In Vino Veritas (15 page)

‘I knew you'd see that. It would make future planning much easier if we got rid of the hedges and allowed our machinery full scope over the whole area.'

It was Gerry Davies who said, ‘Has Tom Ogden accepted your proposal?'

Martin smiled as if they were discussing the best way to deal with a recalcitrant child. ‘Ogden's a pig-headed soul. He doesn't see the realities of the situation. I've made him a very good offer. He hasn't yet accepted it, but I'm sure he will, before the summer's out.'

‘His family's farmed that land for a long time.'

‘So he keeps telling me. That doesn't alter the realities of economic life, Gerry. Times change, and Ogden must be made to recognize that.'

Jason Knight knew Ogden because he was a member of Ross Golf Club. He was well aware of the farmer's bitter resentment of his more powerful neighbour. He said, ‘Tom's a stubborn old bugger, as you say. Is there any way you could offer him some sort of junior partnership in Abbey Vineyards, rather than just money? That would allow him to continue an association with the land he feels he cannot relinquish.'

Martin frowned. ‘I wouldn't want Ogden anywhere near this firm. He's looking backwards, not forwards. We don't need people like that.'

Gerry Davies said, ‘He's capable of taking new ideas on board. Look how he's converted his land from mixed farming to a specialization in strawberries and hooked on to the pick-your-own market.'

Martin frowned. He had only introduced the subject to sound out the thinking of these two. Ogden and his strawberry fields were not really up for discussion. ‘You can leave Ogden to me. I'm confident I can make him see sense.' He certainly wasn't going to tell them exactly how he proposed to do that.

This time Jason Knight did glance sideways at the man next to him before he spoke. It was instinctive, but significant. With the autocrat's paranoid sensitivity to any sign of dissent, Beaumont divined in that instant that these two had been plotting against him. ‘This is, as you indicated at the outset, a policy matter, Martin. And Gerry and I have been thinking for some time that we – that is to say the five of us who are most involved in forward planning in the firm – should have a greater say in policy.'

It was out at last. But this was exactly the situation that Jason had been trying to avoid when he spoke to Gerry about a united front. He had wanted to come here with Vanda North and Sarah Vaughan and Alistair Morton and present a unified group, instead of being anticipated by Beaumont and pinned down like this. At least he had Gerry Davies to support him, but he would have preferred that they and not Beaumont had taken the initiative and chosen the moment.

The silence seemed to the two men in the easy chairs to stretch for a long time, though it was probably no more than a few seconds. Martin Beaumont finally said with ominous calm, ‘I built this firm up from nothing. I brought us to where we are at the moment. Neither of you would hold the jobs you have without my efforts.'

Gerry felt that he must support his friend, though neither words nor resistance came easily to him. ‘I don't think any of us would dispute that, Martin. We are well aware of what you have done for the firm, and indirectly for us. It's just that as it gets bigger and bigger, Jason feels – well I feel as well, and I think we all feel, really – that the senior people should have a greater say in policy matters.'

Martin stared hard at him whilst he thought furiously. They weren't organized yet, but they were moving against him: he had been right to suspect that. And the man behind it was Jason Knight, as he had known it would be. He said firmly and with ominous calm, ‘This firm is a one-man band. It has been from the outset and that is the secret of its success. If you don't like that, you should think seriously about other employment.'

Jason smiled and tried to simulate a relaxation he could not feel. ‘There's room for manoeuvre here, surely, Martin. I don't mean – none of us means – to challenge your leadership. It's just that as things move on and development becomes more complex, a different sort of organization might benefit us all.'

‘You've taken everyone's opinion, have you, Jason? Gone behind my back without saying a word to me in order to organize opinion against me, have you? I don't like what I'm hearing, Jason.'

Gerry Davies tried desperately to mitigate a confrontation he had never envisaged. ‘We haven't talked to anyone else, Martin. All we've done is exchange a few ideas on the best way to go forward. Jason was able to convince me that we should look at new ways of running things. Surely it's in everyone's interest that we should keep open minds as—'

‘So you two have been making your little plans to take over, have you? Without even having the decency to take me into your confidence. How long would it have been before you came out with these ideas if I hadn't brought you in here today?'

Gerry said miserably, ‘It isn't like that. There isn't a plot against you.'

Martin Beaumont had the knowledge he wanted now. The others weren't in on this, but only because he'd nipped it in the bud at this stage. And the man behind the challenge to his authority was Knight, as he had suspected it would be. He'd intervened at the right time, though, before Jason had been able to unite the others against him. Divide and rule was the answer. That maxim had always served him well in the past. Leave Knight isolated, then attack him. He didn't want to lose him, if it could be avoided. He was a brilliant chef, and the restaurant was a healthy profit-maker on the back of the reputation he had built there. Send him away chastened, but still prepared to work as hard as ever.

He shook his head sadly at Gerry Davies. ‘I'm sorry to find this disloyalty coming from you, Gerry. You've done well here, so far, very well. I've had no complaints about your work or your attitude, until today. I have to say I'm disappointed, after the chance I took in giving you a key job.'

Jason Knight said, ‘You shouldn't take it like this, Martin. And you shouldn't blame Gerry. He simply listened to what he saw as reasonable arguments. We'd all benefit if there were greater inputs, from Vanda North and Sarah Vaughan and Alistair Morton, as well as from Gerry and me.'

‘These arguments came from you, I suppose, Jason. Well, you're a good chef, but not irreplaceable. Perhaps you should look for work in a different environment, where the organization might suit you better.'

‘It shouldn't come to that, Martin. All we wanted to do was to bounce around a few ideas, with you involved in the discussion. I thought it might benefit us all to debate whether power-sharing might be possible, even desirable, from the company's point of view.'

‘Did you, indeed? Well, as I say, my initial reaction is that it might be better for all of us to have a chef in our restaurant who doesn't get too big for his boots.'

‘You won't get a better chef than Jason,' said Gerry Davies, desperately trying to support his friend as the situation rocketed away from them.

‘That's hardly the issue, is it, Gerry? I might get one who is perfectly efficient, without spreading dissent among hitherto loyal staff.' Divide and rule, that was the answer. Jason was now isolated and he knew it. Martin felt elation coursing like a drug through his veins. ‘Whether Jason would find it easy to secure a similar post with a reference which questioned his loyalty is another matter entirely. But a matter for him alone to consider, not any of the rest of us.'

‘You're taking this the wrong way, Martin.' Jason heard the note of desperation in his own voice. ‘I didn't intend to be in any way critical of you or your management. I think we're all aware that there wouldn't even be an Abbey Vineyards without your initiative and drive. It's just that I – we – thought that as things move on and the enterprise gets bigger and more prosperous, it might be appropriate to adopt a slightly modified structure. I wasn't intending to be at all critical of the way you have led us or continue to lead us.'

‘I'm glad to hear it.' Martin allowed himself a slow smile as he felt his triumph complete. ‘In view of these assurances, I am prepared to forget today's exchange, to move forward as if no opposition had been voiced. I think it only fair that I should add that if there is any future challenge to my authority, I shall be well aware of the likely source of it.'

Beaumont watched them leave his office without another word. They looked like two penitent school prefects who had been checked for a serious breach of the rules, he thought.

That was entirely satisfactory.

I
n one respect, the Open University graduation day at Hereford surprised Chief Superintendent John Lambert, who was able to enjoy it purely as a spectator, proud of his friend's achievement.

It was surprisingly like a conventional degree ceremony at any university. He had somehow expected these grizzled professionals of various ages and callings to be quite different from the youngsters concluding three years of full-time student life. But today they were surprisingly similar. There was the same sense of joyous achievement, the same slightly surprised air that they were now the holders of degrees.

In one sense, he was surprised to be here himself. You were always warned about making close friends in the police service. It might affect your judgement in crisis situations. It might force rash acts of schoolboy heroism which went against all the rules, when you stared into the barrels of a shotgun held by a violent man forced into a corner.

Such situations were still mercifully rare. More often, a sense of comradeship made officers cover up acts of villainy or weakness in colleagues they had grown to like. Mistaken loyalties had undoubtedly aided the spread of corruption in the Metropolitan Police in the sixties and seventies. More trivially, camaraderie might make you cover up minor omissions of timekeeping or short cuts in procedure in your colleagues, and thus affect the efficiency and reliability of the service and its reputation with the public.

Lambert was not exactly a law unto himself, but his seniority and reputation had secured him certain privileges. He had been able to retain Bert Hook as his detective sergeant for much longer than would normally have been the case. The situation had been consolidated by Hook's surprising refusal to accept the inspector status which could undoubtedly have been his, in favour of retaining the work he enjoyed as Lambert's assistant. It had never been openly stated, but each of them clearly understood and respected the fact that their virtues complemented each other's.

One of Bert Hook's advantages was that the criminals and others he came into contact with in CID work consistently underestimated him. They accepted too easily the stolid village-bobby exterior and manner as the reality of the man, and missed the shrewd intelligence which his manner and appearance concealed. That was useful to Lambert in his work, but he was delighted to be here today to witness the formal recognition of Hook's intelligence and application in the conferral of an excellent degree, achieved by part-time study in conditions which would have defeated lesser men.

Eleanor Hook and Christine Lambert had awarded themselves new dresses to celebrate this joyous occasion. Jack and Luke Hook, who had known Lambert as ‘Uncle John' since their early childhoods, were a little awkward with him now, as befitted their teenage status. In truth, they were rather in awe of his local fame as a solver of serious crimes, including the murders which always dominated the headlines. However, being fifteen and thirteen meant that they could not really acknowledge their awe of anyone, except the pop stars and top sportsmen they would never have to meet. But they were immensely proud of their father, though of course they could not demonstrate that in his presence. But there would be no more enthusiastic applause in the hall than theirs, when Bert eventually went forward for his degree.

The person least at ease in the group was Bert Hook himself, sweltering in his best suit beneath the blue and gold gown of the soon-to-be graduate. He had enjoyed his studies, in literature and history particularly, far more than he had expected to, but the formal reception of his degree was less to his taste. ‘This is like a school speech day,' he said gloomily, looking round at the plethora of gowns like his. He grinned weakly at John Lambert. ‘Do you think Lord Wotsisname will ask if we can have a half-holiday?'

‘They don't have school speech days any more. Mrs Fisher says they're elitist because they single out the most able,' said Luke Hook piously.

‘Your Mrs Fisher has a lot to answer for,' said his mother darkly.

‘She doesn't approve of Open University degrees. She says they're too easy because you can pick them off in modules.'

‘That young lady talks too much about things she doesn't know anything about,' said Eleanor Hook. Then, thinking that she might be undermining the teacher's position, she added guiltily, ‘Not that she doesn't know her own subject and teach it very well.'

‘She's a . . . a bit of an idiot, really,' said Jack. He blushed furiously, because he'd only just prevented himself from saying ‘tosser' and shocking the delicate sensibilities of these adults. ‘She doesn't think sport should be on the timetable and wants playing fields sold to build affordable housing.'

‘You'll be able to tell her she's an idiot at the parents' evening, Mum,' said Luke cheerfully. He turned to his father. ‘Perhaps now that you're going to have time on your hands, you could come along in your gown to argue with her about the OU, Dad.'

‘This is the one and only day you'll see me in this thing,' said Bert Hook firmly, raising his arms beneath the gown and then letting them fall helplessly to his sides. ‘It's hired at a ridiculous fee for this occasion and this occasion alone.'

‘Then I'd better take your picture whilst we have the opportunity,' said Christine Lambert cheerfully, producing her digital camera determinedly from her handbag. She set the group beneath an aged oak tree and took several photographs of various combinations, including one of Bert Hook smiling shyly with an arm round each of his sons, which would later turn out to be unexpectedly impressive. ‘And now the one to be framed and put on the mantelpiece,' she said, when Bert thought she had finished. He refused all requests for a picture wearing his mortar board, but she eventually persuaded him to sit alone in his gown with the offending headgear in his lap, in the conventional pose of the newly recognized graduate.