Lost Lad (39 page)

           
"Can I help you!!"

It was this cultured, hard, hostile voice which broke the spell and turned fairies back into children.  Simeon introduced himself, explained that there was no answer at the door and apologised for the intrusion -

           
"I was rather hoping to have a brief word with Mr Charles Hardman.  You see I ... "

           
"I'm quite aware of your activities, Mr Hogg,"
interrupted the straight, tall, classic woman who had the bearing and air of Greek tragedy. 
"I don't listen to the radio, or for that matter, read the local press but ... Children, off to tidy your playroom, as you promised earlier.  Go on."

As the last curious child unwillingly left the room, the visitor, keen to make himself agreeable, was about to say, in the old fashioned sense of the word -
'Charming'
.  It was too late.  She was too quick.  She headed him off and turned on him in a tone of cool invectives.

           
"My husband has nothing to say to you, Mr Hogg.  With regard to that old business of the boy who went missing on the public road outside of this house; as far as we are concerned, that business was concluded when the police left here many many years ago.  I can assure you he is not here."

           
"Do you mean Brian Forrester or your husband?"

           
"Whether or not Mr Hardman is in residence is hardly any of your business!  I am not in the habit of receiving strangers who wander into my home.  I must ask you to leave."

This was as far as Simeon dared push an unpleasant situation.  Just for a moment they faced each other, she defiant and he uncertain, assessing his position.  But his position was weak and in all scenes of a disagreeable nature, Simeon Hogg was disposed to maintain his dignity, counter with extreme courtesy and make a gracious withdrawal.  Again he apologised profusely for the trespass and any distress caused.  Helen Hardman stood mute, firm and regal like the 'Ice Queen', clearly a woman of 'good breeding' from a 'good family'.  After wishing her a 'good afternoon' he left the house immediately.

This was practically the end of the road.  Simeon took some satisfaction that he had tried, at least he had gone through the motions.  Winding up that long beautiful drive, for the first time he pitched his thoughts beyond the search for Brian Forrester, he must find a place to live and he must find something to do ...

A fat man was standing outside the lodge, a small man with grey hair, a round body supporting a round head, a pleasant expression - looking at him.  So this was Dolly the gardener, after all these years, still at The Lodge.  Simeon rolled down the window.

           
"Hello."

           
"Hello."

           
"Am I addressing Mr Coggan?"

           
"Am I addressing Mr Hogg?"

There was something of a gentle comedy being played out here: that special touch of irony which comes from the amiable interchange of two men who immediately sense that they share a similar persuasion: that playful, easy and light banter, which leaves so much significance hanging in the air.  The famous Dolly of Derbyshire with large dancing eyes was a past master of this clever and mischievous contrived comedy. 

            They spoke of the old mystery.  As ever, Dolly's tone was benign and eminently reasonable.  He was persuasive -

           
"I still think that sad event had absolutely nothing to do with Cressbrook Hall at all.  If alive he could be anywhere couldn't he?  And the boy you once knew, after all these years, would be so changed ... well, effectively, he'd be the same as dead.  Hardly worth upsetting poor Mr Hardman is it?  People do wander off you know, from time to time, especially young boys who get the urge!"
 

Simeon was amused by this sibilant suggestiveness and subtle undercurrents of humour.  He was intrigued by the mobile pappy face and could not take his eyes off those flowing succulent fat lips which moved so roundly, beautifully forming rich vowels delivered in such an unhurried manner.  Dolly continued to make his case - 

           
"I notice the police didn't examine the garden of Wellhead Farm.  The Peirsons were equally as likely (or for that matter unlikely) to spirit away your friend as anybody here.  You think of it: if he had an accident or went astray, where would he most likely go?  Not here!  He'd go back to base - the very same place you went to, wouldn't he?  Stands to reason doesn't it?  That's where you all felt safe."

           
"It's possible ... but they were such nice people."

           
"We're nice people too!"
whispered Dolly in a deep seductive purr with his ball-like head cocked on one side and appealing wide orbicular eyes supporting the sound logic of his argument.  Simeon cracked up finding the whole picture hilariously funny.  Dolly smiled.

           
"I wonder if they'll remember me at Wormhill?"
mused Simeon.
   "There's nobody else left to talk to.  I suppose I'm unlikely to find the old goblin at Belper still in residence."

           
"Alas no," 
sighed Dolly.
  "He lived to a very ripe old age.  It was the protein you know, he always had a good regular supply from the postman."

           
"Pardon?"

           
"Oh yes.."
lisped Dolly, an octave deeper giving added significance and warming to the subject.
  ".. every day, except Sunday when there was no post, but that particular postman ... well, he came even when there were no letters at all for old Jasper!"

           
"He came even when there were no letters?"

           
"Through the letter box."

Dolly looked at Simeon as one might look indulgently at a child struggling with a problem - blinked - twinkled and cocked his head on to the other side.

           
"Oh yes,"
he continued trailing off into a breathy whisper.
  "It wasn't just a letter he pushed through Jasper's letter box!  You must understand, Mr Hogg, Jasper was always at his best when nobody could actually see him.  I gather his clients on the massage bed often requested a blindfold - very wise - much better."

Simeon was shaking with mirth, but, at that instant, like a flash, he knew what he had to do with the rest of his life.  If Charles Hardman had recorded for posterity the folklore of Derbyshire, so now, Simeon Hogg the historian would record the secret and hidden 'gaylore' of Derbyshire.  An untold history of such an unusual and interesting minority must be written down before it was too late.  Not a bland history of the young and handsome, but a gritty colourful history of those hideous old-timers who had been warped and twisted by a repressive and homophobic society.  He must interview Dolly and Simon Tonks, both men in their seventies, and hear their stories before it was too late.  Simeon would call his book - 'Queens, Crones and Old Hags'.
   

           
"How old was Jasper he when he died?"

           
"Well, do you know, Mr Hogg ... nobody is really sure.  Rumour has it he'd had several telegrams from the Queen!  No.  Dear old Jasper, gone but not forgotten.  I do
so
miss that lovely click of his teeth when they came out, the prelude to pleasure, pleasure he gave to so many.  Quite a traveller you know - oh yes, in the locality.  You've heard of judges sitting, well, Jasper sat - for hours and hours in various cottages on 'his circuit'.  All gone now.  Who could ever forget those lewd leering eyes peering through holes.  I expect he's sitting in that big cottage in the sky, sitting there, munching away on his cracker biscuits, chatting to Guzzly Granddad through the hole."

           
"I'm glad they've made it up."
  said Simeon with a twinkle.  Dolly cocked his head on the other side, smiled and gently patted Simeon's hand.

           
"Anyway, you must promise Dolly to be a good boy.  This is not a good time to trouble Mr Hardman.  He's launching his new book this week.  Very busy you know.  He's got the readings tonight at St John's Chapel in Belper and tomorrow ... "

           
"I did see that advertised,"
said Simeon mendaciously interrupting and thinking quickly. 
"Starts at 7.00pm doesn't it?"

           
"Seven thirty,"
  replied Dolly in beautiful English.

           
"It's been so nice talking to you, Mr Coggan."

           
"Oh please,
do
call me Dolly."

Simeon leaned a little further out of the car window, mischievously lowered his own voice and whispered -

           
"And you, my precious little dumpling, may call me - Dobba!"
 

Chapter 32

St John's Chapel in Belper

He was late.  A bar meal at the New Bath Hotel had taken longer than expected.  Simeon walked into St John's Chapel at Belper ten minutes after Charles Hardman had started to read extracts from his latest book.  Now retired, the amateur historian had all the time in the world to visit such interesting and intriguing curiosities.  Dating from the 13th century this, the town's oldest building is situated in the centre of ancient Belper, now a pleasant leafy fragment of the once great Royal Forest.  It was cosy and comfortable inside where Simeon found just one empty seat on the back row.

            Charles Hardman was not far away in this small hall which was filled to capacity.  Simeon looked closely at the reader who was articulate, confident and very professional.  He had no pre-conceived ideas of what a 'child killer' should look like, but was pretty sure that this man on the stage was not one of their number.  The latecomer had given no thought to the appearance of this local author and yet, now, seen in the flesh, was pleasantly surprised to find him much younger and better looking than had been imagined. 

           
"Why?"
thought the onlooker. 
"Why am I surprised?  And why do I find him familiar?"
 

As to the first part, he generally assumed that Charles Hardman would look, and be, a little like Detective Inspector Derek Russell's description of Algernon Hardman.  The son was now older than his father had been in 1960, but had nothing of the father's 'dark leathery face, deeply wrinkled around a cruel mouth'.  The man reading on the stage, if anything, looked younger than his 55 years, whereas Hardman senior, with his 'haggard and reproving glare', always looked older than his true age.  So that explained the first part and the second had just popped into Simeon's head.

            During the early 1970's, Simeon and Gary had been very keen on the photogenic and desirable pop singer, David Cassidy.  Both would be glued to the television watching 'that cute little ass bounce around the stage' amid the frantic screams of teeny boppers.  Just before they left the US, both watched a talk show in which David Cassidy was being interviewed - the David Cassidy of 2003!  Both were braced to be shocked by the cruel ravages of 30 years on such a sexy chicken, but both were pleasantly surprised.  Naturally the man over 50 was now more of a broiler, but as Gary put it -

           
"My God!  Just look at him!  He is still one sweet gorgeous doll.  Who is going to turn that down?  Who cares about age, just lead me to it!"

That was Charles Hardman.  He looked just like the mature David Cassidy.  A smiling handsome face, open and friendly, was occasionally looking up from the text, mischievously flashing stunning smiles and boyish grins, delighting an enthusiastic audience consisting mainly of women.  He had enormous charm and generated great warmth. 

            Simeon had vaguely planned to approach the author after the readings and politely ask for his co-operation.  Just a few questions, a few fragments of memory might be illuminating.  He would suggest to Mr Hardman that he may be in possession of faint recollections, half forgotten shadows, whose value he did not himself appreciate.  He would promise Hardman total discretion, assure him that it was a purely personal crusade for personal satisfaction alone and that there were was no intention of putting any findings into the public arena.  Observing that good natured countenance, nicely tanned by a foreign sun, Simeon was hopeful.  He could not have faced the frosty features of Helen Hardman again but felt that Charles Hardman ... he was a different matter: precious little hostility there.  After the Charles Hardman interview - that would be the end.  The whole matter would be concluded.