Reginald Hill - The Price of Butcher

The quality of light ahead was now giving promise of the sea. Against the intense blue sky I could see the rather sinister silhouette of a large house-more than a house-a mansion-with enough towers amp; turrets to give the impression it had had youthful ambitions to grow into a castle!

— Denham Park-said Tom.

— where Lady Denham lives? — I guessed.

— oh no. She lives at Sandytown Hall-he replied-which her first husband-Hollis-acquired-along with the Lordship of the Sandytown Hundreds-an ancient traditional rank-acquired by purchase-unlike her subsequent title-

It sounded to me like shed got that by purchase too- amp; I think I detected a little twitch from Mary. Us psychologists are v sensitive to twitches!

— the Denham property-Tom went on- amp; the baronetcy of course-went to her nephew-in-law-Edward-

Here our conversation was interrupted-wed been driving with the sunroof open-to get the full benefit of the invigorating Sandytown air I presume- amp; suddenly-in an instant-the car filled with the most disgusting smell imaginable.

Pig shit! — on a huge scale-it made our slurry lagoon seem like a rose bowl!

Mary hit the button to close the sunroof-apologizing profusely.

— the Hollis pig farm-she said-except calling it a farm is an insult to real farmers!-

— now now my dear-said Tom mildly-its a natural smell- amp; nothing natural is harmful to man-

— nothing natural about the way they keep those poor animals-said Mary.

— intensive farming is the price we pay for not wanting to pay the price we would have to pay without it-said Tom- amp; its very rare that the wind is in a quarter which wafts the aroma into Sandytown-

— indeed no! — said Mary-which is why Daphne Brereton spent most of her time at her first husbands house-even after shed married her second!-

Yes-I know-mysterious! — but all will be explained later. Meanwhile we drove for a mile or more alongside a high wired fence through which I could see rows amp; rows of concrete buildings with all the charm of a concentration camp. Finally we reached the main entrance to the site-with a huge double gate- amp; a sign reading HOLLIS’S HAM-THE TASTE OF YORKSHIRE -except that someone had been at work with a spray can- amp; it now read- THE TASTE OF DEATH.

There was a man up a ladder with a bucket amp; scrubbing brush. He paused in his work as we passed amp; gave a wave. Tom wound down the window amp; called-Morning Ollie! More trouble, eh? — but Mary didnt slow down enough to give the man time to reply- amp; Tom closed the window again but not before wed got another near fatal dose of the porky pong!

A few minutes later Mary signaled to turn seaward as we approached a sign saying SANDYTOWN VIA NORTH CLIFF.

Tom said-my dear-why dont you take us round by South Cliff- amp; through the town-so Charlotte can give us her reactions-first impressions are so important-

Obediently Mary switched off the signal amp; drove on.

I didnt correct Tom about first impressions. Diplomatically I hadnt mentioned the famous excursion. Now I began to see for myself what Tom-of course-had already told me-that Sandytown-originally just a fishing village-is situated in a broad bay between two lofty headlands-North Cliff amp; South Cliff.

A loop of road runs down from North Cliff-through the village-then up to the coastal road again-via South Cliff.

Got that? — or do you need a diagram!-

As we approached the South Cliff turnoff-I could see the headland here was dominated by a complex of buildings. One of them looked like an old mansion house-green with ivy-with a long extension-in keeping but definitely recent. A couple of hundred yards away was a modern two storied building-the stonework brilliant white-broad reflective glass windows catching the drift of small white clouds across the bright blue sky. Alongside that-a long single storied building-in the same style.

We turned off the coast road-but before we began the descent proper-at Toms request Mary pulled in by a gilded entrance gate-set in a dense thorn boundary hedge-bit like the entrance to heaven in that Pilgrims Progress you got for a Sunday School prize-remember? — we used to tear pages out to roll our ciggies!

A large elegantly designed signboard was inscribed WELCOME TO THE AVALON FOUNDATION . There was a small gatehouse from which a man emerged-his face breaking into a smile when he recognized the car.

— Morning Mrs Parker-Mr Parker-he called.

— Morning Stan-replied Parker-How are things? Family well?-

— Yes thank you-all middling well. Yourself?-

— in the pink Stan-said Parker-which was either a bit of an exaggeration-or Mr Godleys healing hands really had done the business.

As they talked-I studied a site diagram beneath the welcome sign. It indicated that the main two storied modern block was the Avalon Clinic-the long single story was the Avalon Nursing Home- amp; the old house was the Avalon Convalescent Home.

A phone attached to the gate mans belt bleeped. He excused himself amp; turned away to answer it.

I said to Tom-how do the locals like having the clinic on thier doorstep?-

— some initial unease-lots of loose talk about lunatics amp; lepers-Tom replied-country folk are ready to believe the worst of strangers-but they also have an innate trust in authority. Round here that means Lady D amp;-to a lesser extent-myself. Once we showed the way-they followed- amp; suspicion has long been replaced by pride-

— the jobs amp; the extra income helped-observed Mary dryly.

The gate man was saying into his phone-no definitely not-nobody in the last hour-yes-Ill keep an eye out-dont imagine hell go far dressed like that!-

He switched off-turned back to the car amp; said-sorry Mr Parker-one of our convies has gone walkabout-elderly gent-might be a bit confused-Id best bring his photo up on the computer. See you soon I hope-

— you too Stan-said Parker.

Mary set the car forward. Ahead the road began its descent to the village.

— Convies? — I said-thinking convicts!

— what? — Oh thats what the staff call those staying at the convalescent home. Patients at the clinic are clinnies - amp; residents of the nursing home are rezzies. What they call the staff I dont know- Mary-take care! -

Mary Parker-as I have said-drove very carefully- amp; shed stayed in low gear for the descent-so we werent doing much more than twenty miles an hour when she slammed the brakes on.

All the same-the sudden stop threw me forward- amp; I was glad for once Id obeyed the law amp; fastened my rear seat belt.

As they say-it all happened so quickly-but I still had time to glimpse a man rolling down the embankment rising steeply on the left to the clinics boundary hedge.

Then he bounced into the road amp; vanished under our wheels.

Everything stood still. The car-time-our hearts. We were all convinced wed run him over. But surely there would have been a bump? — I told myself.

Then there was one. Or at least the car shuddered.

For a moment this felt like a delayed confirmation of our worst fears.

But that didnt make sense. You cant run over someone after youve stopped!

Even as I reached this logical conclusion-a broad-domed almost bald head began to rise like a full moon over the horizon of the bonnet- amp; I realized that the shudder had been caused by the man gripping the front of the car to pull himself up.

He leaned on the bonnet. Heavily. There was enough of him to suggest that-if there had been a bump-it would have been a big one!

He stared at us unblinkingly-out of the kind of face movie animators dream up for ogres.

His mouth twisted in a snarl- amp; he spoke.