by Tom Sharpe
Dundridge went downstairs gloomily. The last person he wanted to see was the local MP. He could hardly consult him about blackmail. Sir Giles greeted him with a heartiness Dundridge no longer felt that his position warranted. ‘My dear fellow, I’m delighted to see you,’ he said shaking Dundridge’s limp hand vigorously. ‘Been meaning to look you up and have a chat about this motorway nonsense. Had to go to London unfortunately. Looking after you all right here? It’s one of our houses, you know. Any complaints, just let me know and I’ll see to it. We’ll have tea in the private lounge.’ He led the way up some steps into a small lounge with a TV set in the corner. Sir Giles plumped into a chair and took out a cigar. ‘Smoke?’
Dundridge shook his head.
‘Very wise of you. Still they do say cigars don’t do one any harm and a fellow’s entitled to one or two little vices, eh, what?’ said Sir Giles and pierced the end of the cigar with a silver cutter. Dundridge winced. The cigar reminded him of something that had figured rather too largely in his activities with Miss Boles, and as for vices …
‘Now then, about this business of the motorway,’ said Sir Giles, ‘I think it’s as well to put our cards on the table. I’m a man who doesn’t beat about the bush I can tell you. Call a spade a bloody shovel. I don’t let the grass grow under my feet. Wouldn’t be where I was if I did.’ He paused briefly to allow Dundridge to savour this wealth of metaphors and the bluff dishonesty of his approach. ‘And I don’t mind telling you that I don’t like this idea of your building a motorway through my damned land one little bit.’
‘It was hardly my idea,’ said Dundridge.
‘Not yours personally,’ said Sir Giles, ‘but you fellows at the Ministry have made up your mind to slap the bloody thing smack through the Gorge. Don’t tell me you haven’t.’
‘Well, as a matter of fact …’ Dundridge began.
‘There you are. What did I tell you? Told you so. Can’t pull the wool over my eyes.’
‘As a matter of fact I’m against the Gorge route,’ Dundridge said when he got the opportunity. Sir Giles looked at him dubiously.
‘You are?’ he said. ‘Damned glad to hear it. I suppose you favour Ottertown. Can’t say I blame you. Best route by far.’
‘No,’ said Dundridge. ‘Not through Ottertown. A tunnel under the Cleene Hills …’
Sir Giles feigned astonishment. ‘Now wait a minute,’ he said, ‘the Cleene Forest is an area of designated public beauty. You can’t start mucking around with that.’ His accent, as variable as a weathercock, had veered round to Huddersfield.
‘There’s no question of mucking about …’ Dundridge began but Sir Giles was leaning across the table towards him with a very nasty look on his face.
‘You can say that again,’ he said poking his forefinger into Dundridge’s shirt front. ‘Now you just listen to me, young man. You can forget all about tunnels and suchlike. I want a quick decision one way or t’other. I don’t like to be kept hanging about while lads like you dither about talking a lot of airy twaddle about tunnels. That’s all right for my missus, she being a gullible woman, but it won’t wash with me. I want a straight answer. Yes or No. Yes to Ottertown and No to the Gorge.’ He sat back and puffed his cigar.
‘In that case,’ said Dundridge stiffly, ‘you had better have a word with Lord Leakham. He’s the one who makes the final decision.’
‘Leakham? Leakham? Makes the final decision?’ said Sir Giles. ‘Don’t try to have me on, lad. The Minister didn’t send you up so that that dry old stick could make decisions. He sent you up to tell him what to say. You can’t fool me. I know an expert when I see one. He’ll do what you tell him.’
Dundridge felt better. This was the recognition he had been waiting for. ‘Well I suppose I do have some influence,’ he conceded.
Sir Giles beamed. ‘What did I say? Top men don’t grow on trees and I’ve got a nose for talent. Well, you won’t find me ungenerous. You pop round and see me when you’ve had your little chat with Lord Leakham. I’ll see you right.’
Dundridge goggled at him. ‘You don’t mean—’
‘Name your own charity,’ said Sir Giles with a prodigious wink. ‘Mind you, I always say “Charity begins at home.” Eh? I’m not a mean man. I pays for what I gets.’ He drew on his cigar and watched Dundridge through a cloud of smoke. This was the moment of truth. Dundridge swallowed nervously.
‘That’s very kind of you …’ he began.
‘Say no more,’ said Sir Giles. ‘Say no more. Any time you want me I’ll be in my constituency office or out at the Hall. Best time to catch me is in the morning at the office.’
‘But what am I going to say to Lord Leakham?’ Dundridge said. ‘He’s adamant about the Gorge route.’
‘You tell him from me that my good lady wife intends to take him to the cleaners about that unlawful arrest unless he decides for Ottertown. You tell him that.’
‘I don’t think Lord Leakham would appreciate that very much,’ said Dundridge nervously. He didn’t much like the idea of uttering threats against the old judge.
‘You tell him I’ll sue him for every brass farthing he’s got. And I’ve got witnesses, remember. Influential witnesses who’ll stand up in court and swear that he was drunk and disorderly at that Inquiry, and abusive too. You tell him he won’t have a reputation and he won’t have a penny by the time we’ve finished with him. I’ll see to that.’
‘I doubt if he’ll like it,’ said Dundridge, who certainly didn’t.
‘Don’t suppose he will,’ said Sir Giles. ‘I’m not a man to run up against.’
Dundridge could see that. By the time Sir Giles left Dundridge had no doubts on that score at all. As Sir Giles drove away Dundridge went up to his room and looked at the photographs again. Spurred on by their obscenity he took an aspirin and went slowly round to the Cottage Hospital. He’d make Lord Leakham change his mind about the Gorge. Sir Giles had said he would pay for what he got and Dundridge intended to see that he got something to pay for. He didn’t have any choice any longer. It was either that or ruin.
On the way back to Handyman Hall, Sir Giles stopped and unlocked his briefcase and took out the photographs. They were really very interesting. Mrs Williams was an imaginative woman. No doubt about it. And attractive. Most attractive. He might look her up one of these days. He put the photographs away and drove back to the Hall.
13
At the Cottage Hospital Dundridge had some difficulty in finding Lord Leakham. He wasn’t in his room. ‘It’s very naughty of him to wander about like this,’ said the Matron. ‘You’ll probably find him in the Abbey. He’s taken to going over there when he shouldn’t. Says he likes looking at the tombstones. Morbid, I call it.’
‘You don’t think his mind has been affected, do you?’ Dundridge asked hopefully.
‘Not so’s you’d notice. All lords are potty in my experience,’ the Matron told him.
In the end Dundridge found him in the garden discussing the merits of the cat o’nine tails with a retired vet who had the good fortune to be deaf.
‘Well what do you want now?’ Lord Leakham asked irritably when Dundridge interrupted.
‘Just a word with you,’ said Dundridge.
‘Well, what is it?’ said Lord Leakham.
‘It’s about the motorway,’ Dundridge explained.
‘What about it? I’m reopening the Inquiry on Monday. Can’t it wait till then?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Dundridge. ‘The thing is that as a result of an in-depth on-the-spot investigative study of the socioenvironmental and geognostic ancillary factors …’
‘Good God,’ said Lord Leakham, ‘I thought you said you wanted a word …’
‘It is our considered conclusion,’ continued Dundridge, manfully devising a jargon to suit the occasion, ‘that given the—’
‘Which is it to be? Ottertown or the Cleene Gorge? Spit it out, man.’
‘Ottertown,’ said Dundridge.
‘Over my dead body
,’ said Lord Leakham.
‘I trust not,’ said Dundridge, disguising his true feelings. ‘There’s just one other thing I think you ought to know. As you are probably aware the Government is most anxious to avoid any further adverse publicity about the motorway …’
‘You can’t expect to demolish seventy-five brand-new council houses without attracting adverse publicity,’ Lord Leakham pointed out.
‘And,’ continued Dundridge, ‘the civil action for damages which Lady Lynchwood intends to institute against you is bound—’
‘Against me?’ shouted the Judge. ‘She intends to—’
‘For unlawful arrest,’ said Dundridge.
‘That’s a police matter. If she has any complaints let her sue those responsible. In any case no sane judge would find for her.’
‘I understand she intends to call some rather eminent people as witnesses,’ said Dundridge. ‘Their testimony will be that you were drunk.’
Lord Leakham began to swell.
‘And personally abusive,’ said Dundridge gritting his teeth. ‘And disorderly. In fact that you were not in a fit state …’
‘WHAT?’ yelled the Judge, with a violence that sent several elderly patients scurrying for cover and a number of pigeons fluttering off the hospital roof.
‘In short,’ said Dundridge as the echo died away across the Abbey Close, ‘she intends to impugn your reputation. Naturally the Minister has to take all these things into account, you do see that?’
But it was doubtful if Lord Leakham could see anything. He had slumped on to a bench and was staring lividly at his bedroom slippers.
‘Naturally too,’ continued Dundridge, pursuing his advantage, ‘there is a fairly widespread feeling that you might be biased against her in the matter of the Gorge.’
‘Biased?’ Lord Leakham snuffled. ‘The Gorge is the logical route.’
‘On the grounds of the civil action she intends to take. Now if you were to decide on Ottertown …’ Dundridge left the consequences hanging in the air.
‘You think she might reconsider her decision?’
‘I feel sure she would,’ said Dundridge. ‘In fact I’m positive she would.’
Dundridge walked back to the Handyman Arms rather pleased with his performance. Desperation had lent him a fluency he had never known before. In the morning he would go and see Sir Giles about a thousand pounds. He had an early dinner and went up to his room, locked the door and examined the photographs again. Then he turned out the light and considered several things he hadn’t done to Miss Sally Boles but which on reflection he wished he had. Strangled the bitch for one thing.
At Handyman Hall Sir Giles and Lady Maud dined alone. Their conversation seldom sparkled and was usually limited to an exchange of acrimonious opinions but for once they were both in a good mood at the same time. Dundridge was the cause of their good humour.
‘Such a sensible young man,’ Lady Maud said helping herself to asparagus. ‘I’m sure that tunnel is the right answer.’
Sir Giles rather doubted it. ‘My bet is he’ll go for Ottertown,’ he said.
Lady Maud said she hoped not. ‘It seems such a shame to turn those poor people out of their homes. I’m sure they would feel just as strongly as I do about the Hall.’
‘They build them new houses,’ said Sir Giles. ‘It’s not as if they turn them out into the street. Anyway, people who live on council estates deserve what they get. Sponging off public money.’
Lady Maud said some people couldn’t help being poor. They were just built that way like Blott. ‘Dear Blott,’ she said. ‘You know he did such a strange thing this morning, he brought me a present, a little figure he had carved out of wood.’
But Sir Giles wasn’t listening. He was still thinking about people who lived in council houses. ‘What the man in the street doesn’t seem to be able to get into his thick head is that the world doesn’t owe him a living.’
‘I thought it was rather sweet of him,’ said Lady Maud.
Sir Giles helped himself to cheese soufflé. ‘What people don’t understand is that we’re just animals,’ he said. ‘The world is a bloody jungle. It’s dog eat dog in this life and no mistake.’
‘Dog?’ said Lady Maud, roused from her reverie by the word. ‘That reminds me. I suppose I’ll have to send all those Alsatians back now. Just when I was getting fond of them. You’re quite sure Mr Dundridge is going to advise Ottertown?’
‘Positive,’ said Sir Giles, ‘I’d stake my life on it.’
‘Really,’ said Lady Maud wistfully, ‘I don’t see how you can be so certain. Have you spoken to him?’
Sir Giles hesitated. ‘I have it on the best authority,’ he said.
‘Hoskins,’ said Lady Maud, ‘that horrid man. I wouldn’t trust him any further than I could throw him. He’d say anything.’
‘He also says that this fellow Dundridge has taken a fancy to you,’ Sir Giles said. ‘It seems you had a considerable effect on him.’
Lady Maud considered the remark and found it intriguing. ‘I’m sure that can’t be true. Hoskins is making things up.’
‘It might explain why he is in favour of the Ottertown route,’ Sir Giles said. ‘You bowled him over with your charm.’
‘Very funny,’ said Lady Maud.
But afterwards as she washed up in the kitchen she found herself thinking about Dundridge, if not fondly, at least with a renewed interest. There was something rather appealing about the little man, a vulnerability that she found preferable to Sir Giles’ disgusting self-suffiiciency … and Dundridge had taken a fancy to her. It was useful to know these things. She would have to cultivate him. She smiled to herself. If Sir Giles could have his little affairs in London, there was no reason why she shouldn’t avail herself of his absence for her own purposes. But above all there was an anonymity about Dundridge that appealed to her. ‘He’ll do,’ she said to herself and dried her hands.
Next morning Dundridge went round to Sir Giles’ constituency office at eleven. ‘I’ve had a word with Lord Leakham and I think he’ll be amenable,’ he said.
‘Splendid, my dear fellow, splendid. Delighted to hear it. I knew you could do it. A great weight off my mind, I can tell you. Now then is there anything I can do for you?’ Sir Giles leant back in his chair expansively. ‘After all, one good turn deserves another.’
Dundridge braced himself for the request. ‘As a matter of fact, there is,’ he said, and hesitated before going on.
‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ said Sir Giles coming to his rescue. ‘I don’t know if you’re a betting man but I am. I’ll bet you a thousand pounds to a penny that old Leakham says the motorway has to go through Ottertown. How about that? Couldn’t ask for anything fairer, eh?’
‘A thousand pounds to a penny?’ said Dundridge, hardly able to believe his ears.
‘That’s right. A thousand pounds to a penny. Take it or leave it.’
‘I’ll take it,’ said Dundridge.
‘Good man. I thought you would,’ said Sir Giles, ‘and just to show my good faith I’ll put the stake up now.’ He reached down to a drawer in the desk and took out an envelope. ‘You can count it at your leisure.’ He put the envelope on the desk. ‘No need for a receipt. Just don’t spend it until Leakham gives his decision.’
‘Of course not,’ said Dundridge. He put the envelope in his pocket.
‘Nice meeting you,’ said Sir Giles. Dundridge went out and down the stairs. He had accepted a bare-faced bribe. It was the first time in his life. Behind him Sir Giles switched off the tape recorder. It was just as well to have a receipt. Once the Inquiry was over he would burn the tape but in the meantime better safe than sorry.
14
Lord Leakham’s announcement that he was recommending the Ottertown route provoked mixed reactions. In Worford there was open rejoicing and the Handyman pubs dispensed free beer. In Ottertown the Member of Parliament, Francis Puckerington, was inundated with telephone calls and protest letters and suffered a
relapse as a result. In London the Prime Minister, relieved that there hadn’t been another riot in Worford, congratulated the Minister of the Environment on the adroit way his department had handled the matter, and the Minister congratulated Mr Rees on his choice of a troubleshooter. No one in the Ministry shared his enthusiasm.
‘That bloody idiot Dundridge has dropped us in it this time,’ said Mr Joynson. ‘I knew it was a mistake to send him up there. The Ottertown route is going to cost an extra ten million.’
‘In for a penny in for a pound,’ said Rees. ‘At least we’ve got rid of him.’
‘Got rid of him? He’ll be back tomorrow crowing about his success as a negotiator.’
‘He won’t you know,’ Rees told him. ‘He got us into this mess, he can damned well get us out. The Minister has approved his appointment as Controller Motorways Midlands.’
‘Controller Motorways Midlands? I didn’t know there was such a post.’
‘There wasn’t. It’s been specially created for him. Don’t ask me why. All I know is that Dundridge has found favour with one or two influential people in South Worfordshire. Wheels within wheels,’ said Mr Rees.
In Worford Dundridge greeted the news of his appointment with consternation. He had spent an anxious weekend confined to his room at the Handyman Arms partly because he was afraid of missing the telephone call from Miss Boles and partly because he had no intention of leaving the money he had received from Sir Giles in his suitcase or of carrying it around on his person. But there had been no phone call. To add to his troubles, there was the knowledge that he had accepted a bribe. He tried to persuade himself that he had merely taken a bet on, but it was no use.
‘I could get three years for this,’ he said to himself, and seriously considered handing the money back. He was deterred by the photographs. He couldn’t imagine how many years he could get for doing what they suggested he had done.