A Tour de Fate

by P R M Kinloch

  “What are you talking about, Monty?” asked Josh.

  “Yeah! spit it out, his what?” agreed Max.

  “Look. Umm,” Monty tried, sounding awkward, “Not simple at all really. Embarrassing. Can’t really explain it. But I suppose it would look a bit like revenge. I suppose. Must be, since I only want his.” He was getting embarrassed.

  “What are you talking about, Monty? For Goodness Sake!” cried Josh.

  The two friends exchanged glances. Max asked, “Monty, his what?”

  Monty took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then puffed it all out and said simply, “I want his bed. Actually, look. That’s only -”

  “What?” They both asked, looking incredulously at each other.

  “His bed. I want it. But that’s -”

  “His bed?” Asked Joshua.

  “Why?” Asked Max.

  “Long story. But let me just say -”

  The other two started laughing.

  “Don’t laugh, listen.” Monty said, but began to laugh as well. “No, Listen. Seriously. I’ve thought about this. Look. If you take away his bed...”

  More laughter.

  “Listen! If you take away his bed, you’ve sort of removed his best – Oh, hell, I dunno. What? Refuge? You know, from all his own conceit, his conniving. Whatever.” Monty did his best to sum up, and ploughed on. “His bed,” he tried to explain, “is where he’s just himself. The real fellow. It’s where he doesn’t hide or deceive himself, because that’s where he feels safest. So, you take his bed away, and then he’s got nowhere to hide? But enough about that. I want to -’”

  “Oh, Lord, that’s deep.” Boomed Max solemnly.

  “You’re one tricky dude, any road,” pondered Josh.

  Silence for a moment, broken by Josh. “You’ve seen it?”

  Monty had missed his chance to move on. He said, “Oh yes. Haven’t you?”

  “No.” Said Josh, thinking. “Just a minute. That’s all you want? Just the bed?”

  “Yes. It’s a double bed. Listen -”

  “A double bed.” Max and Josh said.

  They digested this before Max asked, “So you get this bed out. And then what? What do you want to do with it? Where are you going to take it?”

  “Home.” Monty resigned himself to wasting a bit of time about the bed before getting to the bigger project he had in mind.

  “Home?” from Max.

  “What? All the way to Hernia?” cried Josh, “That’s twenty minutes away if you run! How are you going to get a bed there?”

  “A double bed.” Monty reminded them.

  “A double bed! How are you going to get a double bed all the way to Hernia?” Josh asked very slowly and seriously.

  “Not Hernia. Wallop. I live at Wallop now.”

  “Wallop? Where’s Wallop?” Asked Max. “Isn’t that...? That’s halfway to Neese! Isn’t it?

  “Yes. Plus or minus something, probably.”

  “Monty, that’s twenty days away!” Max burst out laughing. “That’s without a bed! How are you gonna do that, Monty?”

  Josh couldn’t even ask a question. He looked flabbergasted. Mouth open, he just stared. And then he also laughed.

  Monty considered correcting them. twenty days walking maybe. He had just done it in less than half that time. However, he too started laughing again. On the face of it they were right. The idea really was totally wacky. He joined the fun.

  “How am I going to do that? Easy. You pick up the back,” he said, “and you carry it round until it’s in front and you put it down. Then you go to what’s now the back, pick it up, bring it round to the front, drop it, go to the back, take it to the front, go to the back, take it to the front... That shouldn’t take too long!”

  Among the laughter Max shouted, “Twenty years! Give or take!”

  “Give or take?” cried Joshua, “Imagine your back! Lift, carry,” he mimicked carrying it round, “dum dum dum dum dum dum dum, drop it, go back, dum dum dum dum dum dum dum, lift, carry, dum dum, dum, drop. Go back, lift...”

  “Yeah, but, Oh, the comfort of your rest at night on that bed!” Roared Max.

  More laughter. Josh volunteered, “Hang on. You can speed it up. Balance it on its side, line it up towards the direction of travel -”

  “Oh, I like that, ‘towards the direction of travel’ -” From Max.

  “My word, sir! How very professional. ‘Towards the direction of travel’” chipped in Monty, posh voiced. He intoned very seriously, “When I proceed to my destination, I always face -”

  All three said it at one, “towards the direction of travel!”

  “Let me finish,” cried Josh, “You get it on its side, aim it where you want to go, lift the back end. throw it over, stay behind it, lift and throw it over again!”

  “Yeah, that’s better,” quipped Monty, “do it fast enough, you wouldn’t have to lift. Get the momentum up, and just keep it rolling!”

  “Ho! We’re down from twenty years - to, what? Two months?” From Max.

  “Yeah, well look guys.” Monty summed it up. “I admit there is a problem there. Let’s say I’m still working on the fine details.

  “But the point is,” he became more serious. “I’ve got a bigger plan in mind but I’d need some help. Do you think it’s possible to hatch a plan to distract Fullon, get him out of the place long enough - not only to get that bed away so that at least he never finds it - but also to do whatever needs to be done to convince him he’s outclassed, finished, totally rumbled, you know - standing no chance in court ?”

  It didn’t take them long to come up with hairy-scary ideas to entice Fullon away from Bortontick. And during the course of that discussion, the project grew into something substantial. After all, it seemed such a wasted opportunity unless lots of things were done besides simply knocking off the fellow’s bed.

  It quickly turned into a serious project. If they were going to do it, they would do it properly. Then they realised that the more things they came up with, the more time would be needed. This meant Fullon had to be kept well away from his own house for longer. And that meant the more genuine the lure had to be.

  They worked on really sorting the fellow out – so that the loss of his bed would come as a finale among a heap of disasters. Soon it was obvious they were going to be very busy in that house. They brainstormed schemes until they had a lure to draw Fullon out of the house – not guaranteed, but hopefully - for the entire night, to give them time to carry out the plot they were coming up with. And then they dreamed up a possible way of actually moving the bed such a lunatic distance all the way to Monty’s place at Wallop.

  Monty once again became desperate to return to his parents. For the whole thing to work, it all depended on having their cooperation. The plot now involved a pretty serious thing to ask of them. Having his parents’ active help in the scheme would be vital but Monty was hopeful their agreement would not be a problem. The plan now really did look as if it could drastically reduce the expenses of lawyers, legal battles and delays.

  Monty knew that Fullon’s dishonesty would be a difficult thing to prove after so long, but if they could convince him that his game was up, that he was outclassed and outbullied then he might even abandon all claims without a fight - unless of course, his lawyers were as crooked as him and goaded him on to fight the case simply to get more fees from him. But if it came to that, it could still be dealt with.

  It all depended on lots of things. Especially, whether he could get his father to agree, and then if his parents could even play their part. Just as important was if they themselves, Monty Josh and Max, could do what they wanted in Fullon’s house and have everything finished in the limited time available.

  Monty still couldn’t dash back to his parents. They went through everything again, ironing out details, roughing out timing, listing the resources they would need, and even deciding who would tackle different jobs.

  Josh produces a sheet of butcher paper, and they designed w
hat they thought would hoodwink Fullon into the idea of leaving his home for most of a night – so long as Monty’s parents were up to it - Josh had a friend who worked in the printing press for the Diddling Trumpet who he thought might be able to knock up what they wanted and have it back by the afternoon.

  Next up was a need for “staff”, so James and his next-in-line brother Collin were drafted at generous overtime rates for after-hours work for one night only at Monty’s house – to James’s delight.

  They would need four wheelbarrows. Max had a friend in horticulture who could certainly produce one, Max himself would buy another, Josh had got one at home that was never used and wouldn’t be missed. And Monty was sure that once his parents were on side with what was happening, they wouldn’t mind donating the fourth. Such things could be funded or replaced by Monty anyway.

  He would also find carpentry tools and whatnots from his family’s tool shed at High Aytus. Anything else, they thought could probably be scrounged on site at Bortontick. That appeared to complete the list.

  Someone thought of string, and Max said he could source that from his horticultural buddy. Monty insisted on paying for everything and anyone involved and handed over a generous amount of money to his friends.

  Josh shot off to find his friend to get the printing done. Max went to find his horticultural mate. James would take the welcome news of the additional gig for Collin and himself when he went home at day’s end.

  Monty raced back to his parent. What he had in mind would be a big “ask” but would save the family heaps if he could just somehow get them to do what he wanted. And after all, he thought, it might be fun, even for them.

  Looking up, he saw the sun didn’t have much higher to go.

  73 PREPARATION

  “So, it would help enormously,” Monty was running his parents through his plan for the second time, and in greater detail, “if he is greeted at the door by people wearing masks, or comic hats or something, and I’ve got that covered.

  “Josh Nunt’s apprentice chef James has a brother Collin. James and Collin are coming over to act as your staff for the night. One will answer the door and check Fullon’s invitation.

  “The other will serve him a drink straight off. That should lull him into believing he’s got it right, don’t you think?” Monty asked. “If he takes the drink, that’s a good start. If we can get him to finish that drink there and then, and get him to take another, I think we’ll be on a winner.”

  “He comes in. And then?” Asked his Dad, dubiously.

  “What we need is delay, delay, delay. If you can keep him off balance as long as possible, then the more we can organise things back at his place. Push the next drink on him,” suggested Monty, “even while he’s still got one. If you can greet him as a long-lost friend – you know? As if apologising for keeping him waiting. You could say things like,” and he play-acted his father. “‘So glad you could come! It’s been so long since we’ve talked!’ ‘Oh. Where’s everybody else for the party, you ask?’ ‘Yes, quite! Oh, don’t worry old chap, the others will be along any minute! Do have another drink! On the house, you know, wink wink? What? What?’” He looked at both parents hopefully. “You get the idea?”

  “Oh. I see.” His father certainly understood the last part, if perhaps still concerned about the first. “I think I could do that. ‘Jolly fellow’ and all that.”

  “Exactly, Dad! That would be terrific. So obviously, the longer he can be kept in his original frame of mind, that he’s come to party, to celebrate his wonderful inheritance, the better it is for us and the easier it will be to keep him. The problem will be if or when he realises he’s being scammed.”

  “So, we invite him in?” Asked his mum, sounding vague.

  “Yes. As I said, he’ll arrive in fancy dress with a printed invitation.” Monty tried to slow down, realising it was all a bit much for his parents to take in.

  “Once you’ve got him, say, into the ballroom, dining room, or here in the sitting room, any mask or party hat on your “staff” can simply vanish.” Monty continued. “That would then leave him totally exposed. With serious people in serious dress surrounding him, he would be the only one looking like a fool.”

  “Ah.” His dad said, considering the picture.

  “But you won’t be here?” His mum asked.

  “No, I won’t be here. I’ll be very busy at his place.”

  “Oh, Heavens! Nothing serious I hope.” She began to worry.

  “No, Mum, definitely not serious. Inconvenient, yes, but that’s all.”

  “Now look,” his dad put in, “you said he thinks you’re dead.”

  “Hopefully, yes. The invitation will imply that. It won’t actually say it, just imply it. That’s the bait to get him here. If he swallows it, he’ll be thinking this place is now his, and he’s being invited to celebrate that event.”

  “But what about your father?” asked his mother. “He’s not dead! He’ll be standing there! Won’t you Alfred? How will that help? Won’t that spoil the whole thing? I don’t -”

  “That’s very true, Mum. The invitation doesn’t actually say I have died, and the invitation actually states that it does come from you two.

  “But then,” Monty continued, “the invitation also implies ownership must already have passed to me and that I am no longer there, and it looks as if, hahaha, he’s the new owner. That’s the lure. If he is greedy and desperate, he’ll fall for it.”

  Monty went on, “I’m banking on his greed. And desperation. I think he needs capital. Badly. So, if he thinks that I’m now gone, then there is nobody left to dispute his cheating. That would lead him to think there is nobody left to dispute his claim to High Aytus. I’m betting that he won’t notice you are still there as owners because he’ll be gloating on the fact that with me gone, he’s in!”

  His dad said heatedly, “But you said we’re the one sending the invitation! Surely, he’s not going to come if he sees that we the owners are clearly here, sending the invitation, and therefore clearly we are not dead, even if you are!”

  “Alfred, really!” protested Henrietta.

  “It’s OK, Mum. That’s a good point, Dad. But what I’m banking on is, him asking the question, ‘If that’s the case why would you send the invitation?’”

  “Why indeed?” asked his father. “Well?”

  “He doesn’t know why.” Suggested Monty. “He can only guess. And what he’s got is the solid fact that you have sent the invitation. Not only that, the message is for a good-humoured event. He would expect malice, invective, lawsuits – and what arrives instead? Good humour, a nice invitation and a desire to celebrate him.”

  “Son? If somebody got all that from me. They would be right to assume I had totally lost the plot!” Mr Stump said with great emphasis.

  “Dad, I was hoping flattery would get him here. But I think you might have gone one better!”

  “Hmm.” His father wondered, “If he realises he’s been had -”

  “Yes. My recommendation if that happens,” Monty cut in, “is to keep him off balance. Simply keep up the pretence that he is welcome, that the drinks are free. You can say, ‘yes there is a reason to get you here.’ ‘Have another drink first, and we’ll tell you.’ Can you imagine,” Monty continued, “first he is getting hopelessly drunk. Then he can’t work out what role you are really playing. Then he gets confused and disappointed over his ‘rightful’ ownership that was coming right there into his grasp only – sorry – not just yet - because... You know all about his crooked dealings, and he is standing there in a fancy-dress party costume?

  “Like, this is the punch-line. This is when you really deliver the fact that his game’s up. And you give it preferably, but not essentially, or only when you have to, or when he’s really off balance, you cap it all by telling him straight out that you know all about the pinball machine and the rats!

  “And for good measure,” Monty continued, “You can add on, like an after-thought, ‘oh, yes, th
e reason to make the occasion a party?’ Oh, it is just to let him down gently – To show him how nice you are – and to rub in the fact that he will get nothing.”

  His parents looked at each other with a dawning understanding that the plan might work.

  “Just think.” Monty continued, “Why would you, in your right mind, invite him over, unless implying that it is his. and to give High Aytus to him? That alone will confuse him and get him here.

  “And then, why the fancy dress? There is no answer to that, except something that reflects back on him. But what? While he’s trying to work out all that, keep the drink flowing.”

  “Flummery! Pure flummery.” His father surmised. “It’s been a while since I’ve indulged in that sort of thing. But Son, leave it to us. We can handle that. You go and do what you have to do. Oh, and Son. When this is over, I’m sacking my lawyers. With you around, I don’t need them!”

  “Thanks for the vote, Dad. But we haven’t achieved anything yet. And keep the lawyers. They take over when we’ve finished just to make sure!”

  “Oh, er, one other thing, Son, just in case.” Added Monty’s dad, “If you’re not here to prove you’re alive, how do we here prove you’re not dead?”

  “Leave that to me, Dad. I can assure you, he’s soon going to realise that all of us are very much alive!”

  “Montague Stump,” called his mother, “I think we should disown you! You’re so full of mischief, you’re as bad as this Fullon character!” But there was a sparkle in her eye. She looked approvingly at her husband who was looking at the waistcoat that used to be his and remembering the doubts he had had about passing it on.

  “Monty,” said his dad, “you are quite an education. I think we can make a go of this. I think we can keep the fellow guessing one way or another. Two quick questions. Is there anything more we can do, and how long do you need?”

  Monty learnt from this that his dad was now on top of the situation and again implying approval. He felt a tremendous boost of confidence.

  “Thanks, Dad. A good reminder. I’ll need the wheelbarrow and some tools, if I may. As for how long to keep him, I don’t know – for as many hours as possible. Until you get sick of him!