Reginald Hill - An April Shroud

Clarity of purpose.

Out in the yard he lit a cigarette and walked slowly past the so-called Banqueting Hall. It felt derelict. A white elephant, a folly. Unless someone coughed up some cash. He thought of his own deposit account. Not insubstantial. He hardly gave it a thought till he wanted cash for something special. Like the set of crystal decanters and glasses he'd given Pascoe and Ellie. Looking after your own interests she'd mocked. But she'd been pleased. So she should have been too, it cost a bloody fortune even with the big discount his cash in hand and his bonny blue eyes got him. Still, there was plenty left. Last night as he lay on Bonnie's bed, he'd even thought about suggesting an investment, but had put it off. At that moment it might have looked a bit like tucking a fiver behind the clock. Besides there was still the business of the missing gear to resolve. Risking your money was one thing, chucking it away quite another. And after Bertie's revelation… no, she'd have to find another fool.

The sound of a vehicle approaching interrupted his thoughts. He reached the end of the hall, stepped out and was almost knocked down by a large truck which rattled past him into the cobbled yard. He turned to harangue the driver, and saw the legend on the opening door. Gibb and Fowler, Builders.

Little Mr Gibb jumped out and the men on the back began to disembark.

'Hang around, lads. Have a smoke till I see what's what,' commanded Gibb.

He looked around as if in search of somebody and showed his teeth in a gothic smile when he spotted Dalziel.

'Hello there,' he said. 'You were right then.'

'Was I?' said Dalziel. 'What about?'

'Me being back on the job sooner than I expected. You drop into my place before you go. There's a big bottle there for my friends.'

He winked knowingly. Dalziel looked at him bewildered. Could he actually have spoken his thoughts about putting money into the venture last night? And if he had, could Bonnie have taken him seriously after what happened?

He didn't believe it. Anyway, one thing was clear. Gibb wasn't going to start work just on a promise.

'Mr Gibb!' a voice called imperiously.

They turned. Standing in the doorway of the main house was Hereward Fielding.

'Would you step inside for a moment, please.'

'Right. See you around,' said Gibb happily to Dalziel.

So, thought Dalziel. Mystery solved. But a bigger one put in its place. What had produced this complete turnabout by the old man?

He approached the men sitting on the tail-board of the truck who looked at him incuriously.

'What do you think of it then?' he asked jerking his head at the Banqueting Hall.

'Think?' said a venerable grey head wearing overalls overlaid with paint to the consistency of armour. 'There'll be fancy prices, no doubt.'

The others grunted with the sagacity of men who knew better than to be caught by fancy prices.

'Sad about the accident,' said Dalziel.

Grey-head nodded agreement but another rounder, jollier man piped up, 'Silly bugger shouldn't have been up there. Not his job.'

'Whose job was it?' asked Dalziel.

This flummoxed them for a moment.

'Depends what he were doing,' said grey-head cautiously.

'Come and have a look,' invited Dalziel.

Ghoulish curiosity proved stronger than Gibb's command and they followed him into the Banqueting Hall, dropping their voices to the hushed murmurs of a stately-home-tours party.

'He was up a ladder, there,' said Dalziel. 'With a drill. They thought he was fixing a beam.'

'Nothing to fix,' said grey-head. 'We put that beam up ourselves, last thing we did before knocking off. That won't come down in a hurry.'

'So what could he have been fixing? Up there along the wall a bit. You can see where he was drilling.'

They peered into the shadowy arch of the high roof.

'Christ knows,' said grey-head. 'There's nothing there. I plastered right along this wall after they finished the wiring.'

Suddenly everything was illuminated.

Gibb stood by the door with his hand on the light panel.

'So here you are then,' he said. 'Right, lads, let's get the gear in. We're in business.'

The men streamed out of the hall with no signs of over-enthusiasm.

'So the old man's coughing up,' pried Dalziel.

'Don't let on you didn't know,' said Gibb. 'I'll have cash in my hand before the day's out. That's the deal.'

'And how long will it take you to finish the job?'

'Working hard at it? With lots of overtime, two or three days.'

'That's not bad.'

'No. Well, frankly, Mr Dalziel, with things the way they are, I'd prefer to take it easy, give the lads a week, ten days even. But the old man's a tough nut. He's made it quite clear that he's no party to the original agreement. If I go to law, there's no way I can get my hands on his cash. So he's calling the tune. And that says, three days at the outside. So we're dancing the quickstep. Excuse me.'

Dalziel followed him out, musing on what had been said, but especially on the flash of illumination which had come to him as Gibb switched on the lights.

Hereward Fielding was standing in the doorway of the main house once more. He beckoned imperiously.

'Come in, come in,' he said impatiently. 'I've a great deal to do and it won't get done hanging around here, waiting for you.'

'You're expecting me then,' said Dalziel.

'Of course. When I saw you out in the yard with that man, I knew you'd be here in a short time.'

'Well,' said Dalziel. 'That saves the bother of being subtle.'

'Really,' said Fielding. 'A pity. That I should have liked to observe. To business then. I've changed my mind. I've decided after all to invest my newly acquired wealth in the family business. A foolish decision, you may think, but freely made. Blood after all is thicker than water.'

'Your blood than lake water, mebbe,' grunted Dalziel. 'That's got shot of the crap. Now tell me what really changed your mind.'

Fielding shook his head in reluctant admiration.

‘If I could have written poetry of such simple directness,' he said, 'I would have been a set-book by now. No, Dalziel. That's all I have to say. Pry no further; or else.'

'Or else what?'' Or else I shall command my daughter-in-law to forbid you the house.'

His eyes twinkled and an ironic smile tugged at his thin lips.

'You see, I am a man of influence now.'

Dalziel was unimpressed.

'Think on,' he said. 'You might think it's bad having me here privately, but that's nowt to having me officially.'

'I believe it,' said Fielding. 'But come now, there's no cause for us to quarrel. In your younger, greener days you must have been trained to help old gents cross the street. Now you may drive me into Orburn if you would be so kind. I must visit my bank and make arrangements for the malodorous Gibb.'

'And buy a big hat,' added Dalziel.

'Perhaps not today,' laughed Fielding. 'But I shall certainly be laying in a stock of decent brandy. They can use this stuff for flaming Christmas puddings. We could do a little sampling at the Lady Hamilton after lunch. On me, of course.'

'I haven't got a car,' said Dalziel.

'We'll take the Rover. I have the keys.' He held them up as evidence.

'Five minutes then,' said Dalziel, turning away.

Fielding's manner interested him. His speech style was normally what Dalziel designated as 'clever poofy' but there was an element of strain behind it today which had nothing to do with intellectual affectation. Nor did he much care for the quick production of the Rover's keys. Fielding must have got them from Bonnie. And the house was full of young drivers. Indeed there was no apparent bar to the old man's driving himself.

Well, if they wanted him out of the way, he'd go. It suited him to go to Orburn anyway. But he'd go on his own terms.