The Malcontenta (21 page)

The receptionist, taking no notice of them, said, ‘Have a seat, Mr Brock. Mr Bromley has just stepped out. He’ll be back in a sec’

Brock sat down, mesmerized by the shockingly blatant display on the desk. He wondered if this was some kind of test, if Beamish-Newell might be watching him on a hidden camera, waiting to see if he would break down and hurl himself at the forbidden fruit.

Bromley bustled in after a while, cheerfully shook Brock’s hand and went round to sit in the large, pneumatically operated chair behind the desk. His aftershave was powerful. ‘Sorry about this,’ he said, gesturing towards the pie and beer. ‘I got held up in town, negotiating with the stoats and weasels at the bank. Went on much longer than I’d expected, and I missed my lunch. You’ve had yours, I suppose?’

Brock nodded. ‘Please, go ahead. Don’t let it get cold.’ He tried to drag his eyes away.

‘Well, if you really don’t mind, I might just do that. I’m ravenous, as a matter of fact. Always does that to me, talking about money.’ Bromley grinned and bit a large chunk out of the pie. While he chewed, he carried on talking. ‘Well now, David, mmm, mmm, what can I do for you?’

Brock coughed, clearing the saliva in his throat. ‘Well … it was Dr Beamish-Newell who suggested I might speak to you. About the possibility of investing in the clinic. Then I was speaking to Norman de Loynes, and he suggested the same thing.’

‘Mmm, mmm.’ Bromley nodded vigorously, licked his lips and took another bite of pie. Gravy oozed down his chin. ‘Good idea. Stephen did mention you to me. This is your first visit, I understand.’

‘Yes. I must admit I’m pretty new to all this. I really don’t know a lot about it. I only arrived on Monday.’

‘Mmm. Well, I imagine the Director has been painting the picture, mmm, of the health side of things. Obviously, what Stanhope has to offer in that respect is a very superior product. Maybe unique. What has probably also become apparent to you is that Stanhope is a community of like-minded people. That’s a very important part of the philosophy, mmm; it’s not just some sort of sterile out-patient facility or a commercial fat-farm.’

Bromley nodded at his own words and paused briefly to take a swig from the beer bottle and another bite from the remains of the pie. ‘But the third aspect of Stanhope, mmm, mmm, which may not be so apparent up front, David, is that it is also a very sound business enterprise. I’ll show you figures in a tick. Three things, you see - health, community and enterprise. Together they create a really special investment context.’

He let that sink in while he finished the pie, screwed up the foil tray and tossed it into his waste-paper basket. ‘Smashing,’ he said.

Brock regretfully tore his eyes away from the piece of foil and returned his attention to the man swallowing beer behind the desk. He noticed that Bromley had some kind of skin trouble around his nose and eyebrows, which gave his chubby face a slightly inflamed look. ‘But isn’t the clinic a charity? Can you
invest
in a charity?’

Bromley wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and gave Brock a cunning smile. ‘Good point, David. Good point. The Stanhope Foundation is a registered charity, yes. The Stanhope Naturopathic Clinic and the Stanhope Trust are not. It’s a matter of allowing people to participate in the affairs of Stanhope in many different tax-effective ways, according to their needs and inclinations - as patient, trustee, donor, shareholder or Friend.’

‘Friend?’

‘I imagine that may be what Stephen and Norman had in mind when they suggested you speak to me, David. We have a limited class of membership of the Stanhope community which we call “Friends of Stanhope”. You might say they are all the other categories rolled into one. They pay an annual fee, which makes them shareholders in the enterprise, and also partly goes to support the charitable work of the Foundation. In return, the Friends have access to the range of Stanhope facilities on a privileged basis. They can come here for short stays, for example, at discount rates, and have access to the therapeutic treatments they require, on a one-off basis or not, as they wish. It’s like a club, David. They can drop in for a weekend, unwind, meet their pals. That might suit you quite well, a single man - a retreat from the stresses and strains of the city? They have their own lounge upstairs,’ he chuckled and winked at Brock. ‘The dumb waiter that serves the dining room from the kitchen downstairs goes on up to the Friends’ lounge, you see. They make their own arrangements with the kitchen.’

‘Ah, yes, I can see the merit in that. Well … as I said, Ben, I’m still finding my feet here at the moment, but it certainly sounds an interesting concept. I think I should find out a bit more.’

Bromley nodded. ‘Health, community and enterprise, David. It combines the three essential ingredients of Stanhope in a unique way.’

‘I would have thought the business enterprise side might have been at odds with the other two aspects, though? I mean, I didn’t get the impression from Dr Beamish-Newell that making money was a priority.’

‘What did you think of him?’ Bromley tilted back in his chair and eyed Brock over the neck of the bottle with a mischievous, and maybe slightly sly, grin.

‘He was very impressive, from the one meeting we had. “Charismatic” is probably the word.’

‘Charismatic’ Bromley nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, you’re right there, David. He’s a brilliant man in his field, a wonderful asset to the clinic. That’s his role. The money side isn’t of great concern to him. That’s left to drones like me. But we’re all part of a team, some of us more visible than others, but all with our roles to play.’

‘Ye-es.’ Brock sounded doubtful. ‘I’m sure you do. But in the end, this place really
is
Dr Beamish-Newell, isn’t it? I just wondered about that, when the idea of investing came up.’

‘How do you mean, David?’

‘Well, what would happen if something happened to him? I mean, supposing it turned out one day that he’d killed someone, Ben?’

‘Eh?’ Ben froze, and then came upright, as if his chair were ejecting him, but in slow motion. He stared at Brock, and, when Brock didn’t offer anything more, said, ‘What the hell does that mean, David?’

‘Well, that sort of thing can happen to doctors, can’t it? Some unfortunate accident, a patient with a weak heart and aggrieved, litigious relatives. It happens all the time these days, doesn’t it?’

‘Oh … yes, I get your drift. I thought for a moment there you were suggesting …’ He leaned back and his seat sighed under him. i take your point, David. As a potential investor, you would naturally be worried about a one-man organization that could fall apart overnight if that one man got fed up with the whole thing, ran off with the milkman’s wife or, as you say, had some kind of accident. Am I reading your mind?’

He wasn’t, but Brock nodded anyway.

‘That would have been the case until five or six years ago, David. I certainly wouldn’t have been interested in throwing any of my hard-earned cash into this place before that.’ Bromley gave a knowing smile, rotated the beer bottle to make sure it was quite empty, then sent it flying into the basket.

‘Absolutely no financial control,’ he continued. ‘What passed for books were a joke. I’m saying this in a spirit of openness, David, not by way of criticism of Stephen. That just wasn’t his forte. His strengths lay elsewhere, and he had the good fortune to meet up with Sir Peter Maples at just the time when he most needed him. Sir Peter was able to harness his business acumen to the good doctor’s vision and set the clinic up on a sound, long-term footing, one that others can feel comfortable about participating in. Dr Beamish-Newell is part of a team now - an important part, of course, responsible for the health programmes, just as I’m responsible for implementing the business plan and for the ongoing financial management. But not an indispensable part.

‘That’s what I meant just now about the team,’ Bromley went on, staring up at the ceiling pensively. ‘I’ve learned, from my experience of many different kinds of businesses, large and small, that charismatic people, essential as they may be to provide the initial dynamic, in the end are only as strong as the team they are able to form around them. And we have a very strong team here, David.’

Bromley frowned. ‘In any organization, after a certain stage is reached, the enterprise can do without the charismatic leader, but the charismatic leader cannot do without the team. That’s my point, David. Believe me, it’s true what they say about no one being indispensable. I’ve learned that the hard way.’

‘True enough,’ Brock remarked sadly. ‘Well, is there a prospectus for the Friends, Ben?’

‘Not exactly, David, but I do have some information on the financial side.’ He swung his stocky figure out of the chair, went over to a filing cabinet and extracted a file. He passed Brock a single sheet of paper. ‘That’s the current figure for this year.’

Brock read the top line and blinked. The annual fee appeared to be about equivalent to what he earned in two months.

‘Part of the fee can be designated contributions to a charity and so attracts tax relief, David, and part is a share purchase, attracting future dividends. The calculations give an illustration of the bottom line for a typical contributor, but you’d want to go through that yourself with your accountant.’

‘Yes, yes. That’s interesting. And how does one apply?’

‘As I said, it’s like a club. An existing member has to nominate you, and the membership as a whole has to accept you. It’s a small group, like-minded.’

‘Do you have a list of members?’

Bromley smiled. ‘Only for members’ eyes, David. But I think you can take it that you’ve already met one of them.’

‘Aha. What about women? I got the impression when you were talking just now that the Friends were predominantly men?’

‘They are all men, as it happens. No reason why there shouldn’t be a woman, of course. Just haven’t been any nominated so far. Stephen mentioned you work in the Home Office, David.’

Brock nodded. ‘You’ve given me plenty to think about, Ben. I’d better get off to my afternoon therapy session now and let you get on with your work.’

Bromley relaxed in his chair. ‘What’s the torture this afternoon, David?’

‘Yoga.’

Bromley grinned. ‘Did you hear what happened to the india-rubber woman who went out with the pencil salesman?’

‘No, I can’t say -’

Brock was spared by the receptionist, who put her head round the door to remind Bromley of his next appointment. They shook hands and Brock was given another folder of brochures on his way out.

When the afternoon session was finished, Brock collected his overcoat, gloves and scarf from his room in preparation for his walk with Grace Carrington. She was waiting by the basement door and laughed when she saw his gear.

‘I did the same.’ She showed him her woollen mittens, scarf and hat, all striped in bright rainbow colours. ‘I hope you’ve got a map or something.’

When they had pulled on their boots, Brock produced a piece of paper from his coat pocket with a flourish. ‘Copied it myself. The locations are marked by the crosses and numbers.’

‘Very impressive. Come on, then.’

She pushed the door open. Cold air caught their nostrils and turned their breath to steam.

‘Oh, it’s wonderful!’ Grace called back over her shoulder to him. Sunlight came pouring out of a blue sky and was reflected blindingly from every snow-covered surface. Brock pulled the door shut behind him and crunched after her.

They walked round to the front of the house, where the drive broadened into a forecourt in front of the entrance steps. On the far side of this area, two rows of cypress trees formed a narrow avenue, now unused and overgrown, leading to the east.

‘Along this avenue somewhere,’ Brock called, puffing to keep up with her, ‘there should be some fragments.’

They found them half-way down on the left: several large stone capitals tilted at odd angles, partly buried in snowdrifts.

‘Looks as if the builders of the house had a few left over,’ Brock said, but Grace shook her head.

‘Wrong type. These are Corinthian, whereas the ones on the columns of the house and the temple are Ionic. They’re too big, as well. It’s disturbing, seeing them scattered on the ground like that,’ she added, ‘knowing that they belong high up on top of columns. You feel as if some catastrophe has happened.’

They walked on to the end of the avenue, where a stone pyramid, about the height of a man, blocked their route.

‘Well, this one seems clear enough,’ Brock said. ‘Egyptian monument to the dead.’

‘Or Roman: the Pyramid of Cestius, for example.’

‘You’re good at this.’

‘I used to teach art history. Long ago.’

There seemed only one way forward, through a gap in a hedge, and they found themselves in a garden of overgrown shrubs whose snow-laden branches barely gave them room to pass through. The bushes thinned out, and they came to a clearing with a stone bench facing an old sprawling yew tree. Beneath it stood a large block of stone, tilting slightly where the roots of the tree had unsettled it.

Grace brushed the snow off the bench and sat down while Brock went forward to examine the monument. ‘It looks a bit like an altar,’ he said, ducking his head under the branches of the yew to get closer to it. Then, noticing that in fact it wasn’t a solid block but had a heavy stone lid, he said, ‘No, it’s more like a sarcophagus. There’s some lettering carved into the front.’

‘What does it say?’ Grace called to him.

‘Et in Arcadia ego:
Brock spelled it out to her.
‘And in Arcadia I.
What is that supposed to mean? I can’t believe that anyone actually ever spoke this language. It’s like trying to decipher a crossword puzzle. This doesn’t even have a verb.’

‘That’s the point.’ Grace’s voice came softly from behind him. ‘The ambiguity adds to the meaning.’

Something in her tone made him pause and look back at her. Through the branches of the yew he saw tears streaming down her cheeks. He hurried back and sat beside her on the bench. ‘Grace, whatever is the matter?’

She shook her head and quickly brushed her face with her glove. After a while she took a deep breath and spoke. ‘My first visit to Paris was with my husband, before we were married. It was a wonderful trip, just the way it should be -it was spring, we were in love, you know … Anyway, in the Louvre we saw a famous painting by Poussin. It shows a group of shepherds in Arcady standing around a tomb which they’ve just discovered, like us. On the tomb are the words
Et in Arcadia ego: