Spirit (13 page)

The deal struck, I fire up my laptop to put the next part of my strategy in motion. I have an email to write.

From: Beth Harte

To:A. M. Barnes

Date: 6 September 2013

Subject: Land at High Whitley Scar, West Yorkshire

Dear Mr Barnes

I understand your firm acts on behalf of MLR estates, the company who owns the above land. The property in question is leased to Upper Shay Farm, Oldfield and is used for the purposes of agriculture. I have attached a map which indicates the precise location.

I am a public artist specialising in creating outdoor pieces. I have identified this site as being especially suitable for a project I would like to pursue linked to Le Grand Départ, which will be taking place during July 2014. I have been in contact with MLR’s tenants at Upper Shay Farm, Mr Boothroyd and his mother, and they have agreed to my proposals in principle. Indeed, the current leaseholders seem very interested in the project and I would hope to involve them fully in its execution.

They have advised me that I will require the consent of the landowner before the project can proceed. I would therefore appreciate it if you could pass my request on to your client in order that I can explain my ideas in more detail and agree plans for progressing this scheme.

My contact details are below. I am available to meet with MLR at any time, and would be happy to come to their offices in Manchester.

Best regards

Beth Harte

Landscape Artist

Satisfied with my progress so far I close down my laptop and stow it safely under Alice’s rear seat. Time to go to work.

I take the precaution of gaining Bob’s agreement to my living arrangements, and I’ve done an evening’s work for him before I allow him to clap eyes on Alice. I consider that the wisest courses, so by the time he actually realises the nature of the vehicle which is to be gracing his car park it’s sort of too late.

Ned Boothroyd was not wrong when he described Alice as ‘right strange.’ I thought so myself when I first saw the camper van I have made my home. Previously owned by a somewhat eccentric archaeologist, Alice has been extensively customised. Her exterior is pretty much covered in wooden cladding so she looks a bit like a tea chest on wheels. She is painted in a variety of garish colours, which I suppose I could apply my own talent to tame down at some stage but haven’t got around to it so far. And if I’m honest, I sort of like her as she is. I have considered a mural of some sort, but inspiration eludes me so far. I’ve had other matters on my mind, most particularly my attempts to establish a reputation as a public artist.

I went to university intent upon getting a qualification which would grant me entry to a career as a museum or gallery curator. I like such places, developed a sincere fondness for them during my eighteen months or so among the homeless of Leeds. You could generally get warm and dry in a museum, provided you didn’t attract the notice of the staff. I found I could usually manage to melt into the background, and I liked looking at the exhibits. Art was a natural choice for me, especially as I’m not bad at drawing. But I haven’t so far felt inclined to waft a paintbrush in Alice’s direction, and I can appreciate that Bob was somewhat dismayed when he discovered her languishing in all her technicolour glory, in sharp contrast to his eighteenth century stonework.

“What the bloody hell is this?” His shriek of outrage wakes me from my sleep that first morning. He takes some calming down, but we eventually settle on a solution whereby Alice is banished to the bin yard at the rear of the pub, and I still have a job.

A couple of days pass. They are uneventful. I make myself useful at The Fleece, and manage another trip to High Whitley Scar to further develop my plans for my creation up there. On the third morning I check my emails, and find I have a reply from Mr Barnes.

From :Andrew Barnes

To: Beth Harte

Date: 9 September 2013

Subject: Land at High Whitley Scar, West Yorkshire

Dear Ms Harte

Thank you for your recent correspondence with regard to the above property.

I have to advise you that rural conservation is an extremely high priority for MLR. The land you have identified is designated as being of particular ecological interest and is therefore not available for uses other than light agricultural. I am afraid therefore that I must decline your request.

May I take this opportunity to wish you every success with your future projects?

Regards

A. M. Barnes

Senior Account Manager

Shit! Bloody hell! I’m not having this.

From: Beth Harte

To: Andrew Barnes

Date: 9 September 2013

Subject: Land at Wiley High Scar, West Yorkshire

Dear Mr Barnes

You misunderstand me. I was not requesting your consent or otherwise to my proposal. I merely asked that you convey my interest in this matter to your client at MLR. If you feel unable to do so I am happy to approach your client direct.

Best regards

Beth Harte

Landscape artist

There. That should do it. I hope. I’ll give this solicitor a couple of days or so to come up with a more promising response, but failing that I’ll need to start researching contact details for someone senior at MLR.

Three days later I have my reply.

From: Andrew Barnes

To: Beth Harte

Date: 12 September 2013

Subject: Land at Wiley High Scar, West Yorkshire

Dear Ms Harte

Your persistence is to be applauded.

I apologise if my response caused offence. In advising you of my client’s current policy regarding this particular location I had hoped to spare you the inconvenience of wasted time and effort.

In view of your ongoing interest in this matter I have forwarded our correspondence to Mrs Helen Kerry, the Director of Estates at MLR, who will no doubt be in touch with you when she has had an opportunity to consider your request. I should advise you however that the company’s priorities are exactly as I described in my previous email and I do not anticipate Mrs Kerry will be in a position to agree to your proposal.

I hope you find this response more helpful.

Regards

Andrew Barnes

Senior Account manager

From
:
Beth Harte

To: Andrew Barnes

Date: 12 September 2013

Subject: Thank you

Dear Mr Barnes

Thank you so much. I am sorry if I seemed a bit sharp, but this project is very important to me. I am sure I can allay any concerns MLR may have regarding the preservation of the ecological features of the site, and I look forward to discussing my ideas with Mrs Kerry in person.

Once again, I do appreciate your help in this matter.

Regards

Beth Harte

For want of something more constructive to do I spend the next few days working full time in the pub. It’s the weekend, but still I check my laptop every chance I get for a reply from Mrs Kerry. By Monday I’m seriously eager. Surely she’ll contact me today.

I spend a sweaty morning swilling down the toilets at The Fleece to emerge stinking of chlorine bleach and ready for a shower before facing the regulars. I negotiated access to the bathroom and related facilities as part of my deal with Bob, so wander off upstairs in search of hot water and soap suds. By the time I feel fit to face the world again it’s just a couple of minutes to opening time and Bob’s putting the finishing touches to his blackboard proclaiming today’s lunchtime specials. A hot pork baguette sounds good to me and I wonder if I’ll be able to sweet talk him into parting with one. Failing that I can rustle up the three pounds odd to buy it. Times are lean, but they’ve been harder.

“Back in a sec. I just need to collect something from my van.” I wave to Bob as I trot out the back way. His grunt of response sounds amenable enough, as it should be. Those toilets are gleaming.

I fire up my laptop, which has been charging overnight in the pub kitchen. There’s an email, and it’s from MLR.

From: Angela Carmichael

To: Beth Harte

Date: 16 September 2013

Subject: Public Art Proposal

Dear Ms Harte

Andrew Barnes at Elliott Day solicitors has forwarded your recent correspondence to us. I am afraid that Mrs Kerry is currently on maternity leave, so I will circulate your request among the other members of the Senior Management Team and will be in touch with you immediately if another of our directors is in a position to respond.

Regards

Angela Carmichael

PA to Chief Executive. MLR

Shit! Fucking shit. Just when I thought I might be getting somewhere. Maternity leave? What ever happened to temporary cover? That firm owns half of bloody Yorkshire as far as I can tell, they must be able to run to a sodding fill in post, some temporary staff, for Christ’s sake. I slam the laptop shut and stomp back inside to help dish out the pork baguettes and pints of real ale. There must be a way to excite some interest among their directors. I only need one of them to glance at my plans and give me a nod. How hard could that be, for heaven’s sake?

I’m still pondering that question when my mobile buzzes in my back pocket. I pull it out and glance at the unfamiliar number on the screen before I hit the green button.

“Hello, Beth Harte.”

“Ah, good afternoon, Ms Harte. I hope this isn’t an inconvenient moment. This is Angela Carmichael, at MLR.” The brisk female voice on the other end of the phone pauses, and my head reels. Not a moment ago I was racking my brain trying to work out how to excite the interest of this woman who seems to hold the key to my plans, and here she is actually ringing me up. I gulp, give myself a quick shake, and answer her.

“Miss Carmichael, yes, right. Thanks for phoning me. Is there some more information you need?”

“No, no Ms Harte, I think we have all we need for now. I’ve forwarded your ideas to our directors, and our CEO is keen to talk to you about them. Are you able to come in and meet with him?”

“Yes, yes of course. I’d be delighted. When would he like…?”

“I know this is very short notice, but he was wondering if perhaps later today? Are you able to be at our offices by, say, four thirty? He has a half hour or so at that time.”

“Yes, of course. Yes, I can be there by then.” Just. Allowing for getting parked up and finding the office, it would take me about ninety minutes to get to central Manchester from here. I peer at the wall clock opposite the bar, to see it’s already after two. I need to start preparing right now, and I’ve agreed to the meeting before I even consider checking with Bob.

It’s too late now, I’m committed. And in any case, this is my priority. I tell myself I paid for my night’s board and lodging by scrubbing out those loos, and return my attention to Miss Carmichael.

“Yes, that’ll be fine. I’ll be there. Could you just give me a few directions to help find you?”

“Of course. Do you know Leeds?”

Leeds? Leeds?

“Er, I thought you were in Manchester.”

“No. Our headquarters are in Leeds. We’re just a couple of minutes’ walk from the station, if that helps.”

“Oh, right.” I’m fast re-adjusting my thinking. Ninety minutes to drive to Manchester, how long would it take to get to Leeds? By train?

Not that long, probably. I could be at the station in Keighley in perhaps forty minutes, then the journey across to Leeds would be about half an hour. I’ll have no trouble finding the place at the other end—I know Leeds intimately.

I wish I didn’t. My memories of the city are not exactly happy ones for the most part. But needs must, and at least I do know my way around.

“Okay. What address is it, please?”

Miss Carmichael rattles off the details, which I jot down on the order pad next to the till.

“Just go to reception and ask for me. I’ll come down and meet you.”

“Right, thanks. I’ll see you later then.” I tear off the top sheet of the pad and drop the directions in the bin. I won’t need them. I know that building. I remember it well. Especially the underground car park.

“I’m looking forward to it, Ms Harte. Goodbye.”

I press the end call button, and head off in search of Bob.

* * *

An hour and a half after speaking to Angela Carmichael I am on the platform at Keighley as the three thirty eight to Leeds rolls into the station. Bob wasn’t best pleased at my sudden change of plan but agreed to let me have the rest of the day off provided I put in a full afternoon and evening tomorrow. I agreed to those terms and rushed back to Alice to grab my cleanest pair of jeans and second best top. At least I was fresh from the shower so it didn’t take me long to slap on a bit of foundation and some mascara, check that my sketches and laptop were in my rucksack, and head for the station. I got to Keighley with time to spare so had time to go over my ideas as I waited for the train. All I need to do now is dazzle the chief executive at MLR, and I’m in business. Maybe.

Twenty past four sees me slinking through the front entrance at Bridgewater House. The enormous plate glass frontage parts with silent, stately dignity to beckon me forward, a world apart from my previous visit when I hurled myself under the rolling shutter guarding the basement car park. I wouldn’t exactly call mine the success story of the decade, but today’s arrival is a far cry from that pathetic night almost six years ago. My stomach clenches at the memory of that evening, the fateful meeting which took place then, and the unexpected friendship I struck up with a total stranger whose generosity saved my life. Literally.

I stand inside the plush chrome, steel and glass of the huge atrium lobby, gazing across what seems to me to be acres of pearl grey carpeting. The reception desk is at the far end, close to the lifts. I hoist my backpack on my shoulder and make my way across.

A haughty looking individual decked out rather like a traditional butler tips up his chin as I approach the desk. I swear he’s inspecting the shag pile behind me for footprints, as though I trod in something not very nice.