Tom Sharpe - Blott on the Landscape

“With photographs,” said Dundridge.

“With photographs?” echoed Hoskins, now thoroughly alarmed.

“Obscene photographs,” said Dundridge, with a deal more confidence than Hoskins happened to know was called for.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I’m going to tell her to go jump in a lake,” said Dundridge.

Hoskins looked at him incredulously. To think that he had once described this extraordinary man as a nincompoop. The bastard was as tough as nails.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said finally, “I’ll stand outside the door and listen to what she says. Will that do?”

Dundridge said it would have to and Hoskins hurried back to his office and phoned Mrs Williams.

“Sally,” he said, “this is you-know-who.”

“I don’t, you know,” said Mrs Williams, who had had a hard night.

“It’s me. Horsey, horsey catkins,” snarled Hoskins desperately searching for a pseudonym that would deceive anyone listening in on the switchboard.

“Horsey horsey catkins?”

“Hoskins, for God’s sake,” whispered Hoskins.

“Oh, Hoskins, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

Hoskins controlled his frayed temper. “Listen carefully,” he said, “the gaff’s blown. The gaff. Gee for Gifuckingraffe. A for Animal. F for Freddie.”

“What’s it mean?” interrupted Mrs Williams.

“The fuzz,” said Hoskins. “It means the balloon’s going to go up. Burn the lot, you understand. Negatives, prints, the tootee. You’ve never heard of me and I’ve never heard of you. Get it. No names, no pack drill. And you’ve never been near the Golf Club.”

By the time he had put the phone down Mrs Williams had got the message. So had Hoskins. If Mrs Williams was going to be nabbed, he could be sure that he would be standing in the dock beside her. She had left him in no doubt about that.

He went back to Dundridge’s office and was there to open the door for Lady Maud when she arrived. Then he stationed himself outside and listened.

Inside Dundridge nerved himself for the ordeal. At least with Hoskins outside the door he could always call for help and in any case Lady Maud seemed to be rather better disposed towards him than he had expected.

“Mr Dundridge,” she said, taking a seat in front of his desk, “I would like to make it quite clear that I have come here this morning in no spirit of animosity. I know we’ve had our little contretemps in the past but as far as I am concerned all is forgiven and forgotten.”

Dundridge looked at her balefully and said nothing. As far as he was concerned nothing was ever likely to be forgotten and certainly he wasn’t in a forgiving mood.

“No, I have come here to ask for your co-operation,” she went on, “and I want to assure you that what I am about to say will go no further.”

Dundridge glanced at the door and said he was glad to hear it.

“Yes, I rather thought you might be,” said Lady Maud, “you see I have reason to believe that you have been the subject of a blackmail attempt.”

Dundridge stared at her. She knew damned well he had been subject to blackmail.

“What makes you think that?”

“These photographs,” said Lady Maud and, producing an envelope from her handbag, she spread the torn and charred fragments of the photographs out on the desk. Dundridge studied them carefully. Why the hell were they torn and charred? He sorted through them looking for his face. It wasn’t there. If she thought she was going to blackmail him with this lot she was very much mistaken.

“What about them?” he asked.

“You know nothing about them?”

“Certainly not,” said Dundridge, thoroughly confident now. He knew what had happened. He had left these photographs on Mr Ganglion’s desk. Ganglion had torn them up and thrown them in the fire and had then changed his mind. He had taken them out and had visited Lady Maud and explained that he, Dundridge, had accused her of blackmail. And here she was trying to wriggle out of it. Her next remark confirmed this theory.

“Then my husband has never tried to influence you in any of your decisions by using these photographs,” he said.

“Your husband? Your husband?” said Dundridge indignantly. “Are you suggesting that your husband has attempted to blackmail me with these… obscene photographs?”

“Yes,” said Lady Maud, “that is exactly what I am suggesting.”

“Then all I can say is that you are mistaken. Sir Giles has always treated me with the greatest consideration and courtesy, which is,” he glanced at the door before continuing courageously, “more than I can say for you.”

Lady Maud looked at him, mystified. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Yes,” said Dundridge, “except this. Why don’t you take those photographs to the police?”

Lady Maud hesitated. She hadn’t bargained on this attitude from Dundridge. “I don’t think that would be very sensible, do you?”

“Yes,” said Dundridge, “as a matter of fact I do. Now then I am a busy man and you are wasting my time. You know your way out.”

Lady Maud rose from her chair wrathfully. “How dare you speak to me like that?” she shouted.

Dundridge leapt out of his chair and opened the door. “Hoskins,” he said, “show Lady Maud Lynchwood out.”

“I will find my own way,” said Lady Maud, and stormed past them and down the corridor. Dundridge went back into his office and collapsed into his chair. He had called her bluff. He had shown her the door. Nobody could say the Controller Motorways Midlands wasn’t master in his own house. He was astonished at his own performance.

So was Hoskins. He stared at Dundridge for a moment and staggered back to his own office shaken by what he had just heard. She had confronted Dundridge with those awful photographs and he had had the nerve to tell her to take them to the police. My God, a man who could do that was capable of doing anything. The fat was really in the fire now. On the other hand she had said it wouldn’t be sensible. Hoskins agreed with her wholeheartedly. “She must be protecting Sir Giles,” he thought and wondered how the hell she had got hold of the photographs in the first place. For a moment he thought of phoning Sir Giles but decided against it. The best thing to do was to sit tight and keep his mouth shut and hope that things would blow over.

He had just reached this comforting conclusion when the bell rang. It was Dundridge again. Hoskins went back down the corridor and found the Controller in a jubilant mood.

“Well that’s put paid to that little scheme,” he said. “You heard her threatening me with filthy photographs. She thought she was going to get me to use my influence to change the route of the motorway. I told her.”

“You most certainly did,” said Hoskins deferentially.

“Right,” said Dundridge turning to a map he had pinned on the wall, “we must strike while the iron is hot. Operation Overland will proceed immediately. Have the compulsory purchase orders been served?”

“Yes,” said Hoskins.

“And the task force has begun demolition work in the Gorge?”

“Demolition work?”

“Dynamiting.”

“Not yet. They’ve only just moved in.”

“They must start at once,” said Dundridge. “We must keep the initiative and maintain the pressure. I intend to establish a mobile HQ here.” He pointed to a spot on the map two miles east of Guildstead Carbonell.

“A mobile HQ?” said Hoskins.

“Arrange for a caravan to be set up there. I intend to supervise this operation personally. You and I will move our offices out there.”

“That’s going to be frightfully inconvenient,” Hoskins pointed out.

“Damn the inconvenience,” said Dundridge, “I mean to have that bitch out of Handyman Hall before Christmas come hell or high water. She’s on the run now and by God I mean to see she stays there.”