“Certainly not,” said Sorley. “Hugh is perfectly accustomed to being back there – with the dogs, if we had any – aren’t you, Hugh?”
“Of course.”
“And we would never expect a lady to sit in the back, would we, Hugh?”
“Certainly not.”
Sorley unfolded a tartan rug and laid it across Barbara’s knees. They drove off. Hugh pointed to a mountain that rose almost sheer from the other side of the sea loch and named it. It was a name of liquid sounds, a Gaelic name she feared she would never be able to remember.
After ten minutes following a winding coastal road they came to the Corran ferry, a five-minute crossing of Loch Linnhe that would take them into the hills of Ardnamurchan. As they waited for the ferry to disgorge its last few cars and allow them to drive down the ramp, Sorley told a story.
“There was a doctor round these parts,” he said. “He was a very popular figure. But he liked his whisky. Nobody minded that, of course, as everybody likes his whisky in Lochaber. Anyway, he drove onto the Corran ferry one day after he’d been up to the Fort to visit some friends. He’d had a few drams up there and decided to get out of the car to clear his head. When he got back in there was a terrible fuss and he called one of the ferrymen over to the car. ‘Somebody’s stolen my steering wheel!’ he complained. The ferryman had a look and said, ‘You’re sitting in the back seat, doctor.’”
Barbara laughed, and, glancing behind, she noticed that Hugh looked pleased that she had found the story amusing. She would tell him later, she decided, that her own father, Gregory Ragg, used to tell stories too; substitute Soho for Argyll and the stories were the same.
The farm was a good distance down Loch Sunart, in the shadow of a towering hill that Hugh identified as the Holy Mountain. Sorley had become quiet; he had engaged Hugh in desultory conversation but this dried up as the journey continued. Then they were there, at a set of stone pillars between which an ordinary stock gate had been hung. An untarred road wound its way up through a stand of broad-leafed trees; beside it, down a bank that was covered with rioting whin, a burn, wide as a river in places, made its way seawards. Barbara looked up and saw that there was a long, wispy waterfall where this burn tumbled down the hillside. Hugh, following her gaze, reached forward from the back seat to touch her arm gently. “I used to go up there every day when I was a boy,” he said.
“Can we?”
“Of course we can,” he said. “There’s a pool up there. Right under that high bit – see? – where the water falls about thirty feet. Look.” He addressed his next remark to his father: “The hydro scheme. How are things going?”
His father sighed. “Where does one begin?”
“Not going well?”
“No.”
Barbara looked enquiringly at Sorley. “A hydro scheme?”
“Hydroelectricity,” he said, pointing up at a far place on the mountain. “Over there we have another body of water coming down the hill. Quite a decent volume of it. If we lay a pipe down the hill we get a terrific drop, which means that we can generate hydroelectricity down at the bottom.”
“For the house?”
Sorley shook his head. “Far, far more than that. We can probably get eight hundred kilowatts. We could sell it to the electricity people. Pump it back into the grid.”
“It’s very green,” said Hugh. “It’s far better than making electricity from coal or nuclear reactors.”
“Exactly,” said Sorley. “And this part of the world is full of energy. Wind energy. Tidal energy. And so on.” He sighed again. “That’s the theory. But try getting any of this started and … Well, there are all sorts of difficulties and problems put in your way. And contractors too. Don’t talk to me about contractors.”
The farm road veered sharply to the right and the house came into view. Barbara almost gasped, but stopped herself in time. She had expected something simple; they had passed a number of farmhouses on the way all of which had an air of solid, rural simplicity about them. This house, which was painted white, was considerably larger than the others she had seen, and considerably more beautiful.
“Is it Georgian?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Sorley. “At least, in its inspiration. One of my forbears was a great devotee of Georgian architecture. He built this in the middle of the nineteenth century, when everybody else was building great piles like Glenborrodale Castle or Ardtornish. He went in for simplicity.”
They went inside. Hugh’s mother had waved to them from a window and now appeared in the hall. “Stephanie,” whispered Hugh.
Stephanie smiled at her son, but went first to Barbara. “My dear,” she said, “you are so very welcome to our family.”
The words were the exact ones used by Sorley, and Barbara had to make an effort not to register her surprise. Had they discussed in advance what they were going to say to her? If so, it disappointingly diminished in her mind the warmth of Sorley’s welcome at Fort William station; rehearsed words always struck her as being so much less powerful than those that are spontaneous and unprepared. And yet there were so many occasions when there were no alternatives to stock phrases that might mean little but nonetheless oiled the wheels of social life. “Good morning” in one sense meant nothing, but in another meant everything. “Have a nice day” in one sense meant nothing and in another … meant nothing too.
Chapter 55: Martin Makes a Proposition
Early that week, Dee received a letter from Richard Eadeston, the venture capitalist. The letter arrived at the Pimlico Vitamin and Supplement Agency with the morning post, which was delivered while Dee and her assistant, Martin, were enjoying, during a slack period, a cup of redcurrant infusion. Their conversation had been wide-ranging and frank, comparing the merits of various products and even touching on a subject that they had not visited recently but that Dee now felt sufficiently emboldened to raise.
“Have you given any further thought to the thing I spoke to you about a while ago?” she asked Martin
Her assistant looked blank. “What thing? Echinacea?”
She took a sip of her redcurrant, looking at him over the rim of the cup. “No. The other thing.”
She could be oblique, he thought, needlessly so. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. What other thing?”
“Colonic irrigation.”
Martin blushed. “No,” he said bluntly. “No, I haven’t.”
“You really should,” said Dee. “There’s been another article on it in the mags. They’re talking about making it available on the health service. About time too.”
Martin looked away. He said nothing.
“Not only should it be freely available,” Dee went on, “they should make it compulsory. On health and safety grounds.”
Martin raised his eyebrows. “Compulsory!”
“I’m only joking,” said Dee. “Where’s your sense of humour?”
“I don’t think colonic irrigation is funny,” said Martin. “And I wish you wouldn’t go on and on about it.”
Dee defended herself. “I don’t go on and on, as you put it. All that I’m saying is that when I had a look at your eyes that time, what I saw made me think that you’d benefit from colonic irrigation. I was just thinking about your toxins – that’s all.” She paused. “But if you don’t want me to care about your toxin levels, that’s fine. Just don’t blame me if you …”
“If I what?”
“Nothing. Just don’t blame me.”
“Fine. I won’t. So that’s it. Don’t talk to me about it again.’
She shrugged. “You wouldn’t have to pay. I’d do it for you. I’ve been trained.”
He said nothing, and it was at this point that the postman entered the shop with the post, including the letter from Richard Eadeston. Dee opened it, and read it quickly.
She was clearly pleased. “That’s good news,” she said. “Very good news.”
Martin was relieved to be talking about something other than colonic irriga
tion. “What’s good news?”
Dee told him about her meeting with the venture capitalist and his enthusiasm for her idea of marketing a Sudoku Remedy based on Gingko biloba. “He likes it,’ she said. “Listen, this is what he says: ‘I have discussed your proposal with my colleagues and they have agreed with me that this is a project that deserves backing. Obviously we shall need to see a proper business plan, but subject to that being put together satisfactorily, I think we shall be able to see our way to investing a small sum in your Sudoku Remedy. We are not prepared to fund the total cost, of course, and would want you, as matter of principle, to put up a certain amount. What disposable assets do you currently have? If you can raise ten thousand pounds, we shall match that sum in the first instance, with the possibility of a further tranche of between fifteen and twenty thousand pounds later in the year. We would expect such a quantity of shares to be issued to us as would reflect our level of risk: I suggest that seventy-five per cent of the equity should be vested in us, with twenty-five per cent remaining with you. You should, of course, seek independent advice, but I would recommend the arrangement to you and I look forward to working with you in the near future.’”
Martin’s eyes narrowed. “Twenty-five per cent? But the whole idea was yours. You deserve more than that.”
Dee told him that money was rarely a matter of desert. “That’s what happens,” she said. “If you need to raise money, you always lose control of your business. Cash has a price tag, you know.”
“Well, it sounds unfair to me … But then I don’t know anything about it.” He looked at her enquiringly. “Have you got ten thousand pounds, Dee?”
Dee was thoughtful. “Not as such,’ she said. “No, I don’t have ten thousand pounds as such. Not actual cash … But I do have an asset worth a bit more than that. Twelve thousand, or thereabouts.”
“Shares?” asked Martin.
“No, not shares. It’s an endowment policy I took out a few years ago. It’s my pension – or the beginnings of it. I could surrender it.”
Martin drew in his breath sharply. “You mustn’t, Dee, you mustn’t do that. Not your pension!”
“I won’t need my pension for ages and ages,” said Dee. “I’ll have time to get another one sorted out. No, I’ll cash this one in and use it to fund the Sudoku Remedy.”
Martin looked at her, the anxiety plain in his expression. ‘I’d say that’s very foolish. I really would. And anyway, can you trust this What’s-his-name?”
“Richard Eadeston. Of course I can trust him.”
Martin was not sure. “What if you give him the money and he just goes off with it. What then?”
She did not think this likely. Richard Eadeston was a graduate of the University of Sussex; he had frequented the same Brighton pub as she had, the Shaggy Dump. That was not the profile of somebody who might be suspected of fraud or other sharp practices. “He’s fine, Martin,” she reassured him. “And I’m a big girl, I really am. I know how to look after myself.”
Martin realised that he was not going to persuade Dee to think again about using her pension fund in this way, so he moved on to more practical considerations. How would she market the Sudoku Remedy once she had it bottled? And who would bottle it?
“What I think I’ll do,” said Dee, “is a trial run. I’ll get in some wholesale Gingko tablets and then I’ll get some labels printed. We – that’s you and I – can stick these labels on to little bottles full of the Gingko. And that’s it – we’ll put them in the window and see what happens.”
“You don’t need ten thousand pounds to do that,” Martin pointed out. “You could do that for a few hundred, surely.”
“Nice labels,” said Dee. “And leaflets. We’ll maybe even put an advertisement in one of the papers. You know those ads you see for booklets on how to talk to your cat – that sort of thing. Those companies do terribly well, you know. Everybody loves mail order.” She reached out and tickled Martin under the chin. “We’re going to be rich, Martin – or rather I’m going to be rich. But I’ll pay you separately for the help you give me. Filling bottles and so on.”
“I wish you wouldn’t tickle me,” he said. “It’s really annoying.” Tickling, and offers of colonic irrigation; it actually amounted to harassment, if one came to think of it. Dee should not assume she could treat him like that just because he was younger than she was, and her employee to boot. That kind of thing was no longer allowed, he believed, and Dee would have to learn that. How would she like to be tickled? How would she like it?
He sighed. My life is nothing, he thought. Nothing. Money – that was the answer. If you had money, then you could do something, and you would not have to put up with all this: being Dee’s employee; being tickled under the chin in a condescending way; being threatened with colonic irrigation. What he needed to do was to make money so that he could be somebody at last, not just a complete nobody.
He had five thousand pounds. It had been given to him by his godfather, who had a minicab firm in Essex. He had done nothing with it, merely left it in a deposit account in the bank. What he needed to do was to put it to work, and perhaps this was his chance.
“Dee,” he said. “This Sudoku Remedy of yours, will it really take off?”
Dee looked completely confident. “Well, I think it will. And Richard thinks it will too.”
“Could I come in on it?” said Martin. “I haven’t got very much. Just five grand. But I could become a … a partner.”
Dee thought for a moment. Martin was so young. But … “All right,” she said. “As long as you’re sure. I don’t want to take your money unless you’re sure.”
Martin swallowed. “I’m sure,” he said. It was spoken with conviction – exactly that tone of conviction we use when we are profoundly unsure of what we are saying, but hope that our words alone will make things work, will make everything all right.
Chapter 56: Freddie de la Hay Goes Off Air
The event that Tilly Curtain described to William so cursorily at their meeting in the restaurant – the sudden fading into silence of Freddie de la Hay’s transmitter – had only come about by pure chance. It was certainly not the result of anything that Freddie had done; he had behaved impeccably from the moment he had been brought by Tilly Curtain to the flat next door. He had been puzzled by what seemed now to be a fairly constant process of being passed from pillar to post, but he was not by nature a complainer, and he had accepted it.
Of course he did not like Anatoly Podgornin, the man to whom Tilly consigned him, but again he did not outwardly show this dislike – apart from a slight drawing back when the Russian bent down to pat him on the head. Nor did he like the smell of this new flat, which was heavily dominated by stale tobacco smoke. There were other disagreeable scents too: from the kitchen there came an odd, vinegary smell that made the inside of Freddie’s sensitive nose prickle; there was a meaty odour there, too, which was more satisfactory, but he could tell that something had been done to the meat to make it rank in the canine olfactory spectrum.
On his arrival in Podgornin’s flat, Freddie had been led into a sitting room. There was a woman there, and two other men, and they were engaged in some sort of meeting. When Podgornin entered with Freddie, one of the men gave a sarcastic cheer. “Country gentleman, now, Anatoly Michailovich?” he called out mockingly. “Going shooting? Off to the dacha?”
Podgornin cleared his throat. “My house,” he said. “If I want a dog, it’s up to me. And it’s just for a week. I’m looking after him for that charming young lady on the other side of the landing.”
“Fraternising with the locals?” asked the other man. “Or only with the female locals?”
Podgornin watched as Freddie went to lie down on a rug. “He’s settling in. And as for this business about fraternising, how are we to make the necessary contacts unless we get out and meet people? Moscow made it clear: integrate, get on the inside track. You know that as well as I do.”
The woman was clearly irritate
d by this conversation and began to show her impatience. “That’s enough about dogs,” she said. “Pointless creatures. I suggest we get back to the topic in hand, which is, if I may remind you, the issue of access to further information about energy acquisition strategy. I would like to know where you are with that young man in their liaison office. Coming along nicely?”
“Very,” said Podgornin. “He is that very useful character – the incorrigible gambler. At the moment he has very little debt – he’s been lucky – but I’m assured by our friend in the casino that it won’t be long before we shall have him right where we want him. We shall very generously offer to pay his debts once they’re large enough—”
“And pressing enough,” interjected the woman.