The Rectory

by Ivan B

  She shook her head and her hair hardly moved.

  “These days dad does the estimates, I do the graft.”

  “By yourself?”

  My tone of voice must have conveyed my surprise for she turned and winked.

  “I’m a big girl now.”

  She fished a piece of tatty paper out of her rear pocket.

  “Dad says you want a burglar alarm too, what type?”

  “One that goes off if there’s a burglar.”

  Sometimes I was too quick for my own good.

  She flashed a tolerant smile.

  “I mean just wire up the windows and doors, or do you want pressure pads in strategic areas, or motion detectors, or police monitoring, or CCTV?”

  I held up my hands in submission.

  “I’ll take your recommendations.”

  She nodded.

  “Then I’d recommend a full treatment for the windows and doors plus a couple of motion detectors and a big dog.”

  I laughed politely and showed her around. As we negotiated the upper floors she dryly noted that at least she wouldn’t have to lift the floorboards, frankly I couldn’t imagine her doing anything practical. We returned to the ground floor and she studied her piece of dog-eared paper.

  “Apparently the power distribution board is in the basement.”

  I took her down into the basement and she looked around, “Weird place.” She muttered.

  “Apparently they’re air-raid tunnels left over from the war.”

  We rounded the stairs and she looked at the pottage of wires on the wall.

  “So was this.” She said sarcastically.

  She studied the wires and I, for the first time, studied the safe. I had imagines a small affair like a three-foot cube, this beast was six foot tall on a four foot square base that was obviously set on a concrete raft. Yolande looked over my shoulder.

  “Do you want that wired too?”

  “If possible.”

  She gritted her teeth.

  “All things are possible, but to be honest a motion detector looking at it would be far cheaper and just as effective.”

  She suddenly left me and followed a black cable round the wall until it disappeared through the wall. She returned looking slightly dusty.

  “How long has it been like this?”

  I shrugged.

  “Since I’ve been here; that’s all of six days.”

  She tapped the meter.

  “For some reason you’ve got a three phase supply and the meter is on the blue phase along with the lighting fusebox and what I think is the power feed to your first floor shower. The rest all comes off of the yellow and red phases.”

  She’d lost me the minute she’d got to the word ‘three’.

  “Is that bad?”

  “It’s illegal, you’re only being charged for the lighting and taking the rest for free.”

  She turned and looked me in the eyes, straight in the eyes as we were exactly the same height.

  “I take it you will want me to make the system legal?”

  “Of course.”

  We went back upstairs and she sniffed.

  “Place is getting damp and I’m not working in here in February in the freezing cold.”

  I vaguely recalled that we’d put up with her masochistic violin playing because she’d been off school for ages with pneumonia and pleurisy.

  “I’m worried about that too, I’ve got that Steinway piano upstairs and I don’t want it rotting – what would you suggest?”

  She cast her eyes upwards as if seeking divine inspiration.

  “I’ve got some old storage heaters, how about I temporarily install one large one on the landing and one in the music room. We only need to raise the temperature a few degrees, I don’t want it to be too hot as I’ll be pulling cables or routing a lot of the time.”

  “Sounds OK to me. When are you starting?”

  She gave me a sideways glance.

  “I’m here so I might as well start.”

  Warning bells rang.

  “No other jobs?”

  She tossed her head.

  “Supposed to be doing a job at the prison, but they wouldn’t let me and dad’s having to do it.”

  “Isn’t that sexual discrimination?”

  She glanced at me again.

  “No it’s safety; the job is in the wing for thugs and terrorists and they don’t want a female hostage situation.”

  She became business like and all professional.

  “Is the water on?”

  “Yes.”

  “Am I to assume the central heating pump and control gear will be in the enormous airing cupboard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is there any gas?”

  “Not that I’ve noticed, but…”

  She waved her hand.

  “I know, only been here six days.”

  She resumed her list.

  “Window frames are being replaced I believe – when?”

  “April.”

  She grimaced, but smoothly continued.

  “Do you want me just to replace what’s there or add in extra sockets as necessary? I would point out that you only have three sockets in the kitchen and two in the study.”

  “Add as you see fit.”

  “What about outside lights?”

  I had not considered outside lights, in fact I had not really considered anything.

  “What would you recommend?”

  “Front and back doors and a couple down each side, but not with movement detectors, there’s enough wildlife around here to drive the neighbours crazy.”

  She’d lost me again.

  “Pardon?”

  “The neighbours will notice your lights continually going on and off, house owners have been shot for less.”

  I nodded and decided to add in some more details.

  “Once I’m established in the house the garage and flat will need rewiring as well.”

  She pointed to the black cable she had followed earlier.

  “You’ve got an armoured feed that’s obviously been replaced recently so that’ll save you a few bucks.”

  She pointed to the hall light which was suspended on a flex from the ceiling two floors above.

  “You content with that?”

  “No, do something better.”

  She tucked her piece of paper away.

  “You’ll get a full itemised invoice once a month, payment is within seven days if you please.”

  A thought crossed my mind.

  “How long?”

  She made an inconsequential shuffling movement with her shoulders.

  “Depends how many call-outs I get, but a couple of months.”

  “So before April?”

  “Yes and no. The wiring will be in, but I’ll have to come back and fit the window switches, unless I can get them built into the frames, who’s making the windows?”

  “Freston’s”

  She suddenly smiled as if to a private joke.

  “Well they can fit the hidden switches OK, but if I was you I wouldn’t bank on April. If they run true to form think about June.”

  I studied her mildly attractive face and decided that she wasn’t joking. She wiped the palms of her hands on her back pockets, “Who’s the plumber?”

  “Kevin Lomas.”

  She smiled her secret joke smile again.

  “I bet he’s starting on Wednesday.”

  This was becoming beyond a joke, “How do you know?”

  “He always says he’ll start on Wednesday.”

  I was beginning to get the picture;

  “But he never does.”

  “Correct. Currently he’s engaged in re-plumbing the ancient piping system under the Town Hall and the associated slipper baths so I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

  My best laid plans were already crumbling before my eyes.

  “But you can definitely start now?”

  “Definitely.”

  “And y
ou won’t disappear onto another job?”

  She shrugged her scrawny shoulders.

  “Depends on call-outs, it is winter you know and we can’t leave the elderly without power, but normally my dad deals with call-outs.”

  I vaguely remembered a brother.

  “What about your brother?”

  Her face took on a stony look.

  “He died.”

  There was no easy reply to that so I changed tack.

  “Would you like a key?”

  “Would be nice.”

  I motioned to the door and we started walking to the garage, she surveyed the circular flower beds.

  “Someone liked lawn edging.”

  “Well it’s certainly not me.”

  She glanced back at the receding house and I could see the question in her mind.

  “It was left to me, it’s a complicated story.”

  She half nodded.

  “So it’s renovate and flog time.”

  “Something like that.”

  She grinned mischievously and I remembered her sense of humour. At the last school concert she had walked on with a violin with no strings, placed herself by the microphone, rested her bow across the bare violin and given me the nod; I thought the music mistress was going to have a heart attack. She had the same wicked glint in her eye now.

  “You could always move in yourself.”

  “I think that I’d rather rattle around a bit.”

  “Find yourself a wife and produce six kids.”

  She must have seem the look on my face for she burst into laughter.

  “Is the prospect that bad?”

  I decided that I’d rather have all my teeth out without anaesthetic after a group root canal filling..

  “I’m just not ready.”

  She gave her wicked grin.

  “Well you’re not getting any younger, if you’re not careful the sea will soon be empty of fish.”

  I decided on attack as the best defense, “I don’t see you wearing a wedding ring?”

  “Not been a man made who could tame me.”

  We reached the garage and I opened the folding door and walked in, she dutifully followed and stopped to gaze at the Land Rover. “Nice bit of machinery that.”

  I deliberately gave a nonchalant shrug;

  “Bit basic.”

  She elbowed me in the ribs, it was like being struck by a steam hammer. “Don’t knock it, that’ll get you out of places more modern machinery would balk at.”

  We went upstairs with me trying not to hold my nearly broken rib. I hunted in the labelled set of keys for the appropriate piece of shaped metal and she studied the flat’s electrics. She wandered back just as I found the key and took it off of it’s ring. She tapped the light switch, “I’ll rewire this place if you want me to, but I reckon it was done a coupe of years ago, where’s the fusebox?”

  My face said it all and she rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve only been here six days.”

  “Four in residence actually.”

  She moved to go downstairs to the garage and I watched her hip-swinging progress thinking that she’d make somebody a good husband. She returned a minute of two later.

  “Brand new fusebox with a nice row of modern trips, you’d be wasting your money.”

  She took the key and turned to go before pausing.

  “You do know that there’s a further armoured feed from here, I suspect it goes off to the stables in the paddock.”

  “I didn’t and thanks for being honest with me.”

  She gave a lopsided grin.

  “Payback for tolerating my violin playing.”

  She left and I went to the window to watch her lope up the drive back towards the house, from behind, apart from her swinging bony hips I could not see one trace of femininity and the word ‘androgynous’ sprang unhindered into my mind.

  Chapter 5

  One Step Back

  That evening I met Barney for a drink. Every man needs a bosom friend and Barney is mine. We’d been to school together, got drunk together and been on holiday together for years; that is till last year when he got married to Millicent. Now I’ve got nothing against Millicent, in fact she’s a decent girl and I’m sure that she both loves Barney and will be a faithful wife to him. However, marriage does strange things to a man; it gives him responsibility for a start. Over the past two years I’d watch my free-wheeling friend become encapsulated by Millicent and home life such that now we had only one evening a week to drink together. All the same Barney had been the first person I had told about the inheritance and as we supped ale in the local hostelry I filled him in on progress so far. After mutually bewailing the state of the service industry in general I mentioned my encounter with Yolande. He raised his bushy eyebrows, “You mean the Yolande of the dreadful violin?”

  “Check.”

  He chuckled.

  “Well at least she didn’t try to make a living out of that.”

  I sipped the ale and savoured the nutty taste.

  “Funny job for a woman though, electrician.”

  He punched me in the ribs, directly on the sore spot caused by Yolande’s elbow.

  “Now, now your prejudice is showing.”

  I put my pot down.

  “No prejudice, just saying it’s odd; but she certainly seems to know her job.”

  He eyed me over his glass.

  “You do know the story?”

  “What story?”

  “Yolande’s brother.”

  “No.”

  He licked the froth off his top lip.

  “Yolande was in Millicent’s year at school. ‘Bout five years after her brother left school he committed suicide. He took enough heroin to fell an elephant and left a suicide note saying that he was having the happiest time of his life and wanted to go out on a high – it was in all the local papers.”

  He leant forward.

  “His old man was devastated; he’d planned to pass the business onto his son and now it was all for nothing.”

  I pinched one of his crisps and said casually.

  “So up steps Yolande and takes his place.”

  Barney glanced around as if looking for the secret police.

  “Never was a truer word spoken. Millicent says that Yolande was always the underdog to her dad and that David, that’s her brother, was always the one on whom he heaped praise. He even changed the name of the company when he was born.”

  I sat back and surveyed the two women in amazingly short gym skirts drinking at the bar.

  “Fearsome; I always said that families are the most curious things on earth.”

  Barney took another swig.

  “Funny thing is that Millicent reckons that Yolande became a happier person. Until her brother died she worked in a record store – you know the one by the station – once she started on the electrical stuff she apparently came to life. Millicent used to meet her at college.”

  I tried to be clever.

  “Didn’t know Millicent was an electrician.”

  He poked me in the ribs again, I decided that I should start wearing body armour;

  “Millicent did history, as you well know.”

  A thought crossed my mind.

  “Hey, do you think you could get Millicent to research my house? I’ve got a outline history from the solicitors, but it’s a bit vague.”

  He shrugged.

  “I’ll ask her.”

  He finished his drink.

  “Right then, just what sort of car are you going to buy?”

  As usual he’d hit right on the spot of my thinking process. “Dunno, it’s funny really; give me a limited budget and I’ll find a car, but now I’ve got an unlimited budget I haven’t a clue.”

  “Ferrari?”

  “Too common.”

  “Porsche?”

  “Too suave.”

  “Bentley?”

  “Too regal.”

  So we finished our time at the pub h
aving a happy muse about cars and moving me no further forward in my decision whatsoever.

  However, I had high hopes the following morning that I would move forward on motoring front. I’d been in touch with Norman’s Classic Cars and found out that the car was ready. I had high hopes for this and had deliberately not asked what sort of car it was to give me a little more time for anticipation, which I had always found to be better than reality. Norman’s Classic cars turned out to be in Colchester so I took the train in anticipation of a joyous ride home. The actual firm hid behind a front of glass and wood that housed a selection of cars to drool over; I remember especially eyeing a silver Jensen Interceptor. The manager met me as I walked across the concourse. I decided that I would buy a second-hand car from this man, he just looked both trustworthy and knowledgeable. He held his hand out;

  “Mr Holmes I presume, Miss Carrington-Greeves said you’d doubtless be in touch.”

  I gave a weak smile, he continued.

  “The cars out the back and I’ve got a cheque for you.”

  I was surprised, I was expecting to pay him. “A cheque?”

  “Mr Grant paid in advance, he always did. He gave us £10,000 and we’ve only spent eight.”

  I licked my lips, what sort of car took £8,000 to restore? He led be out into a sort of barn like extension that had a clutch of cars hiding under chamois leather covers. He passed all the large ones, the sleek ones and the long ones to come to rest by a small squarish shape. He whipped the cover off and my jaw nearly hit the ground, I’d honestly never seen anything like it. He noted my face and grinned, obviously enjoying my total amazement.

  “It’s a 1961 Metropolitan 1500, they were made by Austin, but never badged by them as originally they were intended for the American market.”

  I was trying to make up my mind whether or not it was a four-wheeled boat or a motorised pram as he prattled on.

  “It’s as near original as we can manage, the only thing that is definitely out of era is the seat-belts, but Mr Grant insisted that we fit them in the original restoration.”

  My ears pricked up;

  “Original restoration?”

  “In 1982, of course my father owned the place then, but he kept good records.”

  I looked at this two-tone barge on wheels, well barge is overstating it as it was obviously a car designed for women having a little pram hood and dinky seats. Norman grinned at my face;

  “Originally it was designed as a second car for the American market where it was sold by Nash and Hudson, but in its latter years it proved popular over here too. Three-speed box with column shift, hydraulic brakes and 1500cc engine.”