The Fountain

by Mary Nichols

  ‘But I don’t see how that will help: you’ll be on the board of the new company and you’ll have to declare it.’

  ‘It won’t be anything to do with me, a rival company.’

  ‘But what about the finance? I haven’t got that kind of money, you know that.’

  George laughed. The loan he had negotiated with his bank manager for the purchase of the manor would be put to good use after all. ‘The money will come from a finance company. It will be my money, my investment and I’m expecting a good return, but nothing on paper, of course, not between you and me, all done through a holding company.’

  Donald suddenly realised what George was driving at. ‘Isn’t it a bit risky?’

  ‘It’ll be worth it. When it’s all up and running, you can put in a bid for the market contract. I’ll make sure you get it.’

  ‘What happens when the market job is finished?’

  ‘Go after other contracts, the company will still be operational so long as it’s something Kennett’s wouldn’t be interested in: roads, paving, lighting. We’ll talk about it when the time comes.’

  Donald was tempted. If George wasn’t on the board, he couldn’t complain about what he did. The idea excited him, and for the first time since the interview started, he smiled. ‘And you think you can trust me?’

  ‘Donald, I know I can trust you.’ He paused, watching the other man’s face. The moustache was looking very bedraggled. ‘So, are you in?’

  ‘When do you want me to start?’

  ‘As soon as you like. I want everything completed by May next year, a memorial to my year as mayor, although officially it’s being done for the jubilee.’

  ‘Tight.’

  ‘But not impossible.’ He refilled their glasses. ‘Here’s to Melsham Construction. And the future.’

  The glasses clinked. ‘The future.’

  He’d have to break his rule never to tell Barbara anything to do with business, George decided as he drove home. If she didn’t know what was going on, she might just say the wrong thing in the wrong place to the wrong person and he couldn’t risk that.

  Barbara sat on the edge of the bed watching George dressing to go out. He didn’t often come home between finishing work and going to a council meeting, preferring to eat at The Crown. Tonight he had rushed home, swallowed a quick meal and asked her to find him a clean shirt. He seemed keyed up, almost bursting, and she wondered what was coming.

  ‘I’m going to set up a new company,’ he said, finishing the knot in his tie and turning away from the mirror to face her.

  The casual way he had introduced the subject did not deceive her. ‘Whatever for? I thought business was slow.’

  ‘It is. All the more reason to diversify. I want that market refurbishment contract and the new company will make the bid.’

  ‘What exactly will it be bidding for?’

  ‘More than just a bit of tarmac and a few new lamps. I want the scheme enlarged, brick paving and a new fountain.’

  ‘You’ll have to declare an interest.’

  ‘Kennett’s will, but not the new company because I won’t be on the board.’

  ‘Then how will you control it?’

  ‘Through Donald. Who else could I trust to look after my interests and keep his mouth shut?’

  ‘But how—?’

  ‘It’s simple, my dear. Donald is about to repay my generosity and years of friendship by being an ungrateful wretch and setting up in opposition. I shall make my disappointment known, while voicing the opinion that every man has a right to better himself. I shall be disappointed when Kennett’s loses the market contract, but I’ll take it with a good grace and settle for whatever piecemeal jobs they award me in compensation.’ He laughed a little wildly, almost as if he were drunk. ‘They aren’t to know I’ve already picked the plum.’

  ‘Surely it’s illegal?’

  ‘I can form a new company if I want to, nothing illegal in that.’

  ‘But deceiving the council is. George, is it worth the risk?’

  ‘Barbara, you must know the recession hit builders as much as anyone, and Kennett’s hasn’t escaped. This way, everyone will benefit: town, workers and family. Trust me.’

  ‘Oh, I do,’ she said. She trusted him to twist and turn, to bully and coerce, to flatter and bribe to get his own way and there was nothing she could do about it, short of exposing him, and that she could not do: there were too many other people depending on him – his family and his employees who relied on him for jobs.

  ‘They’ll want a local firm for preference because it means local jobs, and as I’ll have declared my interest as far as Kennett’s is concerned, I shall be allowed to speak in favour of the new company, even vote for it.’ He was grinning like a schoolboy and that worried her more than ever.

  ‘What’s it called, this new company?’

  ‘Melsham Construction Limited. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Supposing the press find out. You’ll be crucified.’

  ‘How are they going to find out? No one knows the truth except Donald and you. Donald is utterly trustworthy and he knows what he has to lose if he blabs. And you are my wife. I expect your support. I want you to make it known, discreetly, of course, just how hurt and upset I am, that we both are, by Donald’s behaviour.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you, my ever loving wife.’ It was said with such venom, she cringed.

  She knew – who better? – that George’s actions were not always honourable, but this was downright dishonest. And he wanted to drag her into it, wanted her to be as unscrupulous as he was. ‘Donald’s agreed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then he’s a fool. I think you should resign from the council and give your full attention to the business.’

  ‘Resign! I’d be mad to do that. It’s not only the market refurbishment we are talking about. There are plans to build a new shopping precinct around Sadlers development and a new cinema, all designed to uplift the profile of this town, provide employment and encourage our young people to stay here to live and work, and keep them off the streets. And it will encourage investment.’

  ‘But you don’t have to be on the council to do that. In fact, it’s better if you’re not, then no one can accuse you of malpractice.’

  He flinched at her outspokenness. ‘But I need to know what’s in the wind, what the planners are up to and who’s doing what. I need my finger on the pulse and for that I need to be on the inside. There’s nothing wrong in that.’

  Did he really believe what he was saying? Or did he still think he could pull the wool over her eyes? ‘It’s all part of the way you operate, George. It goes right back to our first house. I still go hot when I think of how you did that. And then there’s this house. You cheated Isobel over the land, didn’t you?’

  ‘It was a perfectly honest arrangement. She couldn’t afford the repairs to her roof and I took land in payment. She had every opportunity to get another quote or ask for independent advice. No one forced her to accept my offer.’

  ‘No, but that’s just an example of the way you manipulate people.’

  ‘Only an example?’ he sneered. ‘There’s more?’

  ‘You know there is. And I am not going to do your dirty work for you.’ She left him and went to her studio, the only place where she felt she could be herself. She hadn’t intended to have a row with him, hadn’t meant to batter him with accusations, but they’d all come tumbling out, all the things she had been bottling up for years. She was so stirred up inside she thought she would pop, fizz over, like a bottle of champagne when the cork is drawn. Change was in the air, nothing would ever be the same, not the town and its shops, not the old marketplace she had painted so faithfully, not the people. For the first time she had turned on her husband, though how long she could keep it up, she did not know.

  George went to see his mother on his way out. She was sitting listening to the wireless with a cup of cocoa in her hand. She looked up a
s he entered. ‘I didn’t expect you tonight. I thought you had one of your meetings.’

  ‘I’m just off. Are you tired? I’d like to talk.’

  She switched off the wireless and turned towards him. ‘Talk away.’

  He sat down in the chair opposite her with his hands dangling between his knees, wondering where to begin. Just when all his plans seemed to be coming to fruition, being made mayor, the market project and Melsham Construction getting up and running, his wife had to go and turn on him. ‘It’s Barbara. All the years we’ve been married and now she’s questioning my business methods.’

  Elizabeth laughed. ‘So? They are questionable, aren’t they?’

  ‘I know what I’m doing, but she refuses to back me. She’s more concerned with her charities and her strange friends.’

  ‘Strange friends?’

  ‘Lady Isobel, Penny Barcliffe and Rita Younger. What a combination!’

  ‘Rita Younger is bad news, George. Always was. Always will be. Tell Barbara to stay away from her.’

  ‘It’s no good telling Barbara anything,’ he said, too immersed in his own troubles to wonder why she was so adamant. ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to explain. We had the most awful row. I feel as though I’m losing control, as if everything is slipping away from me…’

  ‘Then you’d better do something about it. If you take my advice, you’ll make a real effort to soothe Barbara and get her back on your side.’

  She let him see himself out. Why did he have to come and jolt her out of her serenity, dragging up bitter memories, forcing her to live it all again, the hurt and anger which had smouldered inside her for forty-odd years, with no outlet, no way of release? Surely, after all this time, it wasn’t going to explode in her face? And it wasn’t just that, it was a feeling – premonition was perhaps too strong a word – that there was a catastrophe pending.

  The council meeting was a stormy one, with everyone getting hot under the collar. ‘I can’t see that this fanciful idea is the best way of celebrating the jubilee,’ someone said. ‘Better have a civic dinner and a tea party for the children.’

  ‘We can do that as well,’ George said. ‘But we also need something permanent. At one time, when Melsham was hardly more than a village, the market square was the village green and it had a communal pump. Long gone now, of course, and replaced by that dilapidated fountain, which doesn’t work half the time. A new, properly constructed fountain will set the whole area off to advantage. And a competition to design it will involve the whole community.’

  Mrs Greaves, in a shapeless grey dress which did nothing for her portly figure, spoke against George’s amendment, saying that the original proposal to resurface the market should be given the go-ahead, but the new fountain and other improvements should be deferred until funding was more secure. A newspaper survey had shown the project would be unpopular.

  ‘A decision should be based on facts, not popularity,’ he said. ‘And the facts are that a new fountain is not only desirable, but necessary, because of the state of the existing structure. You can’t leave it as it is and it can’t be cleaned out and set going again because it leaks. We’d have to do something about that anyway.’

  ‘Will anyone second Councillor Kennett’s amendment?’ the chairman asked after several minutes’ more heated argument.

  Tony Bartram put his hand up and it was carried by two votes. George was jubilant.

  Barbara picked up the Melsham Gazette from the mat and took it to the kitchen where she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the table to read it.

  ‘The refurbishment of the marketplace, originally expected to cost ten thousand pounds, has been hit by unplanned additional costs, it was revealed at last night’s meeting of the town council. The estimate approved last year is woefully short of the mark and more work needs to be done than was at first anticipated. Councillor George Kennett, who has been campaigning vigorously on behalf of the new scheme, told our reporter that overspending was not uncommon on projects of this size and complexity and the benefits would outweigh the additional costs. Various ways had been put forward to raise the extra cash from the private businesses and he had no doubt it would be forthcoming.

  ‘Mr Kennett, who is mayor elect and a well-known local businessman, denied he had anything to gain personally. “My company will be submitting a tender along with several others,” he stated. “I have no influence on those who award the contract, nor would I wish to have.” Councillor Kennett went on to announce a competition to design a new fountain as the focal point for the refurbished marketplace. It will be open to anyone. Entry forms will be available at the town hall and the designs should be submitted by the first of September.’

  Barbara put the paper down and stared out of the window. The morning sun was dappling through the branches of an apple tree, casting shimmering light and shade over the back lawn where a couple of starlings pecked. She had been hoping George would come to his senses and realise what he was proposing to do was too risky, but it was obvious that hadn’t happened. Already she sensed the paper looking for something to get their teeth into; she could feel the undercurrents, the veiled hints that all was not above board. It needed only a word in the wrong place for it all to come out and the edifice George had built around himself would come tumbling down around him. And it would bring the family down with it: Alison, Nick, Jay-Jay and his mother. Why could he not see that?

  How could she go on supporting him when everything he did was despicable? Could she leave him? But that would cause the most dreadful scandal and they would all suffer, not only George who deserved it, but the children who did not. And where could she go? To Simon? Pretend there was another sighting of the old Barbara Bosgrove? But what would he say if she turned up on his doorstep, with her bags at her feet, her easel under her arm and a box of paints in her hand? That wasn’t a sighting, it was a migration.

  ‘Mum, I’m hungry.’

  Jay-Jay stood before her in his pyjamas. He couldn’t understand why his mother suddenly pulled him onto her lap and hugged the breath out of him.

  ‘Sorry, George, you know how it is,’ Tony Bartram said, coming out of the council chamber with a thick folder under his arm. ‘We’re duty-bound to take the lowest bid, unless there’s something dodgy about the company, and we’ve no reason to think Melsham Construction is anything but a bona fide concern.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not your fault, old man,’ George said, putting a big hand on the other man’s shoulder. ‘You did your best.’

  He had withdrawn from the meeting when the contract for the work was due to be debated and had been sitting in an outside office reading the Illustrated London News to pass the time. He could quite easily have stayed at home or gone for a drink, but he wanted to appear as if he hoped Kennett’s might be given the contract and disappointed when it was not, so he had hung around.

  ‘I must say you’re taking it very well. I’d have been flaming myself.’

  ‘No point in that,’ George said, pretending indifference. ‘Besides, competition never did anyone any harm. I thrive on it.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Same as always, get on with work in hand. I’d be a fool to let everything ride on one contract, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Of course.’ Tony was relieved. ‘I know you’re too canny not to cover all eventualities. If there’s anything else I can help you with, let me know.’

  George stayed a few minutes after he’d gone, then went home himself. Tony would make sure he didn’t lose out; there were other building jobs in the pipeline: the new cinema and an extension to the infants school, which was bursting at the seams because Melsham was a fast-developing town and its population was growing. And there was that yard behind Landers, with its old blacksmith’s and wheelwright’s that hardly anyone used nowadays, and a tumbledown cottage not fit to live in. It was ripe for development. He was smiling as he let himself into the house.

  Barbara had gone to bed. He crept up to the bedr
oom and undressed without putting the light on. He wouldn’t tell her his plans were coming to fruition: it would only start another argument and he wanted to keep her sweet at least until after his inauguration.

  The mayor-making ceremony was over and everyone was crowding into the town hall for a reception: councillors, civic dignitaries, the vicar of St Andrews, who had conducted a short service in the church, representatives of the town’s businesses and charities. George, the heavy chain glinting on his chest, mingled with them, full of bonhomie. Barbara, looking cool and elegant, with a lighter chain about her neck, stood a little back to allow her husband to take the limelight. Her suit of cream linen was beautifully tailored and the pencil-slim skirt and the long fitted jacket flattered her figure. With it she was wearing a tan silk blouse and a slouch hat with a curved brim turned up at the back and decorated with a sweeping feather. Penny, who had gone with her to buy it, wouldn’t let her buy the tiny pillbox she thought would be more suitable.

  ‘That’s a nothing hat,’ she had said in derisory tones. ‘You are the lady mayoress, you are entitled to show off a bit.’ The big hat looked good and it should have made her feel good, but how could she with George’s latest scheme hanging over them like a big, dark cloud? The prospect of a year of standing beside him at public functions, being his shadow, smiling at everyone, knowing what he had done, condoning it, filled her with dread.

  George was talking to a young woman with a pad and pencil busily writing down what he said. ‘I trust we can count on your support,’ he was saying.

  ‘Mr Kennett, the Gazette prides itself on its independence. We report the truth as we see it.’

  ‘Of course, but you and I know we’d never get anything done if we had to have universal public approval first. I am sure when the scheme is complete—’

  ‘Is it true that one of your longest-serving managers has left Kennett’s to go into business as a competitor, Mr Kennett?’