The Heart of the Dales (34 page)

I gave a weak smile.
Why
had I let myself get into this, I asked myself? Could things get worse? First, to have to deputise for Chuck, the outstanding orator everyone was so looking forward to hearing, then to have to speak after the brilliant brigadier, and then to discover that my boss
and
Councillor Peterson would be in the audience. At that moment, I completely identified with Raymond's plaintive cry that it was ‘all too too much'.

‘I was just saying to Dr Gore, Mr Deputy Mayor,' commented the District Governor, ‘that it is very kind of Mr Phinn to stand in for one of our speakers who unfortunately is unable to be with us.'

‘'Appen it is,' said Councillor Peterson, ‘but I wasn't aware that hofficers of the Hauthority were allowed to moonlight.'

‘I'm hardly moonlighting, councillor,' I told him,
irritated by his comment. ‘I'm giving up a Saturday morning to help a colleague.'

‘Aye, well, I would 'ave thought you 'ad enough on yer plate what wi' all these school closures wi'out speak in' at conferences. I've said it once, and I'll say it again –'

‘Please, Mr Deputy Mayor,' interrupted Dr Gore, ‘let us not discuss Education Authority business. That is best left for the Council Chamber.'

‘'Appen so,' said Councillor Peterson, ‘but it's huppermost in my mind at t'moment. I'm gerrin' a lot of flak, as you well know, Dr Gore. Bullets comin' at me from every direction, same as what I got when I tried, wi'out success, I may add, to close t'school in the village where Mester Phinn lives.'

‘I think it is so very important to preserve these little village schools,' observed the District Governor. ‘To my mind, they are so much a part of the fabric of rural existence and so important in the life of the small community.'

‘Aye, well, I can see you've never 'ad to manage a budget with a bloody gret deficit, Dr Cockburn,' said Councillor Peterson, clearly stung by the remark. ‘I could say a few things about 'ospitals and doctors and t'waste in t'National 'Ealth Service, if I'd a mind.'

‘If indeed,' murmured the District Governor.

‘Beg pardon?' asked Councillor Peterson.

‘I said, ‘Shall I lead?' I think we are about to start.'

The Sergeant-at-Arms shouted from the door. ‘Mr Deputy Mayor, District Governor, fellow Rotarians, honoured guests, gentlemen, if you please. Could you take your seats? The brigadier's car has been sighted and is pulling into the car park.'

I was conducted to the wings of the stage by the Sergeant-at-Arms and told to wait while the brigadier, who would be speaking before me, was freshening up.

‘They like to look smart and well presented, these military types,' he said.

I was getting more and more irritated as the time ticked on. Eventually a woman in a dark blue suit joined me.

‘Good morning,' she said.

‘Good morning,' I replied.

‘Are you one of the speakers?' she asked.

‘I am,' I said, ‘I was supposed to be on half an hour ago but we've all been waiting for this bloody brigadier. He's arrived at last, but now we're waiting for him to powder his nose, or something.'

The woman gave a lop-sided smile. ‘I'm the bloody brigadier,' she said, holding out a hand. ‘Nice to meet you.'

‘It's the Black Widow on the phone for you,' said Julie, grimacing, and passing over the receiver as if it harboured some dire infection. It was a quarter to three on Wednesday afternoon and I was about to leave the office.

‘Who?' I asked.

‘Brenda the Impaler. Who do you think?'

‘Mrs Savage?'

‘Right! And, as usual, she sounds as sharp as a bottle full of sulphuric acid. Shall I say you've already left?'

‘No, no,' I said hurriedly. ‘I had better speak to her because it's probably about the meeting later this afternoon.'

I took the receiver from Julie who waited, a hand on her hip, smiling and listening.

‘Mr Phinn?' came the brusque and imperious voice.

‘It is,' I said.

‘Brenda Savage here. There is a slight problem with regard to our intended visit to Manston Hall this afternoon to discuss the arrangements for the NACADS Conference. If you recall, we agreed to meet there for four o'clock. I'm afraid my car is… it's… well, it won't start… so I shall have to travel with you.'

‘Travel with me?' I repeated.

Julie pulled a face.

‘Yes, indeed,' said Mrs Savage. ‘There is really no alternative.'

‘The problem about travelling with me, Mrs Savage,' I told her, ‘is that I have a couple of calls to make on my way to Manston Hall.'

‘A couple of calls?' she repeated.

‘I agreed to collect some things for Sister Brendan at St Bartholomew's.'

‘Collect some things?' She sounded like an echo.

‘Yes, Sister Brendan is organising a charity auction next weekin aid of disadvantaged children and is collecting contributions. Fettlesham Social Club has donated a television, Fine Wines of Fettlesham a couple of cases of wine, and there's a hamper from Roper's Salesroom. I have agreed to collect them on my way to Manston Hall, so I can drop them off when I visit St Bartholomew's on Friday. So you see, I have to set off quite a bit earlier – in fact, I am just leaving now – and my car will be pretty full.' Julie raised a thumb and grinned at me. ‘Unfortunately, therefore, I cannot take you with me.'

‘I wasn't aware that collecting and delivering goods was part of the inspector's duties,' she observed.

‘It's no trouble,' I told her. What I should have said was it is really none of your business, but I bit my lip. ‘All the pick-up points are
en route
to Manston Hall so I am not going out of my way and it is for a very good cause.' I often wondered why people felt it necessary to explain themselves to her. She seemed to have this bizarre effect.

‘Nevertheless, it does seem to me –' Mrs Savage began.

‘So you see,' I said, cutting her off mid-sentence, ‘I have things to do and the car will be full. I suggest you get a taxi.'

‘That is out of the question!' she retorted sharply. ‘The County Treasurer would not be best pleased to receive a claim for a taxi fare right out to Manston Hall, particularly when another member of the Education Department will be going there. No, no, I shall have to travel with you. When will you be ready?'

I looked heavenwards and sighed. ‘As I said, I'm just about to set off.'

‘Well, if you could collect me from outside the main entrance to County Hall in ten minutes, I –'

‘Mrs Savage,' I said, interrupting her again, ‘you may recall the conversation we had the other weekon the top corridor of County Hall, when you were at great pains to point out to me that the inspectors' office is but a short distance and it is not that onerous for us to walkover. I am sure, therefore, that it
would not be too much of a hardship for you to ‘walkover' and meet me here. It's such a lovely sunny day, too. Apart from anything else, I would not want to venture near County Hall in case I am clamped.'

There was a silence at the end of the line. I could visualise her, drumming her long, red-nailed fingers testily on the desktop, her face tightening with displeasure. Julie continued to make faces at me. ‘Very well, Mr Phinn,' she said at last. ‘I shall be with you directly.'

‘I'll meet you in the car parkoutside this office.' I put down the phone. ‘She's coming over,' I told Julie.

‘Well done!' she said sarcastically. ‘You had every reason
not
to take that woman with you to Manston Hall, yet here you are about set off with venomous Brenda. I just hope you live to tell the tale.'

‘I'll try.'

‘Why can't she make her own way there?' Julie asked.

‘Her car won't start.'

‘What, that swanky red sports convertible?'

‘It appears so,' I said.

‘She could get a bus.'

‘Now, can you imagine Mrs Savage on a bus?'

‘Tell her to get on her bike, then,' said Julie.

‘I can just see it,' I laughed. ‘Mrs Savage on a bicycle!'

‘Well, I hope for your sake she gets her car fixed soon, otherwise you'll be chauffeuring her all round the place, and people will start talking.'

‘That I shall
not
be doing!' I spluttered.

‘Well, you are today,' said Julie, teetering towards the door on her ridiculously high heels. ‘The trouble with you is that you're too easily persuaded. Dr Gore gives you all those “little jobs”, Sister Brendan has you collecting things for her raffle, and now the Bride of Dracula has you chauffeuring her around. You ought to put your foot down.' Before I could respond, Julie was through the door. ‘See you tomorrow,' she called over her shoulder, ‘if you survive this afternoon, that is.'

*

Mrs Savage kept me waiting a good ten minutes, and I was about to go when she eventually appeared, strolling down the white gravel path leading from County Hall to where I was parked. For all the world, she looked like a model from a fashion magazine dressed to kill. She was wearing a grey herringbone tweed jacket with black velvet collar and cuffs, a blue pencil skirt and navy suede shoes Around her shoulders was draped a pale brown woollen overcoat, while tucked under one arm was an expensive-looking ruched velvet handbag and she was carrying a slim leather document case. She had obviously made a considerable effort, and would appear very much at home amongst the aristocrats at Manston Hall. In fact, she looked every inch a duchess.

As she climbed into the car, her ostentatious jewellery jangling, she sniffed the air.

‘Babies,' I said.

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘The smell of babies,' I said. ‘It's my little boy. He tends to splash a bit when he has his milk.'

‘I see.'

‘The smell lingers.'

‘Yes, it does,' she agreed, winding down the window a fraction. She then produced a bottle of scent from her handbag and sprayed herself liberally.

I set off. There was an embarrassed silence as we made our way down Fettlesham High Street. It appeared that Mrs Savage was not, for once, in a very talkative mood.

‘So what's wrong with your car?' I asked, deciding to break the ice.

‘Oh, it's… er… something mechanical,' she replied evasively, examining a long red nail.

‘Did it just cut out,' I asked, ‘or wouldn't it start?'

‘I don't know anything about cars,' she said dismissively, turning to stare out of the window.

Good gracious, I thought, so there
is
something that Mrs Savage doesn't know about.

There was another protracted silence.

‘And how are the school closures progressing?' I asked.

‘Slowly,' she replied.

‘Things certainly seemed to have moved with regard to the schools I have been involved with,' I told her.

‘The schools at Ugglemattersby are somewhat different,' she said. ‘They are not in actual fact closing, they are merely amalgamating. Everyone there, with the exception of a few mavericks, as Dr Gore is wont to call them, is in favour. Would that were the case with the others.'

‘So they're not going too well?' I asked.

‘I am not at liberty, Mr Phinn,' she said, ‘to discuss the other schools.'

And that was the extent of our conversation until we arrived at our first port of call.

After I had collected the two cases of wine from Fine Wines of Fettlesham, and a hamper from Roper's Salesroom, we left the centre of Fettlesham, and headed for the rather insalubrious northern side of the town. The area was run down, and the road sweepers that kept the High Street as neat as a pin obviously never came out here. I pulled up outside an ugly grey building. High walls topped with broken glass enclosed the litter-strewn car park. A sign above the entrance announced in large red letters, ‘FETTLESHAM WORKING MEN'S CLUB'. Below it, a notice warned would-be trespassers that they would be prosecuted, that the building was protected by security cameras and alarms, that guard dogs patrolled and that no money was kept on the premises.

‘I shan't be a moment,' I told Mrs Savage.

‘I don't intend to remain in the car,' she told me curtly, hurriedly unfastening the safety belt. ‘This area does not look at all safe and I would be foolhardy indeed to be sitting here with two cases of wine and a hamper full of food on the back seat. I'd be a sitting target for muggers.' She touched the gold necklace at her neck. ‘I shall come in with you.'

Pasted on the wall outside the club, between the graffiti, was a series of bright and showy posters, advertising the ‘star turns' that were due to appear. The first one brought a grin to
my lips. ‘Hello to Striptease!' it stated in large red letters. ‘Featuring the ravishing and adorable Big Brenda of the Body Beautiful. She's pert, pleasing and tasty.' Mrs Savage averted her eyes. Another poster announced, ‘Olga, one of Sweden's loveliest models and her muff in classical nude studies. She's saucy, spicy and sexy.'

‘Are we going to be long in this establishment?' asked Mrs Savage, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

‘Not long,' I replied jovially.

After repeated ringing and banging, I managed to gain the attention of someone who poked his tousled head out of an upstairs window. He looked like a tortoise emerging from its shell.

‘What?' he shouted.

‘It's Mr Phinn,' I shouted back.

‘Who?'

‘Mr Phinn. I think you were expecting me.'

‘You're early!' he snapped.

‘I can't recall giving a time,' I replied.

‘Well, you're early,' he repeated. ‘I was told you'd be arriving at six. I haven't had time to finish the cleaning. I've the dressing rooms to finish and then the bar to sort out.'