The Very First Damned Thing (7 page)

He bounced into Dr Bairstow's office, wearing his usual sunny smile, and clutching a diver's helmet in one hand and a lump hammer in the other. With true heroism, Dr Bairstow forbore to ask.

‘Good morning, sir. You wanted me.'

‘Good morning, Mr Markham. There appear to be quantities of furniture appearing all over my unit.'

‘Yes sir.'

‘The paperwork for which I cannot trace.'

‘No sir.'

‘Might I enquire as to the origins of this unexpected bounty?'

‘Of course, sir.'

Silence.

‘Please consider my request as an instruction to explain the origins of this unexpected bounty.'

‘Sorry sir. The municipal tip.'

‘I'm afraid I don't quite follow.'

‘They've got some great stuff there, sir. And it's our duty to recycle,' he added, virtue (among other things) oozing from every pore.

‘But, and correct me if I am wrong, the purpose of the municipal tip – wherever that might be – is for people to dispose of unwanted, worn out, and possibly infested household items?'

‘No, spot on, sir. Well done.'

‘I have two areas of concern, Mr Markham. The first is the almost certainly illegal removal of these household items and the consequences should you be apprehended; and second, the varied and no doubt difficult to eradicate wildlife living within it.'

‘Not a problem sir. Already dealt with. Professor Rapson has come up with some sort of spray and …'

Dr Bairstow held up a hand. ‘Please say no more.'

‘OK. Was there anything else sir?'

‘If I could just refer you back to my previous comment concerning the illegal removal of …'

‘Of stuff no one wants, sir. It's recycling. St Mary's is going green.'

‘Of that I have no doubt, although possibly we are not referring to the same thing.'

Mr Markham assumed an expression of stricken concern. Lifting anxious eyes to Dr Bairstow, he said piteously, ‘We're not doing any harm, sir.'

Dr Bairstow contemplated the guileless face before him. ‘While I am certain this works with elderly ladies, magistrates, and for all I know, Major Guthrie, it cuts no ice with me.'

Markham resumed his normal expression. ‘No sir. Do you want us to stop?'

Dr Bairstow shuffled some files from one mountainous pile to another. ‘I beg your pardon. I am sometimes afflicted with a little deafness. I did not hear your last question.'

‘I did not utter it, sir.'

‘I am so glad we understand each other.'

St Mary's first all-staff briefing was generally reckoned to be a bit of a landmark. Especially when it was made clear that an all-staff briefing was just that. A briefing for
all
staff.

‘We are all members of this unit. Decisions are made, actions taken, and policies agreed. Everyone is affected and everyone is involved. Physical absence from the unit, serious illness and, in some instances, death are the only excuses I am prepared to consider and only then if they are accompanied by the relevant paperwork. Mr Markham and Mr Randall, please would you present my compliments to the admin and kitchen staff and ask them if they would be good enough to join us. Thank you.'

Some minutes later, with a larger audience, he continued.

‘As you know, we operate under the auspices of the University of Thirsk, and tomorrow, their new Chancellor, Dr Evelyn Chalfont, will be paying us a visit.'

He paused, shifted his weight slightly, and continued. ‘I would be grateful if, just for once, the first impression of this unit could be a favourable one.

‘Mr Strong, I know the grounds will be immaculate. Mrs Mack, I understand you have already begun preparations for a special luncheon and Mrs Enderby is to give a tour of the Wardrobe Department.'

He said no more and passed immediately to another topic, but not before he had caught Major Guthrie's eye. No words were exchanged but it was clearly understood that Mr Markham and Professor Rapson, if not actually locked in the basement for the duration, would almost certainly be under twenty-four-hour supervision, because nothing must be allowed to interfere with St Mary's presentation of itself as a sober, slightly dull establishment dedicated to the pursuit of historical research.

At eleven thirty on the day in question, a battered Mini, painted in pink and yellow, and coughing fumes from every orifice, ground to a halt outside the front door of St Mary's. The driver's door creaked open, disgorging an astonishingly young, dark-haired woman, carrying a watering can.

Mr Strong bustled forwards. ‘Good morning, Madam Chancellor.'

She seemed somewhat flustered. ‘Oh, good morning. It's Mr Strong, isn't it?'

‘That is correct, ma'am. May I relieve you of your implement?'

‘Oh, yes. Thank you very much. I wonder, when it's cooled down a little, could you splash in some more water? Sadly, she drinks faster than a politician when someone else is picking up the tab. Is Edward around?'

Dr Bairstow appeared.

‘Ah Edward. Good morning. As you can see, I made it. You said I wouldn't and I did. Pay up.'

Dr Bairstow regarded the small heap of metal currently lowering property values all over the parish.

‘Good heavens, Evelyn. You appear to have driven here in a slice of Battenberg cake.'

‘I don't know what you mean,' she said, defensively. ‘It goes like a bomb.'

‘Not the happiest simile in this context. Can I offer you some coffee?'

‘God, yes.'

She plunged up the steps and entered St Mary's.

Seated comfortably in Dr Bairstow's office, she stirred her coffee and smiled at him. Dr Bairstow found he could not help smiling back.

‘Madam Chancellor …'

‘Evelyn …'

‘Evelyn. Please do not construe this as any form of criticism, but surely the need to disarm your political opponents with a display of irresponsible student behaviour is over now. You could perfectly easily have been driven here in your official car, surrounded by the Senior Faculty and enjoyed the status commensurate with that of Chancellor of the University of Thirsk.'

‘Don't talk to me about the Senior Faculty. Bunch of self-serving, political failures. You know the saying, “Those who can – do. Those who can't – teach.” And those who never had any idea what it was in the first place are members of my Senior Faculty. Sorry, Edward, but this is in the nature of a day out for me. You surely wouldn't deprive me of all the fun of getting back and finding what the bastards have been up to while my back's been turned.'

He stirred his coffee. ‘I was aware that yours was a somewhat controversial appointment, but are things really that bad?'

‘There are those who feel that organising the resistance actually renders me not only unsuitable for this position, but positively dangerous. Never mind that Thirsk was the rallying point for all those opposing the regime. Never mind that we inspired and protected and defended and …' She stopped. ‘Well, you know what I mean.'

‘I do indeed. I'm just astonished that your opponents watched you in action for all those years and still think they possess the ability to take you down. That you couldn't deal with them with one hand behind your back while chairing the Finance Committee at the same time.'

She laughed. ‘You must know that it's far easier to deal with the enemy shooting at you from the front than the shadowy bastards trying to knife you in the back.'

‘I feel certain you are more than capable of dealing with these … er … shadowy bastards.'

‘They're not going to cause me any problems. I know I'm a controversial appointment, but I think the feeling was new beginnings etc.. Besides, some of those shadowy bastards weren't quite as … unambiguous … in their loyalties as they could have been. I know it and they know I know it. I'll have them out. It's only a matter of time.' She grinned mischievously. ‘Perhaps Professor Rapson could brew me something untraceable. How is he, by the way?'

‘Thriving.'

‘And Dr Dowson?'

‘The same.'

‘That's good. They wouldn't have liked the new regime at all and after their magnificent efforts during the uprising, they both deserved better. I'm glad you've taken them. In which particular attic have you locked Professor Rapson for the day?'

‘Madam Chancellor, I am shocked you would believe me capable of such an action.'

‘Sorry. He's in the basement, then.'

‘Of course. May I refill your cup?'

‘And what of you, Edward? With your funding finally secured, you have surely surmounted your highest hurdle. If you have ever had a holiday then I have yet to hear of it. Surely a few days off now would not do any harm?'

Dr Bairstow stared thoughtfully at his cup. ‘I have, in fact, been toying with just such an idea. You are right. Some time ago, I made a promise to someone and I should act upon it. A few days away would be … very pleasant.'

‘Excellent. I shall say no more. So, what do you have for me to see today?'

The visit went well. The Chancellor was eager to be pleased. St Mary's was eager to please. Mrs Enderby's tour of the Wardrobe Department was particularly well received and, possibly wanting to end the visit on this positive note, Dr Bairstow escorted the Chancellor back to her car.

Mr Strong approached, complete with watering can.

‘I hope we haven't taken any liberties, ma'am, but a few of us took a quick look under the bonnet and you shouldn't have any problems from now on. Particularly with the small smoke canister you appear to have concealed behind the carburettor. We were a little puzzled as to its purpose, ma'am, especially as the rest of the engine is so well maintained.

She sparkled with mischief. ‘My secret is out. I hope you don't want your money back, Edward. Now, I must go. Thank you so much, everyone. A delightful day.'

‘Our pleasure, Madam Chancellor. Perhaps you would allow Mr Strong to hand you your watering can.'

He watched the tiny car fling itself down the drive, scrape through the gates with barely an inch to spare, and roar away.

‘Ah, Mr Murdoch.'

A passing Murdoch, who could have sworn there was no way Dr Bairstow could ever have known he was behind him, ground to a perplexed halt.

‘Mr Murdoch, perhaps you can enlighten me as to why Professor Rapson has requisitioned twenty gallons of milk and twenty jars of honey?'

Murdoch blinked. Whether in genuine innocence or as a delaying tactic was impossible to say. His big face glowed with innocence and a desire to be of assistance. ‘Sorry sir?'

‘Milk? Honey?'

Mr Murdoch appeared to give the matter some thought. ‘Perhaps a breakfast party, sir.' Then, possibly feeling that more was required of him, ‘With a biblical theme?'

Dr Bairstow's look of blank incomprehension was a reminder – as if one was needed – that there were occasions when humour at St Mary's could be a bit of a double-edged weapon.

Murdoch regrouped himself into a vision of beaming goodwill. ‘No idea, sir. How badly do you want to know? Would you like me to investigate?'

‘I'm not sure the answer will make any meaningful contribution to my peace of mind, Mr Murdoch, but I thank you nevertheless for your offer.'

That St Mary's was becoming an entity in its own right was apparent by the ever-increasing amounts of time Dr Bairstow was spending behind a paper-piled desk. It was noted by Markham, sinking his nose into what he considered a well-deserved pint, that the bigger the piles the shorter his temper. This statement was not disputed.

With the amount of work to be done, Dr Bairstow might have been forgiven for postponing a small promise made more than two years ago. That he had not forgotten, however, was proved by a conversation he had with Mrs Enderby, head of Wardrobe, who listened placidly to his instructions, took notes, and enquired if the lady had a favourite colour.

Dr Bairstow smiled. ‘I think green would be most appropriate. A light green.'

She nodded and gathered up her notes. ‘I shall have it ready for you by the end of the week, Dr Bairstow,' and she left the room.

Dr Bairstow sat very still for a few minutes, and then sighed, picked up his pen, pulled out a blank mission file, and began to calculate coordinates and plan an assignment.

Exactly as Mrs Enderby had promised, five days later, a ball gown of sea-green silk hung on the back of his door, carefully swathed in a garment bag. Occasionally he raised his head and looked at it, smiled a little, and then continued with his work.

When he finally had everything arranged to his satisfaction, he reached for the telephone and dialled a number.

It was, perhaps, fortunate that he was alone.

Gently replacing the receiver, he paused for a few moments, his face expressionless, and then dialled a second number.

‘Redhouse Nursing Home.'

‘I wonder if I could speak to Mrs Green, please.'

‘I'm sorry, sir. There is no one here by that name.'

‘I should perhaps have said Mrs Bessant? Angela Bessant?'

There was a pause so long that the next words did not come as a surprise.

‘I'm sorry sir, Mrs Bessant died last week.'

Dr Bairstow very carefully aligned his files with the edge of his desk.

‘That must have been very … sudden.'

‘It was, sir. I don't think any of us, least of all Mrs Bessant, had any idea how little time she had left.'

‘I understand her son served abroad. Was he with her when …?'

‘No sir. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to get here in time.'

‘Did she … I wonder, did she ask for anyone?'

‘Are you … Dr … Bairstow?'

He cleared his throat again. ‘I am, yes.'

‘She spoke of you several times, sir. She said that every time she smelled cabbage she thought of you. Would that be right?'