Now there is no list in the novels, just odd examples of procedure, I’m trying to remember examples?’

‘Oh, carry on old chap, you’re doing very well.’

‘Well, take being followed, we have this sense of the danger being behind us, but the real situation is likely to be very different. It’s almost certainly a team, men and women. All dressed differently, possibly with a couple of cars as back-up. The real danger is very likely in front of us... Makes one think of Nemesis.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Greek goddess of retribution.’ Offered Kenneth.

‘But that’s just where people go wrong. The goddess Nemesis, in her winged chariot, is inevitable retribution, something everyone faces eventually. She is way out in front of you, over many horizons, sets off at your birth, she is coming straight at you from the future... Anyway, that’s a bit of a diversion, what you really want to know about are dead letter boxes, crash meetings, and their relevance in a digital world.’