Blott On The Landscape (19 page)

“I found this,” he announced.

“Oh dear, how frightfully embarrassing,” said Mrs Forthby.

“Not half as embarrassing, my dear, as it will be when we produce that in court as an exhibit. Now then, the details.”

Mrs Forthby got up. “It’s all written down,” she said. “He writes it all down for me. You see I’m terribly forgetful and I do tend to get things wrong. I’ll get you the game plan.” She went through to the bedroom and returned with a notebook. “It’s all there.”

Lady Maud took the book and studied a page. “And what were you last night?” she asked finally. “Miss Catheter, the Wicked Nurse, or Sister Florinda, the Nymphomaniac Nun?”

Mrs Forthby blushed? “Doris, the Schoolgirl Sexpot,” she tittered.

Lady Maud looked at her doubtfully. “My husband must have a truly remarkable imagination,” she said, “but I find his literary style rather limited. And what are you going to be tonight?”

“Oh he doesn’t come tonight. He’s had to go to Plymouth for a business conference. He’s coming again the day after tomorrow. That’s Nanny Whip’s night.”

Lady Maud put the book down. “Now then, this is the arrangement,” she said. “In return for your co-operation I will settle for a divorce on the grounds of incompatibility. There will be no mention of you at all and Sir Giles need know nothing about the help you have given me. All I want you to do is to go out for a little while on Thursday night so that I can have a little chat with him.”

Mrs Forthby hesitated. “He’ll be awfully cross,” she said.

“With me,” Lady Maud assured her. “I don’t think he’ll worry about you by the time I’ve had my say. He’ll have other things on his mind.”

“You won’t do anything nasty to him, will you?” said Mrs Forthby. “I wouldn’t want him to be hurt or anything. I know he’s not very nice but I’m really quite fond of him.”

“I won’t touch him,” Lady Maud said. “I give you my word of honour I won’t so much as lift a little finger to him. And let me say I think your feelings do you great credit.”

Mrs Forthby began to weep. “You’re very kind,” she said.

Lady Maud stood up. “Not at all,” she said truthfully. “And now if you’ll be so good as to give me the key of the flat I’ll send Blott to get a duplicate cut.”

By the time they left the flat Mrs Forthby was feeling better. “It’s been so nice meeting you and getting things straightened out,” she said. “It’s taken a great weight off my mind. I do hate deception so.”

“Quite,” said Lady Maud. “Unfortunately men seem to live in a fantasy world and as the weaker sex we have to follow suit.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself,” Mrs Forthby said. “Felicia, I say, you may find it peculiar but if it makes him happy you can’t afford to be choosey.”

“My sentiments exactly,” said Lady Maud. She and Blott went downstairs. They took a taxi across London to Sir Giles’ flat in Victoria. On the way Lady Maud coached Blott in his new role.

In Worford Dundridge asserted himself. Now that he came to think about it, he could see that he had been wise to visit Mr Ganglion. The old man’s reaction might have been violent but at least it had been genuine and served to indicate that the solicitor was far too respectable to be a party to a blackmail attempt by one of his clients no matter how influential she might be. And Mr Ganglion could do one of two things: he could let Lady Maud know that Dundridge had visited him and had accused her of blackmail, or, more likely, since it was unprofessional to disclose one client’s business to another, he could keep silent. In either case Dundridge was in a fairly strong position. If Ganglion spoke to Lady Maud she would not dare to repeat her threat. If he kept silent … Dundridge considered the most likely consequence. There would be another message from her. Dundridge got up and went out and bought himself a tape recorder. The next time he visited Mr Ganglion he would take evidence, solid evidence that Lady Maud was involved. That was the thing to do.

Having arrived at that conclusion he felt better. He had spiked the bitch’s guns. Operation Overland could proceed. He went round to the Regional Planning Board and sent for Hoskins.

“We are going ahead,” he told him.

“Of course we are,” said Hoskins. “Work has already started at Bunnington.”

“Never mind that,” said Dundridge, “I want a task force to begin work in the Gorge.”

Hoskins consulted his schedule. “We’re not due there until October.”

“I know that but all the same I want work to begin there at once. Just a token force, you understand.”

“At Handyman Hall? A token force?”

“Not at the Hall. In the Gorge itself,” said Dundridge.

“But we haven’t even served a compulsory purchase order on the Lynchwoods yet,” Hoskins protested.

“In that case it is about time we did. I want orders out to Miss Percival, General Burnett, and the Lynchwoods at once. We’ve got to bring pressure to bear on them as quickly as possible. Do you understand?”

“Well I understand that,” said Hoskins who was beginning to resent Dundridge’s authoritarian manner, “but quite frankly I can’t see what all the hurry is about.”

“You wouldn’t,” said Dundridge, “but I’m telling you to do it so get it done. In any case we don’t need a compulsory purchase order for the entrance to the Gorge. It’s common land. Move men in there tomorrow.”

“And what the hell do you expect them to do? Storm the bloody Hall under cover of darkness?”

“Hoskins,” said Dundridge, “I’m getting a little tired of your sarcasm. You seem to forget that I am Controller Motorways Midlands and what I say goes.”

“Oh all right,” said Hoskins. “Just remember that if anything goes wrong you’ll have to take the can back. What do you want the task force to do?”

Dundridge looked at the plans for construction. “It says here that the cliffs have to be cleared and the Gorge widened. They can start work on that.”

“That means dynamiting,” Hoskins pointed out.

“Excellent,” said Dundridge, “that ought to serve notice on the old bag that we mean business.”

“It will do that all right,” said Hoskins. “She’ll probably be round here like a flash.”

“And I shall be only too glad to see her,” Dundridge said. Hoskins went back to his office puzzled. The more he saw of the Controller Motorways Midlands the odder he found him.

“I never thought he would stand up to Lady Maud like this,” he muttered. “Well, better him than me.”

In his office Dundridge smiled to himself. Dynamite. That was just the thing to bring Lady Maud rushing into the trap he had set. He took the tape recorder out of his briefcase and tested it. The thing worked perfectly.

In Sir Giles’ flat in Victoria, Lady Maud and Blott sat down by the desk. In front of her were the details of Sir Giles’ shareholdings. In front of Blott the telephone and the script of his part.

“Ready?” said Lady Maud.

“Ready,” said Blott and dialled.

“Schaeffer, Blodger and Vaizey,” said the girl at the stockbrokers.

“Mr Blodger please,” said Blott.

“Sir Giles Lynchwood on the line for you, Mr Blodger,” he heard the girl say.

“Ah Lynchwood,” said Blodger, “good morning.”

“Good morning Blodger,” said Blott. “Now then, I want to sell the following at best. Four thousand President Rand. One thousand five hundred
ICM
. Ten thousand Rio Pinto. All my Zinc and Copper …”

At the other end of the line there was a choking sound. Mr Blodger was evidently having some difficulty coming to terms with Sir Giles’ orders, “I say, Lynchwood,” he muttered, “are you all right?”

“All right? What the devil do you mean? Of course I’m all right,” snarled Blott.

“It’s just that … well … I mean the market’s rock bottom just at the moment. Wouldn’t it be better to wait …”

“Listen Blodger,” said Blott, “I know what I’m doing and when I say sell I mean sell. And if you’ll take my advice you’ll get out now too.”

“You really think …” Mr Blodger began.

“Think?” said Blott. “I know. Now then see what you can get and call me back. I’ll be here at the flat for the next twenty minutes.”

“Well if you say so,” said Mr Blodger.

Blott put the phone down.

“Brilliant, Blott, absolutely brilliant. For a moment even I thought it was Giles talking,” said Lady Maud. “Well that should put the cat among the pigeons. Or the bulls among the bears. Now, when he calls back give him the second list.”

At the offices of Schaeffer, Blodger and Vaizey there was consternation. Blodger consulted Schaeffer and together they sent for Vaizey.

“Either he’s gone out of his mind or he knows something,” shouted Blodger, “he’s dropping eighty thousand on the President Rand.”

“What about Rio Pinto?” Schaeffer yelled. “He bought in at twenty-five and he’s selling at ten.”

“He’s usually right,” said Vaizey. “In all the years we’ve handled his account he hasn’t put a foot wrong.”

“A foot! He’s putting his whole damned body wrong if you ask me.”

“Unless he knows something,” said Vaizey.

They looked at one another. “He must know something,” said Schaeffer.

“Do you want to speak to him?” asked Blodger.

Schaeffer shook his head. “My nerves couldn’t stand it,” he muttered.

Blodger picked up the phone. “Get me Sir Giles Lynchwood,” he told the girl on the switchboard. “No, come to think of it, don’t. I’ll use the outside line.” He dialled Sir Giles’ number.

Ten minutes later he staggered through to Schaeffer’s office whitefaced.

“He wants out,” he said and slumped into a chair.

“Out?”

“Everything. The whole damned lot. And today. He knows something all right.”

“Well,” said Lady Maud, “that’s taken care of that. We had better spend another hour or two here in case they phone back. It’s a great pity we can’t do the same thing with some of his property. Still, there’s no point in overdoing things.”

At two o’clock Blodger phoned again to say that Sir Giles’ instructions had been carried out.

“Good,” said Blott. “Send the transfers round tomorrow. I’m going to Paris overnight. And by the way, I want the money transferred to my current account at Westlands in Worford.”

Sir Giles returned from Plymouth the following afternoon by car. He was in a good humour. The conference had gone well and he was looking forward to an evening with Nanny Whip. He went to his flat, had a bath, dined in a restaurant and drove round to Elm Road to find Mrs Forthby already dressed for the part.

“Now then you naughty boy,” she said with just that touch of benign menace he found most affecting, “off with your clothes.”

“No, no,” said Sir Giles.

“Yes, yes,” said Nanny Whip.

“No, no.”

“Yes, yes.”

Sir Giles succumbed to the allure of her apron. It smelt of childhood. Nanny Whip’s breath, on the other hand, suggested something more mature but Sir Giles was too intoxicated with her insistence that he behave himself while she fixed his nappy that he took no notice. It was only when he was finally strapped down and was having his bonnet adjusted that he caught a full whiff. It was brandy.

“You’ve been drinking,” he spluttered.

“Yes, yes,” said Mrs Forthby and stuffed a dummy into his mouth. Sir Giles stared up at her incredulously. Mrs Forthby never drank. The bloody woman was a teetotaller. It was one of the things he liked about her. She didn’t cost much to entertain. She might be absent-minded but she was … My God, if she was absent-minded sober what the hell was she going to be like drunk? Sir Giles writhed on the bed and realized that he was tied down rather more firmly than he had expected. Nanny Whip had excelled herself. He could hardly move.

“I’m just going to pop downstairs for some fish fingers,” she said, “I won’t be a moment.”

Sir Giles stared lividly at her while she took off her cap and put on a coat over her costume. What in God’s name did the bloody woman want with fish fingers at this time of night? A moment? Sir Giles knew her moments. He was liable to be left strapped up in baby clothes and with a dummy in his mouth until the small hours while she went to some fucking concert. Sir Giles gnawed frantically at the dummy but the damned thing was tied on too tightly.

“Now you be a good boy while I’m away,” said Nanny Whip, “and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Ta, ta.”

She went out and shut the door. Sir Giles subsided. There was no point in worrying now. He might as well enjoy his impotence while he could. There would probably be plenty of time later on for genuine concern. With the necessarily silent prayer that she hadn’t been given tickets for the Ring Cycle he settled down to be Naughty Boy and he was just beginning to get into the role when the front doorbell rang. Sir Giles assumed an even greater rigidity. A moment later he was petrified.

“Is anyone at home?” a voice called. Sir Giles knew that voice. It was the voice of hell itself. It was Lady Maud.

“Oh well, the key’s in the door,” he heard her say, “so we might as well go in and wait.”

On the bed Sir Giles had palpitations. The thought of being discovered in this ghastly position by Lady Maud was bad enough but the fact that she had somebody with her was utterly appalling. He could hear them moving about the next room. If only they would stay there. And what the hell was Lady Maud doing there anyway? How on earth had she discovered about Mrs Forthby? And just at that moment the door opened and Lady Maud stood framed in it.

“Ah there you are,” she said cheerfully, “I had an idea we’d find you here. How very convenient.”

From under his frilled bonnet Sir Giles peered up at her venomously, his face the colour of the sheet on which he was lying and his legs jerking convulsively in the air. Convenient! Convenient! The fucking woman was out of her mind. The next moment he was certain of it.

“You can come in, Blott,” she said, “Giles won’t mind.” Blott came into the room. He was carrying a camera and a flash gun.

“And now,” said Lady Maud, “we’re going to have a little chat.”

“What about the pictures?” said Blott. “Shouldn’t we take them first?”

“Do you think he would prefer the pictures first?” she asked. Blott nodded his head vigorously while Sir Giles shook his. For the next five minutes Blott went round the room taking photographs from every conceivable angle. Then he changed the film and took some close-ups. “That will do for now,” he announced finally. “We should have enough.”