Clubbed to Death (11 page)

‘Anyway, why should they think that getting rid of Trueman was going to solve anything?’ asked Amiss. ‘The Admiral’s still in charge.’

‘Well,’ said Milton, ‘I have to admit that if you’re very old, short-term solutions must carry more weight than they would for the middle-aged. It might be just a matter of buying time and hoping the Admiral dropped dead of a stroke or something.’

‘Maybe they’ll kill him too, ’ said Pooley, ‘once he mounts his grand plan.’

‘That’s going to take time,’ said Milton. ‘He said he was going softly and that he was much hampered by having Trueman replaced by the Commander.’

‘Anyway,’ said Amiss, ‘from what you say, it’s not as if he could bring in the police and have the club cleansed of sin. Didn’t he say they weren’t technically fraudulent.’

‘Oh, exactly. That’s it.’ said Pooley. ‘That’s the brilliance of it all. Some of these guys had brains once, even if not that much sign remains. Lord ffeatherstonehaugh left the money in trust for the good of the club, but it is absolutely up to the committee to determine priorities. If Chatterton chooses to flog, with the agreement of the committee, priceless port from the cellar, so long as the money is laundered through the entertainment account it allows him to be subsidised for a jaunt to Monte Carlo and no doubt Fishbane for nights of bliss with ladies from a call-girl agency.’

‘But why have disaffected members never revolted?’ asked Amiss.

‘Because the town members get an excellent deal and the residents get paradise. The only people who really know how rotten the whole set-up is are servants or residents, and servants are powerless and residents are enthusiastically in favour of the
status quo
. It takes a crusading type like the Admiral to find out what’s going on and retain the desire to do something about it.’ Milton got up and refilled their coffee cups and brandy glasses.

‘Well, what are you going to do now?’ asked Amiss. ‘Does the interview with the Admiral make any difference to anything?’

‘It strengthens my case, ’ said Pooley.

‘Hold on, Ellis,’ said Milton. ‘It doesn’t on paper. There is no new evidence that entitles us to start pulling ffeatherstonehaugh’s apart. I had hoped that the allegations of fraud might make our path easier on this one, but the Admiral himself admits that there really is no legal transgression that he can yet point to. I’ve got to have some new official piece of evidence before I can go in and start interrogating those old sods. The only good news I can tell you is that I would very much like to have the opportunity. I’m much less agnostic than I was, Ellis, when you first started to make an issue of this. Between you, the Admiral and Robert, I have become convinced that the timing of Trueman’s death was a mite convenient.’

‘I expect things will get stirred up pretty soon now that the Admiral’s back in town,’ observed Amiss. ‘I hope you’ve warned him that he’s the obvious next target.’

‘He knows that perfectly well,’ said Milton. ‘The one thing that worries me is that I don’t think he cares. He’s got his teeth into this, he’s angry and he doesn’t seem to have a lot to live for really. If you ask me, he’s one of those chaps whose marriage was so close and idyllic that he’ll never get over his wife’s death: he’s just passing the time as usefully as he can. Except when he had to go to sea, they were never apart during their whole thirty-five years together. She went everywhere with him unless forbidden by regulations and never went away on her own.’

‘How unlike the modern woman,’ said Amiss. ‘Take our advice, Ellis. When you decide to get married, fix yourself up with someone of the old school, not one of those feminist flibbertigibbets of the kind Jim and I have landed ourselves with – undomesticated, never there, eyes set on further career mountains to be climbed. I don’t know what the world’s coming to.’

‘Quite right, Commander,’ said Milton. He topped up Amiss’s drink.

The doorbell rang at midnight.

‘Ah!’ said Pooley. ‘That’ll be my taxi. I ordered it in advance to stop Robert trying to persuade me to stay on.’

‘You doubt your own will-power?’ asked Amiss.

‘I remember the hangover I had the last time I went on the tiles with you, and tomorrow I have to play squash at nine. D’you want me to give you a lift back to the club?’

‘Drop me at home instead,’ said Amiss. ‘I’ve been rather avoiding the flat except to call in once or twice to pick up mail, but I’d a letter this morning from Rachel. I must say, the diplomatic bag works extremely fast in both directions, so we are managing to keep up some kind of dialogue: she was insistent that I get out of ffeatherstonehaugh’s as much as possible. I suppose she’s afraid I’ll get as dotty as everybody there. So I thought I’d spend tomorrow at home clearing up and reading the newspapers and engaging in some spiritually uplifting reading. What d’you suggest?
The Vanity of Human Wishes
? A bit of Milton? Pope?’

‘I told the chap two minutes,’ said Pooley, returning from the front door. ‘Maybe you could go to church.’

‘I only ever go to church when I have to go to funerals,’ said Amiss gloomily. ‘Latterly that takes me there quite often enough for a member of the Church of England, let alone an atheist. I suppose you have a family pew in your local?’

‘Well, when I’m at home one has to show the flag.’ Pooley had adopted the embarrassed tone he reserved for all conversations about the family estate.

‘I have an alternative suggestion,’ said Milton. ‘I’ve nothing to do until Monday, so why don’t you stay over, Robert? We can stay up late and drink too much, not play squash in the morning, go to the pub at lunch-time via the newspaper shop, and stuff ourselves with roast beef and beer. Then if the weather’s OK we can have a walk in the afternoon and reminisce about the days when women stayed at home and looked after their menfolk.’

‘You’re on,’ said Amiss. ‘And before I go tomorrow we’ll compose a joint letter to the two of them, pointing out how well we get on without them and urging them not to hurry back. We will include this poem: I’ve been saving it up for the right occasion.’ He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and declaimed:

‘Love a woman? You’re an ass!

‘ ’Tis a most insipid passion

To choose out for your happiness

The silliest part of God’s creation.

Let the porter and the groom,

Things designed for duty slaves,

Drudge in fair Aurelia’s womb

To get supplies for age and graves.

Farewell, woman! I intend

Henceforth every night to sit

With my lewd, well-natured friend,

Drinking to engender wit.

Then give me health, wealth, mirth, and wine,

And, if busy love entrenches,

There’s a sweet, soft page of mine

Does the trick worth forty wenches.

Maybe that’ll bring them back on the next plane.’

‘That would only be a distraction now,’ said Pooley. ‘Goodnight and thank you very much, Jim. Don’t let him keep you up too late. I’ll let myself out.’

‘D’you think he felt left out?’ asked Milton as he topped up Amiss’s outstretched glass.

‘I don’t give a fuck if he did or didn’t. I’ve become very fond of Ellis and I’m prepared on occasion to be tempted into his latest hare-brained scheme, but I’m buggered if I’ll carry on like Richard Hannay and his chums in a John Buchan novel. The trouble about Ellis’s preoccupation with crime fiction is that it’s a genre that sits most comfortably in an England that is dead and gone.’

‘Like ffeatherstonehaugh’s?’ said Milton.

‘Precisely,’ said Amiss. ‘It’s enough to make one feel one should go into the West End to a Heavy Metal disco or something.’

‘Why don’t we watch the re-run of today’s “Match of the Day” instead?’ suggested Milton. ‘There won’t be anybody in it over thirty.’

‘Perfect. And let’s make a vow. We won’t talk about anything earnest, serious, or in any way related to ffeatherstonehaugh’s between now and my departure.’

‘Done,’ said Milton.

12

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There’s something peculiar going on,’ said Sunil on Monday morning, during their private morning snack. ’Mmmm. I’ve never had gulls’ eggs before, Robert. Very nice.’

‘Good. Pass the pâté,’ said Amiss. ‘What d’you mean, peculiar? How can anything that happens here be called peculiar?’

‘I mean abnormal,’ said Sunil. ‘You can be a frightful pedant, Robert.’

‘Sorry. Go on.’

‘Well, the Admiral came in yesterday afternoon.’

‘On a Sunday. That’s very unusual, isn’t it?’

‘For a non-resident it is, though I suppose he’s got a perfect right, being chairman and everything. He wandered around for a couple of hours having chats with any of the old fellows who were around the place.’

‘Like who?’

‘Mainly the hard core. You know – Fagg, Fishbane, Glastonbury, Chatterton and the Commander. There’s hardly ever anyone else staying at weekends.’

‘Ah! The dear Commander. Slaving away at his job, even on a Sunday. Heroic.’

‘An example to us all, I think.’

‘Was he just being sociable?’ Amiss tried to sound no more than mildly interested.

‘Don’t think so. He upset Glastonbury. Poor old boy looked a bit tearful after they’d talked. Fagg was in an absolute rage.’

‘Fagg’s always in a rage. Here, have the last of the eggs. I’ve had most of the pâté.’

‘Thanks, I will. Today’s lunch in the servants’ hall consists of tripe and onions, followed by tapioca pudding.’

‘Some people like tripe, you know,’ said Amiss wonderingly. ‘In fact I’ve heard Mauleverer going on about a tripe restaurant in Paris.’

‘Even if I weren’t of Hindu stock, I doubt if I would ever have been attracted by the notion of eating a cow’s stomach.’

‘Shall we give it a miss then?’

‘Oh, I’ll look in. I have to have a word with Gooseneck about my timetable for this week.’

‘So what d’you think the Admiral was up to? You didn’t hear anything that was said?’

‘Just the odd sentence here or there. But none of his encounters seemed to be convivial, so they weren’t calling for drinks while he was there. I just heard Fagg shouting, “How dare you, sir?” and the Commander wailing something about old times. Honestly, it sounded to me as if he was giving them all some kind of ultimatum.’

‘Did they get together afterwards or anything?’

‘No. The Commander was going out anyway. He always goes to his married daughter on Sunday evening. And Glastonbury goes to his mother’s grave to do a bit of gardening. Anyway, Fagg looked too furious to speak to anyone.’

‘Well, it’ll be interesting to see if they go into conference this afternoon,’ said Amiss. ‘It would make a nice change to have something happening in this place for once. Maybe they’ll launch a
putsch
and get themselves a new chairman.’

‘Maybe,’ said Sunil. ‘But my feeling is that the winds of change are blowing through this club and that the old guard’s days are numbered.’

‘And which side will you be on, Sunil?’

‘I shall be neutral. I’ve got two essays to write in the next fortnight. And you?’

‘Oh, I shall compose an elegy when the time is right.’

‘What’s the Admiral up to, Ellis?’ Amiss shovelled some more change into the slot.

‘Nothing that I’ve heard. I mean, we told you that he was planning what he called a tactful chat with the main protagonists, but I thought the idea was to lull them into a sense of false security. Sunil’s evidence suggests that he upset some of them.’

‘Well, if you hear anything, ring me. Pretend to be from the employment agency.’

‘What’s it called?’

‘It’s called Service With A Smile,’ said Amiss through clenched teeth. ‘And the motto on its letterhead reads: “We also serve who only stand and wait”. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and do that very thing.’

The group in the Smoking Room that afternoon resembled rather more the Angry Brigade than the Gang of Five. Amiss was fascinated by the range of inarticulate sounds they could produce. Gaggings and chokings and wailings and grumbles and mumbles and expostulations and curses and oaths followed each other in rapid sequence in response to the fluent introductory speech by Fishbane, who appeared to have appointed himself master of ceremonies. Much to Amiss’s chagrin, his eavesdropping was greatly hampered by a new cleaner, who had arrived to do a serious job on the upstairs kitchen. Amiss spent a deeply frustrating hour rushing to his post any time the cleaner left or appeared to be absorbed in his job, frequently having the conversation drowned out by the sound of a vacuum cleaner and in between having to exchange inane pleasantries. He spent as long as he could going round the Smoking Room at a snail’s pace, cleaning clean ashtrays and polishing polished tables, and when summoned once or twice to wait on other members he dragged out the process of serving them for an inordinate length of time. Nevertheless, he could pick up very little. Glastonbury was certainly upset, although that didn’t stop him nodding off on several occasions; Fagg was enraged – the term ‘bloody fellow’ came up frequently; Fishbane was considered; the Commander spluttered a lot and Chatterton said very little except to draw on his memory of some committee problem that had arisen in 1964. Chatterton thought this event had occurred on the afternoon of the tenth of January, although he did concede that it might have been the eleventh. He remembered this because it was the day on which the BBC Home Service had announced the news that Her Majesty the Queen had given birth to what would become known as Prince Edward. Chatterton declared himself slightly worried that he could forget such a momentous date.

When Pooley rang around six o’clock, Amiss’s frustration had still not been dispelled.