“And what’s McClure got to do with it? If he’s involved, there’s something crooked going on. Mark my words, vicar.”
“Oh no, that’s a terrible thing to say.”
The Rev was defending me like a martyr, bless him. He might be naive and ready to believe the best in people, but on the other hand Welsh is too clever for his own good. I know which I prefer. And it wasn’t a very nice thing to say, was it? As a Christian, Welsh had definitely got on the wrong bus. I hate to admit that I worked for him at one time, in a way.
Me and the councillor eyeballed each other for a bit. This was the Rev’s territory, and I didn’t want to antagonise Welsh any more than necessary. It might become necessary at any moment, though.
“Livingstone and his friends have kindly volunteered to repair the damage to the vestry roof,” pointed out the Rev in a hurt voice. There was a general shuffling of feet and dropping of jaws behind me as four pairs of ears picked up the word ‘volunteered’. Not now, Gary, I thought — don’t go on about your invoice right now.
“Very noble, I’m sure.”
“The Lord provides a roof over our heads,” said the Rev mysteriously. The Lord? I was impressed that he’d granted me a title, but I didn’t really want it. Me and the nobility don’t mix.
Welsh Border glowered at me again. It must be his party piece, he does it so often.
“Would you like to help us, Councillor Border?” I offered. “I’m sure we could find you some bricks that need chewing.” There — you can’t say I don’t try to make peace.
The Rev hovered uncertainly, aware that the conversation was rising a bit above his level. Then he invited Welsh down to the bottom of the churchyard to look at some rhododendrons that might need tidying up. He gave the impression that only Councillor Border’s opinion could decide their fate. It was like the intervention of the United Nations. With one last glower, Welsh went.
Next thing the mobile rang again, and it was Lisa.
“Oh, hi.”
“Hello, Stones.”
“How are you?”
“I’m okay. You?”
“Yeah, great. How’s the course, then?”
“Fascinating. We’ve been doing Footfall Optimisation today.”
“Brilliant.”
I hadn’t a clue what she was talking about. But she went on a bit before she wound down. Then, in the silence, I remembered it was me that had been trying to get hold of her. Now what was it I wanted to say to her?
“Is everything all right, Stones?”
Oh yeah, that was just it. Everything wasn’t all right.
“Yeah, fine. Just fine. I was just, er, wondering when you were coming back.”
“I told you. Tomorrow. Can you pick me up at the station? If you’re busy, it doesn’t matter. I’ll understand.”
“Sure. What time?”
“If I get away promptly, I should get the five-fifteen train. I’ll be in Mansfield about six o’clock.”
“Is there any reason why you shouldn’t get away on time?”
“Not really. It’s just that, you know, if we get involved in a discussion...”
I didn’t like the sound of that ‘we’. There are ‘we’s’ and ‘we’s’, and this sounded like the other one. It didn’t conjure up a picture of a load of old biddies from evening classes to me.
“Has there been anybody interesting on the course with you?”
“Oh, a few people I’ve managed to talk to. In the bar at night, you know.”
“Yeah, I can imagine.”
“Actually,” she said, “there is one that you’ve met.”
“Really?” Definitely not an old biddy. I could tell by the tone of her voice. In any case, I don’t know any old biddies. The only evening class I ever went to was an educational visit to Lazy Maisie’s brothel when I was fifteen.
“Yes, I’m sure you remember.” Lisa laughed, but the laugh didn’t sound quite right. “You introduced yourself to him just the other day. At Hardwick.”
I must have got the heating turned up too high in the house. A hot flush had gone through my neck and there was sweat on my forehead. Also I was gripping the phone too tight, like it was someone’s neck that I wanted to do some damage too.
“Cavendish.”
“That’s right,” she said. “What a coincidence him being on the course, isn’t it? But of course he’s very interested in heritage. It’s in his blood, I suppose.”
“Michael bleedin’ Cavendish.”
“It’s Michael Holles-Bentinck-Cavendish, can you believe it? All those historic family names still surviving in somebody alive today. Incredible.”
“And I suppose Mr Holles-Bentinck bleedin’ Cavendish has just happened to be one of the people you bumped into in the bar at night?”
“Well, yes. But there have been a group of us usually.”
I didn’t like that ‘usually’ either. It had the same taste as that ‘we’ earlier. Nasty.
“Actually,” said Lisa. “I’ll tell you all about it when I see you tomorrow, but he’s asked me to do some work for him.”
“Who has?”
“Michael. Mr Cavendish.”
“Tell him to stuff it.”
“Stones, are you all right? You send very irritable.”
“Bloody hell, do I?”
“I know you didn’t take to him, but this is business.”
She’d used the magic word, and she knew it. I could hardly object to her having some business of her own. Just so long as it really was business. If I found out otherwise, Mr Four-name Cavendish was going to get his hyphens mangled by a bit of Stones McClure footfall optimisation, right in the crutch.
When I got to Rolling Meadows, Uncle Willis was already waiting for me. He was sitting in what they call the sun lounge — a sort of greenhouse with chairs. The chairs were the kind they make old people use when they think the poor souls might have forgotten how to sit up without falling over.
A care assistant flapped away from my uncle as I arrived. She was a bit on the hefty side for me, employed for her brawn, I suppose — handy for lifting old people on and off their beds and other things I’d rather not think about. But Uncle Willis had always liked his women big. My Aunt Mary wasn’t exactly a wee lass. I think that’s why they called her ‘Two Ton’.
“They won’t leave me alone, youth,” said Willis, without bothering with a greeting. “They give me no peace in here, you know.”
“I know, Uncle. But you never really wanted peace, did you?”
“Ah, well. I’ve had an active life, I suppose.”
I perched on one of the high chairs, examining him for signs of deterioration. Like my dad, he’d been a pitman. But he’d been the older of the brothers by seven years, and he’d got himself a trade, working up to a chargehand electrician at Medensworth pit. So far, at seventy-two, he wasn’t looking bad. A bit frailer and slower than he used to be, but otherwise fit. His eye was bright, and he certainly had his faculties about him, which was more than could be said for some of the other poor old souls in here. He always had a sharp brain, my uncle. That, and an ability to get directly to the point.
“I’ve made my will, Livingstone.”
“Oh, yes?”
“At last, you mean.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Ah, but you know that I should have made it a long time ago. I could go at any time, the way they treat me in here. I’m permanently at death’s door, I am.”
“Sure.”
He sighed at me. “No, really. It was something I had to do.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me, Uncle. But I don’t want your money, you know.”