The Wilt Inheritance (17 page)

‘Come along in and have a glass of whisky. You look as if you need one. Been dodging dear Eddie’s gunfire, have you?’

Wilt nodded and dropped into the nearest chair.

‘You could put it like that,’ he said. The magistrate poured neat Scotch into a glass and handed it to him. Then he took a seat opposite Wilt. ‘Did the young bastard take a pot-shot at you?’

‘No, I was lucky enough to see him before he caught sight of me. He did hit something, though … something heavy by the sound of it,’ said Wilt, amazed that Sir George was so relaxed about his step-son running around the Estate, firing at anything that moved.

‘Probably one of the deer or a wild boar escaped from the farm where they breed them locally. We occasionally get one or two in the woods. Well, it’s a start. Next time, with any luck, he’ll have a crack at something human.’ Sir George smiled at the thought and winked at Wilt, who was midway through a large gulp of whisky and nearly choked.

‘If you’ll take my advice,’ continued Sir George, fetching the decanter, ‘you’ll stay in the house while dear little Eddie’s out and about. Not that he will be much longer. He’s bound to kill someone soon.’ And in spite of Wilt’s protests that he didn’t need any more, Sir George filled his glass practically to the brim before
refilling his own. ‘You see, I’ve laid an irresistible temptation in his way by leaving the gun cabinet unlocked. Cheers!’

He paused for a moment and then began to explain. ‘You gave me the idea when you ran off, leaving the cabinet open. You see, if the brute shoots and kills some poor bugger, I’ll be only too happy to have him arrested and sent for trial. Hopefully at the Old Bailey.’

He picked up the decanter again. Wilt shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing.

‘Just as you please. Well, as I was about to say, I have never approved of the modern sentencing system. When my father was a JP, a murderer was hanged by the neck until he was dead. All right, the death penalty was abolished, and frankly I approved of that because the occasional poor devil was found to be innocent when it was too late to matter. Then in place of capital punishment there came life imprisonment, which was far better for three reasons. The first was that there was no longer any possibility of an innocent person going to the gallows. The second was that a life sentence used to mean imprisonment until death – with penal servitude thrown in. Harsh work like breaking rocks and excavating quarries. I can tell you, that did no one any harm at all. Third, and best of all, hanging was too damned quick! Blokes who spent the rest of their natural in prison instead had a long time … some a very long time … to regret their crimes.

‘It was only when the namby-pambies came along that things went wrong. Does “life” mean life today? Not at all. For the most part, it’s twelve or fifteen years, and with what they call “good behaviour” the scum can be out in eight years or even less, which is the main reason why there are so many murderers around today.’

He reached for the decanter again. In the momentary silence Wilt tried to think of something to say in answer to this tirade, but Sir George hadn’t finished yet.

‘As for this bloody government … they spend billions on things like submarines and waging a war that has nothing to do with us but haven’t the money to build enough prisons. The whole country’s gone to the dogs. Yes, may as well give up and go and live in a bloody kennel …’

Sir George lurched over to his desk and started looking at some papers. Wilt had no wish to trigger another outburst. He could hear Lady Clarissa and Mrs Bale talking in the kitchen. He tiptoed out of the study and up the stairs, ignoring the dubious safety of his bedroom and choosing instead the bathroom opposite it. He had no intention of further discussing with her ladyship Edward’s chances of getting into Cambridge. They were obviously nil. He could no more pass A-levels than fly. In fact, it was a wonder he could even write his name. Wilt locked the door behind him and turned off the light in case Lady Clarissa came looking for him.

He hadn’t at all liked Mrs Bale’s remark about his hostess being ‘on heat’. In fact, he disliked the whole situation. As soon as Edward’s gun had been safely put back in the cabinet, Wilt intended to find out what the wretched young fellow really wanted to do. On the other hand, he was glad he’d brought those videos about Verdun and the Battle of the Somme with him. They might just hold the lad’s attention in the short term – wholesale slaughter seeming likely to appeal. Best of all, Lady Clarissa would get the impression that the ass really was being tutored.

Wilt waited half an hour and then went very quietly down the back stairs to the kitchen. Having checked that Mrs Bale was alone, he asked in a whisper where Lady Clarissa was and learnt that she was getting sozzled on dry martinis in her bedroom.

‘Here’s your supper,’ said the housekeeper, putting a plate of cold chicken and salad in front of him. ‘I’ll take hers up when she shouts. She’s in a sulk because the boyfriend in the garage is still down with ’flu – or more probably that’s just an excuse. Everyone knows he’s fed up to the back teeth with too much sex and no booze every weekend because of having to drive her … Not that I’m one to gossip. And although she’s secretly glad her old uncle has died, I think she feels a bit guilty, too. She’ll almost certainly sleep it off before she’s even eaten.’

‘She’s obviously an alcoholic,’ commented Wilt.

Mrs Bale smiled.

‘And a nymphomaniac. That’s why she’s got her eye on you! I told you she was on heat … I mean, the old man can’t do anything for her – he thinks she’s too thin – besides which he drinks heavily himself. He eats the most awful food too … He’d never eat anything like this unless the chicken had been stuffed with something or other and there were game chips fried in lard to go with it.’

‘Sounds grim. Anyway she’d better not try anything with me.’ Wilt thought it best not to tell Mrs Bale of the encounter he’d already had with Lady Clarissa. ‘Eva … that’s my wife … would kill her. She’s already warned me off what she calls any “hanky-panky”. What puzzles me is why you stay here?’

‘Well, like I said, since my old man died, I have hardly any income. The only good thing I can say about them is that they’re rich enough to pay me well. So I just put up with their rudeness. And I do have a soft spot for her ladyship, despite everything. Maybe it’s on account of her first husband dying like he did … or rather like mine did. She doesn’t have a very pleasant time of it, that I do know.’

‘I’m desperate to get through to Eva and put her off coming to this loony bin, but I don’t want either of them to hear me.’

‘Why don’t you use the phone in his private bathroom then? I can unlock it for you and keep watch too, if you want?’

Despite his misgivings, Wilt agreed to the plan.
After finishing his supper he found himself inside Sir George’s private bathroom, which was equipped with phone and computer, as promised, and also with a large padlocked filing cabinet. To Wilt’s disgust, the walls were lined with drawings of obscenely fat women getting up to God knows what. He found it difficult to envisage speaking to Eva, surrounded by such ghastly pictures. He needn’t have worried: once again there was no answer from her mobile.

He left the bathroom and waved his thanks to Mrs Bale. He walked to the entrance hall and opened the front door, standing on the drawbridge to stare down thoughtfully at the green scum on the surface of the moat. Where the hell had his wife got to? It was already early-evening – surely she had picked up the quads by now.

He decided to wait on the front step until Edward came back. Wilt wanted to ask him a very pertinent question. He didn’t have long to wait before he saw the boy crossing the lawn, swinging the gun carelessly in one hand, the other thrust into his trouser pocket. Wilt started to recede cautiously into the house.

‘It’s all right. This thing’s not got a magazine and I’m out of ammunition. Shot a wild boar or something. Didn’t kill it. Couldn’t see its head. Brought it down, though. Must have got it in a leg, I think.’

Wilt came back out on to the drawbridge.

‘Why don’t you put that filthy gun back in the
cabinet? If your father finds you with it, there’ll be hell to pay. Besides, I want to ask you a question.’

‘Are you scared of guns or something? Anyway it’s not filthy. I always wipe it clean before I bring it back.’

Edward went inside the house, presumably to the study, and then returned, the gun still swinging by his side.

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Quite simply this. Do you want to go to university because if you do …’

‘Of course I don’t. That’s all Mother’s idea. School was awful enough except for sport. I was quite a good boxer until they stopped me doing that because they said I was picking on the juniors. No, university’s my idea of hell. I know she’s always bleating on about it but I’ll never get in.’

Wilt sighed with relief.

‘At least you’re honest about it,’ he said. ‘So what do you really want to do for a career?’

‘Go into the army. After all, I’m a good shot and I reckon the Commandos would have me. I’ve been practising abseiling, and swimming up-stream in rivers like the Teme outside Ludlow, and I’ve done a lot of long-distance running, too. I don’t want to go into some smart regiment, I want to see real action. And kill people.’

Wilt gave up. If Edward wanted to be a soldier in some regiment he wasn’t going to be easily stopped, although it sounded as though his motives bore some
scrutiny. But given that Lady Clarissa was going to pay for him to be tutored at vast expense he’d at least make a show of it. Wilt informed the boy that if he had an A-level or two, it could help secure him a place with the Commando unit. In truth, he wasn’t exactly sure what qualifications were needed for that. All that concerned him was getting Edward interested enough to sit down to some lessons. They both needed to get through the next few weeks, so that Eva could have her holiday with the quads and Wilt could make a few thousand quid to tide them over until he could think of how else to continue to pay the school fees.

‘Right,’ he said, ‘let’s see what would interest you before I prepare a schedule for each day.’

‘What … now?’

‘Yes, now,’ said Wilt firmly, ‘before you disappear again. But, first, please lower that gun. Even if it is out of ammunition.’

Edward sat himself down by a small writing table but kept the gun by his side, his finger on the trigger. He continued to press it now and again, and each time he heard the ‘click’ Wilt squirmed.

‘How much do you know about the Falklands War? The Gulf War?’

‘I watch TV, you know.’

‘The Second World War?’

‘I know lots about that. It was Germany versus England and loads of Jews were killed – maybe two
million,’ Edward declared, proud that he could come up with such a statistic

‘Actually, over six million Jews died in the war, and as it progressed almost all the major countries in the world became allies of Britain against Germany,’ Wilt corrected him, inwardly feeling close to despair. How on earth was he going to drum any depth of knowledge into this homicidal brat … or even begin to convince Lady Clarissa he’d earned his money? He tried another tack.

‘Edward, why don’t you tell me what you think you know a lot about instead?’

‘I know all about Bravo Two-Zero.’

‘Bravo Twenty?’ Wilt frowned. He hadn’t heard of this conflict before.

‘Bravo Twenty?’ Edward asked, mystified. ‘I don’t know anything about Twenty whatever it is … I only know about Bravo Zero Two. Or was it Zero Bravo Two? Anyway, just goes to show how dated you are. There’s a generation gap between me and you. Why don’t you catch up and then we can try talking again? In the meantime, I’m going to go and do some more target practice. It’s even better at night-time when you can’t see. ’Bye, old man.’

And Edward whistled as he strolled out, with his gun propped against one shoulder.

Wilt shook his head glumly. Somehow his pupil had got the better of him and been bloody cheeky too. Oh, well, he was a completely lost cause in any
case. All Wilt had to do now was spend some time with the boy, be seen to earn his keep. There was absolutely no prospect of any repeat visit to this household. And as for Bravo Twenty, he wasn’t even going to waste his time finding out what that was. Edward had probably dreamt it up after reading some war magazine.

Eva was having a difficult time, too, thought she hadn’t lost her way on this occasion. Nor had she run out of petrol. Instead, to avoid being killed by a huge lorry that had been well over the speed limit when it came round a sharp bend on the wrong side of the road, she had driven her car out of its path and up an embankment, through a hedge and over a ditch into a wheat field where it couldn’t be seen by passing cars. The quads had screamed with fright and carried on as though the world had ended, but none of them had been hurt.

Trying to ignore their swearing and shrieking, Eva had attempted to re-start the car only to find that it had died on her. She reached into her bag for her mobile phone and when she finally found it, under the rear seat, discovered it wouldn’t work. The quads had evidently spent the entire journey texting – goodness knows who since they appeared not to have any friends whatsover – and as a consequence the battery was now completely dead.

Ignoring their protests that if only they were allowed
mobile phones themselves they would have a better knowledge of how long batteries lasted, Eva forced them out of the car and made them follow her back to the road where she climbed through the gap in the hedge and stood waiting for a motorist to stop and help. Unfortunately it was not a busy road. After half an hour the first car passed without apparently noticing them – a feat Eva found difficult to believe given that by now the girls were amusing themselves by sunbathing topless on the verge, despite all her entreaties to them to cover themselves up. The second car to come along was driven by an elderly man who was concentrating on the sharp bend ahead, although he did look somewhat shocked by the sight of so much bare flesh on display and, in the event, barely made it round the corner unscathed. By the time the girls had put their clothes back on, grumbling that they would-never-get-a-decent-tan-with-a-prude-for-a-mother and that they never-wanted-to-go-to-some-Godforsaken-Hall-in-the-middle-of-nowhere in the first place, two open-topped sports cars, obviously racing one another, had sped past. Finally, after another hour, a Mini arrived and the driver actually stopped? But having seen the quads he declared that they couldn’t possibly all fit into the back seat of such a small car, shook his head and drove on.