Tom Sharpe - Blott on the Landscape

“As a matter of fact I’m against the Gorge route,” Dundridge said when he got the opportunity. Sir Giles looked at him dubiously.

“You are?” he said. “Damned glad to hear it. I suppose you favour Ottertown. Can’t say I blame you. Best route by far.”

“No,” said Dundridge. “Not through Ottertown. A tunnel under the Cleene Hills…”

Sir Giles feigned astonishment. “Now wait a minute,” he said, “the Cleene Forest is an area of designated public beauty. You can’t start mucking around with that.” His accent, as variable as a weathercock, had veered round to Huddersfield.

“There’s no question of mucking about…” Dundridge began but Sir Giles was leaning across the table towards him with a very nasty look on his face.

“You can say that again,” he said poking his forefinger into Dundridge’s shirt front. “Now you just listen to me, young man. You can forget all about tunnels and suchlike. I want a quick decision one way or t’other. I don’t like to be kept hanging about while lads like you dither about talking a lot of airy twaddle about tunnels. That’s all right for my missus, she being a gullible woman, but it won’t wash with me. I want a straight answer. Yes or No. Yes to Ottertown and No to the Gorge.” He sat back and puffed his cigar.

“In that case,” said Dundridge stiffly, “you had better have a word with Lord Leakham. He’s the one who makes the final decision.”

“Leakham? Leakham? Makes the final decision?” said Sir Giles. “Don’t try to have me on, lad. The Minister didn’t send you up so that that dry old stick could make decisions. He sent you up to tell him what to say. You can’t fool me. I know an expert when I see one. He’ll do what you tell him.”

Dundridge felt better. This was the recognition he had been waiting for. “Well I suppose I do have some influence,” he conceded.

Sir Giles beamed. “What did I say? Top men don’t grow on trees and I’ve got a nose for talent. Well, you won’t find me ungenerous. You pop round and see me when you’ve had your little chat with Lord Leakham. I’ll see you right.”

Dundridge goggled at him. “You don’t mean -”

“Name your own charity,” said Sir Giles with a prodigious wink. “Mind you, I always say ‘Charity begins at home’. Eh? I’m not a mean man. I pays for what I gets.” He drew on his cigar and watched Dundridge through a cloud of smoke. This was the moment of truth. Dundridge swallowed nervously.

“That’s very kind of you…” he began.

“Say no more,” said Sir Giles. “Say no more. Any time you want me I’ll be in my constituency office or out at the Hall. Best time to catch me is in the morning at the office.”

“But what am I going to say to Lord Leakham?” Dundridge said. “He’s adamant about the Gorge route.”

“You tell him from me that my good lady wife intends to take him to the cleaners about that unlawful arrest unless he decides for Ottertown. You tell him that.”

“I don’t think Lord Leakham would appreciate that very much,” said Dundridge nervously. He didn’t much like the idea of uttering threats against the old judge.

“You tell him I’ll sue him for every brass farthing he’s got. And I’ve got witnesses, remember. Influential witnesses who’ll stand up in court and swear that he was drunk and disorderly at that Enquiry, and abusive too. You tell him he won’t have a reputation and he won’t have a penny by the time we’ve finished with him. I’ll see to that.”

“I doubt if he’ll like it,” said Dundridge, who certainly didn’t.

“Don’t suppose he will,” said Sir Giles, “I’m not a man to run up against.”

Dundridge could see that. By the time Sir Giles left Dundridge had no doubts on that score at all. As Sir Giles drove away Dundridge went up to his room and looked at the photographs again. Spurred on by their obscenity he took an aspirin and went slowly round to the Cottage Hospital. He’d make Lord Leakham change his mind about the Gorge. Sir Giles had said he would pay for what he got and Dundridge intended to see that he got something to pay for. He didn’t have any choice any longer. It was either that or ruin.

On the way back to Handyman Hall, Sir Giles stopped and unlocked his briefcase and took out the photographs. They were really very interesting. Mrs Williams was an imaginative woman. No doubt about it. And attractive. Most attractive. He might look her up one of these days. He put the photographs away and drove back to the Hall.

At the Cottage Hospital Dundridge had some difficulty in finding Lord Leakham. He wasn’t in his room. “It’s very naughty of him to wander about like this,” said the Matron. “You’ll probably find him in the Abbey. He’s taken to going over there when he shouldn’t. Says he likes looking at the tombstones. Morbid, I call it.”

“You don’t think his mind has been affected, do you?” Dundridge asked hopefully.

“Not so’s you’d notice. All lords are potty in my experience,” the Matron told him.

In the end Dundridge found him in the garden discussing the merits of the cat o’nine tails with a retired vet who had the good fortune to be deaf.

“Well what do you want now?” Lord Leakham asked irritably when Dundridge interrupted.

“Just a word with you,” said Dundridge.

“Well, what is it?” said Lord Leakham.

“It’s about the motorway,” Dundridge explained.

“What about it? I’m re-opening the Enquiry on Monday. Can’t it wait till then?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Dundridge. “The thing is that as a result of an in-depth on-the-spot investigative study of the socio-environmental and geognostic ancillary factors…”

“Good God,” said Lord Leakham, “I thought you said you wanted a word…”

“It is our considered conclusion,” continued Dundridge, manfully devising a jargon to suit the occasion, “that given the -”

“Which is it to be? Ottertown or the Cleene Gorge? Spit it out, man.”

“Ottertown,” said Dundridge.

“Over my dead body,” said Lord Leakham.

“I trust not,” said Dundridge, disguising his true feelings. “There’s just one other thing I think you ought to know. As you are probably aware the Government is most anxious to avoid any further adverse publicity about the motorway…”

“You can’t expect to demolish seventy-five brand-new council houses without attracting adverse publicity,” Lord Leakham pointed out.

“And,” continued Dundridge, “the civil action for damages which Lady Lynchwood intends to institute against you is bound -”

“Against me ?” shouted the Judge. “She intends to -”

“For unlawful arrest,” said Dundridge.

“That’s a police matter. If she has any complaints let her sue those responsible. In any case no sane judge would find for her.”

“I understand she intends to call some rather eminent people as witnesses,” said Dundridge. “Their testimony will be that you were drunk.”

Lord Leakham began to swell.

“And personally abusive,” said Dundridge gritting his teeth. “And disorderly. In fact that you were not in a fit state…”

“WHAT?” yelled the Judge, with a violence that sent several elderly patients scurrying for cover and a number of pigeons fluttering off the hospital roof.

“In short,” said Dundridge as the echo died away across the Abbey Close, “she intends to impugn your reputation. Naturally the Minister has to take all these things into account, you do see that?”

But it was doubtful if Lord Leakham could see anything. He had slumped on to a bench and was staring lividly at his bedroom slippers.

“Naturally too,” continued Dundridge, pursuing his advantage, “there is a fairly widespread feeling that you might be biased against her in the matter of the Gorge.”