Blott on the Landscape

Chapter 18

But Dundridge was not to be found in Worford. “He’s out,” said the girl at the Regional Planning Board.

“Where?” said Lady Maud.

“Inspecting the site,” said the girl.

“Well, kindly tell him when he comes back that I have some sights I would like him to inspect.”

The girl looked at her. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said nastily. Lady Maud suppressed the reaction to tell the little hussy exactly what she did mean.

“Tell Mr Dundridge that I have a number of photographs in which I feel sure he will take a particular interest. You had better write it down before you forget it. Tell him that. He knows where he can find me.”

She went back to the outfitters where Blott was trying on a salmon-pink suit of Harris Tweed. “If you think I’m going to be seen with you in London in that revolting article of menswear, you’ve got another think coming,” she snorted. She ran an eye over a number of less conspicuous suits and finally selected a dark grey pinstripe. “That’ll do.” By the time they left the shop Blott was fitted out with shirts, socks, underwear and ties. They called at a shoe shop and bought a pair of black shoes.

“And now all we need is a camera,” said Lady Maud as they stowed Blott’s new clothes in the back of the Land-Rover. They went into a camera shop.

“I want a camera with an excellent lens,” she told the assistant, “one that can be operated by a complete idiot.”

“You need an automatic camera,” said the man.

“No, she doesn’t,” said Blott who resented being called a complete idiot in front of strangers. “She means a Leica.”

“A Leica?” said the man. “But that’s not a camera for a novice. That’s a…”

“Blott,” said Lady Maud, taking him out onto the pavement, “do you mean to say that you know how to take photographs?”

“In the Luft… before the war I was trained in photography. I was…”

Lady Maud beamed at him. “Oh Blott,” she said, “you’re a godsend. An absolute godsend. Go and buy whatever you need to take good clear photographs.”

“What of?” asked Blott. Lady Maud hesitated. Oh well, he would have to know sooner or later. She took the plunge. “Him in bed with another woman.”

“Him?”

“Yes.”

It was Blott’s turn to beam now. “We’ll need flash and a wide-angle lens.” They went back into the shop and came out with a second-hand Leica, an enlarger, a developing tank, an electronic flash, and everything they needed. As they drove back to Handyman Hall Blott was in his seventh heaven.

Dundridge, on the other hand, was in the other place. The girl at the switchboard had phoned him as soon as Lady Maud had left.

“Lady Maud’s been,” she told him. “She left a message for you.”

“Oh yes,” said Dundridge. “I hope you didn’t tell her where I was.”

“No, I didn’t,” said the girl. “She’s a horrid old bag isn’t she? I wouldn’t wish her on my worst enemy.”

“You can say that again,” Dundridge agreed. “What was the message?”

“She said ‘Tell Mr Dundridge that I have a number of photographs in which I feel sure he will take a particular interest’. She made me write it down. Hullo, are you still there? Mr Dundridge. Hullo. Hullo. Mr Dundridge, are you there?” But there was no reply. She put the phone down.

In his flat Dundridge sat in a state of shock. He still clutched the phone but he was no longer listening. His thoughts were concentrated on one terrible fact, Lady Maud had those ghastly photographs. She could destroy him. There was nothing he could do about it. She would use them if the motorway went ahead and there was absolutely no way he could stop it now. The fucking bitch had arranged the whole thing. First the photographs, then the bribe, and finally the attempt to murder him. The woman was insane. There could be no doubt about it now. Dundridge put down the phone and tried desperately to think what to do. He couldn’t even go to the police. In the first place they would never believe him. Lady Maud was a Justice of the Peace, a respected figure in the community and what had that Miss Boles told him? “We’ll know if you tell the police. We’ve had customers in the police.” And in any case he had no proof that she was involved. Only the word of the girl at the Planning Board and Lady Maud would claim she had been talking about photographs of the Hall or something like that. He needed proof but above all he needed legal advice. A good lawyer.

He picked up the telephone directory and looked in the yellow pages under Solicitors. “Ganglion, Turnbull and Shrine.” Dundridge dialled and asked to speak to Mr Ganglion. Mr Ganglion would see him in the morning at ten o’clock. Dundridge spent the evening and most of the night pacing his room in an agony of doubt and suspense. Several times he picked up the phone to call Lady Maud only to put it down again. There was nothing he could say to her that would have the slightest effect and he dreaded what she would have to say to him. Towards dawn he fell into a restless sleep and awoke exhausted at seven.

At Handyman Hall Lady Maud and Blott slept fitfully too; Blott because he was kept awake by the rumble of lorries through the arch; Lady Maud because she was superintending the whole operation and explaining where she wanted things put.

“Your men can sleep in the servants’ quarters,” she told the manager. “I shall be away for a week. Here is the key to the back door.”

When she finally got to bed in the early hours Handyman Hall had assumed the aspect of a construction camp. Concrete mixers, posts, lorries, fencing wire, bags of cement and gravel were arranged in the park and work had already begun by the light of lamps and a portable generator.

She lay in bed listening to the voices and the rumble of the machines and was well satisfied. When money was no object you could still get things done quickly even in England. “Money no object,” she thought and smiled to herself at the oddity of the phrase. She would have to do something about money before very long. She would think about it in the morning.

At seven she was up and had breakfasted. Through the window of the kitchen she was pleased to note that several concrete posts had already been installed and that a strange machine that looked like a giant corkscrew was boring holes for some more. She went along to the study and spent an hour going through Sir Giles’ filing-cabinets. She paid particular attention to a file marked Investments and took down the details of his shareholdings and the correspondence with his stockbroker. Then she went carefully through his personal correspondence, but there was no indication to be found there of any mistress with a penchant for whips and handcuffs.

At nine she signed the contract and went up to her room to pack and at ten she and Blott, now dressed in his pinstripe suit and wearing a blue polka-dot tie, drove off in the Land-Rover for Hereford and the train to London. Behind them in the study the phone was off the stand. There would be no phone calls to Handyman Hall from Sir Giles.

Dundridge arrived promptly at the offices of Ganglion, Turnbull and Shrine and was kept waiting for ten minutes. He sat in an outer office clutching his briefcase and looking miserably at the sporting prints on the walls. They didn’t suggest the sophisticated modern approach to life that he felt an understanding of his particular case required. Nor did Mr Ganglion, who finally deigned to see him. He was an elderly man with gold-rimmed glasses over which he looked at Dundridge critically. Dundridge sat down in front of his desk and tried to think how to begin.

“And what did you wish to consult me about, Mr Dundridge?” Mr Ganglion enquired. “I think you should know in advance that if this has anything to do with the motorway we are not prepared to handle it.”

Dundridge shook his head. “It hasn’t got anything to do with the motorway, well not exactly,” he said. “The thing is that I’m being blackmailed.”

Mr Ganglion put the tips of his fingers together and tapped them. “Blackmailed? Indeed. An unusual crime in this part of the world. I can’t remember when we last had a case of blackmail. Still it does make a change, I must say. Yes, blackmail. You interest me, Mr Dundridge. Do go on.”

Dundridge swallowed nervously. He hadn’t come to interest Mr Ganglion or at least not in the way his smile suggested. “It’s like this,” he said. “I went to a party at the Golf Club and I met this girl…”

“A girl, eh?” said Mr Ganglion and drew his chair up to the desk. “An attractive girl I daresay.”

“Yes,” said Dundridge.

“And you went home with her, I suppose,” said Mr Ganglion, his eyes alight with a very genuine interest now.

“No,” said Dundridge. “At least I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” said Mr Ganglion. “Surely you know what you did?”

“That’s the whole point,” Dundridge said, “I don’t know what I did.” He stopped. He did know what he had done. The photographs proclaimed his actions all too clearly. “Well actually… I know what I did and all that…”

“Yes,” Mr Ganglion said encouragingly.

“The thing is I don’t know where I did it.”

“In a field perhaps?”

Dundridge shook his head. “Not in a field.”

“In the back of a car?”

“No,” said Dundridge. “The thing is that I was unconscious.”

“Were you really? Extraordinary. Unconscious?”

“You see, I had a Campari before we left. It tasted bitter but then Campari does, doesn’t it?”

“I have no idea,” said Mr Ganglion, “what Campari tastes like but I’ll take your word for it.”

“Very bitter,” said Dundridge, “and we got into the car and that’s the last thing I remember.”

“How very unfortunate,” said Mr Ganglion, clearly disappointed that he wasn’t going to hear the more intimate details of the encounter.

“The next thing I knew I was sitting in my car in a lay-by.”

“A lay-by. Very appropriate. And what happened next?”

Dundridge shifted nervously in his chair. This was the part he had been dreading. “I got some photographs.”

Mr Ganglion’s flagging interest revived immediately. “Did you really? Splendid. Photographs indeed.”

“And a demand for a thousand pounds.”

“A thousand pounds? Did you pay it?”

“No,” said Dundridge. “No I didn’t.”

“You mean they weren’t worth it?”

Dundridge chewed his lip. “I don’t know what they’re worth,” he muttered bitterly.

“Then you’ve still got them,” said Mr Ganglion. “Good. Good. Well I’ll soon tell you what I think of them.”

“I’d rather…” Dundridge began but Mr Ganglion insisted.

“The evidence,” he said, “let’s have a look at the evidence of blackmail. Most important.”

“They’re pretty awful,” said Dundridge.

“Bound to be,” said Mr Ganglion. “For a thousand pounds they must be quite revolting.”

“They are,” said Dundridge. Encouraged by Mr Ganglion’s broad-mindedness, he opened his briefcase and took out the envelope. “The thing is you’ve got to remember I was unconscious at the time.”

Mr Ganglion nodded understandingly. “Of course, my dear fellow, of course.” He reached out and took the envelope and opened it. “Good God,” he muttered as he looked at the first one. Dundridge squirmed in his chair and stared at the ceiling, and listened while Mr Ganglion thumbed through the photographs, grunting in an ecstasy of disgust and astonishment.

“Well?” he asked when Mr Ganglion sat back exhausted in his chair. The solicitor was staring at him incredulously.

“A thousand pounds? Is that really all they asked?” he said. Dundridge nodded. “Well, all I can say is that you got off damned lightly.”

“But I didn’t pay,” Dundridge reminded him. Mr Ganglion goggled at him.

“You didn’t? You mean to tell me you baulked at a mere thousand pounds after having…” he stopped at a loss for words while his finger wavered over a particularly revolting photograph.

“I couldn’t,” said Dundridge feeling hard done by.

“Couldn’t?”

“They never called me back. I had one phone call and I’ve been waiting for another.”

“I see,” said Mr Ganglion. He looked back at the photograph. “And you’ve no idea who this remarkable woman is?”

“None at all. I only met her the once.”

“Once is enough by the look of things,” Mr Ganglion said. “And no more phone calls? No letters?”

“Not until last night,” said Dundridge, “and then I got a message from the girl at the desk at the Regional Planning Board.”

“The girl at the desk at the Regional Planning Board,” said Mr Ganglion, eagerly reaching for a pencil. “And what’s her name?”

“She’s got nothing to do with it,” Dundridge said, “she was simply phoning to give me the message. It said Lady Maud Lynchwood had called and wanted me to know that she had some photographs of particular interest to me…” He stopped. Mr Ganglion had half-risen from his seat and was glaring at him furiously.

“Lady Maud?” he yelled. “You come in here with this set of the most revolting photographs I’ve ever set eyes on and have the audacity to tell me that Lady Maud Lynchwood has something to do with them. My God, sir, I’ve half a mind to horsewhip you. Lady Maud Lynchwood is one of our most respected clients, a dear sweet lady, a woman of the highest virtues, a member of one of the best families…” He fell back into his chair, speechless.

“But -” Dundridge began.

“But me no buts,” said Mr Ganglion, trembling with rage. “Get out of my office. If I have one more word out of you, sir, I shall institute proceedings for slander immediately. Do you hear me? One more word here or anywhere else. One breath of rumour from you and I won’t hesitate, do you hear me?”

Dundridge could still hear him fulminating as he dashed downstairs and into the street clutching his briefcase. It was only when he got back to his apartment that he realized he had left his photographs on Mr Ganglion’s desk. They could stay there for all he cared. He wasn’t going back for the beastly things.

Behind him Mr Ganglion simmered down. On the desk in front of him Dundridge and the masked woman lay frozen in two-dimensional contortions. Mr Ganglion adjusted his bifocals and studied them with interest. Then he put the photographs into the envelope and the envelope into his safe. The good name of the Handymans was safe with him. Mind you, come to think of it, he wouldn’t put anything past her. Remarkable woman, Maud, quite remarkable.

By the time they reached London Lady Maud had explained Blott’s new duties to him.

“You will hire a taxi and wait outside his flat until he comes out and then you will follow him wherever he goes. Particularly in the evening. I want to know where he spends his nights. If he goes into a block of flats, go in after him and make a note of the floor the lift stops at. Do you understand?”

Blott said he did.

“And on no account let him catch sight of you.” She studied him critically. In his dark grey suit Blott was practically unrecognizable anyway. Still, it was best to be careful. She would buy him a bowler at Harrods. “If you see him with a woman follow them wherever they go and if they separate follow the woman. We have got to find out who she is and where she lives.”

“And then we break in and take the photographs of them?” said Blott eagerly.

“Certainly not,” said Lady Maud. “When we find out who the woman is we’ll decide what we’re going to do.”

They took a taxi to an hotel in Kensington, stopping on the way to buy Blott’s bowler, and at five o’clock Blott was sitting in a taxi outside Sir Giles’ flat in Victoria.

“I suppose you know what you’re doing,” said the driver when they had been sitting there for an hour with the meter running. “This is costing you a packet.” Blott, with a hundred pounds in his pocket, said he knew what he was doing. He was enjoying himself watching the traffic go by and studying the pedestrians. He was in London, the capital of Great Britain, the heart of what had been the world’s greatest Empire, the seat of those great Kings and Queens he had read so much about and all the romance in Blott’s nature thrilled at the thought. What was even better he was tracking down him – Blott had never deigned to call him anything else – him and his mistress. He was doing Lady Maud a service after all.

At seven Sir Giles came out and drove to his Club for dinner. Behind him Blott’s taxi followed relentlessly. At eight he came out and drove across to St John’s Wood, Blott’s taxi still behind. He parked in Elm Road and went into a house while Blott stared out of the taxi and noticed that he pressed the second bell. As soon as Sir Giles had gone inside, Blott got out and walked across the road and took a note of the name on the doorbell. It read Mrs Forthby. Blott went back to the taxi.

“Mrs Forthby, Mrs Forthby,” said Lady Maud when Blott reported to her. “Elm Road.” She looked Mrs Forthby up in the telephone directory. “That’s very clever of you, Blott. Very clever indeed. And you say he didn’t come out?”

“No. But the taxi-driver wouldn’t wait any longer. He said it was time for his supper.”

“Never mind. You’ve done very well. Now the only thing to do is to find out what sort of woman she is. I would like to get to know Mrs Forthby a little better. I wonder how I can do that.”

“I can follow her,” said Blott.

“I don’t see what good that would do,” said Lady Maud. “And in any case how would you know her to follow?”

“She’s the only woman living in the house,” Blott said. “There’s a Mr Sykes on the top floor and a Mr Billington on the ground floor.”

“Excellent,” said Lady Maud. “You are an observant man. Now then how can I get to know her? There must be some way of arranging a meeting.”

“I could,” said Blott, adopting the voice of Sir Giles, “ring her up and pretend I was him and ask her to meet me somewhere…” he said.

Lady Maud gazed at him. “Of course. Oh Blott what would I do without you?” Blott blushed. “But no, that wouldn’t do,” Lady Maud continued. “She would tell him. I’ll have to think of something else.”

Blott went up to his room and went to bed. He was tired and very hungry but these little inconveniences counted for nothing beside the knowledge that Lady Maud was pleased with him. Blott fell asleep blissfully happy.

So did Lady Maud, though her happiness was more practical and centred on the solution to a problem that had been worrying her. Money. The fence for the Wildlife Park was going to cost at least thirty thousand pounds and the animals she had ordered came to another twenty. Fifty thousand pounds was a lot of money to pay to save the Hall and besides there was no guarantee that it would work. If anybody should be paying it was Giles, who was responsible for the whole wretched business. And she had found a way of making him pay. She would ruin him yet.

Next morning at eight o’clock she and Blott were sitting in a taxi at the end of Elm Road. At nine they saw Sir Giles leave. Lady Maud paid the taxi-driver and with Blott at her heels strode down to number six.

“Now remember what to say,” Lady Maud told Blott as she pressed the bell. There was a buzz.

“Who is it?” Mrs Forthby asked.

“It’s me. I’ve left my car keys,” said Blott in the accents of Sir Giles.

“And I thought I was the forgetful one,” said Mrs Forthby.

The door opened. Blott and Lady Maud went upstairs. Mrs Forthby opened the door of her flat. She was dressed in a housecoat and was holding a yellow duster.

“Good morning,” said Lady Maud and walked past her into the flat.

“But I thought…” Mrs Forthby began.

“Do let me introduce myself,” said Lady Maud. “I am Lady Maud Lynchwood and you must be Mrs Forthby.” She took Mrs Forthby’s hand. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Giles has told me so much about you.”

“Oh dear,” said Mrs Forthby. “How frightfully embarrassing.” Behind her Blott closed the door. Lady Maud took stock of the furniture, including Mrs Forthby in the process, and then sat down in an armchair.

“Quite the little love nest,” she said finally. Mrs Forthby stood plumply in front of her wringing the duster.

“Oh this is awful,” she said, “simply awful.”

“Nonsense. It’s nothing of the sort. And do stop twisting that duster. You make me nervous.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Mrs Forthby. “It’s just that I feel… well… just that I owe you an apology.”

“An apology? What on earth for?” said Lady Maud.

“Well… you know…” Mrs Forthby shook her head helplessly.

“If you imagine for one moment that I have anything against you, you’re mightily mistaken. As far as I am concerned you have been a positive godsend.”

“A godsend?” Mrs Forthby mumbled and sat down on the sofa.

“Of course,” said Lady Maud. “I have always found my husband a positively disgusting man with the very vilest of personal habits. The fact that you appear to be prepared, presumably out of the goodness of your heart, to satisfy his obscene requirements leaves me very much in your debt.”

“It does?” said Mrs Forthby, her world being stood on its head by this extraordinary woman who sat in her armchair and addressed her in her own flat as if she were a servant.

“Very much so,” Lady Maud continued. “And where do these absurdities take place? In the bedroom I suppose.” Mrs Forthby nodded. “Blott, have a look in the bedroom.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Blott and went through first one door and then another. Mrs Forthby sat and stared at Lady Maud, hypnotized.

“Now then, you and I are going to have a little chat,” Lady Maud continued. “You seem to be a sensible sort of woman with a head on your shoulders. I’m sure we can come to some mutually advantageous arrangement.”

“Arrangement?”

“Yes,” said Lady Maud, “arrangement. Tell me, have you ever been a co-respondent in a divorce case?”

“No, never,” said Mrs Forthby.

“Well my dear,” Lady Maud went on, “unless you are prepared to do exactly what I tell you down to the finest detail I’m afraid you are going to find yourself involved in quite the most sordid divorce case this country has seen for a very long time.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs Forthby whimpered, “how simply awful. What would Cedric think of me?”

“Cedric?”

“My first husband. My late husband I should say. The poor dear would be absolutely furious. He’d never speak to me again. He was very particular, you know. Doctors have to be.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to upset Cedric, would we?” said Lady Maud. “And there will be absolutely no need to if you do what I say. First of all I want you to tell me what Giles likes you to do.”

“Well…” Mrs Forthby began only to be interrupted by Blott who emerged from the bedroom with the Miss Dracula, the Cruel Mistress, costume.

“I found this,” he announced.

“Oh dear, how frightfully embarrassing,” said Mrs Forthby.

“Not half as embarrassing, my dear, as it will be when we produce that in court as an exhibit. Now then, the details.”

Mrs Forthby got up. “It’s all written down,” she said. “He writes it all down for me. You see I’m terribly forgetful and I do tend to get things wrong. I’ll get you the game plan.” She went through to the bedroom and returned with a notebook. “It’s all there.”

Lady Maud took the book and studied a page. “And what were you last night?” she asked finally. “Miss Catheter, the Wicked Nurse, or Sister Florinda, the Nymphomaniac Nun?”

Mrs Forthby blushed? “Doris, the Schoolgirl Sexpot,” she tittered.

Lady Maud looked at her doubtfully. “My husband must have a truly remarkable imagination,” she said, “but I find his literary style rather limited. And what are you going to be tonight?”

“Oh he doesn’t come tonight. He’s had to go to Plymouth for a business conference. He’s coming again the day after tomorrow. That’s Nanny Whip’s night.”

Lady Maud put the book down. “Now then, this is the arrangement,” she said. “In return for your co-operation I will settle for a divorce on the grounds of incompatibility. There will be no mention of you at all and Sir Giles need know nothing about the help you have given me. All I want you to do is to go out for a little while on Thursday night so that I can have a little chat with him.”

Mrs Forthby hesitated. “He’ll be awfully cross,” she said.

“With me,” Lady Maud assured her. “I don’t think he’ll worry about you by the time I’ve had my say. He’ll have other things on his mind.”

“You won’t do anything nasty to him, will you?” said Mrs Forthby. “I wouldn’t want him to be hurt or anything. I know he’s not very nice but I’m really quite fond of him.”

“I won’t touch him,” Lady Maud said. “I give you my word of honour I won’t so much as lift a little finger to him. And let me say I think your feelings do you great credit.”

Mrs Forthby began to weep. “You’re very kind,” she said.

Lady Maud stood up. “Not at all,” she said truthfully. “And now if you’ll be so good as to give me the key of the flat I’ll send Blott to get a duplicate cut.”

By the time they left the flat Mrs Forthby was feeling better. “It’s been so nice meeting you and getting things straightened out,” she said. “It’s taken a great weight off my mind. I do hate deception so.”

“Quite,” said Lady Maud. “Unfortunately men seem to live in a fantasy world and as the weaker sex we have to follow suit.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself,” Mrs Forthby said. “Felicia, I say, you may find it peculiar but if it makes him happy you can’t afford to be choosey.”

“My sentiments exactly,” said Lady Maud. She and Blott went downstairs. They took a taxi across London to Sir Giles’ flat in Victoria. On the way Lady Maud coached Blott in his new role.