by Nick Corbett
“Are you alright, Grandad?”
“Ah, good morning Joe, yeah, just my back giving me jip. Did you sleep alright?”
“I slept like a log. I feel great.”
“Good! I’m doing a cooked breakfast, special treat.” The words are like music to Joe’s ears. He rushes down to their little Spanish-style kitchen. Two places are set at the breakfast bar. The tantalising smell and sound of sizzling eggs, sausages, and bacon fill the place. Grandad cracks open another egg on the edge of the frying pan.
“Have you got any plans for today?” he asks.
“I’m going to go into town to buy a new shirt. I’ve got a lunch appointment tomorrow, with David Rogers.”
“Really? What’s that about?” Grandad looks bemused.
“I haven’t got a clue.”
“That’s strange isn’t it? He’s an important man. Although, I bet he doesn’t see the Prime Minister as often as you do.”
Joe nods back with a grin.
“The papers are going on about him standing for the new elected city mayor thing,” says Grandad before he seamlessly changes the subject. “The Skoda’s been serviced, so you’ve got wheels.”
Joe smiles keenly from behind the wheel of his old brown Skoda as it rattles down the forest road, towards Lullingdon Manor. He is on his way to have lunch with David Rogers. The car’s engine ticks over nicely. It does have several botched repairs though; black tape holds a wing mirror together and a substantial part of the front bumper.
At last, suburban houses give way to the Warwickshire countryside. Joe lowers his window, takes a sideway glance; fields and hedgerows bask in glorious sunshine. After a shorter distance than he expected, he is approaching the ornamental trees and the red brick garden walls of Lullingdon. He slows the car down to a crawl. The old lodge with its colourful cottage garden stands where it always has. Beside it are the lichen-covered granite gateposts. The scene is undoubtedly beautiful, yet smaller than Joe remembers it being. The fresh, earthy smell of the place stirs his senses. Joe catches a glimpse up the gravel drive, but trees screen the manor house. He wonders if Luke is in, and if he might call on him. He feels as if he’s only been away for a few days, rather than a decade. But then he is meeting with Luke’s dad, rather than Luke. Significant events have passed since he last visited Lullingdon.
The Skoda trundles on. Sturdy limbs of oak trees stretch over the lane, ushering Joe back into the forest. The way is lost in shadows. Joe presses his nose against the windscreen. After a while he stops the car, for no particular reason, turns off the engine, sticks his head out of the window. He looks up into the canopy; dappled sunlight, white flowers on the tips of the trees. He breathes deeply. The forest air is full of oxygen, woody mulch. Copious birdsong is all around. He would like to stay there, drinking it in, but he needs to press on. He restarts the engine, follows the forest road. A little further, Joe takes a tight right turn, descends down a hill towards the pool. Dark holly trees, interspersed with oaks and rowans, loom over the car. The lane becomes a narrow track. The leaf canopy is so thick, Joe is in an underworld, hidden from the sky. The track widens out again and Joe is surprised to find he is in a car park, exhibiting several very smart cars. This is all new. Joe parks the Skoda nonchalantly beside a Porsche. He gets out, tries to close the door. It’s jammed. There is a knack to closing the driver’s door. It requires a lift and a slam. It takes Joe three attempts. Fortunately, nobody is watching. Joe breathes deep the forest air again, takes a moment to listen to the birds chattering in the trees. He decides to take a quick look at the pool.
Joe walks between the lofty beech trees, meandering around their silky, smooth, grey and green trunks. A carpet of russet, copper leaves, crunches beneath his black brogues. He emerges from the shadows into the bright open air, beside the pool. His breathing is steady and he feels a great sense of wellbeing. He lifts his gaze beyond the water. There is nothing to offend his eye. He is so happy to be there. As if awakening from a pleasant dream, he becomes aware of the sound of a motorcycle, getting louder. He turns around, looks at the old boathouse. It isn’t as he remembers. He never really appreciated what an attractive building it is, with its over-hanging eaves and Gothic style windows. It certainly isn’t a shed, more like a picturesque folly. And now it is a smart restaurant. A sympathetic extension has been built. French windows open onto a timber-decked terrace, with tables and chairs positioned for the view. Nobody is sitting out, but people can be seen within the building. The conversion has been done sympathetically. The beauty of the place is intact. Joe thinks, a little grudgingly, perhaps it is good others can enjoy what was a secret place.
Joe’s attention turns to the motorcycle that has appeared at the end of the track. There are two riders on it. The rear passenger, a particularly large figure, climbs off, unsteadily. He takes his crash helmet off, reveals a mop of white hair. The helmet and jacket are stuffed into a pannier box. He pats the rider on his back. With a growl from the engine, and a wheel spin, the motorcycle disappears back into the forest. Joe’s face lights up when he realises the passenger is David Rogers. He pulls up his tie, runs his hand through his hair, strolls over to greet Luke’s dad.
Joe and David greet each other warmly. Then David looks at Joe quizzically.
“Now you weren’t thinking about going for a swim, were you?”
Joe looks confused for a moment, remembers his appearance at Lullingdon, in his underpants.
“No, not before lunch.”
They stand together for a few minutes, chatting, about the motorbike and then about the dolphins they watched from the yacht, off the coast of Cyprus.
“Oh, have you heard the exciting news from Elias?” asks David.
The expression on Joe’s face suggests he hasn’t.
“He’s been accepted into the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra, Simon Rattle’s done a wonderful job as conductor.”
Joe is dumbfounded. He wonders why Elias hasn’t told him, or Luke for that matter. He pulls himself together.
“Wow. Does that mean he’ll move to Birmingham?”
“Yes, of course. He might stay with us at Lullingdon.”
Joe muses. So, negotiations between David and Elias must be quite advanced.
David continues, surprisingly excited. “I’m sponsoring Elias, to make sure he gets the support he needs. He’s going to be a great asset for the city. He’s one of the best violinists.”
Joe nods, scratches the back of his neck. He seriously wonders if Elias has a grudge against him, for not letting him say goodbye to his grandfather. Why else wouldn’t he have told Joe that he is relocating to his town?
David senses that Joe is put out by the news and he changes tack.
“Elias wouldn’t be in the country if it wasn’t for you, Joe. I’m very impressed with what you and Hannah have done for the lad, you took a big risk for him.”
Joe smiles. “It was worth it. We couldn’t have done it without you and Luke. Thanks for sailing the yacht. Do you remember the gunshots?”
“I do.” David reels as he recalls the danger they had been in.
Joe touches David on the shoulder to steady him. He shifts the conversation.
“So how are you and Annie?
“Oh, we’re both as well as you could expect at our age. Annie’s looking forward to making sure Elias is properly looked after.”
What it is with Elias and people’s mums?
“Are you hungry, Joe?”
“I am, yeah.”
“Come on, I’d value your thoughts on the conversion. We’ve had a nightmare with English Heritage. I think they’re happy now though. Antonio runs the restaurant for me. He’s a bit over the top, but an excellent chef.”
They enter the refurbished boathouse. Joe looks about the place. A few of the tables are occupied by ladies that lunch and a scattering of business people. The atmosphere is sophisticated, restrained; at least until Antonio bounds over to them. He gives them a verbose welcome, gesticulating w
ildly with his arms in the air. Antonio is very Latino, in his mid-forties, has a wonderful, delicate moustache with turned-up ends.
“Ah, David, it’s been too long!”
“It’s only been a couple of days, Antonio.”
“That’s too long!”
“How are you? How is Annie? How is Luke?”
“Oh, we’re all fine thanks, and how are you?”
“Very well thank you, David.”
David introduces Joe to Antonio. Then David takes Antonio aside, whispers.
“It’s a bit quiet in here today, isn’t it?”
“It is a little quiet, yes,” Antonio confesses, before pressing on defiantly. “Yesterday was very busy, however. Oh! You should have seen it. The car park was overflowing!” That seems to cheer David up.
“I’ve reserved your favourite table, by the window,” Antonio continues.
“Very good, we’ll be joined by Peter later, so we’ll need a table for three.”
Joe wonders; Who is Peter?
“I hope you don’t mind, Joe,” David says as they take their seats, “but I’ve asked Peter Caruthers to join us. He’s the chief executive of Richmond Investments, my property company. I want you to meet him.
“Oh, okay.”
Joe manages not to show it, but he is flabbergasted. He is officially unemployed, so why is he having lunch with such exalted company? He is desperate to find out what’s going on; feels nervous, out of his depth. He reassures himself.
What have you got to lose? You’ve probably lost everything already; so sit back, enjoy the journey.
David’s eyes scan around the restaurant. He looks very pleased with himself, it is all just as he wanted it to be.
“So, what do you think of the place, Joe?”
Joe hesitates to answer, as he gathers his thoughts.
“Are you all right?” David asks in a rather forthright manner.
“I’m fine, thanks,” replies Joe. Inwardly, he feels uneasy, he hates it when people ask him if he is all right, like that. It makes him wonder if they know of some reason why he shouldn’t be all right. Now he gives David the answer to his previous question.
“The pool used to our secret place, when we were teenagers. I’d have liked for it to remain as it was.”
Great disappointment flashes across David’s face.
“The conversion’s very impressive, though,” Joe quickly adds. “It’s good that other people can enjoy the place. Does Luke like it?”
“I think he’s in two minds, a bit like you really. Would you like a drink? You do drink don’t you?” asks David in a slightly belligerent way.
“Only alcohol,” replies Joe.
David laughs. “Glad to hear it! We do an excellent house red.”
“Ah, perfect.” Joe regrets his choice; he should have stuck to water, he’s going to need a clear head.
“Antonio!” shouts David. “Two glasses of your excellent house red please!”
David turns in his chair so he can take in the view of the pool through the French windows.
“Isn’t that the prettiest of views, Joe?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s definitely one of my favourite places.”
David looks pleased. He begins to tell Joe about the history of the boathouse.
“The main building’s Victorian, but it’s built upon an ancient watermill. You could hear the water running under us, if it weren’t for the chatter.” David turns away, stares at the pool. A smile brushes across his face.
“Antonio found some kids swimming in the pool the other day.” He chuckles. “I must confess, Annie and I used to swim in the pool when we were young. Swam all the way to the island once.”
“Really? That’s a long way.”
“I didn’t think Annie was going to make it. She got cramp. It was quite a scare, but she managed it in the end, with a bit of help. I was very fit back then.”
Joe warms to David, their conversation is going well. Then David positions his half-moon spectacles on the end of his nose. His countenance changes, more like a headmaster. He looks Joe squarely in the eye, adopts a serious tone.
“Now, Joe, I’d like to talk to you about a business proposition, if I may. I’d like you to treat it as confidential, is that okay?”
Joe has been slouching in his chair, he pulls himself up, straightens his back. His heart begins to beat a little faster. The purpose of their meeting is about to be revealed.
“Yeah, I’ll treat it as confidential.”
David nods solemnly.
“Thank you. Now, Richmond Investments, my development company, is going to be involved in rebuilding rundown housing estates. I’m negotiating with the council to buy up the worst ones.” David looks Joe in the eye. “I have to confess, I built many of them, back in the 1960s.”
David can’t hold Joe’s piercing gaze, he looks down, fumbles with his napkin. His voice sounds a little shaky.
“I don’t want my legacy to be broken communities. I always wanted to build decent places. I’m going to rebuild the estates.”
There is a moment’s pause.
Could Grandad’s estate be on David’s list?
Joe breaks the silence. “How are you going to achieve your objective?”
“Well, the council accepts that some of the estates will have to be demolished. Several of them are already half empty. They look awful, but that means land values are low, which means they can be purchased relatively cheaply. Once the legal work is done, we’re going to rebuild on a large scale, but this time with streets, squares, and parks. I want to create the kind of places that people actually choose to live in.”
David pauses, he wants to gauge Joe’s opinion. He leans back in his chair, hands cupping the back of his head.
Joe leans forward with his elbows on the table, wide eyed.
“What will happen to the people already living on the estates?
Now David leans forward; his grey eyes briefly meet Joe’s intense, bright blue eyes.
“Existing tenants will be given new homes in the new developments. First of all, we’ll build on the existing open spaces, covered in dog mess, syringes, burnt out cars. Existing residents will go into those new homes. The buildings they vacate will then be demolished and redeveloped. Simple decanting.”
“What will the new developments look like?” asks Joe.
“They’ll have a traditional urban character; communities with a mix of homes, shops, workspace and leisure pursuits. Imagine it, no more commuting! We can double the number of homes on each estate, and still provide a network of green spaces.”
Joe is touching the end of his nose, anxious to make a point.
“I don’t know if you remember, but I’ve got direct experience of what it’s like to live on one of the estates.”
“Yes, of course, I remember. When you were at school, you lived on the Broadway estate.”
Joe nods. “Some good people still live on the estates.”
“I want to work with those people.”
“There are some rotten apples too. How will you stop them from spoiling your vision?”
“For a start, no more renting from the council. We’ll follow the Scandinavian model, we’ll subsidise mortgages; even the poorest residents will own shares in the cooperative that owns their block. If people own a stake in their environment, they’ll look after their homes and the spaces between the buildings. We’ll also have resident porters.”
“Oh, I met the porter from your Kensington block,” says Joe.
“An excellent man!”
Now David cuts to the chase.
“I’m interested in you having a role to play in delivering these redevelopment projects, Joe.”
Joe sits to attention.
David continues. “I’ve been very impressed with your articles and your work in London. Redeveloping the housing estates will give you an opportunity to apply what you’ve been writing about.”
Before Joe can answer, David is getting up from his s
eat. He is welcoming a smart, middle-aged man, immaculately dressed in a beige suit.
“Ah, Peter, I’m glad you could make it. Let me introduce you to Joe, this is the young man I was telling you about.”
“Hello. I’m Peter Caruthers, pleased to meet you. I’ve heard good things about you, Joe.”
Joe gets to his feet, shakes hands with Peter. David shouts over to Antonio.
“More wine!”
Now David turns to Peter. “I’ve told Joe about our plans for the housing estates and that he’s got a role to play.”
Joe’s heart beats faster again. David continues.
“Peter, explain to Joe how the new venture will work.”
Peter fixes his black eyes upon Joe, who is concentrating upon breathing.
“We’ll start with the Broadway estate,” says Peter.
Joe wonders if the others notice the jolt of his body at the mention of his grandad’s estate. Peter continues.
“I’ve just come from a meeting at the council to discuss it. We’ve been involved in painfully slow negotiations. At last, we’ve found a new site for the mobile phone masts that were stuck on a derelict tower block.”
Peter’s eyes narrow, cruel as a viper. They are fixed on Joe.
“Some twit gave the mobile phone operators a twenty-year lease to put their equipment on top of a building that was due for demolition.”
Joe makes a tutting sound, rolls his eyes. Peter continues again.
“It should be relatively easy to clear the estate now. The council’s got most of the people out. There’s just one owner-occupier left on it. There’s always one awkward sod that’s used their right-to-buy from the council. We’ll have to do a deal with him.”
Joe shifts uneasily in his chair.
What does deal with him mean?
Peter turns to David. Speaks in a hushed voice. “We’ll probably need to come up with the right package to convince him to move. He’s the only stumbling block now. I don’t want to do a compulsory purchase order for just one homeowner. The time delays and lawyers’ fees won’t stack up. It’s very annoying.”
“Offer him a new house somewhere else,” replies David.