by D J O'Leary
‘Well, by way of introducing his impending end, Hubert announced out of the blue, this was back in November, that I am to inherit Stottenden Manor and all the land, which includes this cricket ground. Forget Harry Stoke and his batting, this news knocked me for six, I can tell you. I would have told you sooner, but at the time he swore me to secrecy. This was just between Elspeth, him and me.’
‘Good grief! Welcome to the club!’
Tolstoy smiled wryly. ‘I hardly think ownership, inherited ownership at that, entitles me to join you and your country landowners’ set. For a start I have no wish to belong to such a club, with the greatest respect to you; furthermore, I have no title to bring with me, and therefore could not qualify. I’d be black-balled unanimously. For which, many thanks.’
‘Well, be that as it may, you are still to be congratulated. There’s real history here at Stottenden Manor. And not just the cricket club either. I’m not exactly envious, but I have to admit, to take over ownership of a cricket ground and become the custodian of its club’s history is a signal honour.’ Tolstoy, feeling something akin to a lump growing in his throat, merely nodded, aware, at the same time, of a moistening of an eye or two, but, too manful to bring up a finger to aid with the dispersal of said moisture, he bore the indignity, if that is what it was, with stoicism.
Charlie continued, ‘And whether you want to belong to “the club” or not, you can still turn to me for advice on the pitfalls and pratfalls of land ownership at any time, once you take over, that is.’
All this time the two friends had been standing in front of the pavilion, and both became aware that they were pretty much the last people in the cricket field, apart from a group of women and a couple of young boys clearing things up, collecting litter and carting dirty crockery to the pavilion for washing.
‘I think you have something to celebrate,’ said Charlie. ‘And as it happens, so do I, an offer of a new job with a rival hedge fund. Lots more dosh. Lots more responsibility. I have accepted and start in two weeks’ time. So, with two such pieces of good news there is no finer place for celebration in this county than the old Snitcher’s Head. I think we should depart promptly for the bar and once there raise a glass or three of the Snitcher’s splendid Fuggles ale to our good news, notwithstanding the sad news about your godfather.’
‘What about your car? Did you park on the ground?’
‘No, I had a word with Nick Marten and he kindly allowed me to park in the pub car park. So let’s go and have a drink.’
Tolstoy grinned. ‘Let me buy the first round.’ Together they strolled across the outfield, enjoying their surroundings and admiring the charm of the cricket ground in the evening sunshine, while anticipating a pleasurable session in the old pub.
Four
Most of the spectators and players were outside the Snitcher’s Head – their cars lining the narrow road, a parade of pecuniary power – when Tolstoy and Charlie rolled up, at least that’s how it appeared to them. Tolstoy thought that at least the bar would be negotiable. How wrong could a chap be? There was barely room enough for one body, let alone two, inside. The public bar was heaving with thirsty bodies and bulging wallets. The clamour, laughter and hubbub was mind-numbing, thought Tolstoy as he eased and squeezed his way around and through groups of tightly-packed drinkers. It took a couple of minutes to reach the bar, which seemed to be under siege from a forest of waving arms, and on the way there Tolstoy inadvertently caught the eye of the dark-haired woman, Kate, what was her name? She gave him a dazzling smile, but that lost its lustre almost immediately when, over her shoulder, Tolstoy caught a glimpse of a mane of glossy chestnut hair, and he found himself thinking of sultry-voiced Henrietta Charles.Once at the bar an incredulous Tolstoy was served almost straightaway by the efficient Jo, who also gave him a dazzling smile. On returning to Charlie, who had sensibly hung back on the fringe of the human barrier, Tolstoy reminded his old friend that he had to pop into the back bar for a meeting of the campaign committee.
‘No problem. I want to have a quick word with Stoke, the gamekeeper. That was a brilliant innings, and he also took a wicket with his half-decent left arm medium pacers. He will be one hell of an asset to the village team over the next few seasons. And of course his place in next year’s Guns XI is already assured.’
‘Right oh, see you in a while,’ and Tolstoy edged his way towards the back bar. He slipped into the relative peace of the smaller room. There were already half a dozen or so people sitting around two tables that had been pulled together.
Tolstoy recognised a couple of them. Andrew Barcombe was naturally there and as chairman of the committee had unsurprisingly seated himself at the head of the tables. He had to be in his seventies, but Tolstoy knew he was as sharp as a tack, and, as an ex-SAS colonel, he had proved to be a formidable leader of Stottenden’s fight, well-versed in the logistical side of things as well as the management of committees. Then there was Kate – what was her name? – Harborne! Yes, that was it. And he had to admit to himself that he was beginning to find her presence rather welcome. She indicated an empty chair beside her, so he moved around to the far side of the tables and joined her.
‘Hello, I didn’t realise you were on the committee,’ said Tolstoy.
‘I wasn’t originally, but because I live in the village and I am passionate about everything to do with it, including preserving it and its traditions, it seemed like a good idea. It helps that I have typing and shorthand skills – I spent my gap year learning shorthand and typing before going up to Leeds University to study for a degree in History of Art. I then got a job with a specialist museum in North London, where I used to examine and look after documents and stuff like that. ‘Then a while back I decided on a complete change of tack and struck out on my own. I hated the commuting to London and wanted to be my own boss – I was persuaded to come on board the committee in April. This is only about my third meeting.’ She paused and blushed. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to pour out my CV like that. How rude of me.’ Tolstoy smiled and waved a dismissive hand as she continued, ‘How about you? What brings you onto the committee?’
‘Well I’m sort of on the committee, but co-opted rather than being a full member. Living in London and occasionally working Saturdays means I can’t always get down here for meetings, so rather than be an unreliable, non-attendee, everyone agreed that I just turn up when I can. And I only just learned of this meeting about fifteen minutes ago.’
‘I think that’s because the colonel has only just had some news himself.’
Tolstoy glanced around at the handful of other people in the room. Nick Marten, the landlord of the Snitcher’s Head, he recognised and James Appyltoft, a solicitor, he also knew, although only to say ‘Hello’ to when spotting him in the bar of the pub. The other two people, a man and a woman, Tolstoy did not know.
They were swiftly identified for him by the colonel, who called the meeting to order and followed it up with introductions. The woman, an elegant blonde of indeterminate age, was Angela Smeaton, a barrister. On her left, a man with short fair hair and a stern expression, was Angela’s husband Robert Smeaton, a solicitor in the City, and Kate then whispered in his ear that he was known by everyone as Bertie because of his love of the PG Wodehouse character Bertie Wooster. On Angela’s right was a bearded man closer to sixty than fifty. He was Piers St John Worth, who had been described by Hubert de Groot as something in the world of finance, but of more relevance was the fact that he was the amateur botanist who had tried to transplant a rare buttercup in the field. The Reverend Davis had apparently begged off to sort out the following day’s sermon.
The colonel called the meeting to order. ‘Good evening everyone, thank you for coming here at such short notice. I have received notification that our hearing to establish that the Buttercup Field has fulfilled the role of village green will take place in four weeks’ time, on Monday ninth and Tuesday tenth of next month, and it
will be held in the village hall. The hours are 10–4pm and it is not expected to run for longer than two days. Indeed, the letter stated that it would not run any longer than that. Now firstly, the letter stated that Jack Bentley has employed a barrister to put his case and we have been advised to do the same, so I wondered, Angela, if your busy schedule might even so allow you to fulfil that role for us? A number of us have agreed to underwrite your fee and your expenses, to try to compensate in part for any financial loss you might sustain during the hearing.’ His pause was as good as any question mark, with his raised eyebrows providing the curve.
Angela Smeaton took a moment, then peering over her half-moon spectacles pronounced, ‘I shall have to consult my diary, but I have a feeling I shall be free on at least one of those days, if not both. And we have an extremely able junior barrister in our set who could either stand in for me, or in fact take the case, and I can state here and now that the case will be on a pro bono basis, no fee. No money will change hands. If I am unable to make it, then I shall pay any and all expenses for the junior’s travel, accommodation and incidentals; there is no need for a pooling of resources to cover the costs. After all, this is my village too, and Stottenden’s problems are my problems as well as everyone else’s. This is an opportunity for me to show willing and actually do something concrete for the cause. So count me in, and I shall ensure that we prepare a comprehensive brief. Mr Bentley’s counsel is going to have a fight on his hands.’
Everyone else around the tables broke into a round of applause, before the colonel responded, ‘That is extremely generous of you, Angela. I am pretty sure, with your expertise and guidance we will be able to build a fairly convincing case. Now the other thing the letter from the office of Her Majesty’s Inspector pointed out was that if any of us wish to question any witness, then we have to register at the outset, giving our name and address etc.
‘I think this is most important, and we must make sure that everyone on the committee puts their name forward. We can probably work out a few questions that can be put as well.’ He glanced over at Angela Smeaton with a quizzical look.
She stepped in straightaway. ‘There will be no need to think of any questions beforehand, and since I, or my junior colleague, will be representing you, there should be no need for anyone else to put questions to the opposition; that will be my role. I shall of course be calling all of you and anyone else in the village as witnesses for our side of things, so if during the course of the hearing something occurs to you, or you think there has been a contradiction in an opposition witness’s statement on the stand, then you can let me know by passing me a note. Then, when I call you to the stand, we should be able to address all such points. Quite often, at hearings such as this, a witness will make a claim, perhaps slightly exaggerated, in an attempt to strengthen their case; then later witnesses have been known to state the opposite, or at least to knock down their previous statement, and it is at moments such as that that I shall endeavour to do my job and tear their claims to bits.’ She paused and smiled, revealing near-perfect teeth, before sitting back in her chair, leaving the floor to the colonel.
‘Well, thank you, Angela, that was very helpful and clear. I think as a committee we must contact everyone in the village and check with them to see if they would be prepared to be called as a witness, always assuming that they would have something relevant to say. There is no point people just volunteering to be a witness if they cannot add something telling to our case, something that might even sway the verdict of the inspector.’
Angela concurred. ‘That is a very sensible point, Andrew. Perhaps it would be an idea to set aside an evening when we, as the committee, can get together and interview potential witnesses, a sort of weeding-out process. There may be people who will be repeating what another witness has to say. What we need is ammunition, different points that reinforce our case. Making the same point to the inspector will not persuade him or move him one iota; rather, I fear, it will irritate him and might even count against us when he goes away to weigh up everything.’
The colonel looked happy. ‘Excellent idea. We need to find a date when the hall is free between now and the commencement of the hearing, and publicise it, tell family and friends, neighbours and nodding acquaintances that it is imperative they turn up on the evening we decide on and, even if they do not want to be a witness, they might still have something relevant to add to the case, some point that Angela might find useful in the course of the process. So I think, Kate, may we put you in charge of establishing and booking a date for this meeting in the village hall? On reflection I think it has to be in the coming week, so that we, and Angela especially, have time to collate information and prepare witnesses, etc. Can you sort that for us?’
Kate promised to get on with it, and agreed to email everyone once it had been fixed, at which point the colonel declared the meeting closed, and the bar open.
As Tolstoy stood to rejoin Charlie in the main bar the colonel looked up and asked, ‘Warren, could you give me a couple of minutes?’
‘Of course, Andrew,’ and Tolstoy resumed his seat, while the rest of the committee headed out into the crush.
With the back bar emptied the colonel began. ‘Firstly I was so sorry to hear of Hubert’s situation. While I know he is a hell of an age, he moves like a man thirty years younger. He has always been so active in and around the village and taken a keen interest in its goings-on, from the mundane to the more dramatic, such as the Buttercup Field. He has invariably provided some sort of practical contribution whenever he has been able to. I know he is your godfather, and that you and he are very close, so I wanted to let you know that you have my deepest sympathies for this very sad news.
‘But Hubert also told me that you are to take over the house and land, and most importantly, the cricket field, and I applaud him for that. I don’t think Stottenden Manor could have been placed in safer hands.’
Tolstoy found himself quite moved. The colonel was not one to wax emotional, so this was quite a statement from him. ‘Thank you, Andrew, those are extremely kind words. And I can assure you that when I eventually take over – and Elspeth will continue to live in Stottenden Manor, I shall remain a visitor, although perhaps a more regular one once the situation changes – I shall continue to run things as Hubert is doing. I see no reason for change. Although it did surprise me when I learned, despite what I had always assumed, that the Buttercup Field does not belong to the Manor, nor has it ever. And it would be wonderful were Hubert or Elspeth to unearth a document proving conclusively that it has always been part of the grounds. Never mind, that is probably just pie in the sky.’
The colonel pushed back his chair and got to his feet. Tolstoy followed. ‘Now one more thing, Warren. I think if you could make it to this witness meeting later this coming week it would be useful. I feel, given your situation, that you should be a witness, making a good case for access to the cricket field, for one thing. Would you be able to do that?’
‘I shall give it some thought, Andrew, but I can’t promise anything. I know that from Wednesday on I shall be in Manchester for a series of meetings with an important potential new client company, and we have to prepare for that meeting, but I will do my best. If Angela thinks I could contribute something to our side of things then I will be perfectly happy to appear as a witness, and on Monday I shall book those two days as holiday.’
The pair of them headed for the bar. Thankfully the crowd had thinned, many people spilling out onto the pavement or into the pub garden. Charlie Hornchurch was deep in conversation with Harry Stoke, and, not wanting to interrupt their flow, Tolstoy decided on a top-up of his pint and offered the colonel a drink as well.
‘Dry white wine would be perfect,’ came the response. As ever Jo served him pretty much the second he reached the bar.
‘Fuggles?’ she asked.
‘Oh, yes please, Jo, and a dry white wine for the colonel, a large one.’ He
paused, then added, ‘And one for yourself?’
With a charming blush Jo said, ‘Oh Warren, that is very kind of you. I’ll have a small white wine, although I’ll save it for later, we aren’t allowed to drink while on duty.’
Tolstoy could not help but notice how attractive Jo was. He did enjoy the smile she gave him every time he spoke to her. Physically she appeared to have all the attributes and maybe more. She was fairly tall, and on this occasion was wearing a pair of shorts, very short shorts which amplified the length of her legs, especially, as now, when she was bending over to reach inside the fridge for the bottle of house dry white. He was jolted out of his observations by a question. ‘Are you buying? If so, mine’s a dry white wine.’
It was Kate Thingummy, who had materialised at his left elbow. Her lack of inches had allowed her to slip up close, under his radar, and his elbow, without him noticing. He half-turned to acknowledge the question, then smiled. ‘Oh, OK.’ Back to Jo, ‘Could you make that another dry white… um, another large one.’
‘Sure,’ Jo smiled, looking past him at Kate. ‘Hello Kate, is this one for you?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Ice with it?’
‘No, not this time,’ said a clearly embarrassed Kate.
‘Do you put ice in your wine?’
‘Just occasionally. I like my white wine really cold on hot days like today, and as it melts it makes the wine go further, diluting it, so I don’t get too drunk, too quickly.’ It seemed to Tolstoy that a certain frostiness had entered her voice. With a view to finding slightly warmer climes he picked up the colonel’s wine, spotted him over by the back bar and took the glass over to him, before returning to pay for the drinks.
He established from Jo how much he owed then handed over the cash. Jo gave him another of her generous smiles and said if he was still around when her shift ended she would raise her glass to him. Kate was still standing on his left, not quite leaning on the bar, possibly because she was fairly short, although fairly trim as well. On seeing that Charlie was still chatting to Harry Stoke, Tolstoy steered Kate over to a table near the entrance and pulled out a chair for her.