The Village Fate

by William Hadley

  “My dear, what on earth happened?”

  “I don’t really know,” she said. “I was taking Pumpkin over these jumps,” Claudilia gestured towards the bales and poles. “When I saw Tony driving along next to me. I didn’t see the tractor coming the other way. I’d have given him some sort of warning if I had.”

  “I’m sure you would. And it’s not your fault,” said Angus. He reached forward and took both her hands in his. Claudilia was obviously in shock too and he wanted to divert her away from the activity on the road. He leaned in close to get her full attention. “Have you any idea why his car’s full of bees?”

  “Yes, I saw him earlier. He said he was going to move a hive up to your orchard. You must have known he was coming.”

  “Certainly not, Maggie hates bees and to tell the truth I’m a bit frightened of them myself. When he came over last week and asked if he could put a hive in the orchard, I said sorry but no.” Angus looked quite shocked and angry thought Claudilia. “He just said that it was okay, and he had another place he could put them.”

  “Well, he definitely said they were going to your orchard,” said Claudilia.

  “Could he have been going to one of the fields next to our trees,” queried Angus. “That land belongs to you, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, and he does, or did, move hives around the estate.” She answered. “But if they’re going somewhere new he always checked with me first. If he’d asked about putting them there, I’d have called to make sure it was okay.”

  “And I would have said, thanks but no.”

  “Come to think of it, he was a bit cagey when I saw him in the shop today. And he said he was moving them towards your place, not actually to your orchard and that he often used a trailer but was just using his car today. You might have noticed if he’d taken a trailer up the track with a hive on it. With just his car he’d be less conspicuous. He’d look like he was going shooting or something.”

  They stood in silent thought for a moment, Angus was still holding Claudilia’s hands. “Do you know what they’re doing to get him out of the car? Is it possible he’s still alive,” asked Angus.

  “I don’t know, it’s all a bit of a shock. The police asked me to stay by Hubert’s car. They want me to make a statement,” replied Claudilia. “Oh shit Angus, do you think they’ll blame me for his crash?”

  Angus squeezed her hands again, he’d not let go in all the time they’d been talking. “No. there’s no way you can be liable for what’s happened. From what you’ve said he was driving along and watching you instead of the road. If he’d been looking he’d have seen the tractor. It’s got a bloody great flashing light on the roof for God’s sake.” Angus looked into Claudilia’s eyes. “He wasn’t driving with due care and attention, he wasn’t looking at what he was doing, and if he did look, he looked too late. You’re not responsible.” Then Angus took Claudilia’s face in his hands and leaned in close …Oh God, he’s going to kiss me. He’s going to kiss me and I’m such a mess. I’ve got tears stripes on my face, snot running from my nose and I’m wearing the wrong knickers for being kissed.

  “Listen to me,” said Angus. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Okay Angus,” said Claudilia. “Thank you.”

  He let go of her face and sat back …Oh bollocks, he didn’t kiss me.

  “That young driver, Andrew, is going to the hospital to be checked over,” said Angus pointing towards the ambulance. “Then he needs to make a statement at the police station in Warwick. I’ll have my solicitor there to sit with him, but Claudilia, would you like him to sit with you too?”

  “No, thank you,” she replied. “I have my own solicitor, Matthew Ferrers, I’ll ask him to come with me.”

  “Okay if you’re sure, but in case you change your mind, my chap’s the best around.”

  Another siren and more flashing lights announced the arrival of a second ambulance, as well as a police four by four. While the paramedics were briefed by their colleagues the police began unloading the equipment which their passenger, another beekeeper, had brought with him. A pipe was laid out and a bucket sized container filled with woodchip and dried grass before being lit. Two firemen were helped to dress in protective gear, their wrists and ankles sealed tight with gaffer tape. Smoke hoods were fitted, and all possible holes sealed with more of the silver tape. Very hot, sweating and encumbered with breathing apparatus, the officers climbed around the Fiat and positioned themselves by the roof of the upturned car. The flexible pipe was attached to the top of the smoking bucket, a set of bellows forced smoke out of the end. Once the two man crew were satisfied the smoke would keep coming, the first member cut a hole in the roof with an electric ring-saw, then he clamped a gloved hand over the hole. His mate prepared to force the pipe, now continuously smoking, into the car. Fireman number one moved his hand, fireman number two forced the pipe through the hole. A third crew member, who’d been standing at a distance, passed across a ball of putty. The space between the pipe and the edge of the hole was sealed. The entire operation took less than twenty seconds, not a single bee escaped.

  The new beekeeper stepped forward and pumped the bellows. The car filled with smoke and the bees began to relax. It’s hard to tell if a bee is relaxed, but the noise within the car became quieter, and only a few were flying around the cabin. He declared it save to open the doors, but not before a full fifteen minutes had elapsed.

  Again the firemen in the protective clothing stepped forward. They open the door and removed Tony from his car. His face was hideously disfigured, stings could be seen covering every exposed area, All down his neck there were shocking lumps, as if wall-nuts had been forced under his skin. His eyeballs were swollen, they strained to escape their sockets, the lids had been forced open and then split, a multitude of stings inflamed the soft tissue of these organs. His lips were bloated, like ten simultaneous Botox injections, and his tongue belonged to a different species, a much bigger species. Tony now had two sausage hands with huge inflated clown fingers and his feet had swollen out of his shoes.

  The doctor who’d arrived with the second ambulance checked for signs of life, mercifully they found none, and he declared Tony dead at the scene. With a mixture of dignity and haste the fire crew sprayed water across his body to clear it of bees. They placed him in a heavy duty body bag, which was zipped to the top in case any live bees were inside his clothes. That bag went into another, which they zipped up tight and checked for any holes before they loaded it into the second ambulance.

  The firemen closed and sealed the car doors, they removed the smoking hose, and pumped gallons of water in through the hole in the roof. The solution, according to the senior officer on scene, was to drown the bees where they were.

  Sometime during the removal of Tony from his car the first ambulance had left with the tractor driver. The first few miles to Warwick were on country roads, just wide enough for two vehicles to pass. As there was no imminent threat to life, the ambulance driver went along at a steady pace without disturbing his passengers too much. Andrew was lying on a stretcher in the back. He was not uncomfortable but told the paramedic he felt a bit sick, clammy and shaken up.

  “That’s the shock mate,” said the crew member traveling in the back. “Don’t worry, it’ll pass.” At Warwick A&E Andrew went in through the ambulance entrance and straight to triage, he was assessed by a nurse and sent to a cubicle. There was not much they could do for him. He had his temperature taken and blood pressure checked. Both were fine and he didn’t seem to be dehydrated. After an hour and a cup of tea he was released and told to take two days off work. If at all concerned, he should call 111 for advice.

  Andrew walked. It was less than a mile from the hospital to the Northgate Street police station, he arrived at half past five. He told the sergeant at the front desk that he’d been asked to make a statement and he was shown into an interview room. Andrew had never been in a police interview room and was surprised how nice it was. There was no sign
of a two way mirror like he’d seen on television, but there were a couple of cameras high on the walls. The table wasn’t even screwed to the floor. The walls were bare, apart from a list of local solicitors, and a notice about what to do if you felt your human rights had been infringed. A traffic officer, who Andrew recognised from the crash site, came in with two cups of tea and a note book. He was followed by a well dressed man in his mid-forties, he introduced himself as Charles Wentworth-Smith, Mr Macintosh’s solicitor. The interview and statement took about an hour. In truth the solicitor was unnecessary, but Mr Macintosh had insisted, and as Mr Wentworth-Smith charged in units of a tenth of an hour he’d been happy to oblige.

  Andrew said he’d seen the lady on the horse riding along the side of the field and jumping the obstacles. He wasn’t aware of the car until he came around the left hand bend, the Panda was on the wrong side of the road. It was low under the hedge and hidden from view. “If he’d been on his side of the road, and looking where he was going, it would have been fine,” said Andrew. The traffic officer wrote it all down and asked for a signature. By seven o’clock the young man had been thanked for his assistance, he was relieved that the police would be taking no action against him, and he was on his way home. He was driven by the solicitor, who was still charging by the six minute block, and now he was adding a mileage charge as well.

  While Andrew was drinking tea at the hospital, and getting directions to the police station, Claudilia had been examined by the doctor at the accident site. A bit shocked but basically sound was his conclusion, she was allowed to leave with Pumpkin. She had insisted that she ride Pumpkin home, but had agreed to walk him along the roads rather than take their normal route back across the fields. As a precaution Hubert went ahead to warn any vehicles coming the other way, Angus crept along some hundred meters behind with his Porsche running on just electric. … these Germans are bloody clever, the dammed car was silent.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Helen was waiting for her aunt at the stables. Hubert had called ahead and asked Marie to send their daughter across to take care of Pumpkin, while he took his sister back to the cottage. Claudilia wanted to shower and change before she went to see the police.

  Helen was dying … bad choice of words, to find out what had happened, especially after their conversation the previous day. But her father wouldn’t leave his sister’s side, and anyway the girl could see her aunt was in no mood to talk. All she could do was thank Helen for being so helpful, and remind her to fill the hay rack. Helen assured her aunt that Pumpkin would spend the night in his stable, and yes she’d pop down later and give him an apple. She’d even read him a story if that’s what Claudilia wanted. “Now go along with Daddy, everything will be fine here.” she said.

  Brother and sister walked to the cottage, accompanied by Max and JR. Angus had parked on the verge and was talking on the phone, he hung up and opened the window as they came towards him.

  Claudilia stopped at the wall, or what was left, of it and looked down. “He did this you know,” she said. “Tony knocked my wall down.”

  “Are you sure?” Said Angus, climbing out of the car.

  Helen worked it out to start with. Something to do with a boy at school’s dad fixing a tractor whose steering was all wonky, and it had damage to a wheel. Then I overheard someone else talking about it.” …no point saying it was Angus’s wife, and she’d paid to have it done. “They were certain it was Tony. No shadow of a doubt. He did it a few weeks ago when he was delivering to the AD plant.”

  “In that case I’ll have it rebuilt tomorrow,” said Angus.

  “It’s not your fault Angus, I’m sure it was an accident,” said Claudilia. Not believing it for a moment but not wanting to go into detail. “But I would like it fixed.”

  “Consider it done,” said Angus who pulled out his phone. “I’m going to the plant now but if there’s anything else you need, anything at all, just call me, okay.” He climbed back into his car and it glided away.

  “He’s a very nice chap,” said Hubert, watching the car go around the village green.

  “Yes,” said Claudilia, almost back to her old self. “It’s a shame about that bitch of a wife though.”

  Before she would shower and change Claudilia insisted on feeding Max and Mr Crumble. As soon as he could hear the water running, Hubert pulled out his phone and started making calls. First he called the offices of the family solicitors, Sue, Grabbit, and Run. He wanted to talk to one of the partners, Matthew Ferrers, before Claudilia came down.

  Matthew was the managing partner, he didn’t feel he needed his name over the door or in the title, he was more interested in doing a good job and earning a fat fee, or even a very fat fee, if it could be arranged. Once Hubert had introduced himself he was connected with the office of his solicitor. Not yet to Matthew of course, but to his office where he would talk to Hermione, the solicitor’s personal assistant. Not his secretary, they had a room full of them, but his personal assistant.

  This had been explained to Hubert several years ago by the young lady herself, or slip of a girl as he thought of her then, when he had turned up at his solicitor’s unannounced and straight from the farm. Hermione was new, she’d taken over from Miss Jackson, who’d worked for Matthew since he joined the firm, and she always referred to herself as his gatekeeper. Hermione looked down her long nose, at his old wax jacket and cords. She judged him to be a legal-aid case, one the practice took on to keep the first year associates busy. Hermione had said that “Mr Ferrers was a very busy man, he was about to go into a meeting with one of their most valued clients. If there was anything the firm could do for him,” (but in her mind she doubted it), “he might be better served by one of the junior staff.”

  On that day Matthew’s door had been ajar. He could hear the conversation from the outer office and when he recognised Hubert’s voice he exploded from his room. He seized the bemused farmer by the hand, eager to stop him before he walked out of the building and took his valuable business to another firm.

  Matthew had steered Hubert into his private office. The solicitor explained that “Hermione was new to the firm, she was inexperienced but learning. She’d get them coffee, maybe she’d find a biscuit or two, and she would do it right now.” He looked at his almost ex-personal assistant, and explained to her that this gentleman was Hubert Belcher, the “most valued client” Matthew had been waiting for. Since that day the sight of Hubert Belcher, or even his voice on the phone, was enough to put Hermione in fear of an imminent bowel movement.

  In the cottage Hubert was aware of Hermione’s voice on the line, asking if he could hear her and if everything was all right. “Yes, yes,” he said. “Can you please put me through to Matthew, I need a quick word with him.”

  “I’ll put you through now.” The line went quiet for a moment, and then Matthew’s voice could be heard. “Hubert, how are you?”

  “Fine thank you” said Hubert, listening for the timer he knew his solicitor started whenever he picked up the phone …got to get those fees you know. “Claudilia’s had a bit of bother though. She was riding her horse along the side of a field by the road and a car ran into a tractor on the other side of the hedge. The poor chap died and now the police want her to make a statement. I can’t see how she’s involved but I want you to be there when she talks to the cops.”

  “That’s terrible Hubert, and more than a bit tricky too. I’m about to leave the office for a fortnight. Angie and I are off to Florida with the kids in the morning. We’ll be away for two weeks. When’s she going to be interviewed?”

  “Not sure yet, I’m about to call the police and arrange it. I hope we can do it in the morning rather than tonight, she’s had one hell of a shock. I think she needs a good meal and some sleep more than anything right now.”

  “Okay, set it up with the police and let Hermione know the details,” replied Matthew after a moment’s thought. “She’ll arrange for Georgina, my junior, to come along. I’m sure your sister
’ll be fine, but let’s just make sure she doesn’t say anything she might regret later. Georgina’s good, she’s got all the qualifications and stuff. She’s much better than some of the juniors I’ve seen. She’s much cheaper than me too.”

  “Okay Matthew, if you say this Georgina’s any good then we’re in her hands,” said Hubert. “She can sort it all out while you swan off on holiday. I’ll talk to Hermione and we can catch up when you come back, when we’ve done all the work that is.”

  “Thanks very much Hubert,” laughed Matthew, “and just to show how sorry I am that I can’t help in person, I’m not even going to bill you for taking this call.”

  The two men were saying goodbye as Claudilia came down the stairs. Her hair was still wet but she was in clean clothes and had a bit more colour in her face.

  “Matthew‘s off to Florida and can’t come to the police station. He’s sending someone in his place.”

  “When am I expected to go in? I don’t feel up to it right now.”

  “You should sit down and make a few notes while it’s still fresh in your mind,” said Hubert “not that I expect you’ll forget today in a hurry. I’ll call the police and see when they want you to go in. I’ll tell them you’re not feeling great and see if we can do it in the morning. After all, you weren’t involved in the accident. You were just riding in the field nearby.”