Blott on the Landscape

Chapter 16

His opportunity came sooner than he had expected and from an unforeseen quarter. Overwhelmed by the volume of complaints arriving at his office from the tenants of the seventy-five council houses due for demolition, harried by the Ottertown Town Council, infuriated by the refusal of the Minister of the Environment to re-open the Enquiry, and warned by his doctors that unless he curtailed most of his activities his heart would end them all, Francis Puckerington resigned his seat in Parliament. Sir Giles was the first to congratulate him on the wisdom of his withdrawal from public life. “Wish I could do the same myself,” he said, “but you know how things are.”

Mr Puckerington didn’t but he had a shrewd idea that lurking behind Sir Giles’ benevolent concern there was financial advantage. Lady Maud shared his suspicion. Ever since the Enquiry there had been something strange about Giles’s manner, an air of expectation and suppressed excitement about him which she found disturbing. Several times she had noticed him looking at her with a smile on his face and when Sir Giles smiled it usually meant that something unpleasant was about to happen. What it was she couldn’t imagine and since she took no interest in politics the likely consequences of Mr Puckerington’s resignation escaped her. Hoskins was understandably more informed. He realized at once why Sir Giles had agreed so readily to the Ottertown route. “Brilliant,” he told him when he saw him at the Golf Club. Sir Giles looked mystified.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I had no idea the poor fellow was so ill. A great loss to the party.”

“My eye and Betty Martin,” said Hoskins.

“I’d rather have your Bessie Williams myself,” Sir Giles said, relaxing a little. “I trust she is keeping well?”

“Very well. She and her husband took a holiday in Majorca I believe.”

“Sensible of them,” Sir Giles said. “So our young friend Dundridge must be a little puzzled by now. No harm in keeping him hanging in the wind, as someone once put it.”

“He’s probably blown that money you gave him.”

“I gave him?” said Sir Giles who preferred not to let his right hand know what his left was doing.

“Say no more,” said Hoskins. “I’ll tell you one thing though. He’s lost all interest in your wife.”

Sir Giles sighed. “Such a pity,” he said. “There was a time when I entertained the hope that he would… One can’t expect miracles. Still, it was a nice thought.”

“He’s got it in for her now, anyway. Hates her guts.”

“I wonder why,” said Sir Giles thoughtfully. “Ah well, it happens to us all in the end. Still, it couldn’t have come at a better time.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Hoskins. “He’s already sent three memoranda to the Ministry asking for the motorway to be re-routed through the Gorge.”

“Quite the little weathercock, isn’t he? I trust you tried to dissuade him.”

“Every time. Every time.”

“But not too hard, eh?”

Hoskins smiled. “I try to keep an open mind on the matter.”

“Very wise of you,” said Sir Giles. “No point in getting yourself involved. Well, things seem to be moving.”

Things certainly were. In London Francis Puckerington’s resignation had immediate repercussions.

“Seventy-five council houses due for demolition in a constituency with a bye-election pending?” said the Prime Minister. “And what did you say his last majority was?”

“Forty-five,” said the Chief Whip. “A marginal seat.”

“Marginal be damned. It’s lost.”

“It does rather look that way,” the Chief Whip agreed. “Of course if the motorway could be re-routed…”

The Prime Minister reached for the phone.

Ten minutes later Mr Rees sent for Mr Joynson.

“Done it,” he said beaming delightedly.

“Done what?”

“Pulled the fat out of the fire. The Ottertown scheme is dead and buried. The M101 is going ahead through the Cleene Gorge.”

“Oh, that is good news,” said Mr Joynson. “How on earth did you do it?”

“Just a question of patience and gentle persuasion. Ministers may come and ministers may go but in the end they do tend to see the errors of their ways.”

“I suppose this means you’ll be recalling Dundridge,” said Mr Joynson, who was inclined to look on the dark side of things.

“Not on your Nelly,” said Mr Rees, “Dundridge is coping very well. I look forward to his perpetual absence.”

Dundridge received the news with mixed emotions. On the one hand here was his golden opportunity to teach that bitch Lady Maud a lesson. On the other the knowledge that he had accepted a bribe from Sir Giles bothered him. He looked forward to Lady Maud’s misery when she learnt that Handyman Hall was going to be demolished after all but he didn’t relish the thought of her husband’s reaction. He need not have worried. Sir Giles, anxious to be out of the way when the storm broke, had taken the precaution of being tied up in London in advance of the announcement. In any case Hoskins was reassuring.

“You don’t have to worry about Giles,” he told Dundridge. “It’s Maud who’ll be out for blood.”

Dundridge knew exactly what he meant. “If she calls I’m not in,” he told the girl on the switchboard. “Remember that. I am never in to Lady Maud.”

While Hoskins concentrated on the actual details of the new route and arranged for the posting of advance notices of compulsory purchase, Dundridge spent much of his time on field work, which meant in fact sitting in his flat and not answering the telephone. To occupy his mind and to lend some sort of credence to his title of Controller Motorways Midlands, he set about devising a strategy for dealing with the campaign to stop construction which he was convinced Lady Maud would initiate.

“Surprise is of the essence,” he explained to Hoskins.

“She’s had that already,” Hoskins pointed out. He had in his time supervised the eviction of too many obstinate householders to be daunted by the threat of Lady Maud, and besides he was relying on Sir Giles to undermine her efforts. “She’s not going to give us any trouble. You’ll see. When it comes to the push she’ll go. They all do. It’s the law.” Dundridge wasn’t convinced. From his personal experience he knew how little the law meant to Lady Maud.

“The thing is to move quickly,” he explained.

“Move quickly?” said Hoskins. “You can’t move quickly when you’re building a motorway. It’s a slow process.”

Dundridge waved his objections aside. “We must hit at key objectives. Seize the commanding heights. Maintain the initiative,” he said grandly.

Hoskins looked at him doubtfully. He wasn’t used to this sort of military language. “Look, old boy, I know how you feel and all that but…”

“You don’t,” said Dundridge vehemently.

“But what I was going to say was that there’s no need to go in for anything complicated. Just let things take their natural course and you’ll find people will get used to the idea. It’s amazing how adaptable people are.”

“That’s precisely what’s worrying me,” said Dundridge. “Now then the essence of my plan is to make random sorties.”

“Random sorties?” said Hoskins. “What on earth with?”

“Bulldozers,” said Dundridge and spread out a map of the district.

“Bulldozers? You can’t have bulldozers roaming the countryside making random sorties,” said Hoskins, now thoroughly alarmed. “What the hell are they going to randomly sort?”

“Vital areas of control,” said Dundridge, “lines of communication. Bridgeheads.”

“Bridgeheads? But -”

“As I see it,” Dundridge continued implacably, “the main centre of resistance is going to be here.” He pointed to the Cleene Gorge. “Strategically this is the vital area. Seize that and we’ve won.”

“Seize it? You can’t suddenly go in and seize the Cleene Gorge!” shouted Hoskins. “The motorway has to proceed by deliberate stages. Contractors work according to a schedule and we have to keep to that.”

“That is precisely the mistake you’re making,” said Dundridge. “Our tactics must be to alter the schedule just when the enemy least expects it.”

“But that’s impossible,” Hoskins insisted. “You can’t go about knocking people’s houses down without giving them fair warning.”

“Who said anything about knocking houses down?” said Dundridge indignantly. “I certainly didn’t. What I have in mind is something entirely different. Now then what we’ll do is this.”

For the next half hour he outlined his grand strategy while Hoskins listened. When he had finished Hoskins was impressed in spite of himself. He had been quite wrong to call Dundridge a nincompoop. In his own peculiar way the man had flair.

“All the same I just hope it doesn’t have to come to that,” he said finally.

“You’ll see,” said Dundridge. “That bitch isn’t going to sit back and let us put a motorway through her wretched house without putting up a struggle. She’s going to fight to the bitter end.”

Hoskins went back to his office thoughtfully. There was nothing illegal about Dundridge’s plan in spite of the military jargon. In a way it was extremely shrewd.

The Committee for the Preservation of the Cleene Gorge met under the Presidency of General Burnett at Handyman Hall. Lady Maud was the first speaker.

“I intend to fight this project to the bitter end,” she said, fulfilling Dundridge’s prediction. “I have no intention of being driven from my own home simply because a lot of bureaucratic dunderheads in London take it into their thick skulls to ignore the recommendations of a properly constituted Enquiry. It’s outrageous.”

“It’s so unfair,” said Mrs Bullett-Finch, “particularly after what Lord Leakham said about preserving the wildlife of the area. What I can’t understand is why they changed their minds so suddenly.”

“As I see it,” said General Burnett, “the change is a direct consequence of Puckerington’s resignation. I have it on the highest authority that the Government felt that the new candidate was bound to lose the bye-election if they went ahead with the route through Ottertown.”

“Why did Puckerington resign?” asked Miss Percival.

“Ill-health,” said Colonel Chapman. “He’s got a dicky heart.”

Lady Maud said nothing. What she had just heard explained a great many things and suggested more. She knew now why Sir Giles had smiled so secretively at her and why he had had that air of expectation. Everything suddenly fell into place in her mind. She understood why he had been so alarmed about the possibility of a tunnel, why he had insisted on Ottertown, why he had been so pleased at Lord Leakham’s decision. Above all, she realized for the first time the full enormity of his betrayal. Colonel Chapman put her thoughts into numbers.

“I suppose there is this to be said for it. I’ve heard a rumour that we are going to get increased compensation,” he said. “The figure mentioned was twenty per cent. That makes your sum, Lady Maud, something in the region of three hundred thousand pounds.”

Lady Maud sat rigid in her chair. Three hundred thousand pounds. It was not her share. Sir Giles owned the Hall. Owned it and had put it up for sale in the only way legally available to him. Faced with such treachery there was nothing left for her to say. She shook her head wearily and while the discussion continued round her she stared out of the window to where Blott was mowing the lawn.

The meeting broke up without any decision being taken on the next move.

“Poor old Maud seems quite broken up about this dreadful business,” General Burnett said to Mrs Bullett-Finch as they walked across the drive to their cars. “It’s knocked all the spirit out of her. Bad business.”

“One does feel so terribly sorry for her,” Mrs Bullett-Finch agreed.

Lady Maud watched them leave and then went back into the house to think. Committees would achieve nothing now. They would talk and pass resolutions but when the time for taking action came they would still be talking. Colonel Chapman had given the game away by talking about money. They would settle.

She went down the passage to the study and stood there looking round the room. It was here that Giles had thought the whole thing out, in this sanctum, at this desk where her father and grandfather had sat, and it was here that she would sit and think until she had planned some way of stopping the motorway and of destroying him. In her mind the two things were inextricably linked. Giles had conceived the idea of the motorway, he would be broken by it. There was no compunction left in her. She had been outwitted and betrayed by a man she had always despised. She had sold herself to him to preserve the house and the family and the knowledge of her own guilt added force to her determination. If need be she would sell herself to the devil to stop him now. Lady Maud sat down behind the desk and stared at the filigree of her grandfather’s silver inkstand for inspiration. It was shaped like a lion’s head. An hour later she had found the solution she was looking for. She reached for the phone and was about to pick it up when it rang. It was Sir Giles calling from London.

“I just thought I had better let you know I shan’t be back this weekend,” he said. “I know it is a damned inconvenient time for me to be away with all this motorway business going on, but I really can’t get away.”

“That’s all right,” said Lady Maud, feigning her usual degree of indifference, “I daresay I’ll be able to cope without you.”

“How are things going?”

“We’ve just had a committee meeting to discuss the next move. We are thinking of organizing protest meetings round the county.”

“That’s the sort of thing we need,” said Sir Giles. “I’m doing my damnedest down here to get the Ministry to reconsider. Keep up the good work at your end.” He rang off. Lady Maud smiled grimly. She would keep up the good work all right. And he could go on doing his damnedest. She picked up the phone and dialled. In the next two hours she spoke to her bank manager, the Head Keeper at Whipsnade Zoo, the Game Warden at Woburn Wildlife Park, the managers of five small private zoos and a firm of fencing experts in Birmingham. Finally she went outside to look for Blott.

Ever since the night of Dundridge’s visit she had been worried by Blott’s attitude. It hadn’t been like him to behave like that and she had been alarmed by the sound of the shotgun going off outside. She rather regretted what she had said about his drinking too. It certainly hadn’t had any good effect. If anything he had taken to going off to the Royal George more often and late one night she had heard him singing in the pinetum. “Typically Italian,” she thought, confusing “Wir Fahren Gegen England” with La Traviata. “Probably pining for Naples.” But Blott stumbling through the park was merely drunk and if he was pining for anything it was for her innocence which Dundridge’s visit had destroyed.

She found him, as she had expected, in the kitchen garden. “Blott,” she said, “I want you to do something for me.”

Blott grunted morosely. “What?”

“You know the wall safe in the study?” Blott nodded. “I want you to open it for me.”

Blott shook his head and went on weeding the onion bed. “Not possible without the combination,” he said.

“If I had the combination I wouldn’t have to ask you to open it,” Lady Maud said tartly. Blott shrugged. “If I don’t know the combination,” he said, “how do I open it?”

“You blow it open,” said Lady Maud. Blott straightened up and looked at her.

“Blow it open?”

“With explosive. Use a… what are those things with flames… oxy…”

“Acetylene torch,” said Blott. “It wouldn’t work.”

“I don’t mind how you do it. You can pull it out of the wall and drop it from the roof for all I care but I want that safe opened. I’ve got to know what is inside it.”

Blott pushed back his hat and scratched his head. This was a new Lady Maud speaking. “Why don’t you ask him for the combination?” he said.

“Him?” said Lady Maud with a new contempt. “Because I don’t want him to know. That’s why.”

“He’ll know it if we blow it open,” Blott pointed out.

Lady Maud thought for a moment. “We can always say it was burglars,” she said finally.

Blott considered the implications of this remark and found them to his liking. “Yes, we could do that. Let’s go and have a look at it.”

They went into the house and stood in the study examining the safe which was set into the wall behind some books.

“Difficult,” said Blott. He went into the dining-room next door and looked at the wall on that side. “It’s going to do a lot of damage,” he said when he came back.

“Do whatever damage you have to. The house is coming down if we don’t do something. What does it matter if we do some damage to it now? It can always be repaired.”

“Ah,” said Blott, who had begun to understand. “Then I’ll use a sledgehammer.” He went round to the workshop in the yard and returned with a sledgehammer, a metal wedge and a crowbar.

“You’re quite sure?” he asked. Lady Maud nodded. Blott swung the sledgehammer against the dining-room wall. Half an hour later the safe was out of the wall. Together they carried it outside and laid it on the drive. It was quite small. Blott twiddled the knob idly and tried to think what next to do.

“What we need is some high-explosive,” he said. “Dynamite would do it.”

“We haven’t got any dynamite,” Lady Maud pointed out. “And you can’t go into a shop and buy it. You couldn’t bore a hole in it and hoik things out with a wire?”

“Too thick and the steel is too hard,” said Blott. “It’s like armour-plate on a tank.” He stopped. Like a tank. Somewhere among the armoury of weapons he had collected during the war there was a rocket-launcher. It was in a long wooden box and labelled PIAT. Projectile Infantry Anti-Tank. Now where had he buried it?