“My new job?” said Dundridge. “But I’m with Leisure Activities.”
“And very appropriate too,” said Mr Joynson. “And now you are with Motorways Midlands. Next month I daresay we’ll be able to find you a niche in Parks and Gardens.”
“I must say I find all this moving around very disturbing. I don’t see how I can be expected to get anything constructive done when I’m being shifted from one Department to another all the time.”
“There is that to be said for it,” Mr Joynson agreed. “However, in this case there is nothing constructive for you to do. You will merely be required to exercise a moderating influence.”
“A moderating influence?” Dundridge perked up.
Mr Joynson nodded. “A moderating influence,” he said and consulted his instructions again. “You have been appointed the Minister’s troubleshooter in Worford.”
“What?” said Dundridge, now thoroughly alarmed. “But there’s just been a riot in Worford.”
Mr Joynson smiled. He was beginning to enjoy himself. “So there has,” he said. “Well, now your job is to see that there are no more riots in Worford. I’m told it is a charming little town.”
“It didn’t look very charming on the news last night,” said Dundridge.
“Oh well, we mustn’t go by appearances now, must we? Here is your letter of appointment. As you can see it gives you full powers to conduct negotiations -”
“But I thought Lord Leakham was heading the Enquiry,” said Dundridge.
“Well, yes he is. But I understand he’s a little indisposed just at the moment and in any case he appears to be under some misapprehension as to his role.”
“You mean he is in hospital, don’t you?” said Dundridge.
Mr Joynson ignored the question. He turned to a map on the wall behind him. “The issue you will have to consider is really quite simple,” he said. “The M101, as you can see here, has two possible routes. One through the Cleene Gorge here, the other through Ottertown. The Ottertown route is out of the question for a number of reasons. You will see to it that Leakham decides on the Cleene Gorge route.”
“Surely it’s up to him to decide,” said Dundridge.
Mr Joynson sighed. “My dear Dundridge, when you have been in public service as long as I have you will know that Enquiries, Royal Commissions and Boards of Arbitration are only set up to make recommendations that concur with decisions already taken by the experts. Your job is to see that Lord Leakham arrives at the correct decision.”
“What happens if he doesn’t?”
“God alone knows. I suppose in the present climate of opinion we’ll have to go ahead and build the bloody thing through Ottertown, and then there would be hell to pay. It is up to you to see it doesn’t. You have full powers to negotiate with the parties involved and I daresay Leakham will co-operate.”
“I don’t see how I can negotiate when I’ve got nothing to negotiate with,” Dundridge pointed out plaintively. “And in any case what does it mean by troubleshooter?”
“Presumably whatever you choose to make it,” said Mr Joynson.
Dundridge took the file on the M101 back to his office.
“I’m the minister’s troubleshooter in the Midlands division,” he told his secretary grandly and phoned the transport pool for a car. Then he read his letter of authority once again. It was quite clear that his abilities had been recognized in high places. Dundridge had power, and he was determined to use it.
At Handyman Hall Lady Maud congratulated herself on her skill in disrupting the Enquiry. Released from custody against her own better judgment at the express command of the Chief Constable, she returned to the Hall to be deluged by messages of support. General Burnett called to offer her his congratulations. Mrs Bullett-Finch phoned to see if there was anything she needed after the ordeal of her confinement, a term Lady Maud found almost as offensive as Colonel Chapman’s comment that she was full of spunk. Even Mrs Thomas wrote to thank her on behalf, as she modestly put it, of the common people. Lady Maud accepted these tributes abruptly. They were she felt quite unnecessary. She had only been doing her duty after all. As she put it to the reporter from the Observer, “Local interests can only be looked after by local authorities,” a sufficiently ambiguous expression to satisfy the correspondent while stating very precisely Lady Maud’s own view of her role in South Worfordshire.
“And do you intend to sue the police for unlawful arrest?” the reporter asked.
“Certainly not. I have the greatest respect for the police. They do a magnificent job. I hold Lord Leakham entirely responsible. I am taking legal counsel as to what action I should take against him.”
In the Worford Cottage Hospital Lord Leakham greeted the news that she was considering legal proceedings against him with a show of indifference. He had more immediate problems, the state of his digestive system for one thing, six stitches in his scalp for another, and besides he was suffering from concussion. In his lucid moments he prayed for death and in his delirium shouted obscenities.
But if Lord Leakham was too preoccupied with his own problems to think at all clearly about the disruption of the Enquiry, Sir Giles could think of little else.
“The whole situation is extremely awkward,” he told Hoskins when they conferred at the latter’s office the next morning. “That bloody woman has put the cat among the pigeons and no mistake. She’s turned the whole thing into an issue of national interest. I’ve been inundated with calls from conservationists from all over the country, all supporting our stand. It’s bloody infuriating. Why can’t they mind their own confounded business?”
Hoskins lit his pipe moodily. “That’s not all,” he said, “they’re sending some bigwig up from the Ministry to take charge of the negotiations.”
“That’s all we need, some damned bureaucrat to come poking his nose into our affairs.”
“Quite,” said Hoskins, “so from now on no more phone calls to me here. I can’t afford to be connected with you.”
“Do you think he’s going to choose the Ottertown route?”
Hoskins shrugged. “I’ve no idea. All I do know is that if I were in his shoes I’m damned if I’d recommend the Gorge.”
“Let me know what the blighter suggests,” said Sir Giles and went out to his car.
Chapter 7
To Dundridge, travelling up the M1, the underlying complexities of the situation in South Worfordshire were quite unknown. For the first time in his life he was armed with authority and he intended to put it to good use. He would make a name for himself. The years of frustration were over. He would return to London with his reputation for swift, decisive action firmly established.
At Warwick he stopped for lunch, and while he ate he studied the file on the motorway. There was a map of the district, the outline of the alternative routes, and a list of those people through whose property the motorway would run and the sums they would receive as compensation. Dundridge concentrated his attention on the latter. A single glance was enough to explain the urgency of his appointment and the difficulty of his mission. The list read like a roll-call of the upper class in the county. Sir Giles Lynchwood, General Burnett, Colonel Chapman, Mr Bullett-Finch, Miss Percival. Dundridge peered uncomfortably at the names and incredulously at the sums they were being offered. A quarter of a million pounds for Sir Giles. One hundred and fifty thousand to General Burnett. One hundred and twenty thousand to Colonel Chapman. Even Miss Percival whose occupation was listed as schoolteacher was offered fifty-five thousand. Dundridge compared these sums with his own income and felt a surge of envy. There was no justice in the world and Dundridge (whose socialism was embodied in the maxim “To each according to his abilities, from each according to his needs,” the “his” in both cases referring to Dundridge himself) found his thoughts wandering in the direction of money. It had been Dundridge’s mother who had instilled in him the saying “Don’t marry money, go where money is” and since this had been easier said than done, Dundridge’s sex life had been largely confined to his imagination. There, safe from the disagreeable complexities of real life, he had indulged his various passions. In his imagination Dundridge was rich, Dundridge was powerful and Dundridge was the possessor of an entourage of immaculate women – or to be precise of one woman, a composite creature made up of bits and pieces of real women who had once partially attracted him but without any of their concomitant disadvantages. Now for the first time he was going where money was. It was an alluring prospect. He finished his lunch and drove on.