Tom Sharpe - Blott on the Landscape

“Biased?” Lord Leakham snuffled. “The Gorge is the logical route.”

“On the grounds of the civil action she intends to take. Now if you were to decide on Ottertown…” Dundridge left the consequences hanging in the air.

“You think she might reconsider her decision?”

“I feel sure she would,” said Dundridge. “In fact I’m positive she would.”

Dundridge walked back to the Handyman Arms rather pleased with his performance. Desperation had lent him a fluency he had never known before. In the morning he would go and see Sir Giles about a thousand pounds. He had an early dinner and went up to his room, locked the door and examined the photographs again. Then he turned out the light and considered several things he hadn’t done to Miss Sally Boles but which on reflection he wished he had. Strangled the bitch for one thing.

At Handyman Hall Sir Giles and Lady Maud dined alone. Their conversation seldom sparkled and was usually limited to an exchange of acrimonious opinions but for once they were both in a good mood at the same time. Dundridge was the cause of their good humour.

“Such a sensible young man,” Lady Maud said helping herself to asparagus. “I’m sure that tunnel is the right answer.”

Sir Giles rather doubted it. “My bet is he’ll go for Ottertown,” he said.

Lady Maud said she hoped not. “It seems such a shame to turn those poor people out of their homes. I’m sure they would feel just as strongly as I do about the Hall.”

“They build them new houses,” said Sir Giles. “It’s not as if they turn them out into the street. Anyway, people who live on council estates deserve what they get. Sponging off public money.”

Lady Maud said some people couldn’t help being poor. They were just built that way like Blott. “Dear Blott,” she said. “You know he did such a strange thing this morning, he brought me a present, a little figure he had carved out of wood.”

But Sir Giles wasn’t listening. He was still thinking about people who lived in council houses. “What the man in the street doesn’t seem to be able to get into his thick head is that the world doesn’t owe him a living.”

“I thought it was rather sweet of him,” said Lady Maud.

Sir Giles helped himself to cheese souffle. “What people don’t understand is that we’re just animals,” he said. “The world is a bloody jungle. It’s dog eat dog in this life and no mistake.”

“Dog?” said Lady Maud, roused from her reverie by the word. “That reminds me. I suppose I’ll have to send all those Alsatians back now. Just when I was getting fond of them. You’re quite sure Mr Dundridge is going to advise Ottertown.”

“Positive,” said Sir Giles, “I’d stake my life on it.”

“Really,” said Lady Maud wistfully, “I don’t see how you can be so certain. Have you spoken to him?”

Sir Giles hesitated. “I have it on the best authority,” he said.

“Hoskins,” said Lady Maud, “that horrid man. I wouldn’t trust him any further than I could throw him. He’d say anything.”

“He also says that this fellow Dundridge has taken a fancy to you,” Sir Giles said. “It seems you had a considerable effect on him.”

Lady Maud considered the remark and found it intriguing. “I’m sure that can’t be true. Hoskins is making things up.”

“It might explain why he is in favour of the Ottertown route,” Sir Giles said. “You bowled him over with your charm.”

“Very funny,” said Lady Maud.

But afterwards as she washed up in the kitchen she found herself thinking about Dundridge, if not fondly, at least with a renewed interest. There was something rather appealing about the little man, a vulnerability that she found preferable to Sir Giles’ disgusting self-sufficiency… and Dundridge had taken a fancy to her. It was useful to know these things. She would have to cultivate him. She smiled to herself. If Sir Giles could have his little affairs in London, there was no reason why she shouldn’t avail herself of his absence for her own purposes. But above all there was an anonymity about Dundridge that appealed to her. “He’ll do,” she said to herself and dried her hands.

Next morning Dundridge went round to Sir Giles’ constituency office at eleven. “I’ve had a word with Lord Leakham and I think he’ll be amenable,” he said.

“Splendid, my dear fellow, splendid. Delighted to hear it. I knew you could do it. A great weight off my mind, I can tell you. Now then is there anything I can do for you?” Sir Giles leant back in his chair expansively. “After all, one good turn deserves another.”

Dundridge braced himself for the request. “As a matter of fact, there is,” he said, and hesitated before going on.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Sir Giles coming to his rescue. “I don’t know if you’re a betting man but I am. I’ll bet you a thousand pounds to a penny that old Leakham says the motorway has to go through Ottertown. How about that? Couldn’t ask for anything fairer, eh?”

“A thousand pounds to a penny?” said Dundridge, hardly able to believe his ears.

“That’s right. A thousand pounds to a penny. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” said Dundridge.

“Good man. I thought you would,” said Sir Giles, “and just to show my good faith I’ll put the stake up now.” He reached down to a drawer in the desk and took out an envelope. “You can count it at your leisure.” He put the envelope on the desk. “No need for a receipt. Just don’t spend it until Leakham gives his decision.”

“Of course not,” said Dundridge. He put the envelope in his pocket.

“Nice meeting you,” said Sir Giles. Dundridge went out and down the stairs. He had accepted a bare-faced bribe. It was the first time in his life. Behind him Sir Giles switched off the tape recorder. It was just as well to have a receipt. Once the Enquiry was over he would burn the tape but in the meantime better safe than sorry.

Lord Leakham’s announcement that he was recommending the Ottertown route provoked mixed reactions. In Worford there was open rejoicing and the Handyman pubs dispensed free beer. In Ottertown the Member of Parliament, Francis Puckerington, was inundated with telephone calls and protest letters and suffered a relapse as a result. In London the Prime Minister, relieved that there hadn’t been another riot in Worford, congratulated the Minister of the Environment on the adroit way his department had handled the matter, and the Minister congratulated Mr Rees on his choice of a trouble-shooter. No one in the Ministry shared his enthusiasm.

“That bloody idiot Dundridge has dropped us in it this time,” said Mr Joynson. “I knew it was a mistake to send him up there. The Ottertown route is going to cost an extra ten million.”

“In for a penny in for a pound,” said Rees. “At least we’ve got rid of him.”

“Got rid of him? He’ll be back tomorrow crowing about his success as a negotiator.”

“He won’t you know,” Rees told him. “He got us into this mess, he can damned well get us out. The Minister has approved his appointment as Controller Motorways Midlands.”

“Controller Motorways Midlands? I didn’t know there was such a post.”

“There wasn’t. It’s been specially created for him. Don’t ask me why. All I know is that Dundridge has found favour with one or two influential people in South Worfordshire. Wheels within wheels,” said Mr Rees.

In Worford Dundridge greeted the news of his appointment with consternation. He had spent an anxious weekend confined to his room at the Handyman Arms partly because he was afraid of missing the telephone call from Miss Boles and partly because he had no intention of leaving the money he had received from Sir Giles in his suitcase or of carrying it around on his person. But there had been no phone call. To add to his troubles, there was the knowledge that he had accepted a bribe. He tried to persuade himself that he had merely taken a bet on, but it was no use.