Tom Sharpe - Blott on the Landscape

He was therefore not in the least surprised to find that Mr Joynson wanted to see him in his office at 9.15. Dundridge arrived at 9.25.

“I got held up in the tube,” he explained bitterly. “It’s really most irritating. I should have got here by 9.10 but the train didn’t arrive on time. It never does.”

“So I’ve noticed,” said Mr Joynson.

“It’s the irregularity of the stops that does it,” said Dundridge. “Sometimes it stops for half a minute and at other times for a minute and a half. Really, you know, I do think it’s time we gave serious consideration to a system of continuous flow underground transportation.”

“I don’t suppose it would make any difference,” said Mr Joynson wearily. “Why don’t you just catch an earlier train?”

“I’d be early.”

“It would make a change. Anyway I didn’t ask you here to discuss the deficiencies of the Underground system.” He paused and studied Mr Rees’ instructions. Quite apart from the incredible choice of Dundridge to handle a situation which demanded intelligence, flexibility and persuasiveness, there was an unusually garbled quality about the syntax that surprised him. Still, there was a lot to be said for getting Dundridge out of London for a while and he couldn’t be held personally responsible for his appointment.

“I have here,” he said finally, “details of your new job. Mr Rees wants you…”

“My new job?” said Dundridge. “But I’m with Leisure Activities.”

“And very appropriate too,” said Mr Joynson. “And now you are with Motorways Midlands. Next month I daresay we’ll be able to find you a niche in Parks and Gardens.”

“I must say I find all this moving around very disturbing. I don’t see how I can be expected to get anything constructive done when I’m being shifted from one Department to another all the time.”

“There is that to be said for it,” Mr Joynson agreed. “However, in this case there is nothing constructive for you to do. You will merely be required to exercise a moderating influence.”

“A moderating influence?” Dundridge perked up.

Mr Joynson nodded. “A moderating influence,” he said and consulted his instructions again. “You have been appointed the Minister’s troubleshooter in Worford.”

“What?” said Dundridge, now thoroughly alarmed. “But there’s just been a riot in Worford.”

Mr Joynson smiled. He was beginning to enjoy himself. “So there has,” he said. “Well, now your job is to see that there are no more riots in Worford. I’m told it is a charming little town.”

“It didn’t look very charming on the news last night,” said Dundridge.

“Oh well, we mustn’t go by appearances now, must we? Here is your letter of appointment. As you can see it gives you full powers to conduct negotiations -”

“But I thought Lord Leakham was heading the Enquiry,” said Dundridge.

“Well, yes he is. But I understand he’s a little indisposed just at the moment and in any case he appears to be under some misapprehension as to his role.”

“You mean he is in hospital, don’t you?” said Dundridge.

Mr Joynson ignored the question. He turned to a map on the wall behind him. “The issue you will have to consider is really quite simple,” he said. “The M101, as you can see here, has two possible routes. One through the Cleene Gorge here, the other through Ottertown. The Ottertown route is out of the question for a number of reasons. You will see to it that Leakham decides on the Cleene Gorge route.”

“Surely it’s up to him to decide,” said Dundridge.

Mr Joynson sighed. “My dear Dundridge, when you have been in public service as long as I have you will know that Enquiries, Royal Commissions and Boards of Arbitration are only set up to make recommendations that concur with decisions already taken by the experts. Your job is to see that Lord Leakham arrives at the correct decision.”

“What happens if he doesn’t?”

“God alone knows. I suppose in the present climate of opinion we’ll have to go ahead and build the bloody thing through Ottertown, and then there would be hell to pay. It is up to you to see it doesn’t. You have full powers to negotiate with the parties involved and I daresay Leakham will co-operate.”

“I don’t see how I can negotiate when I’ve got nothing to negotiate with,” Dundridge pointed out plaintively. “And in any case what does it mean by troubleshooter?”

“Presumably whatever you choose to make it,” said Mr Joynson.

Dundridge took the file on the M101 back to his office.

“I’m the minister’s troubleshooter in the Midlands division,” he told his secretary grandly and phoned the transport pool for a car. Then he read his letter of authority once again. It was quite clear that his abilities had been recognized in high places. Dundridge had power, and he was determined to use it.

At Handyman Hall Lady Maud congratulated herself on her skill in disrupting the Enquiry. Released from custody against her own better judgment at the express command of the Chief Constable, she returned to the Hall to be deluged by messages of support. General Burnett called to offer her his congratulations. Mrs Bullett-Finch phoned to see if there was anything she needed after the ordeal of her confinement, a term Lady Maud found almost as offensive as Colonel Chapman’s comment that she was full of spunk. Even Mrs Thomas wrote to thank her on behalf, as she modestly put it, of the common people. Lady Maud accepted these tributes abruptly. They were she felt quite unnecessary. She had only been doing her duty after all. As she put it to the reporter from the Observer , “Local interests can only be looked after by local authorities,” a sufficiently ambiguous expression to satisfy the correspondent while stating very precisely Lady Maud’s own view of her role in South Worfordshire.

“And do you intend to sue the police for unlawful arrest?” the reporter asked.

“Certainly not. I have the greatest respect for the police. They do a magnificent job. I hold Lord Leakham entirely responsible. I am taking legal counsel as to what action I should take against him.”

In the Worford Cottage Hospital Lord Leakham greeted the news that she was considering legal proceedings against him with a show of indifference. He had more immediate problems, the state of his digestive system for one thing, six stitches in his scalp for another, and besides he was suffering from concussion. In his lucid moments he prayed for death and in his delirium shouted obscenities.

But if Lord Leakham was too preoccupied with his own problems to think at all clearly about the disruption of the Enquiry, Sir Giles could think of little else.

“The whole situation is extremely awkward,” he told Hoskins when they conferred at the latter’s office the next morning. “That bloody woman has put the cat among the pigeons and no mistake. She’s turned the whole thing into an issue of national interest. I’ve been inundated with calls from conservationists from all over the country, all supporting our stand. It’s bloody infuriating. Why can’t they mind their own confounded business?”

Hoskins lit his pipe moodily. “That’s not all,” he said, “they’re sending some bigwig up from the Ministry to take charge of the negotiations.”

“That’s all we need, some damned bureaucrat to come poking his nose into our affairs.”

“Quite,” said Hoskins, “so from now on no more phone calls to me here. I can’t afford to be connected with you.”

“Do you think he’s going to choose the Ottertown route?”

Hoskins shrugged. “I’ve no idea. All I do know is that if I were in his shoes I’m damned if I’d recommend the Gorge.”