Blott on the Landscape

  ‘Ah, good,’ said Lady Maud. ‘Now then, to business. I’ll show you exactly what I want.’ They went inside to the billiard room and Lady Maud unrolled a map of the estate. ‘I am opening a wildlife park,’ she explained. ‘I want a fence extending the entire perimeter of the park. It must be absolutely secure and proof against any sort of animal.’

  ‘But I understood …’ the manager began.

  ‘Never mind what you understood,’ said Lady Maud. ‘Just understand that I am opening a wildlife park in three weeks’ time.’

  ‘In three weeks? That’s out of the question.’

  Lady Maud rolled up the map. ‘In that case I shall employ someone else,’ she said. ‘Some enterprising firm that can erect a suitable fence …’

  ‘You won’t get any firm to do it in three weeks,’ said the manager. ‘Not unless you pay a fortune.’

  ‘I am prepared to pay a fortune,’ said Lady Maud.

  The manager looked at her and rubbed his jaw. ‘Three weeks?’ he said.

  ‘Three weeks,’ said Lady Maud.

  The manager took out a notebook and made some calculations. ‘This is simply a rough estimate,’ he said finally, ‘but I would say somewhere in the region of twenty-five thousand pounds.’

  ‘Say thirty and be done with it,’ said Lady Maud. ‘Thirty thousand pounds for the fence to be completed in three weeks from today with a bonus of one thousand a day for every day under three weeks and a penalty clause of two thousand pounds for every day after three weeks.’

  The manager gaped at her. ‘I suppose you know what you’re doing,’ he muttered.

  ‘I know precisely what I’m doing, thank you very much,’ said Lady Maud. ‘What is more you will work day and night. You will bring your materials in at night. I don’t want any lorries coming here during the day and you will house your men here. I will provide accommodation. You will see to their bedding and their food. This whole operation must be done in the strictest secrecy.’

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ said the manager and sat down in a chair. Lady Maud sat down opposite him.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said the manager. ‘It can be done …’

  ‘It will be,’ Lady Maud assured him. ‘Either by you or someone else.’

  ‘You realize that if we were to finish the job in a fortnight the cost would have risen to thirty-seven thousand pounds.’

  ‘And I should be delighted. And if you can finish in a week I shall be happy to pay forty-two thousand pounds,’ she said. ‘Are we agreed?’ The manager nodded. ‘Right, in that case I shall make out a cheque to you for ten thousand now and two post-dated cheques for the same amount. I trust that will be a sufficient earnest of my good faith.’ She went through to the study and wrote out the cheques. ‘I shall expect the arrival of materials tonight and work to begin at once. You can bring the contract tomorrow for me to sign.’

  The manager went out and got into his car in a state of shock. ‘Mad as a March bloody hare,’ he muttered as he drove down the drive.

  Behind him Lady Maud went back to the study and sat down. It was costing more than she had anticipated but it was worth every penny. And then there was the price of the animals. Lions didn’t come cheap. Nor did a rhinoceros. And finally there was the puzzle of the photographs. What were obscene pictures of Mr Dundridge doing in Giles’ safe? She got up and went out into the garden and walked up and down the path by the wall of the kitchen garden. And suddenly it dawned on her. It explained everything and in particular why Dundridge had changed his mind about the tunnel. The wretched little man had been blackmailed. Well, two could play at that game. By God they could. She went through the door into the kitchen garden.

  ‘Has my husband ever put through a call to a woman in London?’ she asked Blott.

  ‘His secretary,’ said Blott. Lady Maud shook her head. Sir Giles’ secretary wasn’t the sort of woman who would take kindly to the suggestion that she should tie her employer to a bed and beat him and in any case she was happily married.

  ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Has he ever mentioned a woman in any of his conversations on the phone?’

  Blott tried to remember. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘In that case, Blott,’ she said, ‘you and I are going to London tomorrow.’

  Blott gazed at her in astonishment. ‘To London?’ He had never been to London.

  ‘To London. We shall be away for a few days.’

  ‘But what shall I wear?’ said Blott.

  ‘A suit of course.’

  ‘I haven’t got one,’ said Blott.

  ‘Well then,’ said Lady Maud, ‘we had better go into Worford and get you one. And while we’re about it we’ll get a camera as well. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.’

  She went back into the house and put the photographs into an envelope and hid it behind a set of Jorrocks on the bookshelf. It might be worth paying Mr Dundridge a visit while she was in Worford.

  18

  But Dundridge was not to be found in Worford. ‘He’s out,’ said the girl at the Regional Planning Board.

  ‘Where?’ said Lady Maud.

  ‘Inspecting the site,’ said the girl.

  ‘Well, kindly tell him when he comes back that I have some sights I would like him to inspect.’

  The girl looked at her. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,’ she said nastily. Lady Maud suppressed the reaction to tell the little hussy exactly what she did mean.

  ‘Tell Mr Dundridge that I have a number of photographs in which I feel sure he will take a particular interest. You had better write it down before you forget it. Tell him that. He knows where he can find me.’

  She went back to the outfitters where Blott was trying on a salmon-pink suit of Harris Tweed. ‘If you think I’m going to be seen with you in London in that revolting article of menswear, you’ve got another think coming,’ she snorted. She ran an eye over a number of less conspicuous suits and finally selected a dark grey pinstripe. ‘That’ll do.’ By the time they left the shop Blott was fitted out with shirts, socks, underwear and ties. They called at a shoe shop and bought a pair of black shoes.

  ‘And now all we need is a camera,’ said Lady Maud as they stowed Blott’s new clothes in the back of the Land-Rover. They went into a camera shop.

  ‘I want a camera with an excellent lens,’ she told the assistant, ‘one that can be operated by a complete idiot.’

  ‘You need an automatic camera,’ said the man.

  ‘No, she doesn’t,’ said Blott who resented being called a complete idiot in front of strangers. ‘She means a Leica.’

  ‘A Leica?’ said the man. ‘But that’s not a camera for a novice. That’s a …’

  ‘Blott,’ said Lady Maud, taking him out on to the pavement, ‘do you mean to say that you know how to take photographs?’

  ‘In the Luft … before the war I was trained in photography. I was …’

  Lady Maud beamed at him. ‘Oh Blott,’ she said, ‘you’re a godsend. An absolute godsend. Go and buy whatever you need to take good clear photographs.’

  ‘What of?’ asked Blott. Lady Maud hesitated. Oh well, he would have to know sooner or later. She took the plunge. ‘Him in bed with another woman.’

  ‘Him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  It was Blott’s turn to beam now. ‘We’ll need flash and a wide-angle lens.’ They went back into the shop and came out with a second-hand Leica, an enlarger, a developing tank, an electronic flash, and everything they needed. As they drove back to Handyman Hall Blott was in his seventh heaven.

  Dundridge, on the other hand, was in the other place. The girl at the switchboard had phoned him as soon as Lady Maud had left.

  ‘Lady Maud’s been,’ she told him. ‘She left a message for you.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Dundridge. ‘I hope you didn’t tell her where I was.’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ said the girl. ‘She’s a horrid old bag isn’t
she? I wouldn’t wish her on my worst enemy.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Dundridge agreed. ‘What was the message?’

  ‘She said “Tell Mr Dundridge that I have a number of photographs in which I feel sure he will take a particular interest.” She made me write it down. Hullo, are you still there? Mr Dundridge. Hullo. Hullo. Mr Dundridge, are you there?’ But there was no reply. She put the phone down.

  In his flat Dundridge sat in a state of shock. He still clutched the phone but he was no longer listening. His thoughts were concentrated on one terrible fact. Lady Maud had those ghastly photographs. She could destroy him. There was nothing he could do about it. She would use them if the motorway went ahead and there was absolutely no way he could stop it now. The fucking bitch had arranged the whole thing. First the photographs, then the bribe, and finally the attempt to murder him. The woman was insane. There could be no doubt about it now. Dundridge put down the phone and tried desperately to think what to do. He couldn’t even go to the police. In the first place they would never believe him. Lady Maud was a Justice of the Peace, a respected figure in the community and what had that Miss Boles told him? ‘We’ll know if you tell the police. We’ve had customers in the police.’ And in any case he had no proof that she was involved. Only the word of the girl at the Planning Board and Lady Maud would claim she had been talking about photographs of the Hall or something like that. He needed proof but above all he needed legal advice. A good lawyer.

  He picked up the telephone directory and looked in the yellow pages under Solicitors. ‘Ganglion, Turnbull and Shrine.’ Dundridge dialled and asked to speak to Mr Ganglion. Mr Ganglion would see him in the morning at ten o’clock. Dundridge spent the evening and most of the night pacing his room in an agony of doubt and suspense. Several times he picked up the phone to call Lady Maud only to put it down again. There was nothing he could say to her that would have the slightest effect and he dreaded what she would have to say to him. Towards dawn he fell into a restless sleep and awoke exhausted at seven.

  *

  At Handyman Hall Lady Maud and Blott slept fitfully too; Blott because he was kept awake by the rumble of lorries through the arch; Lady Maud because she was superintending the whole operation and explaining where she wanted things put.

  ‘Your men can sleep in the servants’ quarters,’ she told the manager. ‘I shall be away for a week. Here is the key to the back door.’

  When she finally got to bed in the early hours Handyman Hall had assumed the aspect of a construction camp. Concrete mixers, posts, lorries, fencing wire, bags of cement and gravel were arranged in the park and work had already begun by the light of lamps and a portable generator.

  She lay in bed listening to the voices and the rumble of the machines and was well satisfied. When money was no object you could still get things done quickly even in England. ‘Money no object,’ she thought and smiled to herself at the oddity of the phrase. She would have to do something about money before very long. She would think about it in the morning.

  At seven she was up and had breakfasted. Through the window of the kitchen she was pleased to note that several concrete posts had already been installed and that a strange machine that looked like a giant corkscrew was boring holes for some more. She went along to the study and spent an hour going through Sir Giles’ filing-cabinets. She paid particular attention to a file marked Investments and took down the details of his shareholdings and the correspondence with his stockbroker. Then she went carefully through his personal correspondence, but there was no indication to be found there of any mistress with a penchant for whips and handcuffs.

  At nine she signed the contract and went up to her room to pack and at ten she and Blott, now dressed in his pinstripe suit and wearing a blue polka-dot tie, drove off in the Land-Rover for Hereford and the train to London. Behind them in the study the phone was off the stand. There would be no phone calls to Handyman Hall from Sir Giles.

  Dundridge arrived promptly at the offices of Ganglion, Turnbull and Shrine and was kept waiting for ten minutes. He sat in an outer office clutching his briefcase and looking miserably at the sporting prints on the walls. They didn’t suggest the sophisticated modern approach to life that he felt an understanding of his particular case required. Nor did Mr Ganglion, who finally deigned to see him. He was an elderly man with gold-rimmed glasses over which he looked at Dundridge critically. Dundridge sat down in front of his desk and tried to think how to begin.

  ‘And what did you wish to consult me about, Mr Dundridge?’ Mr Ganglion enquired. ‘I think you should know in advance that if this has anything to do with the motorway we are not prepared to handle it.’

  Dundridge shook his head. ‘It hasn’t got anything to do with the motorway, well not exactly,’ he said. ‘The thing is that I’m being blackmailed.’

  Mr Ganglion put the tips of his fingers together and tapped them. ‘Blackmailed? Indeed. An unusual crime in this part of the world. I can’t remember when we last had a case of blackmail. Still it does make a change, I must say. Yes, blackmail. You interest me, Mr Dundridge. Do go on.’

  Dundridge swallowed nervously. He hadn’t come to interest Mr Ganglion or at least not in the way his smile suggested. ‘It’s like this,’ he said. ‘I went to a party at the Golf Club and I met this girl …’

  ‘A girl, eh?’ said Mr Ganglion and drew his chair up to the desk. ‘An attractive girl I daresay.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dundridge.

  ‘And you went home with her, I suppose,’ said Mr Ganglion, his eyes alight with a very genuine interest now.

  ‘No,’ said Dundridge. ‘At least I don’t think so.’

  ‘You don’t think so?’ said Mr Ganglion. ‘Surely you know what you did?’

  ‘That’s the whole point,’ Dundridge said, ‘I don’t know what I did.’ He stopped. He did know what he had done. The photographs proclaimed his actions all too clearly. ‘Well actually … I know what I did and all that …’

  ‘Yes,’ Mr Ganglion said encouragingly.

  ‘The thing is I don’t know where I did it.’

  ‘In a field perhaps?’

  Dundridge shook his head. ‘Not in a field.’

  ‘In the back of a car?’

  ‘No,’ said Dundridge. ‘The thing is that I was unconscious.’

  ‘Were you really? Extraordinary. Unconscious?’

  ‘You see, I had a Campari before we left. It tasted bitter but then Campari does, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Mr Ganglion, ‘what Campari tastes like but I’ll take your word for it.’

  ‘Very bitter,’ said Dundridge, ‘and we got into the car and that’s the last thing I remember.’

  ‘How very unfortunate,’ said Mr Ganglion, clearly disappointed that he wasn’t going to hear the more intimate details of the encounter.

  ‘The next thing I knew I was sitting in my car in a lay-by.’

  ‘A lay-by. Very appropriate. And what happened next?’

  Dundridge shifted nervously in his chair. This was the part he had been dreading. ‘I got some photographs.’

  Mr Ganglion’s flagging interest revived immediately. ‘Did you really? Splendid. Photographs indeed.’

  ‘And a demand for a thousand pounds.’

  ‘A thousand pounds? Did you pay it?’

  ‘No,’ said Dundridge. ‘No I didn’t.’

  ‘You mean they weren’t worth it?’

  Dundridge chewed his lip. ‘I don’t know what they’re worth,’ he muttered bitterly.

  ‘Then you’ve still got them,’ said Mr Ganglion. ‘Good. Good. Well I’ll soon tell you what I think of them.’

  ‘I’d rather …’ Dundridge began but Mr Ganglion insisted.

  ‘The evidence,’ he said, ‘let’s have a look at the evidence of blackmail. Most important.’

  ‘They’re pretty awful,’ said Dundridge.

  ‘Bound to be,’ said Mr Ganglion. ‘For a thousand pounds they must be quite revolting.’
br />   ‘They are,’ said Dundridge. Encouraged by Mr Ganglion’s broad-mindedness, he opened his briefcase and took out the envelope. ‘The thing is you’ve got to remember I was unconscious at the time.’

  Mr Ganglion nodded understandingly. ‘Of course, my dear fellow, of course.’ He reached out and took the envelope and opened it. ‘Good God,’ he muttered as he looked at the first one. Dundridge squirmed in his chair and stared at the ceiling, and listened while Mr Ganglion thumbed through the photographs, grunting in an ecstasy of disgust and astonishment.

  ‘Well?’ he asked when Mr Ganglion sat back exhausted in his chair. The solicitor was staring at him incredulously.

  ‘A thousand pounds? Is that really all they asked?’ he said. Dundridge nodded. ‘Well, all I can say is that you got off damned lightly.’

  ‘But I didn’t pay,’ Dundridge reminded him. Mr Ganglion goggled at him.

  ‘You didn’t? You mean to tell me you balked at a mere thousand pounds after having …’ he stopped at a loss for words while his finger wavered over a particularly revolting photograph.

  ‘I couldn’t,’ said Dundridge feeling hard done by.

  ‘Couldn’t?’

  ‘They never called me back. I had one phone call and I’ve been waiting for another.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mr Ganglion. He looked back at the photograph. ‘And you’ve no idea who this remarkable woman is?’

  ‘None at all. I only met her the once.’