Blott On The Landscape (15 page)

“Blott,” said Lady Maud, “what on earth are you doing here? And what are you doing with that gun?”

“I am here at your service,” said Blott gallantly assuming the language of history.

“At my service?” said Lady Maud, oblivious of the fact that she wasn’t exactly dressed for discussions about service with her gardener. “What do you mean by my service? You’re here to look after the garden, not wander about the house in the middle of the night in your bedroom slippers armed with a shotgun.”

On the staircase Blott bowed before the storm. “I came to protect your honour,” he murmured.

“My honour? You came to protect my honour? With a shotgun? Are you out of your mind?”

Blott was beginning to wonder. He had come up expecting to find her lying raped and murdered, or at least pleading for mercy, and here she was standing naked at the top of the stairs dressing him down. It didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem exactly right to Lady Maud now that she came to think of it. She turned and went into her bedroom and put on a dressing-gown.

“Now then,” she said with a renewed sense of authority, “what’s all this nonsense about my honour?”

“I thought I heard you call for help,” Blott mumbled.

“Call for help indeed,” she snorted. “You heard nothing of the sort. You’ve been drinking. I’ve spoken to you about drinking before and I don’t want to have to mention it again. And what’s more when I need any help protecting my so-called honour, which God knows I most certainly don’t, I won’t ask you to come up here with a twelve-bore. Now then go back to the Lodge and go to bed. I don’t want to hear any more about this nonsense, do you understand?”

Blott nodded and slunk down the staircase.

“And you can turn the lights off down there as you go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Blott and went down the passage to the kitchen filled with a new and terrible sense of injustice. He turned the kitchen light off and went back to the ballroom and switched off the chandeliers. Then he made his way through the conservatory to the terrace and was about to shut the door when he glimpsed a figure cowering among the ferns. It was the man from the Ministry, and like Lady Maud he was naked. Blott slammed the door and went off down the terrace steps, his mind seething with dreams of revenge. He had come up to the house with the best of intentions to protect his beloved mistress from the sexual depravity of that beastly little man and instead he had been blamed and abused and told he was drunk. It was all so unfair. In the middle of the park he paused and aimed the shotgun into the air and fired both barrels. That was what he thought of the bloody world. That was all that the bloody world understood. Force. He stamped off across the field to the Lodge and went upstairs to his room.

To Dundridge, still cowering in the conservatory, the sound of the shotgun came as final proof that Lady Maud’s intentions towards him were homicidal. He had been lured to the Hall, his tyres had been punctured, he had suffered attempted rape, he had been chased naked around the house by a laughing and demented woman and now he was being hunted by a man with a gun. And finally he was in danger of freezing to death. He stayed in the conservatory for twenty minutes anxiously listening for any sounds that might indicate pursuit, but the house was silent. He crept out from his hiding-place and went through the door to the terrace and peered outside. There was no sign of the man with the gun. He would have to take a chance. There was a light look about the eastern sky which suggested the coming of dawn and he had to get away while it was still dark. He ran across the terrace and scampered down the steps towards his car.

Two minutes later he was in the driver’s seat and had started the engine. He drove off as fast as the flat tyre would allow, crouching low and waiting for the blast of the shotgun. But nothing came and he passed under the Lodge and into the darkness of the wood. He switched on the headlights, negotiated the suspension bridge and headed up the hill, his flat tyre thumping on the road and the steering pulling violently to the left. Around him the Cleene Forest closed in, his headlights picked out monstrous shapes and weird shadows but Dundridge had lost his terror of the wild landscape. Anything was preferable to the human horrors he had left behind and even when two miles further on the tyre finally came away from the rim and he had to jack the car up and change it for the other flat spare he did so without hesitation. After that he drove more slowly and reached Worford as dawn broke. He parked his car on the double yellow line outside his flat, made sure there was nobody about and flitted across the pavement and down the alley to the outside stairs that led up to his apartment. Even here he was baulked. The key of his flat was in the pocket of his dinner-jacket.

Dundridge stood on the landing outside his door, naked, shivering and livid. Deprived of dignity, pretensions, authority and reason, Dundridge was almost human. For a moment he hesitated and then with a sudden ferocity he hurled himself against the door. At the second attempt the lock gave. He went inside slamming it to behind him. He had made up his mind. Come hell or high water he would do his damnedest to see that the route of the motorway was changed. They could bribe him and blackmail him for all they were worth but he’d get his own back. By the time he had finished that fat insane bitch would laugh on the other side of her filthy face.

His opportunity came sooner than he had expected and from an unforeseen quarter. Overwhelmed by the volume of complaints arriving at his office from the tenants of the seventy-five council houses due for demolition, harried by the Ottertown Town Council, infuriated by the refusal of the Minister of the Environment to re-open the Enquiry, and warned by his doctors that unless he curtailed most of his activities his heart would end them all, Francis Puckerington resigned his seat in Parliament. Sir Giles was the first to congratulate him on the wisdom of his withdrawal from public life. “Wish I could do the same myself,” he said, “but you know how things are.”

Mr Puckerington didn’t but he had a shrewd idea that lurking behind Sir Giles’ benevolent concern there was financial advantage. Lady Maud shared his suspicion. Ever since the Enquiry there had been something strange about Giles’s manner, an air of expectation and suppressed excitement about him which she found disturbing. Several times she had noticed him looking at her with a smile on his face and when Sir Giles smiled it usually meant that something unpleasant was about to happen. What it was she couldn’t imagine and since she took no interest in politics the likely consequences of Mr Puckerington’s resignation escaped her. Hoskins was understandably more informed. He realized at once why Sir Giles had agreed so readily to the Ottertown route. “Brilliant,” he told him when he saw him at the Golf Club. Sir Giles looked mystified.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I had no idea the poor fellow was so ill. A great loss to the party.”

“My eye and Betty Martin,” said Hoskins.

“I’d rather have your Bessie Williams myself,” Sir Giles said, relaxing a little. “I trust she is keeping well?”

“Very well. She and her husband took a holiday in Majorca I believe.”

“Sensible of them,” Sir Giles said. “So our young friend Dundridge must be a little puzzled by now. No harm in keeping him hanging in the wind, as someone once put it.”

“He’s probably blown that money you gave him.”

“I gave him?” said Sir Giles who preferred not to let his right hand know what his left was doing.

“Say no more,” said Hoskins. “I’ll tell you one thing though. He’s lost all interest in your wife.”

Sir Giles sighed. “Such a pity,” he said. “There was a time when I entertained the hope that he would … One can’t expect miracles. Still, it was a nice thought.”

“He’s got it in for her now, anyway. Hates her guts.”

“I wonder why,” said Sir Giles thoughtfully. “Ah well, it happens to us all in the end. Still, it couldn’t have come at a better time.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Hoskins. “He’s already sent three memoranda to the Ministry asking for the motorway to be re-routed through the Gorge.”

“Quite the little weathercock, isn’t he? I trust you tried to dissuade him.”

“Every time. Every time.”

“But not too hard, eh?”

Hoskins smiled. “I try to keep an open mind on the matter.”

“Very wise of you,” said Sir Giles. “No point in getting yourself involved. Well, things seem to be moving.”

Things certainly were. In London Francis Puckerington’s resignation had immediate repercussions.

“Seventy-five council houses due for demolition in a constituency with a bye-election pending?” said the Prime Minister. “And what did you say his last majority was?”

“Forty-five,” said the Chief Whip. “A marginal seat.”

“Marginal be damned. It’s lost.”

“It does rather look that way,” the Chief Whip agreed. “Of course if the motorway could be re-routed …”

The Prime Minister reached for the phone.

Ten minutes later Mr Rees sent for Mr Joynson.

“Done it,” he said beaming delightedly.

“Done what?”

“Pulled the fat out of the fire. The Ottertown scheme is dead and buried. The M101 is going ahead through the Cleene Gorge.”

“Oh, that is good news,” said Mr Joynson. “How on earth did you do it?”

“Just a question of patience and gentle persuasion. Ministers may come and ministers may go but in the end they do tend to see the errors of their ways.”

“I suppose this means you’ll be recalling Dundridge,” said Mr Joynson, who was inclined to look on the dark side of things.

“Not on your Nelly,” said Mr Rees, “Dundridge is coping very well. I look forward to his perpetual absence.”

Dundridge received the news with mixed emotions. On the one hand here was his golden opportunity to teach that bitch Lady Maud a lesson. On the other the knowledge that he had accepted a bribe from Sir Giles bothered him. He looked forward to Lady Maud’s misery when she learnt that Handyman Hall was going to be demolished after all but he didn’t relish the thought of her husband’s reaction. He need not have worried. Sir Giles, anxious to be out of the way when the storm broke, had taken the precaution of being tied up in London in advance of the announcement. In any case Hoskins was reassuring.

“You don’t have to worry about Giles,” he told Dundridge. “It’s Maud who’ll be out for blood.”

Dundridge knew exactly what he meant. “If she calls I’m not in,” he told the girl on the switchboard. “Remember that. I am never in to Lady Maud.”

While Hoskins concentrated on the actual details of the new route and arranged for the posting of advance notices of compulsory purchase, Dundridge spent much of his time on field work, which meant in fact sitting in his flat and not answering the telephone. To occupy his mind and to lend some sort of credence to his title of Controller Motorways Midlands, he set about devising a strategy for dealing with the campaign to stop construction which he was convinced Lady Maud would initiate.

“Surprise is of the essence,” he explained to Hoskins.

“She’s had that already,” Hoskins pointed out. He had in his time supervised the eviction of too many obstinate householders to be daunted by the threat of Lady Maud, and besides he was relying on Sir Giles to undermine her efforts. “She’s not going to give us any trouble. You’ll see. When it comes to the push she’ll go. They all do. It’s the law.” Dundridge wasn’t convinced. From his personal experience he knew how little the law meant to Lady Maud.

“The thing is to move quickly,” he explained.

“Move quickly?” said Hoskins. “You can’t move quickly when you’re building a motorway. It’s a slow process.”

Dundridge waved his objections aside. “We must hit at key objectives. Seize the commanding heights. Maintain the initiative,” he said grandly.

Hoskins looked at him doubtfully. He wasn’t used to this sort of military language. “Look, old boy, I know how you feel and all that but …”

“You don’t,” said Dundridge vehemently.

“But what I was going to say was that there’s no need to go in for anything complicated. Just let things take their natural course and you’ll find people will get used to the idea. It’s amazing how adaptable people are.”

“That’s precisely what’s worrying me,” said Dundridge. “Now then the essence of my plan is to make random sorties.”

“Random sorties?” said Hoskins. “What on earth with?”

“Bulldozers,” said Dundridge and spread out a map of the district.

“Bulldozers? You can’t have bulldozers roaming the countryside making random sorties,” said Hoskins, now thoroughly alarmed. “What the hell are they going to randomly sort?”

“Vital areas of control,” said Dundridge, “lines of communication. Bridgeheads.”

“Bridgeheads? But -“

“As I see it,” Dundridge continued implacably, “the main centre of resistance is going to be here.” He pointed to the Cleene Gorge. “Strategically this is the vital area. Seize that and we’ve won.”

“Seize it? You can’t suddenly go in and seize the Cleene Gorge!” shouted Hoskins. “The motorway has to proceed by deliberate stages. Contractors work according to a schedule and we have to keep to that.”

“That is precisely the mistake you’re making,” said Dundridge. “Our tactics must be to alter the schedule just when the enemy least expects it.”

“But that’s impossible,” Hoskins insisted. “You can’t go about knocking people’s houses down without giving them fair warning.”

“Who said anything about knocking houses down?” said Dundridge indignantly. “I certainly didn’t. What I have in mind is something entirely different. Now then what we’ll do is this.”

For the next half hour he outlined his grand strategy while Hoskins listened. When he had finished Hoskins was impressed in spite of himself. He had been quite wrong to call Dundridge a nincompoop. In his own peculiar way the man had flair.

“All the same I just hope it doesn’t have to come to that,” he said finally.

“You’ll see,” said Dundridge. “That bitch isn’t going to sit back and let us put a motorway through her wretched house without putting up a struggle. She’s going to fight to the bitter end.”