“He’s fine, I’m fine; now tell me something shockingly personal about Blackthorn? Does he die his hair?” Josie asked, her gaze taking on a conspiratorial twinkle.
Chapter twenty-four
Nigel
Nigel stood next to his mother, head bowed, mouth set straight. Emily Purser wept almost silently, the only sign of weakness was the grasp she had on her daughter’s arm. Nigel doubted Ruby would break down, her relationship with Sir James didn’t warrant that and she would refuse to squeeze out a tear just because it was expected.
As her husband’s coffin was lowered into the ground, Emily emitted a low wail that had Nigel grabbing her other arm in fear she would topple into the hole after him. There’s had been a marriage dictated by age and class, he’d taken care of everything, so his death had left Emily floundering in a world whose necessities she did not know how to deal with.
Nigel had headed straight to down to visit his father in hospital, after receiving the call from his sister. The truth be told, his heart attack had come at a damn inconvenient time, Andrew was going through some sort of crisis of confidence. Oh, he hadn’t told Nigel that, but he’d known his ‘friend,’ long enough to recognize something was troubling him. The almost constant frown he wore as of late, and the fact that he’d left the Treasury comparatively early several times in one week, muttering that he’d like to actually see his wife for a change, had given Nigel cause for concern. What he needed to do was get Andrew back on track before Sir George got wind of the issue. So, having to rush to St. Victoria’s to see his father had been a source of great annoyance. The fact that his father had already passed away before he arrived, hadn’t made Nigel feel in any way guilty for his earlier reluctance to travel down, if anything it made him even more irritable. As he saw it he’d had a wasted journey, and then tradition had dictated he spend at least the night with his mother, at the farm, before he could make his escape. And it wasn’t as if he’d left her on her own, Ruby had stayed on, to help her mother with the arrangements. Which in turn had caused a fair amount of tension between the two; to be fair, a week with his mother playing the distraught widow would have been testing for anyone, and Ruby was not the most patient of people. He’d received quite a few phone calls from his sister, berating his absence and lack of support. To be fair, he knew she’d had to hand over a lot of her case load to her fellow partners at Johnson, Dunn, Purser and Associates, something she had been reluctant to do, as she tended to get heavily involved with each cause, and because she had only recently been made partner. In fact, all things considered, he’d been quite surprised his mother and sister had still been talking when he’d arrived for the funeral that morning.
Andrew had sent his apologies and condolences, he’d wanted to travel down with Nigel and attend the funeral, but he’d too many cabinet meetings he couldn’t put off. Nigel knew his mother had been disappointed he couldn’t make it, not because she was in any way close to him, she’d barely acknowledged his presence the few times he’d visited the farm, but because having the Chancellor attend was a nice endorsement of her social status. Andrew had told Nigel to take a week, more if needed, but Nigel intended to travel back to the city the following morning, a move his father would have approved of. That thought had been the one that had finally ignited a slow burning sorrow, Nigel’s political role was such that he could discuss it with no-one else, and whilst that had also been true of his father, at least he knew of his position. He would miss that, the slight nod that showed his father understood and that no more needed to be said.
The funeral had been very well attended, despite his father’s insistence that he be buried in the small village church, along the lane from the farm. Emily Purser had almost fainted with horror at the thought of all their city friends having to up sticks and slum it for the day, but Sir James had been adamant. So, his widow had nodded in greeting to all those in attendance, and then apologised for the, ‘shortcomings,’ of the funeral arrangements, causing Nigel to have to then smooth over the proceedings with the local vicar.
Following the burial everyone was then invited back to the farmhouse, where the cook had laid on a spread that was both robust and delicious. It was the first time their city friends had visited the estate, as Emily Purser had consistently refused to invite them, knowing full well that as soon as they’d arrived, her husband would have whisked them off to the pig sty.
“Oh dear,” his mother muttered under her breath, as she stood in the doorway to welcome the mourners. “I hope everything is alright, Maldojour is the caterer to get for funerals. They create these wonderful, small pastries, with concentrated fruit purees that are just delicious, not to mention their interpretation of a quails egg slice.”
“How many ways are there to interpret a quail’s egg?” Ruby asked.
“Oh darling, not now,” her mother sighed as she spoke.
Nigel put an arm around his mother’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sure everyone will appreciate cooks offerings, perhaps hers will be the new Maldojour.”
“Thank you Nigel, oh here comes Lady Alcott. I wish we could have hidden the livestock somewhere for the day, their presence seems vulgar somehow.”
“We’ll cope, don’t worry,” Nigel soothed, as his sister glowered at him. The look said it all, it’s alright for you, taking up the role of saviour, you haven’t had this for the past week.
*****
It had been a long and tiring day, compounded by Nigel’s need to try and contain his mother’s anxiety, and to stop Ruby’s simmering resentment from spilling over. Now the pair were alone in the lounge, their mother having retired almost immediately after the last guest had left.
Nigel poured himself a brandy and a whisky for his sister. “Alright,” he said, as he handed her the glass, “why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind.”
“What’s on my…my god Nigel, you can be such an arrogant sod, do you know that?”
“Well, it’s a theme you often revisit,” he said, taking his place on the sofa facing Ruby, a crackling fire between them, keeping away the late October chill.
“I wonder why, I could have done with your support this week-”
“You haven’t been without it and you could have called at any time,” Nigel interrupted.
“A phone call is not the same as actually having you here,” Ruby replied, anger simmering underneath her hushed tones.
“You know why I couldn’t be here, and if that is your only bone of contention, then I’m not interested in having this argument again.”
“You’re not…who said it was your right to decide what I want to argue about. The fact is Nigel, that yet again, you have perceived your job to be more important than mine. It was okay for me to drop my work load and stay here, but out of the question for you to do the same.”
“But it’s not the same, is it Ruby? I work in government for god’s sake, I don’t run around helping illegal immigrants stay in this country.” Nigel could feel his own temper rising, the stress of the day making his anger more apparent.
“Run around helping…well it’s nice to know that those in a position of influence in this country think so little of our human rights.”
Nigel sighed, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” While he internally acknowledging the fact that yes, it was.
“Well, you’re going to have to start pulling your weight. As soon as the will has been read tomorrow, I’m taking mum back up to the city. She’d rather stay there than be isolated from her friends here; which means you have no excuse not to call in on her and play the dutiful son for once.”
“Don’t pretend that you have been a regular visitor for the last few years, you can’t claim the position of perfect daughter just because you’ve stayed with mother for the last week,” Nigel said, standing up to refill his brandy glass as he spoke.
“Well, I might have been if I hadn’t had to run the gauntlet of father’s disapproval every time I showed up. We didn’t all bask in the gl
ow of being the perfect offspring,” she snapped.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous Ruby; your relationship with father was of your own making. It had nothing to do with me.”
“You always were his favourite,” Ruby mused, the anger deflating out of her as she became lost in contemplation. “I used to try so hard, I learnt to ride, I even did research on his damn cattle, all to try and gain some sort of approval from him. But you, you didn’t even have to try and there was this relationship between you, sometimes despite your actions. You and father always had an underlying closeness that I could never quite work out the basis for, and certainly couldn’t gain entry to it.”
“Well,” Nigel smiled as he spoke, “I tell you what, dear sister, I’ll let you have mother all to yourself, if you wish, just to make up for it.”
Ruby snorted mid swallow. “Oh no you don’t, you’re not pulling that one.”
The anger and tension in the room faded away, leaving resignation and sorrow behind. “What will you do with this?” Ruby gestured around her, whisky sloshing over the side of her glass as she did so.
Nigel didn’t bother to pretend confusion, they both knew the farm had been left to him, to do with as he pleased; assuming his father’s will reflected the blustering outbursts he’d made on regular occasions across the dining table. And, naturally enough, Emily Purser was expected to have been left the town house and the bulk of his money, with small financial gifts to important others, that part included Ruby.
Nigel didn’t hesitate in his response. “Sell it.”
“But what about cook, what about all the farm hands that rely on this place for their livelihood?”
Nigel shrugged. “I dare say they’ll find something else.”
Ruby’s voice was sharpening once more. “You are aware in Parliament that there is an economic crisis occurring at the moment, aren’t you?”
“Look Ruby, I have no wish for this to become yet another platform of conflict for us. If it’s so important to you, you can have the farm.”
His sister appeared to be momentarily lost for words, which Nigel viewed as a positive sign. While sparring verbally with her could be fun, at the moment it was just tiring.
“I…do you mean you are offering to sell it to me?” she eventually asked.
“No, I mean you can have it, I’ll sign the whole thing over to you.”
“Do you know how much this farm is worth?”
“My darling sister it will be worth it to see a smile on your charming face,” Nigel grinned as he teased her.
“Cheeky sod,” she replied. “But are you serious Nigel?”
“I am, I don’t want any part of it, and if you intend to keep it as a going concern…that is what you intend to do, I take it?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, that’s excellent, problem solved,” he said.
“But you are handing over a property worth well over two million pounds. Why would you do that, there must be a catch?”
Nigel almost laughed at the look of complete incredulity on Ruby’s face, but as she was no longer angry at him, he decided to keep her that way, for now. “If you don’t want the place, I…”
Nigel trailed off as Ruby quickly jumped in, “No, that’s fine, I do.”
Now it was Nigel’s turn to be puzzled. “Why do you want the place?”
“Like father, I’d like a bolt home from the city, and if he’d stopped shouting at me for long enough, he would have realised that I quite enjoy the rural life.”
*****
As Nigel lay in bed that night, he couldn’t help his mind wandering back to the absolute irony of it all. His father had spent years trying to encourage Nigel to see the beauty of his land, trying to ensure his son would carry on the business he’d built up, a plan that was always doomed to fail. And then there was Ruby, successful human rights lawyer, desperately trying to get the attention she craved from her father, and who would have eagerly taken up the reigns of the business. Yet Sir James, at times, had barely acknowledged her existence. Well, as far as Nigel was concerned, giving it to her had been the best solution for all. He neither had the time nor the inclination to sort out the sale of the place, and the money was of no importance to him. His position with Sir George meant he would always be extremely well off, and besides he worked for the power he would achieve, not the economic gain.
His mind wandered to the subject of Sir George, he’d expected to see him at the funeral, but a discrete enquiry had revealed he had been kept in the city on business. Nigel couldn’t help but wondering what that business was, and hoping that it had nothing to do with Andrew’s crisis of faith. Although he’d seemed surer of himself in the week following Sir James’ death, it was still a worry. After all, he’d been picked for Nigel to befriend because he could be easily influenced, but he still needed to have enough of a backbone to survive in the cabinet. It was completely conceivable, if not absolutely certain, that there were other politicians in government, all guided to within spitting distance of the top spot, without their handlers being aware of their contemporaries existence. Yes, Nigel mused, it was a good job he’d be back in the city the following day, he’d not come so close and worked so hard for anything or anybody to stand in his way. Things were moving too quickly, the financial crisis had been engineered, Andrew promoted to Chancellor, which was the first step. It was pointless to wonder what happened next, he would be told what he needed to do from Sir George. In fact it was highly likely that he didn’t know what the ultimate aim was. But it was exciting, it was something big that was coming, Nigel knew that much for certain. He just had to keep Andrew unaware and on track.
Chapter twenty-five
Sir George
Sir George was feeling decidedly out of sorts, in fact he corrected himself, he was feeling damn angry. The Germans had requested a meeting, an unscheduled one, and that had worried his superiors enough to dispatch him off to Berlin. He hadn’t even bothered to ask if it could wait for a day, so that he could attend Sir James’ funeral, after all that was not the way the chain of command worked. What picked away at his equilibrium was the fact that the German’s had clicked their fingers and the bulldog had come running. If it had been up to him, he would have demanded they travel to England. Well, maybe it would be up to him one day, and they’d realise how difficult things could be made for them.
He walked over to the window of his hotel suite and absentmindedly parted the blinds with his fingertips, surveying the city below. He didn’t like Berlin, never had, for him it was too built upon memories, rather than the bricks and mortar below. He checked his watch, one forty-five, well, the meeting was scheduled for two and he had no intention of arriving early. He knew what to expect, he’d been well briefed from above, and knew how far he was allowed to go in the negotiations, which was, as far as he was concerned, too damn far. He stalked back to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a whisky, of course he only knew the bare bones of the matter, the Germans and undoubtedly the French could have some agenda he, and those above him, were unaware of. It was supposed to be a level playing field, for god’s sake, a strategy had been agreed and begun with the economic meltdown, and renegotiation was not on the table. He could understand it of the French of course, he wouldn’t trust any of them, but the Germans could usually be relied upon to stick to a plan. He checked his watch again, one fifty-five, that gave him five minutes to get to the conference suite, and that would do just fine. He downed the whisky and headed for the door.
The conference room was on the top floor, presenting a three sided view of the city. The sign outside had claimed the room to be hired for an insurance forum, Sir George had lost count of the number of times that old ploy had been used. In fact, he now wondered if employees actually liaised over insurance, maybe every time he saw such a gathering advertised it was merely a pseudonym for something else. He took a deep breath and entered the room. The Frenchman and the German were standing in front of the window, both turned as he entered, as if checki
ng to see who it was, when in reality it could only be Sir George as the Italian and Spaniard were already at the table.
“Good afternoon gentlemen,” Sir George said, his voice firm, commanding, as if he were the one in charge and they mere minions in a board room.
“Good afternoon,” the German replied, followed by a muffled response from the others. “Would you like a coffee, or tea?”
“Tea please,” Sir George answered, taking his place beside the others. There was a large urn of coffee and another of tea on the table, within reach of everyone, but he still waited for the beverage to be poured for him. He declined the offered pastries, the Germans always provided them, and he had come to believe it was some sort of negotiating strategy of theirs, because one couldn’t eat one without it disintegrating down ones shirt front or getting lodged in ones moustache, and no one could be taken seriously with pastry hanging from their facial hair.
“Well, if we’re all ready, let’s begin,” the German said. “We feel that in the present economic crisis Germany will be expected to carry a greater financial burden than its neighbours, one that is disproportionate to its economic output. Therefore we are seeking reassurances that our…shall we say, financial gain, will in the end reflect that fact.”
An Ordinary Working Man Page 12