Bitter Water

by Douglas Clark

  “Perhaps not,” asserted Masters. “For one thing, you have a garage and we haven’t. And I think the valuer who came round here put his finger on things when he pointed out that insured value and selling price are by no means the same thing in a house as old as this.”

  “How do you mean, George?” asked Doris.

  “Insured value is for the rebuilding of the property as it stands. But what you have to realise is that there are a great many features in this house that would be expensive to replace. For instance, our skirting boards are a foot deep and sculptured. The covings are very intricate and would need to be remoulded by a specialist. And so on. Such things shove up the insurance value, but they don’t affect the value of the property as a living unit. Your house, bigger and much more modern, would be much less expensive to rebuild.”

  “Because our skirting boards are made of half-inch deal, three inches wide,” grunted Green.

  “Just so. But they don’t detract from the value of your house as somewhere to live. So, even if your full rebuilding insurance is not as big as ours, the selling price may not be much different. And you have to remember that you’ve got a slice of ground that’s worth thousands, where we have nothing in front and only a piece big enough to put up a playpen at the back.”

  “Go on,” grunted Green.

  “That’s it.”

  “What is?” wailed Doris.

  “Come through for supper,” said Wanda, “and we’ll discuss it at table.” She got to her feet. “William, knowing how much you like prawns I’ve put some in a cold sauce to have with smoked mackerel for starters, and after that there’s …” Her voice was lost to Masters as he ushered Doris in front of him through to the dining room.

  “Jolly good grub,” grunted Green some minutes later. “Those shrimps were a nice touch, sweetie.”

  “Prawns,” corrected his wife.

  “Whatever. I’m all of a do-dah over this house business so I can’t tell t’other from which.”

  “I know how you must both be feeling,” said Wanda, “because I know my own feelings about it. But we must answer the question Doris asked.”

  “Which was, if memory serves me,” said Green, “brief to the point of nonobjectivity. She asked, ‘What is?’”

  “I only wanted to clear things up a bit,” said Doris.

  “None of us can go firm,” said Wanda. “First, George and I have to decide whether what we have been offered will be right for us. And that means all the usual things like situation, style, size and condition as well as price. Only if all those suit us shall we want to sell this house for certain. As William guessed, should that happen, we should want you to have first refusal. And that is all we do want.”

  “At the moment, you mean?”

  “We have made the offer simply because of what you have both always said about this house. And, believe me, we were a bit embarrassed, even so. We do not want to force your hand in any way, and George and I wouldn’t hold you to your answer if you were to say yes straightaway. We should want you to take a good long time to think about it. But should you feel like flirting with the idea, then you would need to have your house valued for selling to see how it compares with our asking price. Then, if as George and I suspect, the two are about the same, we could reach agreement.”

  “I’m sure that wouldn’t be fair,” expostulated Doris. “There may be thousands of pounds of difference in the prices.”

  “Which could be either way,” said Masters, rising to fetch the bottle of Madiran which was to accompany the main course.

  “Rubbish,” said Green. “And you know it.”

  “Let’s not argue too much, William,” said Wanda, “because all this, if not hypothetical, is completely un-fixed-up at the moment.” She held out her hand for his plate. “Would you like cauliflower to go with that beef?”

  “And a couple more roasties, please. Doris served me short.”

  Wanda went on talking as she filled his plate. “And that brings us back to the do-as-you-would-be-done-by bit. If, as we suspect, we are being offered a great bargain by one set of our friends, why shouldn’t we do another set a like service?” She handed back his plate and smiled at him. “And to tell you an even more important reason for our suggestion,” she said conspiratorially, “we wouldn’t like the idea of this house going to somebody who wouldn’t treat it properly. If it were yours, you would care for it as much as we have done.”

  Green grunted heavily. “Yes, well,” he humphed. “As you say, we’ll have to think things over and get a sale price for our property.”

  “Which we’ll arrange tomorrow,” said Doris briskly. She turned to her husband. “If it is even remotely possible that I can have this house I am going, to use your own words, to grab it with both hands. And I know that saying of yours about opportunity knocking only once. Opportunity knocks only once at a man’s door in a nightgown is how you usually put it. Now you can alter it, because this time it’s knocked at my door gift-wrapped in boxer shorts and I’m all set to invite it in.”

  Green rubbed his nose reflectively with a pudgy forefinger. “Just because George here wants to offload a heap of useless bricks and mortar without paying a house-agent to do it, there’s no reason why we should rush out and sell our nice ’tween-the-wars semi to help him do it.”

  “Oh, shut up,” said his wife scornfully before turning to Wanda. “You can see he’s as excited as a schoolboy at the idea because he’s started to make schoolboy jokes.” She put her hand out to her hostess. “When he gets a bit older we’ll be able to have Michael to stay with us, now and again, won’t we?”

  “I certainly hope so,” said Masters.

  “You see, he’ll know the house, won’t he?”

  Wanda smiled. “I suspect it will be hard to keep him away from you and his Mr. William.”

  “Hah,” said Green, mightily pleased by this. “Now tell us where you are thinking of going.”

  “Not far from Tunbridge Wells, Bill. Less than an hour on the train into the centre of town, and the reverse, of course, for you and Doris. Frequent visits from you both will still be the order of the day, I hope.”

  “Not ’arf. And vice versa.”

  “Tell us about your house,” said Doris eagerly. “What’s it like?”

  “It stands alone, but it’s not isolated,” said Wanda. “It’s called Housmans, and …”

  “I know,” interrupted Green. “It’s an oast-house, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is as a matter of fact. How did you guess?”

  “The name. Housmans.”

  “How could that tell you what it is, Bill?” asked Masters.

  “Hops,” grunted Green. “Oast-houses.”

  “Very lucid and explanatory.”

  “Why hops, William?”

  Green pushed his plate away and sat back. Then he quoted: “ ‘Say, for what were hop-yards meant, Or why was Burton built on Trent?’ ”

  “Go on,” urged Wanda.

  “Housman, A Shropshire Lad,” replied Green.

  Wanda sat back and smiled. “I see,” she said slowly. “How very nice, and how very clever of you, William, to discover the connection for us. I had been wondering about it.”

  2

  The guests at Hugh Carlyle’s birthday party on the Saturday night were a mixed bag.

  There were close friends from a distance. Mere acquaintances from nearby. Business colleagues and business clients. A leavening of young people, and finally a sprinkling of all manner of stage folk. It seemed the only fish that had been invited to swim into the net but had declined, because of the DCS’s night duty stint at the Yard, were Wanda and George Masters.

  As Mrs. Hookham had foretold, the weather was beautiful, so the Carlyles’ plan to hold the party round the pool was put into effect. The already immaculate lawn had been retrimmed and the fairy-lights strung round the fences and hedges which protected the pool on all three sides away from the house. Hugh’s room had been tidied and cleared of papers so th
at the desk could be used as the drinks table, while food was to be laid out on tables already in position at each end of the pool.

  Carlyle’s daughter, Rosemary, had travelled down from her vacation cottage near Cambridge and had brought with her a male postgraduate student—Tom Chesterton—to help, as Hugh put it, in providing a circulating nub for the younger guests.

  By half past seven, most had arrived. The sun, though westering, still shone gloriously and it was more than warm enough for the women to wear sleeveless summer dresses without recourse to the cardigans most had brought with them as an insurance against the possible chill of late evening.

  Somewhere in the background gentle music played softly, and the guests were gathering in groups to gossip.

  “They’ll stand around like this for a bit,” said Hugh to his wife. “Just until the natural reserve is overcome and then even the most committed anchorite will start circulating.”

  “Probably coming outside was a mistake,” replied Margot.

  “Why on earth should it be?”

  “There’s too much space out here, and the pool separates side from side and end from end. If this number was all in one room they’d be rubbing shoulders and be obliged to make contact with each other.”

  “Nonsense, Mags. As soon as the booze gets to work and the young get warmed up there’ll be plenty of movement. Look over there, for instance. There’s James doing his stuff and involving Knight, while their wives are somewhere else, presumably.”

  James was James Murray, a near neighbour. Knight was Arthur Knight, a relatively new business acquaintance of Carlyle’s. This was the first occasion on which the two men had ever met, but some chemistry in the make-up of both had drawn them together in such a way that they felt free to discuss their host.

  “I’d never met him until about three months ago,” said Knight. “I’d heard of him, of course. Very few in the engineering world have not heard of him. That’s why I approached him when the need arose. We needed a rather tricky prototype to be built, incorporating the building with some testing for final design modifications which we felt sure would be necessary. He took it on, and now I’m pretty closely involved with him, at any rate for the time being. He’s a hell of a businessman, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I know nothing about his business life,” confessed Murray, “other than the fact that he must be fairly successful. He’s obviously well-britched and has been for as long as I’ve known him.”

  “How long’s that?”

  “About twenty years, I suppose. Anyway, since they came here when he and Margot were first married.”

  “He’s cagey about business, is he? I only ask because I like to know the people I deal with. We like to think our new designs are in good hands.”

  “Hugh doesn’t say much about his work. No reason why he should, really. We’re all very friendly round here and most of our neighbours have come along tonight, for instance. But we’re all in different fields, so there’s no common business interest to discuss. I suppose, really and truly, the only thing that all his neighbours discuss in common, concerning Hugh, that is, is his disablement and the marvellous way he has adapted his life-style from that of a very live wire to that of a semi-invalid. He’s shown great strength of character over that.”

  Knight nodded his understanding.

  “Mark you,” went on Murray, “though he’s reticent about his business affairs, Hugh will jaw the hind leg off a donkey talking about his stage interests. But that’s his hobby. My missus and I play bridge. We talk about that incessantly if we can get anybody to listen, but I never mention commodity prices outside the office.”

  “Very wise, old boy,” said Knight. “I’m that way inclined myself. I’m very conscious of the risk of industrial espionage though I’ve never actually suffered myself.”

  “In our case, that is in the City as a whole, it is insider dealing that is the spectre at the moment. But you gave me the impression that you know people in your own field who have suffered from industrial espionage.”

  “Heavens, yes! Several people I know have had ideas pinched from under their noses.”

  “Not, I hope, by Hugh Carlyle.”

  “There’s never been a breath of scandal in that area as far as I know, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked him to collaborate with me on our present scheme.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Carlyle has always had the reputation, deservedly, of being the straightest of men. And that’s not just my opinion. Everybody round here who knows him has said at some time or another how ironic it is that the most straightforward, generous and good-humoured man they know should be struck down by a crippling disease.”

  “Adding that it is typical of life, I expect?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  Murray held out his hand for Knight’s glass. “Would you like another of those?”

  Knight drained the last few drops. “Yes, please.”

  Murray was back quite quickly. “This industrial espionage you mentioned. It interests me. What sort of thing goes on? Breaking into offices to pinch specifications?”

  “Nothing quite so crude, usually.” Knight raised his glass. “Cheers.”

  “No breaking in to steal research results, you say?”

  “Planting a spy is more likely. You train up a girl to know what to look for and get her taken on as a confidential secretary in a rival’s office. It’s amazing how much can be learned that way. Or, alternatively, suborn somebody already working there.”

  “Just like international intelligence departments, in fact.”

  “Just like that. And it is a specialist field. The secretaries I mentioned really are highly trained secretaries with other qualifications to equip them to walk into almost any job.”

  “Not all the qualifications being academic, I suppose.”

  “Quite right. It’s amazing how much more efficient a filing system seems when operated by somebody with a face and figure that are worthy of more than a passing interest.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Mark you, I think most small businessmen lose out through lack of capital. Nobody has to be planted or suborned.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, let’s try to think of a hypothetical case as an illustration. Say you invented what? A revolutionary new washing powder?”

  “Something every housewife would buy?”

  “Exactly that. So although you are only a small man, you can envisage making a great killing, because the sales of your product will be continual, continuous and nationwide.”

  “A good prospect, in fact.”

  “Quite. So you set out to produce it. You can manage to do this in a comparatively small way to begin with by remortgaging your house and getting a few thousands from the bank. After you’ve started, you begin to realise that production is easy. It is promoting and marketing the stuff that takes the millions. Your potential customers won’t ask for your product in the shops if they are not told about it, so you have to have a TV campaign and journal advertising, to say nothing of having to pay designers and printers for attractive packaging and so forth. So what do you do?”

  “Tell me.”

  “You think you can just afford a pilot scheme. The usual thing—for obvious reasons—is to confine it to one television area. Yorkshire, say. So you go ahead, and you are successful. So successful, in fact, that with your limited manufacturing resources you have difficulty in meeting demand in that area.

  “Now you are in a cleft stick. Do you invest your profit in more plant to increase supplies, or do you spend it on more promotion to sell your product elsewhere in the country?”

  Murray grimaced. “I’ll hazard a guess. I’d try to do two things at once. First, borrow more money from the bank for installing plant. That money should be available in view of my recent success. I’d do that on the basis that it is pointless to increase demand before you can meet it. Meanwhile, I would use the profit to maintain the increase in demand.”

&nb
sp; “Logical.”

  “But wrong?”

  “Not necessarily. However, installing plant can be a lengthy business. Machines have to be built and factory space provided for them.”

  “A matter of weeks, surely?”

  “Perhaps, if you’re lucky. But weeks are vital, and during those weeks all manner of things not only can but will happen. Your success won’t have gone unnoticed, remember. This could spark off some dirty tricks, of course, and others which are called just good business.”

  “Dirty ones first.”

  “Just an example. The new machines you wish to install and which you were told were available on Monday are suddenly declared to be not available on Wednesday. Somebody rings up to tell you that you were misinformed on Monday by an understrapper who didn’t know the situation.”

  “I get it. Somebody who doesn’t want you to have this specialised plant has either brought pressure to bear on the manufacturer or has bought them for spot cash, paying over the odds for immediate possession.”

  “Something like that. It works if there is only one manufacturer of that sort of machine and if the dog-in-the-manger is already a big customer. But, as I said, that’s only an example. Supplies of ingredients could be unexpectedly delayed or the material for your cartons be in artificially short supply. Any part of your operation could be sabotaged.”

  “And the good-business tricks?”

  “Other washing powder manufacturers will have noted within days that their sales have slumped in the Yorkshire TV area, and they won’t have been slow in discovering the reason.”

  “My revolutionary new product?”

  “Quite.”

  “Apart from resorting to the tricks already mentioned to stop me in my tracks, what are they going to do? Try to buy me out?”

  “No fear. You’ve got a successful competitor to their range, so you would drive a hard bargain. Why pay you when, by buying a packet of your product and analysing it …”

  “I’d be protected by the patent laws, surely?”

  “True. But the patent law only protects you from people who want to make an exact copy of your product. A similar product, one with very minor changes from yours, would be allowed. An alternative to one ingredient, perhaps. Maybe even something as unimportant as colour, perfume, bulk excipient or what-have-you.”