Blott On The Landscape (27 page)

“All the more reason for pressing ahead as quickly as possible.”

“What? With Maud Lynchwood in mourning? The poor woman has just lost her husband under the most tragic circumstances and you -“

“Don’t give me that bull,” said Dundridge. “If you ask me she’s probably delighted. Wouldn’t surprise me to learn she’d arranged the whole thing just to stop us.”

“That’s bloody libel, that is,” said Hoskins. “She may be a bit of a tartar but …”

“Listen,” said Dundridge, “she didn’t give a tuppenny damn about her husband, I know.”

“You know?”

“Yes I do know as a matter of fact. I’ll tell you something. That old cow tried to seduce me one night and when I wouldn’t play ball she took a potshot at me with a twelve-bore. So don’t come that crap about a sorrowing widow. We’re going ahead, and fast.”

“Well all I can say is that you’re flying in the face of public opinion,” said Hoskins, stunned by Dundridge’s story of his attempted seduction. “There’s Bullett-Finch dead and now Sir Giles. There’s bound to be a public outcry. I should have thought now was the time to lie doggo.”

“Now is the time to establish ourselves at the Park itself,” said Dundridge. “I’m going to move two bulldozers and a base camp up by that arch of hers. If she wants to squawk let her squawk.”

But Lady Maud didn’t squawk. She had been more shocked by Sir Giles’ death than she would have expected and she felt personally responsible for what had happened to Mr Bullett-Finch. She went about her duties automatically but with an abstracted air, occupied with the moral dilemma in which she found herself. On the one hand she was faced with the destruction of everything she loved, the Hall, the Gorge, the wild landscape, the garden, the world her ancestors had fought for and created. All this would go, to be replaced by a motorway which would be a useless, obsolescent eyesore in fifty years when fossil fuel ran out. It wasn’t as if the motorway was needed. It had been concocted by Giles to make himself a paltry sum of money, a mean, cruel gesture to hurt her. Well, Giles had got his comeuppance but the legacy of the motorway remained and the methods she had had to use had degraded her. She had fought fire with fire and other people had been burnt, Bertie Bullett-Finch and – quite literally – the poor man who had put the paraffin lamp in front of Mr Dugdale’s garage.

It was in this mood of self-recrimination that she attended the coroner’s inquest which returned a verdict of accidental death on Sir Giles Lynchwood and commended his widow on her bravery while pointing out the unforeseen dangers of keeping undomesticated animals on domestic premises. It was in the same mood that she superintended the removal of the lions, the last giraffe and the ostriches, before going off to a Memorial Service at Worford Abbey. All this time she avoided Blott, who stuck to the kitchen garden in low dudgeon. It was only when, on her return from the Abbey, she saw the bulldozers parked near the iron suspension bridge opposite the Lodge that she felt a pang of remorse for the way she had upbraided him. She found him sulking among the blackcurrants.

“Blott, I’m sorry,” she said. “I feel I owe you an apology. We all make mistakes from time to time and I’ve come to say how grateful I am to you for all the sacrifices you’ve made on my behalf.”

Blott blushed under his tanned complexion. “It was nothing,” he mumbled.

“That’s just not true,” said Lady Maud graciously, “I don’t know how I would have managed without you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” said Blott.

“I just wanted you to know that I appreciate it,” said Lady Maud. “By the way as I came in I noticed the bulldozers by the Lodge …”

“You want them stopped, I suppose?”

“Well, now that you come to mention it …” Lady Maud began.

“Leave it to me,” said Blott, “I’ll stop them.” Lady Maud hesitated. This was the moment of decision. She chose her words carefully.

“I wouldn’t like to think that you were going to do anything violent.”

“Violent? Me?” said Blott sounding almost convincingly aggrieved at the suggestion.

“Yes, you,” said Lady Maud. “Now, I don’t mind spending money if it’s needed. You can have what you want but I won’t have anyone else getting hurt. There’s been quite enough of that already.”

“Your forefathers fought for …”

“I think I’m a rather better authority on what my ancestors did than you are,” said Lady Maud. “I don’t need telling. That was quite different. For one thing they were agents of the Crown and acting within the law and for another the only people to get hurt were the Welsh and they were savages. Besides, I’m a Justice of the Peace and I can’t condone anything illegal. Whatever you do must be lawful.”

“But …” began Blott.

Lady Maud interrupted him. “I don’t want to hear any more. What you do is your own affair. I want no part of it.”

She strode away and left Blott to consider her words.

“No violence,” he muttered. It was going to make things a little difficult but he would think of something. Women, even the best of them, were illogical creatures. He walked out of the garden and down the drive to the Lodge. On the far side of the suspension bridge two bulldozers, symbols of Dundridge’s task force, stood under the trees. It would have been so easy to disable them with the
PIAT
or even to put sugar in their fuel tanks but if Maud said he must stay within the law … Stay within the law? That was another strange expression. As if the law was some sort of fortress. Blott looked up at the great arch towering above him.

He had just had an idea.

In spite of his intention to act swiftly the Controller Motorways Midlands found it difficult to act at all. Work on the motorway came to a virtual standstill while the various authorities responsible for the preservation of Guildstead Carbonell and law and order on the one hand wrangled with those responsible for the construction of the motorway and the destruction of the village on the other. To make matters worse there was a walk-out by dumper drivers who claimed they were being victimized by being barred from the Royal George for the damage done to the bar-billiards table by the clog-dancing of the bulldozer men, and a work-to-rule by the demolition experts who asserted that the arrest of Mr Edwards constituted a threat to their basic rights as Trade Unionists. To end the dispute Dundridge paid for the bar-billiards table out of incidental expenses and interceded with the police to release Mr Edwards on bail pending a psychiatrist’s report. In the middle of the confusion he was summoned to London to explain remarks he had made in a television interview filmed in front of the ruins of Finch Grove.

“Couldn’t you have thought of something better than ‘That is the way the cookie crumbles’?” Mr Rees demanded. “And what in God’s name did you mean by ‘There’s many a slip twixt cup and lip’?”

“All I meant was that accidents do happen,” Dundridge explained. “I was being bombarded with -“

“Bombarded? What do you think we’ve been since then? How many letters have we had?”

Mr Joynson consulted his list. “Three thousand four hundred and eighty-two to date, not including postcards.”

“And what about ‘We all have to make sacrifices’? What sort of impression do you think that makes on three million viewers?” shouted Mr Rees. “A man living peacefully in a quiet corner of rural England minding his own business is battered to death in the middle of the night by some fucking idiot with an iron ball weighing two tons and you talk about making sacrifices!”

“As a matter of fact he wasn’t minding his own business,” Dundridge protested, “he was continually ringing up to -“

“And I suppose you think that justifies … I give up.”

“I think we have to look at it from the point of view of the potential housebuyer,” said Mr Joynson tactfully. “It’s difficult enough for the average wage-earner to get a mortgage these days. We don’t want to give people the idea that they run the risk of having their houses demolished without the slightest warning.”

“But the house wasn’t even scheduled for demolition,” Mr Rees pointed out.

“Quite,” said Mr Joynson. “The point I’m trying to make is that Dundridge here must adopt a more tactful approach. He should use persuasion.”

But Dundridge had had enough. “Persuasion?” he snarled. “You don’t seem to understand what I’m up against. You seem to think all I’ve got to do is serve a compulsory purchase order and people simply get out of their houses and everything is hunky-dory. Well let me tell you it isn’t that simple. I’m supposed to be in charge of building a motorway through a house and park belonging to a woman whose idea of persuasion is to take potshots at me with a twelve-bore.”

“And evidently missing,” sighed Mr Rees.

“Why didn’t you inform the police?” Mr Joynson asked more practically.

“The police? She is the police,” said Dundridge. “They eat out of her hand.”

“Like those lions I suppose,” said Mr Rees.

“And what do you think she built that Wildlife Park for?” Dundridge asked.

“I suppose you’re going to tell us next that she wanted to find a way of disposing of her husband,” Mr Rees said wearily.

“To stop the motorway. She intended to whip up public support, gain sympathy and generally cause as much confusion as possible.”

“I should have thought she could have safely left that to you,” said Mr Rees.

Dundridge looked at him balefully. It was obvious that he did not enjoy the confidence of his superiors.

“If that’s the way you feel I can only resign my position as Controller Motorways Midlands and return to London,” he said. Mr Rees looked at Mr Joynson. This was the ultimatum they had feared. Mr Joynson shook his head.

“My dear Dundridge, there is absolutely no need for you to do that,” said Mr Rees with forced affability. “All we ask is that you try to avoid any more unfavourable publicity.”

“In that case I look to you to give me your full support,” said Dundridge. “I can’t be expected to overcome the sort of opposition I’m faced with unless the Ministry is prepared to throw its weight behind my efforts.”

“Anything we can do,” said Mr Rees, “to help, we will certainly do.”

Dundridge left the office mollified and with the feeling that his authority had been enhanced after all.

“Give the swine enough rope and I daresay he’ll hang himself,” said Mr Rees when he had gone. “And frankly I wish Lady Maud the best of British luck.”

“Must be a terrible thing to lose a husband like that,” said Mr Joynson. “No wonder the poor woman is upset.”

But it was less the loss of her husband that was upsetting Lady Maud than the bills she was receiving from various shops in Worford.

“One hundred and fifty tins of frankfurters? One thousand candles? Sixty tons of cement? Two hundred yards of barbed-wire? Forty six-foot reinforcing rods?” she muttered as she went through the bills. “What on earth can Blott be thinking of?” But she paid the bills without question and kept herself to herself. Whatever Blott was up to she wanted to know as little about it as possible. “Ignorance is bliss,” she thought, demonstrating a lack of understanding of the law which did her little credit as a magistrate.

And Blott was busy. He had spent the lull provided by Dundridge’s troubles in preparing his defence. Lady Maud had specified that there must be no violence on his part and as far as he was concerned there would be no necessity for it. The Lodge was practically impregnable to anything short of a full-scale assault by tanks and artillery. He had filled all the rooms on either side of the archway with bits of old iron and cement and had sealed the stairway with concrete. He had covered the roof with sharpened iron rods embedded in concrete and entangled with barbed-wire. To secure an independent water supply he had run a plastic pipe down to the river before the concrete was poured into the rooms below and to ensure that he could withstand a prolonged siege he had laid in enough foodstuffs to last him for two years. If his electricity was cut off he had a thousand candles and several dozen containers of bottled gas and finally, to prevent any attempt to drive him out with tear gas, he had unearthed an old army gas-mask from his cache in the forest. Just in case the mask was no longer proof against the latest gases he had turned his library into an airtight room to which he could retreat. All in all he had converted the Lodge from a very large ornamental arch into a fortress. The only entrance was through a hatch in the roof under the barbed-wire and spikes, and to enable him to leave when he wanted Blott had constructed a rope ladder which he could let down. Finally and just in case things did get violent he had collected a rifle, a Bren gun, a two-inch mortar, several cases of ammunition and hand-grenades with which to deter boarders. “Of course, I’ll only fire over their heads,” he told himself. But there would be no need. Blott knew the British too well to suppose they would do anything to endanger life. And yet without endangering life, and Blott’s life in particular, there was no way of building the motorway on through the Park and Handyman Hall. The Lodge, now Festung Blott, stood directly in the path of the motorway. On either side the cliffs rose steeply. Before anything could be done the Lodge would have to be demolished and since Blott was encased within it, demolishing the arch would mean demolishing him. They couldn’t even use dynamite to blast the cliffs on either side without seriously risking his life and threatening the collapse of the arch. Finally to ensure that no one could even drive through the gateway he erected a series of concrete blocks in the middle of the archway. It was this last that forced Lady Maud to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing.

“How do you expect me to do my shopping if I can’t drive in and out?” she demanded.

Blott pointed to the Bentley and the Land-Rover parked beside the two bulldozers on the other side of the suspension bridge.

“Good Lord,” said Lady Maud, “do you mean to say you moved them without my permission?”

“You said you didn’t want to know what I was doing so I didn’t tell you,” Blott told her. Lady Maud had to admit the logic of the answer.

“It’s going to be very inconvenient,” she said. She looked up at the Lodge. Apart from the spikes and the barbed-wire on the roof it looked as it had always looked. “I just hope you know what you’re doing,” she said and made her way through the concrete blocks and across the bridge to her car. She drove into Worford to see Mr Ganglion about Sir Giles’ will. From what she had been able to ascertain she had been left a widow of very considerable means, and Lady Maud intended to put those means to good use.