Lost Lad (41 page)

           
"You certainly wouldn't be driving this car on a teacher's pay!"
laughed Simeon.
"And you wouldn't have received the prestige and respect Mr Brentnall enjoyed from us!"

           
"Exactly.  Anyway, I wouldn't have got anywhere near a teachers college.  Working class social pressure would have pushed me towards a manual job and would have offered me a selection of girls from the next street.  A girl like Helen with her 'county' background: my God, if she as much as suspected - I'd be treated as dirt under her feet!"

Simeon, who had taken an instant dislike to the haughty Helen Hardman (and was bitterly opposed to blood sports) resisted the temptation to put in a good word for Heanor girls.  Brian continued to defend his position.      

           
"Face it, Dobba, you went to America.  You did the best for yourself.  Algernon Hardman showed me a world I didn't know existed.  He took me around Europe and showed me art, architecture, culture ...

Again he looked his old friend straight in the eyes -
 

           
"I have to admit it, Dobba, I rather like being the Master of Cressbrook Hall."
 

Brian exhaled a long held breath of stress, then flashed another boyish grin.

           
"Simon was right.  I mean his fantasy on the radio when I was supposed to be snatched up by aliens.  That gave me a close call but fortunately nobody takes him very seriously, but, do you know, Dobba - he was quite right.  Effectively I
was
abducted by aliens - two very odd queens and an erudite recluse! 

           
Simon and Dolly have always been there for me, always kind and loyal.  They were servants to father, but for me ... they are family, just as much as Helen and the children."

           
"I met your children today at Cressbrook Hall.  Utterly delightful, the girls and the small boy."

           
"Aren't they just.  One correction, Dobba - grandchildren."

Another jolt, but Simeon had already been through that with Scott North.  Suddenly an urgent thought intruded into domestic bliss.

           
"Brian!  The police!  I have all the details, they checked everything?"

           
"Of course they did.  But you know, Dobba, sometimes they don't ask the right questions.  They assumed that my father was with 'me' on the chartered plane.  It never occurred to them to check the ticket
which would have indicated a single person - not two people.  They closely questioned the taxi driver who met father at Manchester airport.  They looked at the wrong thing.  They were very keen and obsessed on checking times.  They had no reason at all to ask the driver if a boy was also in the car.  Why should they?  They assumed Charles was with his father.  Had a boy been mentioned to the driver, he would say 'What boy?'"

           
"Hang on a moment!  I have a verbatim description of the official record from Detective Inspector Derek Russell himself - The Albanian authorities confirmed two fatalities in a head-on collision.  Both cars were 'right-offs'.  Did Algernon Hardman bribe the authorities?"

           
"Of course not!  Again it was a question of natural assumptions.  The English police assumed that the two people killed were my father's late wife Marjorie and the other fellow in the other car.  Since I was at Cressbrook Hall, it was assumed that Charles Hardman survived - he didn't, it was the other driver who survived."

           
"And you were a young looking fifteen year old."

           
"Baby faced Brian!  Oh yes, anyone would have taken me as a twelve year old."

Simeon conjured up a mental image of Brian, Danny, Scott, Rex and Dobba swaggering across Heanor Market Place having the time of their lives, shouting and generally larking around ... How different to his perception of this group of raucous boys who were now coming towards the car.  After decades of permissive progressive education, Simeon felt threatened by this group, a group he regarded as yobs out of control.  Brian appeared not to notice.  He was speaking of his Uncle Jack and his Brownie 127 camera. 
  

           
"That photograph was a joke.  Nobody would have recognised me from that.  Of course, you, Danny, Scott or Titch would have identified me immediately, but why should it be thought necessary for anyone to be brought to Cressbrook Hall to look at Charles Hardman?  By the way, haven't you forgotten something?"

           
"What?"

           
"Fingerprints!

           
"My God, yes!  Your fingerprints were identified because they were all over your house in Heanor - so why ... Oh!  I think I see - gloves?"

           
"I wore them for months.  Of course I've no memory of it."

           
"But in Russell's letter he said that they took copies of your prints, the prints of young Charles Hardman at Cressbrook Hall together with Dr Hardman and Tonks.  There would have been a match!  The game would have been up!"

           
"But it wasn't and they didn't - let me explain.  The forensic team on prints and dabs was just two junior officers.  Simon had made it more difficult, or easy, which ever way you look at it.  He was pretty handy with the duster and polish and there were fewer prints to find.
 
Most of the prints in Marjorie Hardman's bedroom were, quite naturally, identified as belonging to her.  The same thing applied to my father's room and to Simon in his room and the kitchen.  Charles Hardman had the freedom of the attic, his play room.  Plenty of his prints there - none of mine.  The two police men believed that they had conclusive identification without having to steel themselves to approach my unapproachable father and ask him to get his fingers inky.  Remember he was already hostile to the whole intrusion and barely tolerated the police in the house as it was.  Algernon Hardman was a force to reckon with!  He was like the Lord of the Manor, a friend of the Chief Constable and Lord Lieutenant.  The two officers felt that they had
made quite sure that Brian Forrester had never set foot inside of Cressbrook Hall. 

           
It was a year before I was allowed into the attic to touch anything belonging to Charles and the gloves stayed on for a long time, just in case Detective Inspector Derek Russell had a brainwave and decided to return.  Thank the Lord he never did."

Simeon sat silent for a moment to allow this intelligence to percolate into his head which was now swimming.  Something was bothering him.

           
"The Lord of the Manor ... Brian, something's wrong here!  You were questioned by Derek Russell himself.  Charles Hardman went to a private school.  He spoke with an upper-class accent.  He was never allowed anywhere near the likes of us.  Don't tell me this is a modern The Prince and the Pauper.  We were as common, as rough a bunch of ragamuffins as they come!  You'd be found out as soon as you opened your mouth ... "

           
"I've absolutely no memory of opening my mouth at all.  Simon told me that I was given strict instructions to say nothing but 'yes' or 'no' to the police.  Of all people,
he
knows the importance of keeping his mouth shut at certain critical times!  Anyway, father was with me all the time.  If any other response were required, he would have intervened."

This produced another silence as Simeon recalled being teased about his accent by his American friends in the early days.  Suddenly - another thought -

           
"The bicycle!"

           
"Oh that bicycle!"
guffawed Brian.
 
He flung back his head, stuck out his sexy tongue and gave Simeon that mischievous sidelong look which transported him back so many years.

           
"Well, let me put it this way, Simon is usually quite forgiving.  He's a good natured fellow, always very patient but: after all: well ... that dreadful old man at Belper
did
try to get him sacked from his job which would have meant losing his home as well - and, Simon
can
cycle!

           
"It was Simon Tonks!"

           
"I gather it was just after Scott
and Rex left Cressbrook Hall.  Simon was given orders to ride that bike as far away as possible and return in a taxi before the police would be alerted.  His revenge nearly landed us all in queer street.  He went much too far and got back with just minutes to spare before the law descended on Cressbrook Hall.  Very naughty of him to park it at Belper outside the 'massage parlour' - but it was just too tempting.  Simon will always be Simon - bless him."

They both sank back into the comfortable seats.  Belper Market Place was gradually coming to life and Simeon was unconsciously enjoying the rich scent of 'new car' during this silence.  An observer might consider this moment, a moment of danger.  After all this was a moment where truth had been revealed.  One party, armed with damaging information could be seen as a threat to the other party and both parties were quite aware of this.  Yet, notwithstanding - it was a good silence, the comfortable silence born of affection between two old friends separated, but now united and glad to be united.  It was Brian who spoke.  His thoughts had been philosophical.

           
"So which of us is the lost lad?  Is it you or me?  We both revere and treasure the time of Howitt.  It was good then, we were all innocent, we all had fun ... but somehow ... well ...  we all got lost didn't we?"

Simeon was startled to have the whole situation summed up for him in this way, yet he had to acknowledge the soundness of Brian's reasoning.  Gary had often told him -
'You can never go back'
, but Simeon had grieved more than most for his lost youth.  He was, and always would be, by temperament and disposition, nostalgic.  In these few seconds there were thoughts on both sides.  Both men held the unspoken thought that Simeon Hogg now had a choice before him and both men held a childlike faith that Simeon Hogg would make the right choice - the only logical choice - the only kind and considerate choice.  As if to anticipate that decision Brian said -

           
"You'll forgive me if I don't invite you to dinner, Dobba.  It could get complicated."
   

Dobba smiled.  Again, a great deal of unspoken understanding was hanging in the air.  Dobba had no choice at all.  He could not discredit the memory of Algernon Hardman because that memory was precious to his adopted son.  He could not destroy the life of his long lost friend.  He could not destroy the lives of the children and grandchildren of Charles Hardman and so he decided to address Charles Hardman in a cheerful brisk manner -

           
"Well, time marches on.  Thank you for your time, Charles.  I've found our chat illuminating and most interesting, yes ... most interesting.  I've come to the end of the road
. 
One hates to admit defeat ... but ...  we can't always win ... can we?"
   

Brian's eyes were sparkling more than ever, but these were the sparkles of emotion, not actual tears, but very near.  He offered out his hand which was taken by his boyhood friend who found it warm and grateful.

Two friends sat looking at each other in a comfortable silence.  Far from being defeated, Simeon was feeling triumphant and free.  He was free from his hated progressive school of the far left and free to live in the wilds of Derbyshire where ghostly owls would be the soothing sounds of the night instead of the infuriating electronic thumps of the hard yob culture which had just started to bang out from one of the nearby pubs. 

Simeon Hogg was optimistic.  He would research and write his book about curious quirky characters and was looking forward to the challenge.  Simeon Hogg was thinking about the future.

Simeon Hogg was thinking about life.   

Cameo Roles

The author would like to thank the following for agreeing to appear as themselves -

            Freda Cirillo nee Brentnall, John Holmes of BBC Radio Nottingham, Lord Ralph Kerr of Melbourne Hall and His Honour Judge Keith Matthewman QC.  Yvonne and Barry Peirson of Wellhead Farm in Wormhill are still offering an excellent standard of accommodation.  Carol Robinson nee Bestwick, Kathy Syson of the William Howitt Secondary Modern School Annual Reunion and Percy Wilson of Canal Cottage on the Cromford Canal.