The Round Tower

by Catherine Cookson

  The name of Mr Angus Frederick Cotton had been on the books for over six months now. He wasn’t a frequent visitor, sometimes a fortnight would go by and he wouldn’t look in, but whenever he did visit the club he came dressed in his best.

  On the admission of Mr Angus Frederick Cotton to Ransome’s it had lost one distinguished member. Mr Jonathan Ratcliffe had met Mr Cotton in the lobby, and Mr Ratcliffe’s reactions had been apoplectic, and the town had something else to chuckle over.

  The town was very interested in the situation that existed between the house of Angus Cotton—still after five years at the corner of Ryder’s Row—and the house of Mr Jonathan Ratcliffe of Bower Place, Brampton Hill. It was said over both pints of beer and sherry before dinner that there was nothing against people getting on, but they shouldn’t forget themselves and play God Almighty. The definition over the sherry might be reduced merely to God, but it meant the same thing: Jonathan Ratcliffe had become too high-handed, too uppish for the forthright, outspoken, down-to-earth citizens of Fellburn.

  Now young Angus Cotton: there was a lad who had got on but who hadn’t forgotten himself. This was almost entirely the view of the beer drinkers. He knew where he was going right from the start did Cotton. Not only did he take on Jonathan Ratcliffe’s girl when she was going to have a bairn—and not by him mind, and that was the telling point, and it hadn’t come out till after. Oh aye, that was a great telling point, to take on somebody else’s bairn; it showed what a man was made of. Well, not only had he done that, but he had gone into business as a one-lorry man, and whether he had begged, borrowed or stolen the money, nobody knew, but in next to no time he had got two lorries, then four, then six, and seemingly overnight he had a fleet because you couldn’t walk yards in the town without seeing one of Cotton’s lorries. But he hadn’t forgotten himself, had Angus Cotton.

  At least, not yet, said the sherry drinkers. They were watching him very closely. He still lived in the same street as his mother, and although his wife was turned out in the best, as were his two bairns, Ryder’s Row wasn’t an address for a member of Ransome’s.

  Yes, both quarters of the town were very interested in the doings of Angus Cotton. And he knew it, and thrived on it.

  He left his hat and coat in the cloakroom, looked at himself in the mirror above the washbasin, rubbed his hands lightly over his discreetly oiled hair, opened his mouth wide and brought his fingers down tightly against each cheek to make sure there was no stubble, then straightened his tie and adjusted his coat and walked quietly out and into the hallway. Here he looked about him for a moment before saying to a passing waiter, ‘Mr Fowler about?’

  ‘Yes, sir; he went into the Brown Room just a minute ago.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  The Brown Room had an ornate high ceiling. Its walls were covered with faded red wallpaper on which were hung portraits of past distinguished members of the club. There were deep leather armchairs and down-cushioned settees. In an armchair in a far corner sat Andrew Fowler. And he raised his hand as Angus entered the room.

  ‘Hello, there.’ Angus took his seat opposite Fowler, then said, ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t make it yesterday; I had to go down to Lessington; they are taking it too easy in that quarter.’

  Andrew Fowler smiled, nodded, then said, ‘What are you having?’

  ‘Oh, a brandy.’ He would have preferred a beer, but beer wasn’t drunk in this room; he had learned that early.

  Andrew Fowler hailed a waiter who was bringing drinks to other occupants of the room. Having given his order, he settled back and said, still with a smile on his face, ‘Served you right if you had missed it.’

  ‘Missed what?’

  ‘Oh.’ Fowler jerked his head to the side. ‘Just something I thought you should know about.’

  ‘Well, let’s have it,’ said Angus. ‘You’re just bursting at the seams…Don’t tell me they’re going to pull the new Town Hall down in Newcastle and they want me to salvage it?’

  They both laughed a little; then Fowler said, ‘How would you like to live on Brampton Hill?’

  ‘What!’

  ‘You heard me. How would you like to live on Brampton Hill?’

  Angus’s face was straight, his eyes hard. ‘It all depends which part. Brampton Hill’s a long hill and there’s all kinds of houses on it. I don’t know whether I’d like to live there or not.’ He lay back in his chair and stretched his neck out of his collar. ‘It’s not the place it was; a lot of the big houses are in flats now.’ He surveyed Fowler. He was giving nothing away to him, not about Brampton Hill, he wasn’t. There were things about Fowler he couldn’t understand. Sometimes he thought he was playing him like a puppet. He didn’t like the idea.

  ‘The Larches is to be put up for sale.’

  Angus felt a wave of heat cover him. It was as if he’d had an injection straight into an artery. His head seemed to be swelling and he knew his face was a deep red. The Larches. Brett’s place. The house next to Jonathan Ratcliffe’s. There was a tightness in his jaws that was painful. He drew in a long, steady breath. Was this it? Was this what he had been waiting for? Striving for? He had promised her he’d put her back where she belonged, even on the hill, but he’d never dreamed of anything on the scale of The Larches. The Larches up for sale. And all that land. God, yes. He screwed his buttocks farther back against the soft leather of the chair. This was it. This was what he had been waiting for. He’d put her in The Larches.

  ‘What are they asking?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t rightly know; the bills aren’t out yet. And then most likely it’ll be put up for auction. But it’ll fetch money, big money, because of the land. Six acres, all with river frontage; that’ll bring money.’

  ‘Oh,’ Angus moved his head deprecatingly, ‘not as much as all that; it’s controlled, isn’t it? No building there.’

  ‘Not for a while. But they’re pulling off the controls everywhere. Anybody getting it could hang on for a few years and then they’d be in clover, no matter what they had to pay for it now.’

  ‘Have you any idea what it will go for?’

  Andrew Fowler pushed his head back into the chair and looked upwards for a moment before saying, ‘Well, the house needs a lot doing to it, both inside and out, I understand. I would say anything up to fifteen thousand. That’s playing up the supposition that you’ll never be able to do anything with the land, only as a garden. But if there’s a breeze of a whisper that it could be used for building land in a few years’ time when we have a change of Government,’ he pulled his nose at Angus, ‘the price will soar; it could go as far as thirty.’

  Angus gave a low whistle, then said, ‘Who’s got the business?’

  ‘Pearson.’

  ‘You know Pearson.’

  ‘Yes, I know Pearson.’

  ‘Could you do anything?’

  ‘I might.’

  Suddenly Angus tossed his head from one side to the other and gritted his teeth and muttered under his breath, ‘For God’s sake, don’t stall, Andrew. I hate this cat and mouse business. Could you?’

  Andrew Fowler’s expression took on a slightly cold look now and he said, ‘You get too agitated, Angus. That’s your trouble. Play it cool; it pays off in the long run. I’ve got something else to tell you. It isn’t only money you’ve got to worry about; Ratcliffe’s after it. He’s been at Pearson already; it could be sold privately before the sale.’

  Angus didn’t ask why Ratcliffe didn’t go next door to the Bretts and do a deal straight away; he guessed there had likely been no interchange between those two houses since the morning his mother had visited them both.

  ‘Do you know what he’s offering?’

  ‘Sixteen thousand. But here’s another thing. He’s not doing it himself, he’s working through a third party. Crafty, very crafty.’

  Angus took a drink from his glass, then bent towards Fowler saying, ‘I’ll go seventeen.’

  ‘Won’t that be rocking your boat?’

  �
��Aye, I suppose it will. But if it means twenty-seven and it almost sinks me, I mean to get that house…And another thing, tell Pearson I’ll see him all right.’

  ‘What would you suggest? It might be steep.’

  ‘Five hundred?’

  ‘Five hundred it is.’

  They both drew in deep breaths, and then Fowler said, ‘There’s another thing I’d like to talk over with you, Angus, while we’re on the subject.’

  ‘Aye, come on, let’s have it; I thought we weren’t finished.’

  ‘Well, you know me.’

  ‘Nobody better, Andrew.’ Angus’s lip was up at the corner.

  Fowler ignored the implication and went on: ‘As long as you buy the house and use it as a habitation, well and good, but should you sell the land for building…well, then I think there should be a little agreement on that.’

  Angus stared at his mentor for a moment before saying, ‘Fair enough, fair enough. Do you want it in writing?’

  ‘Yes, I think that would be wise, Angus.’

  ‘What per cent?’

  ‘Well, don’t let’s be greedy, say trade price.’ He smiled. ‘Thirty three and a third.’

  ‘Let’s drink to it.’

  Andrew Fowler raised his glass, and after they had drunk he got to his feet and added, ‘Now we can have our dinner in peace. By the way, how’s Vanessa and the children?’

  ‘Fine, grand.’

  ‘What’s she going to say when you tell her about this latest venture?’

  ‘I’m not going to tell her.’

  ‘What! You’re not…?’

  ‘No. At least until it’s all signed and sealed. How long will it take?’

  ‘Oh, don’t gallop, Angus; I’ve got to put the wheels in motion first. And then it can be a slow business: solicitors, Land Registry, one thing and another, they take time. Once we get going two months should see it all cleared up.’

  ‘Two months! As long as that?’ He bit on his lip and his step quickened unconsciously as he left the room, and he thought, ‘I’ll not sleep for two months, I’ll not know a minute’s peace until it’s mine, MINE…’

  And Angus’s sleep was fitful for the next eight days, during which time the price of The Larches rocketed from seventeen thousand to twenty-three thousand, but on the eighth day he wrote out a cheque for five per cent of twenty-three thousand pounds to be paid to James Pearson Esq., Estate Agents, being the deposit required to purchase The Larches from the joint owners, Colin, Paul and Michael Brett.

  Now Angus was bursting to tell Vanessa, but a wariness in him warned him to keep quiet until the whole thing was legally settled. He believed if he were to tell her now she’d put a spanner in the smooth-running works, she’d bring up the excuse it was too close to her people. But once the thing was settled and he’d saddled himself with a liability of twenty-three thousand pounds she couldn’t do much else but accept the house with a good grace, and oh, to see her ensconced next to the folks who had thrown her off as if she were a dirty clout. Parents or no parents, she was bound to feel one up on them, if only for his sake, because he had done as he said, and in a short time at that, and put her back where she belonged.

  And he had no doubt in his own mind where Vanessa belonged. She didn’t belong in Ryder’s Row, and if she lived to be a thousand she would never fit in there. She stuck out like a sore thumb; she was as great an embarrassment to those around her as he would be, God helping him, to Jonathan Ratcliffe.

  Although he constantly told himself he wanted the house for Vanessa he knew that, with even more intensity, he wanted that house for Angus Cotton. Oh, to come out of that drive in the morning in a Bentley. Aye, the next car he would get would be a Bentley. And which Bentley would make way for which when they met in the road? He couldn’t wait to find out. And another thing, he’d have his mother with him. Aye, that would be a feather in his cap, and in hers. She’d be going back to Brampton Hill, and not as a skivvy. No, she’d be going into the kitchen only to give her orders. He didn’t conjure up what part Vanessa was going to play in this arrangement, but told himself he’d employ a couple of maids and a gardener; he’d have The Larches the showplace of the town. And one more thing, his bairns, they were going to be educated…Private school for Andrew, and then public school. God, aye, he’d see to that. There’d be no Ryder’s Row for his family. He’d let Ratcliffe see how Angus Cotton did things. Angus Cotton, the contractor, who, but for being blamed for giving his daughter a bairn, might be still Angus Cotton the foreman. When he came to think of it he had something to thank God-Almighty Ratcliffe for after all, and he would thank him one day…Aye, but spitting in his eye. And the first spit would be when he moved into The Larches. Hurry up, hurry up, the days, the weeks; he couldn’t wait.

  Feeling as he did he had to tell somebody, so he told Emily.

  Emily had just finished soaking her feet in a tin dish before the fire and he sat on his hunkers on the edge of the mat and told her, and she was so thunderstruck by his news that she let him go on talking. The water got cold and her legs began to turn blue and shiny, and when he said, ‘Well, say something, say something. Don’t sit there looking like a stuffed duck with your feet in the water. Say something, woman,’ she closed her eyes, heaved a deep sigh, then, taking up a towel where it had been warming on the fender, she put it on the hearthrug and lifted her feet onto it before she turned and looked at him and said, ‘You’re bloody well stark, staring mad, lad.’

  There was a short silence before he brought his body upwards in a bound, saying, ‘Aw, for crying out loud, Mam! Have you heard what I’ve been saying to you? I’ve bought The Larches. Me, Angus Cotton, I’ve bought The Larches in Brampton Hill, and all you can bloody well say is that I’m mad. Do you know what this means? We’re all going to live on Brampton Hill.’

  ‘Who? Me?’ She dug her thumb into the hollow of her neck. ‘Oh, no, lad. Now, you can count me out of your scheme. Me live on Brampton Hill? Now get this into that great, big, swollen head of yours, the only time you’ll get me up Brampton Hill again is if they take the hearse up that way. But that’s not even likely as it’s the long way round to the cemetery.’

  ‘Well, we can’t go and live up there and leave you down here, woman.’

  ‘Look. Look.’ She stood up now and walked to the edge of the towel, which brought her close to him. ‘You’re not my keeper. You’re married, you’ve got a wife and family. You see to them an’ that’ll take you all your time, but what I do is my business. This is my home and until they pull it down I’m stayin’ here. And then I’ll go into whatever they provide. But I’m not livin’ with you and Van on Brampton Hill, or any other bloody hill. Now get that…And here’s somethin’ else I’ll give you to think about. You said you haven’t told her, you’re keepin’ it a secret; well, if I’m any judge, you’re in for one great bloody shock. And it wouldn’t surprise me if you haven’t got a twenty-three-thousand-pound white elephant on your hands. What you still don’t understand, lad, after five years is you’ve married somebody quite different to yoursel’.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Mam, don’t talk bloody tripe. I know what I married, nobody better.’

  ‘But you don’t, lad, you don’t. ’Cos if you think she’s goin’ to go on livin’ next door to her folks just like that, then you don’t. She’s a highly sensitive lass. Some folk call it breeding. Anyway, she’s different, an’ I can’t see her lettin’ you push her up there right onto their doorstep. She couldn’t stand it. You know,’ she stabbed her finger at him and smiled a tight smile, ‘I know why you’re doin’ this. I know why you’ve bought Brett’s place, an’ I don’t blame you. Oh, I don’t blame you. And I’d be laughin’ up me sleeve if you were takin’ anybody else up there but his daughter. In fact, if your wife wasn’t any connection of his I’d go up there on a Saturday night and have me knees up in the garden just to show him an’ all.’ Her voice dropped to a sad note as she ended, ‘But you did marry his daughter, and if I know anythin’ about your
Van she’s not going to like your little surprise, ’cos to say the least, it’s sort of tactless like.’

  ‘Tactless be buggered. Look, Mam, don’t give me the jitters. Twenty-three thousand I’ve spent. Do you realise, twenty-three thousand! I’m going up fast, but twenty-three thousand takes some finding. And that’s not all. With the sidelines I’ve had to keep going to get the damned place I’ll be lucky if I get away with twenty-five thousand when I’m finished.’

  Emily’s voice was still quiet, but had a touch of laughter in it now and her smile was smirky as she said, ‘It should be a nice experiment for you playing with thousands. Now who would have thought that the snotty-nosed, shock-headed, ugly mug, Angus Cotton, whose mam was the Ratcliffe’s daily for years, can now talk in thousands, twenty-five thousands, when up to a few years ago twenty-five shillings spare would have been a Godsend to him. It’s a credit to you, lad, and it’s your mother that’s saying it. Go on, lash out with your thousands, but don’t think,’ her voice rose sharply, ‘that you’re goin’ to push me around, or that you’re goin’ to make your wife do somethin’ that will be against every grain in her body.’ She thrust out her hand and thumped him on the shoulder, her voice barking now as she finished, ‘If you want my advice, you’ll spend the next few weeks preparing yourself for a disappointment, sort of building yourself up, if you get what I mean, ’cos your big head is goin’ to have a puncture.’

  ‘Aw, to hell with you!’

  As he stalked out of the kitchen she bawled after him, ‘An’ to hell with you. And if you see me there, don’t you open your mouth to me because I’m particular about the company I keep. I’ve no room for upstarts. You’re goin’ the same road as the man you’re fightin’.’