The Black Seraphim (7 page)

Amanda said, “Good idea. I’d love a hot drink. We got colder than we realised, sitting out there. It’s September, not June.”

They found Peter and Bill Williams drinking beer. Both seemed pleased to see Amanda and gave her the only comfortable chair while Peter made coffee for them.

“Instant coffee and powdered milk,” he said. “Not what you’re accustomed to, I expect.”

“I’m not a coffee snob myself,” said Amanda, “but a lot of people round here are. Last year, after the Friends of the Cathedral lunch, there were so many snide remarks about our coffee that we’ve bought a huge machine and this time we’re going to dish out the real stuff. It’ll cost us the earth.”

She was wearing a pair of jeans faded almost to white and a blue roll-necked sweater and fitted easily into the all-male company. “When we were in Ethiopia, we got our supplies up about once every two months. Daddy used to put all the coffee into one of his socks. When we wanted a drink, we used to boil up a saucepan of milk and dip the sock into it and give it a little squeeze. That way we made it last. I must admit it did taste a bit peculiar toward the end.”

“What sort of sock?” said Bill Williams.

“Actually, it was an old white cricket sock. Why?”

“If it had been a coloured sock, the coffee would have tasted even more peculiar.”

They drank for a few moments in silence. Bill said, “I’m told that Fletcher’s Piece is rearing its ugly head again.”

“Please instruct me,” said James. “Who is Fletcher and what is his Piece?”

Amanda said, “It’s the field on the other side of the river, opposite where we were sitting just now. Inhabited, at this moment, by cows.”

“But if the developers have their wicked way,” said Bill, “the cows will be evicted and it will be covered by an extension eastward of Wessex Instrumentation Limited, which is the building you can just see beyond the far hedge. They’ve been after it for years. It would suit them very well. Access to the road and all the services. Maybe a housing estate as well. The buzz is that the Planning Committee has already informally given them the green light.”

“What’s stopping them?”

“What’s stopping them is that the land belongs to the Cathedral. And they don’t somehow fancy having a factory overlooking the gardens of the Deanery and the West Canonry and the Theological College.”

“One sees their point,” said James. “Who’s behind it?”

“We know who’s in front of it. It’s Gerry Gloag.”

“That pseudo-military character we saw in the pub?”

“Maxwell Gloag and Partners, Surveyors and Estate Agents. The biggest in this city, and there aren’t many bigger in the county. They’ve gobbled up a lot of the smaller firms.”

“Including Henry Brookes,” said Amanda. “They picked him up two years ago. He then retired to what he fondly imagined would be the more peaceful occupation of being Chapter Clerk.”

“Was he an estate agent?” said Peter. “I never knew that.”

“Not a very good one, I should think. Too nice.”

“It’s no business for a gentleman,” agreed Bill. “Gerry Gloag would cut your throat and smile distantly while he was doing it. He was the man who fronted the supermarket deal, too.”

“And swindled Mrs Henn-Christie,” said James.

“So how did you know about
that
?” said Bill.

“They were talking about it at tea.”

“I suppose you
could
say they swindled her,” said Amanda. “In the sense that they made more money out of it than she did.”

“It was the south end of Station Road,” said Bill. “It wasn’t much of a site, because that road was the main way out of the town to the west and was normally jam-packed with traffic. There were a few old shops in it.”

“Five tatty little shops,” said Amanda. “With sleeping quarters over them, except no one could sleep in them because of the racket.”

“Four of them were empty. Gloag picked them up for peanuts. The only one they had any trouble with was old Mrs Piper. She and her family had run their little sweet shop for ages. They had to pay quite a bit to get
her
out, I believe. When they had the lot, Gloag bought the freehold from Mrs Henn-Christie and sold the whole thing to the supermarket chain.”

“So where does the swindle come in?” said James.

“The swindle was that Gloag knew and Mrs Henn-Christie didn’t know that the new bypass had already been approved. It siphoned all the westbound traffic out of Station Road, and that turned it into the best shopping site in town.”

James thought about it. He said, “If Gloag guessed that the bypass was coming, it wasn’t really a swindle. It was smart business. He outguessed the others.”

“He didn’t guess,” said Bill. “He had inside information. His closest friend is Leo Sandeman, and Leo is chairman of the Roads Committee of the Council.”

“That does look a bit dirty. Have you got any proof?”

“No real proof. But I’m certain of one thing: Gloag must have backers. He’d need a fair amount of cash to set up a ramp like that. And he wouldn’t be putting his own money into it. He’s only an agent.”

“And it’s the same crowd who are after Fletcher’s Piece?”

“That’s my guess. They’ll make a packet if they get it.”

“Over Father’s dead body they’ll get it,” said Amanda.

“Your dad enjoys a fight,” agreed Bill.

“I’m afraid he overdoes it sometimes. He had a punch-up with Superintendent Bracher this afternoon. I was eavesdropping from the dining room. Very wrong of me, I suppose.”

Everyone agreed that it was very wrong of her and urged her to tell them all about it. When she had done so, Peter said, “If Len Masters is a sneak thief, I’m a rotten judge of character.”

“Of course he isn’t,” said Bill.

“The choristers approve of him,” agreed Amanda, “and they’re good judges of character. They’d be very upset if they heard about it.”

“You’re behind the times,” said Peter. “They’ve not only heard about it. They know who the informer was.”

“How could they?”

“One of the maids was in the marketplace and saw the whole thing. She told the cook. The cook told the gardener’s boy, Charlie, and Charlie told Andrew Gould.”

“Beats the African tom-tom, doesn’t it?” said Bill. “Who
was
the sneak?”

“Rosa Pilcher. Who else?”

“Rosa,” explained Amanda for James’ benefit, “is a natural disaster. And, like a natural disaster, she can’t be avoided. She does for the Archdeacon and for us and has her finger in half a dozen other pies as well. We only put up with her because we can’t get anyone else.” She added, with satisfaction, “When I tell Daddy who it was started this Masters business, he’ll tear a strip off her.”

“If he’s too rough, she won’t help with the Friends’ lunch on Saturday.”

“I don’t care,” said Amanda. “It’s time someone told that nasty little toad where she gets off. Time I was going, too. Thanks for the coffee.”

“I’ll come with you,” said James. “I’ve got a lot more questions to ask. I realise now that when I was here before, I never really got outside the school. I’d no idea that so much was going on all round me.”

“Too much,” said Amanda as they walked toward the Deanery. She shivered. James looked at her curiously. His first diagnosis had been right. She
was
too thin.

“Who are the Friends? They sound like the Mafia.”

“Not quite as bad as that. Though they can be bloody-minded. They’re called the Friends of the Cathedral. Most cathedrals have them. They organise things and make money. Quite a lot of money. This Saturday’s the big day in their year. We give them a buffet lunch in the Deanery garden. Everyone turns up. It’s a terrible scramble. Then there’s a service in the Cathedral and a meeting in the Chapter House afterwards. That’s when the arguments start. How to spend their funds. The last thing they paid for was the new console for the organ.”

“That was a good thing to do.”

“If they always spent their money as sensibly as that, they’d be all right. But they don’t. Two years ago there was a stand-up fight between the ones who wanted to fit out the Chapter House with full stereo equipment and the ones who wanted a piece of sculpture made of iron girders put up in the West Precinct. Luckily, they cancelled each other out and saved their money for the organ.”

“It’s their money, I suppose, so they can do what they like with it.”

“Within reason. It’s got to be for the general good of the Cathedral.”

“Your father, I take it, would like them to hand it over to him. Then he could decide what
was
for the good of the Cathedral.”

Amanda laughed. She said, “You’ve got him summed up, James. He’s a natural despot. He’s spent most of his life in places where he
was
the only authority. If there were decisions to be made,
he
had to make them. Under God’s guidance, of course.”

“I’d like to hear about that properly, please. Do you like walking? I don’t mean a stroll round the town. I mean a proper walk.”

They had reached the Deanery gate. Amanda stopped with her hand on the top bar and looked at him. Then she said, “Not tomorrow. We’ve got committees all day. Thursday, perhaps. There’s a good walk over Helmet Down and back through Washbury and Bramerton. It’s about seven miles.”

“Done,” said James. “Goodnight.”

He watched Amanda as she strode away up the Deanery path. Nice hips. She’d make a good walker.

The moon, nearly full, had risen early that evening and was already going down behind the Cathedral, throwing a black squat shadow onto the precinct lawn. A small wind had got up and was rustling the leaves of the lime trees.

James felt disinclined for bed. He perched on the precinct wall, got out a cigarette and smoked it slowly.

When he looked up again, the shadow had moved. It was creeping toward him. He had an uncomfortable illusion that if he didn’t get away quickly, the Cathedral would fall on top of him.

“Be your age,” he said. “Go to bed.”

“Having examined the figures,” said the Archdeacon, “I have come to the conclusion that it would be cheaper to accept the offer put forward by parents to take the boys to matches in their own cars. We pay for their petrol.”

“Not only cheaper,” said Dora Brookes. “More comfortable for the boys. Last term two of them were always sick in the coach. It didn’t improve their cricket.”

“I imagine not. Then that is the last point on the accounts, Headmaster?”

“Nothing else that I know of,” said Lawrence Consett, trying to keep the relief out of his voice.

The committee was meeting in the school dining room, about which still hovered the faint smell of school breakfast. In addition to the Archdeacon and Dora Brookes, it consisted of Canon Lister, Anthony Openshaw and Dr McHarg, who looked after the health of the school and of many of the inhabitants of the Close as well.

“I am sure,” the Archdeacon continued with a smile which embraced them all, “that you find me tiresomely insistent on these small economies, but I think you’ll agree that in times like the present we have to look carefully at every penny before we spend it. I’d go further. It would be even better if we could not only save money, but actually make a small profit here and there. It’s a matter I have been giving thought to in the last few weeks.”

The headmaster looked at him suspiciously. What now?

“I have had what seemed to me to be an attractive offer. The Western Operatic Group is doing a season next month at Winchester, Salisbury and Bath. All within easy distance of us here at Melchester. As it happens, three of the works which they have in repertory feature boy singers.
The Queen of Spades, The Cunning Little Vixen
and
La Bohème.
The producer tells me that he could use up to eight of our boys in these parts. They would be responsible for any theatrical coaching, of course. And they would pay an honorarium of a hundred pounds for each performance.”

There was a moment of silence.

“How many performances?” said Dr McHarg.

“Four in each town. One matinee and three evening performances.”

“What
fun
it would be for them,” said Mrs Brookes. “I’m sure they’d love it. They do adore dressing up.”

“Twelve hundred pound,” said Dr McHarg. “Aye, that’s a tidy sum. It would almost defray the cost of the bathroom improvements.”

“I was thinking of earmarking it for that purpose. It seemed to me an offer we ought to accept. I agree with Mrs Brookes that the boys should enjoy it. But it was rather in my mind that it would broaden their musical education.” He looked round the committee. “Can I take it, then, that you agree?”

“You’ll have to take a vote on it,” said Canon Lister. “Because I’m against it.”

“Why, Tom?”

“The one thing the boys don’t need broadening or widening or extending in any direction is their musical education. They get plenty of that here. What needs looking after is their general education. They forfeit nearly two hours to music every morning and an hour every evening. As soon as their voices break, they’ll be going on to public schools and their parents will be thinking about scholarships. Some of them are not too well off.”

“No doubt their parents will bear in mind that the Cathedral contributes five hundred pounds a year toward their sons’ education here,” said Dr McHarg. “They might not grudge a small return for that.”

“Well, I’m for it,” said Dora Brookes.

“Anthony?”

“I’m with Canon Lister on this,” said Openshaw. “It’s a matter of trying to cram three half-pints into a pint pot. General education, music, sport. When there aren’t enough hours in the day for everything, something has got to go.”

“I see,” said the Archdeacon smoothly. “That makes us two all. I suppose I should have a casting vote, but I would be unhappy to use it in favour of my own project without rather more support from the committee. I think I shall hand my vote over to the headmaster.”

“Good idea,” said Canon Lister. “He’s the one who has to deal with the parents.”

Mr Consett looked far from happy at the idea of having to give the casting vote. He said, speaking slowly, as though the words were being forced out of him: “Canon Lister mentioned that some of our boys might be sitting scholarships. I’m afraid it isn’t as simple as that. To get into any public school a boy has to pass what’s called the Common Entrance exam. It used to be just that. A common qualifying exam. If the boy could pass it, he was eligible. It’s not like that now. With the competition for places at the leading schools, a boy has to pass high up to get in at all. The whole thing’s become competitive.”