The Price of Butcher's Meat (9 page)

Hi!

Decided to laze around this morning—guessing that any expedition with Tom would be energetic! Hed won the “argument” about going on foot—but Mary insisted he take a stout walking stick—which seemed more likely to cause damage than prevent it—the way he flourished it as a handy pointer to interesting views as we made our way down the hill.

On our way up in the car—Tom had already pointed out to me the entrance drive to Sandytown Hall—home of Lady D. Admiring the view from Brereton Manor—Id glimpsed what had to be the tall chimneys of the hall down toward the sea—rising above an extensive area of woodland—so her ladyships not overlooked by the hotel—or any other bit of quite a lot of modern development we passed on our way down the hill. Most of this seemed linked to the development scheme—executive dwellings—seeded—so Tom assured me—with affordable houses for local first timers. I didnt need to guess which partner pushed for what!

We met quite a few people—car drivers stop to chat to Tom!—& I was introduced as if I were the development schemes latest & greatest acquisition! Eventually—quite near the bottom of the hill where the old village proper begins—he halted outside a funny old house—very picturesque—built out of irregular lumps of sandstone—glowing in the morning sun—with a small old fashioned cottage garden—& a first floor wider than the ground floor—because it was built into the slope.

Reminded me of the gingerbread house in the fairy tale—so I wasnt surprised when Tom said—this is called Witch Cottage—because—according to tradition—its where Sandytowns last witch used to live. Now Miss Lee—our acupuncturist—lives there. I know youll want to meet her—Charlotte—because of your study—

Hed just lifted the brass knocker—& given the door a hearty rap—when this old Jeep came rattling up the road from the village. It looked like it had just completed a trek across the Kalahari—mud stained—lots of scratches & dents—& the nearside front bumper showed signs of recent violent contact with a tree!

Oh look—its Lady D—said Tom—come & meet her—

As we went back down the little path—2 women got out. I knew which was Lady D straight off. Central casting—tweedy—sturdy—head thrust forward like shes eyeing up the opposition—if Id been a matador Id have headed for the barreras—good looker in her day probably—in a Fergie kind of way—nice healthy complexion—well weathered—the natural look—tho I spotted a touch of eye shadow & a smear of lipstick—so not without vanity (I recalled what M said about her pursuing Dr Feldenhammer)—likes her own way—sharp—but maybe not so sharp as she likes to think.

& Minnie was right about her bum!

All that from a single glance! Arent you impressed?

The other woman was young—my age—bit older?—lovely slim figure—God—even when I did my anorexia thing I never got to look like that!—big boned us Heywoods—family gene thing—except this other woman—Clara Brereton her name is—turns out to be a relative of Lady Ds—so how come she doesnt look like a Hereford ready for market? In fact shes gorgeous—if you like your women fashionably
skinny
—which most men seem to—so—bringing my psychological objectivity to bear once more—I resolved to hate her!

Tom & Lady D greeted each other fondly—genuine on both sides from the look of it—tho I noticed she calls him Tom—while he only gets close enough to familiarity to call her Lady D—unlike Mary who refers to her—disapprovingly—as Daphne Brereton!

Credit due—the old bird did ask after Toms sprained ankle. He told her the story of how he got it—made it quite funny—& she brayed a laugh.

While this chitter chatter was going on I got a close-up of the Jeep—& I noticed someone had added to the general air of dereliction with a bit of graffiti—scrubbed off but not so efficiently I couldnt make out the letters P OLR&MUDR—which—I guessed from the gaps—added up to POLLUTER & MURDERER. Made me think of the sign outside the pig farm. Not only Mary who doesnt care for Lady D!

She was saying shed been going to call in at Kyoto House—Tom said lets go back there now & have some tea—she said no she couldnt possibly do that—Mary would have so much to do having just returned—he said Mary & the children would never forgive him if they discovered hed missed the chance of bringing Lady D home with him—she said it was flattering but she couldnt possibly impose—& somewhere in the midst of all this Tom & me had been translated into the backseat of the Jeep.

As I got in I realized someone had answered Toms knock at Witch Cottage—a stocky oriental looking woman—who was watching us—inscrutably—like an extra in a kung fu movie. Tom—whod gone round to the other side to get in—didnt notice her—but Lady D did—& she called out—Good day to you—Miss Lee—I hope you—& your ancestors—are well—which I took to be some sort of Chinese greeting. For a moment the womans mask slipped—& she looked daggers (or maybe—in view of her profession—needles)—at her ladyship—then gave a stiff little bow—& went back into the cottage.

Im getting the feeling that—living in Sandytown—everyone is expected to know their place—which is—Lady D on top—the rest below!

Lady D was still saying she wouldnt come in—as she came in—& twenty minutes later was saying she definitely wouldnt stay for tea—as the first cup was poured. Nice technique—getting whatever you want without having to be grateful for it.

But on the whole—I was more amused than alienated by her on first meeting. Good humored—long as she got her own way—showed a lot of interest in dad & the farm—said shed heard that Heywood of Willingden knew
a bull calf from a bale of hay—treated the kids in the old fashioned country way—gave them 50p apiece & then ignored them.

Soon her & Tom got to talking about plans & development & visitors & such. Big event next Sunday—to celebrate progress & say thanks to those concerned—is a party at Sandytown Hall—my ears pricked when I heard them refer to it as a hog roast—remembering the nickname of Lady Ds 1st husband!—but seems it just means theyre going to barbecue a pig. I got bored—& concentrated my clinical gaze on Clara—& tried to draw her out.

It was like trying to take a bone off old Fang—except she didnt growl.

Quiet as a nun—contained—gave nothing away—maybe shes got social problems—serve her right for being so good looking! At least when the time came to go—she offered to help with washing up the tea things—but Lady D was on her feet—& would brook no waiting. Whatever auntie wants—auntie gets!

I helped Mary clear up. Tom headed off to his study to work on his computer—declaring that Lady D was like Sandytown itself—a breath of fresh air—bringing new life to old ideas. Me—noting her cool reaction to some of his less commercial concerns—Id have said more like a breath of CO2! But Toms enthusiasm is the kind that sees direct opposition as oblique encouragement!

Mary is much clearer-sighted. Over the washing up I asked about Clara—had she always lived with her aunt?

—oh no—said Mary—only for the last six months or so—

Didnt take much to get the whole story. Bit like a 19th century novel—in fact the whole place has that feel—slow paced & leisurely on the surface but all kinds of interesting plot stuff swirling around underneath!

Daphne Brereton—Lady D—wealthy by birth—& wealthier by her first marriage—is naturally the object of much interest—living—& even more—dead! The Great Philosophical Question occupying Sandytonians isnt the meaning of life—or even—can England ever win the World Cup again?—any world cup!—but—wholl inherit Lady Ds lolly?!

Mary has a nice narrative style—little overt malice—but she purses her lips when certain subjects come up—& you get the message as well as the facts!

Not much chance of the money going to charity—it seems. Lady D feels the poor of the world probably deserve it—except for poor old horses—whose reward for having their spines bent by big bums like hers during their prime should be an old age of comfort & freedom! Used to be a very keen hunter herself—kept half a dozen top class horses—her one extravagance—Mary says. Gave them up after Sir Harrys accident—only keeping one old boy—Ginger—for looking down at the peasants from as she hacks around the countryside!

So—OXFAM—eat your heart out! Daphs stated belief is—money should stay in the family—but which family?—is the question.

Hot favorites for a long time were the Denhams—specifically a nephew who inherited the title & Denham Park when Lady Ds husband—Sir Harry—died. Nothing else—because there wasnt anything else—& even the house was a poisoned chalice—entailed so he couldnt sell it—& it would cost a fortune to get it back to what it once was.

Love apart—Sir Harrys plan had been to repair the family mansion—& his own fortunes—by a “good” marriage—told you it was like a 19th century novel!—but hed popped his clogs before any of his brides fortune could find its way into the Denham account.

According to Mary—Lady D had been heard to say—in confidential mood—that though shed got nothing but her title from the Denham marriage—on the other hand shed given nothing for it! Some dame—eh? Perhaps it was her sense of having lost nothing—plus of course it must give her a nice power charge—that made her play along when the new baronet—Sir Edward—& his sister—Esther—started cozying up to her. Lady D loves having them dance attendance—drops them little titbits from time to time to keep them interested—took them on a skiing holiday last Christmas for instance. That made them think they were at the top of the inheritance list—so they must have got a nasty shock when shortly after they came back Lady D brought cousin Clara to live at the hall! To compensate—maybe—she gave Sir Ed some kind of job in the Hollis pig empire—not his kind of thing at all—Mary implied—but hed had to take it—or risk losing his cozying-up access!

Seems first hubby—Hog Hollis—was built in the same mold—expecting relatives to put up with his bossy ways—& be grateful for whatever crumbs
he dropped their way. Closest—in blood at least—was his half-brother—Harold—known as Hen—Hollis. Seems the pair never got on—& when they inherited Millstone—the family farm—rather than work together—Hog went with the pigs—& Hen with the poultry—hence their names—gerrit?!

Neck & neck at first—till Hen got hit hard by the salmonella scare way back. Needed cash badly—turned to Hog who was doing well—Hog offered a loan—but being echt Yorkshire—demanded Hens share of Millstone—as security. When—despite the loan—the chicken business finally went bust—Hog gave Hen a job—in charge of quality control—in his pig business. But it was still family loyalty—Yorkshire style! Part of Hens salary came in the form of letting him continue to live at Millstone Farm—all of which now belonged to Hog!

Hog himself was now ensconced in Sandytown Hall—from which he wooed Daphne Brereton. They married—Hog continued to prosper—Hen & Lady D didnt get on—but both of them were used to not getting on with people so nothing strange there—then Hog died—& left nearly everything to his widow. His token acknowledgment of family ties was that he only left her Millstone in trust. The building & everything on the farm would revert to Hen—if he survived his sis-in-law.

Locally—says Mary—if you want to bet on Hen outliving Lady D you can get odds of 20 to 1! She enjoys vigorous good health—hes a hard drinker—& smoker—& “choleric”—most of his choler being directed at his brothers relict—who is enjoying what he—& several other Hollises—thought should have come to the family.

Led by Hen—these disaffected Hollises raised objections to the will. Not all of them—some—like Alan Hollis who runs Lady Ds pub the Hope & Anchor—knew what side their bread was buttered on. The others got nowhere—Lady Ds smart London lawyer soon swatted off their flimsy legal objections. Lady D was ready to be patronizingly generous in victory—after all in their shoes shed have done exactly the same—but when she learned that Hen was trying a new tack—& circulating rumors that shed had a hand in her husbands death—she went bananas!

Daph & Hen had a violent—& public—row—which ended with Hen refusing to retract his insinuations. Maybe hed forgotten that Lady D was now his
boss. If so he was quickly reminded when she fired him—& when he retaliated by saying he didnt fancy working for a fat old tart anyway—Daph really put the boot in by serving him notice to quit the Hollis farm—which she was legally entitled to do.

Happy families—eh? Makes our lot seem right cozy!

At least Hen has the satisfaction of knowing Daph has no way of stopping him getting Millstone back—if he outlives her. But the others—that is the Denhams—& cousin Clara—are going to have to sing her song for whatever supper she may leave them. Mary shows little sympathy for the bart & his sister—but she purses her lips on Claras behalf—implying her position in the household is less honored guest than unpaid housekeeper & general factotum!

Made me feel guilty about bad-thinking her—Clara I mean—now I know shes a
poor relative
—probably shivering in an attic bedroom—& scrubbing floors & cleaning grates for her daily gruel—& brawn on Sundays!

—so Lady Denhams a bit tight with money?—I said—stopping short of Uncle Sidneys phrase.

—you could say that—said Mary.

—but she is throwing this big hog roast party next Sunday—I said.

Mary did the pursed lip thing again. (I really must practice it! Might come in useful when patients ask my opinion about their amatory feelings toward their livestock!)

—the event is financed by the consortium—she said—all Daphne Brereton is providing is the location. The Hope and Anchor—which she owns—is supplying the drink—& I gather shes even charging the consortium for the Hollis pig—so—as usual—she will end up making a hefty profit!—