The Price of Butcher's Meat (8 page)

Then he left, whistling raucously.

I saw Festerwhanger flush the color of old port. Either he were seriously narked or he was going to have a seizure.

He downed the rest of his drink like he needed it, ice cubes clanging against his snowy teeth hard enough to dislodge a polar bear, slid off his stool, gave the landlord a curt nod, and marched through the door.

I said to Roote, “Got that wrong, didn't you, lad?”

He said, “I just think the game changed, but never fear, he'll remember. That tune Teddy Denham was whistling, I'm trying to recall what it is. I've got it on the tip of my tongue.”

Meaning he hadn't the faintest idea but would be glad to know what caused the Yank doctor to lose his cool. Didn't miss much, our Franny.

“Sorry, no idea,” I said. Which was a lie. I'd recognized the notes of a little ditty I've heard belted out at the back of rugby coaches more times than I care to remember.

Don't expect Roote spent much time in rugby coaches, and I didn't see any reason why I should enlighten him.

Roote were giving me one of his looks that said he knew I were holding out on him. Then his expression turned to I-told-you-so! as the door opened again and Fester stuck his head back in.

“It just occurred to me, Mr. Dalziel—would you like a lift back up to the home? Or do you have transport arranged?”

I suppose I could've told him I preferred to walk. Or that Roote were giving me a lift. But sod that. Only a fool turns down what he wants out of pride, and what I really wanted now were to crash out in my pit.

“Nay,” I said. “That 'ud be grand.”

I looked at my beer glass. It were half full. I realized I didn't want it.

Only a fool sups what he don't want out of pride.

But I could feel Roote watching me, and this time pride won.

I drained the glass, set it down, and hauled myself out of my chair.

“Thanks, mate,” I said to the landlord. “Good pint that.”

“Thank you, sir. Hope we see you again soon,” he said.

“Never fret, I'll be back.”

Roote caught my arm and said in a low voice, “Mr. Dalziel, just one thing. About Mr. Pascoe, I'll leave it up to you.”

Whether I told him or not, he meant.

I gave him a nod and left.

I wouldn't trust Roote as far as I could throw him, which, the way I were feeling just then, was about half a yard. But credit where due, I couldn't fault him over how he'd dealt with Pete.

Which don't stop me wondering, now they've finally got me tucked up in bed and talking to myself under the sheet, if one of the reasons Franny Roote took off abroad with no forwarding address was 'cos he didn't want Pete Pascoe feeling responsible for him, then why when he came back to England did he opt to settle here in Mid-Yorkshire? Okay it's right on the fringes of our patch, but it's still our patch!

Can't get that tune buffalo woman's nephew were whistling out of my mind. How did the words go? Let's see…summat about an Indian maid…aye, that's it!

And so on. Gets dirtier. Not the kind of thing I'd expect Fester to choose for his
Desert Island Discs.
And why should it bother him so much?

Questions, questions, lots and lots of sodding questions hopping madly round my mind to that jaunty little tune. But it's always the same one leading the dance.

What the fuck is Roote really up to here in Sandytown?

Never fear, one way or another, I'll find out afore I go!

But all I want to do now is sleep.

So it's good night from you, Mildred, and it's good night from

Hi Cass!

Thanks for pic. He is truly gorgeous! I want one of my own. Does he have a brother? Nice smile. Whats he got to smile about—I wonder?!!

Back to dull old Sandytown! After lunch yesterday Tom excused himself—to catch up on all the stuff that had piled up in his absence—& Min—whos clearly decided to make me her own!—asked me if Id like to go swimming with her. I thought she was being kind—& meant the sea—& said yes please—but it turned out she meant the swimming pool at this 5 star hotel Tom told us about—the Brereton Manor. Seems the Parkers have membership of the Health & Leisure Club—natch—but the kids arent allowed in without a responsible adult—so Min the minx had elected me! Mary tried to rescue me—but I said—no problem—& off we went.

Minnie led me over the road—& through a gate—then across a golf course that looked to be in the final stages of construction.

—Should have been finished for Easter—Min told me proprietorially.

Serious money being spent here—I thought—confirmed when we reached Brereton Manor. Must have been a grand old house—now much modified & extended—all the eco-friendly—carbon unfriendly—stuff theyve got at Kyoto—but tastefully blended in—the kind of detail that costs a fortune. Presumably the idea is youve been invited to a 1920s weekend house party—rather than asked to cough up a small fortune for b & b! Not many people around. Still bedding in. Official opening is not for a fortnight—Bank
Holiday weekend—when Tom launches the Festival of Health—which I shant be around to enjoy—thank heaven!

This info again supplied by Min!

She sailed in thru the front door like a grand duchess—& the receptionist greeted her with a big
Hi Minnie!
& gave me a smile too.

Everyone else we met en route to pool seemed to know Minnie. Swish pool—long way from Olympic—but big enough if you like that sort of thing. I did 10 or so lengths—very boring—specially as I had to stop from time to time to admire Minnies breaststroke—or backstroke—or diving. At 9 you need a lot of admiration! After—we sat in some very comfortable chairs in the café area—& had a Coke—talked. Or rather—I listened! Didnt mind. I was getting interested in what made Sandytown tick—you know me—never happy till Ive got the inside of things outside!—& nothing that goes on round here seems to escape Mins sharp little eyes & ears! By the time shed done—I was thinking of her as my personal Min of Information!

The original house—as I knew—belonged to the well-heeled Breretons—the famous Lady Denhams family—but became superfluous to requirements when she married even better-heeled Hog Hollis—local lad made good—who built up his pig farm into Hollis's Ham—the Taste of Yorkshire—& ended up master of just about everything he surveyed—Lord of the Sandytown Hundred—at Sandytown Hall.

He died—fattening the pigs who helped fatten him (I had to practically kick Minnie onward from all the gory details—mostly imagined I guess—of the poor sods death!)—leaving his wife even richer than hed found her—& eventually she remarried—Sir Henry Denham—& Denham Park became her official address—though—probably not caring for the pig pong but reluctant to do anything that might interfere with her pig profits—she spent a great deal of her time at the hall.

When Sir Harry in his turn died (dont know what she does to the poor sods!)—she returned permanently to Sandytown Hall—refusing the chance to move back to her childhood home—Brereton Manor—when her ancient father finally died—because—according to Minnie—the hall was a more prestigious address—& the manor had certain inconveniences of access—&
had fallen into such a dilapidated condition it would cost a fortune to put right.

—daddy owns nearly all the land all around—explained Minnie—where the new entrance drive is—& where theyre building the golf course. I think it was Uncle Sids idea that they should work together & turn the manor into a posh hotel. Uncle Sid knows all about money—which is why Lady D listens to him—mum says—

—thats nice—I said—so your uncle is a sort of financial adviser to the consortium—right?—

—I think so—she said uncertainly. Then she grinned & went on—Uncle Sid says Lady Denhams tight as a ducks arse—& thats watertight—watching me closely to see how I reacted.

I just laughed—you cant be Stompy Heywoods daughter without hearing far worse expressions than that!—which emboldened her to say—me & Uncle Sid call her Lady B—not Lady D.

—B for Brereton?—I guessed.

—no—B for Big Bum—she screeched.

I was beginning to feel intrigued by this Sidney Parker—who chose to talk to his niece like she was an intelligent human being rather than a backward dwarf—which is how awful Uncle Ernie always spoke to me. Min was vague about his actual job—& even from Mary—
hes in banking
—was the best I could get—which reminded me of dads response when Mrs Duxberry boasted her moronic son was in banking—
oh aye?—you mean—like Bonnie & Clyde?
—

Trying to work out the Parker family dynamic—OK—I mean I was as nebby as usual!—I asked about the sister. According to Min—Aunt Diana is really wierd—always going on about being at deaths door—which used to scare Min when she was little—thinking she meant the attic door in their old family house—& that must be where death lived! It was her uncle Sid set her mind at rest—by taking her up into the attic—& showing her the relics of his childhood—& also by saying—dont worry about your aunt little Min—when you yourself are finally laid to rest—aged 150 or thereabouts—it will be Auntie Di who lays flowers on your grave!—

Bit macabre comfort—I thought—but kids love macabre & in Minnies eyes Uncle Sid is perfection itself!

Not sure if Mary would go as far as that. Tom vanished after supper tonight—still catching up he said—& once the kids had all been put to bed—in Mins case by main force!—me & Mary had a large Baileys apiece—& got to talking like old mates. I reckon shes been dying for someone to confide in for years—someone outside the family—& outside Sandytown. Like I said before—shes incredibly loyal—but I got a strong impression she secretly fears this development scheme will end in tears.

Shed confirmed what Min had told me—that it was Sid who got things started.

Sids always been good with figures & stuff—from an early age hes handled the Parker family finances—very successfully too—Mary admits. Good investments—steady returns—spotting which Lady D got in on the act—asking his advice—free to a friend of course—& so profitable that Sid soon became her blue-eyed blue-chip boy!

Anyway—Sid came up with this idea that the combination of the Brereton property & the Parker land & Toms architectural know-how could add up to a nice little earner. At least thats the way I guess he put it to Lady D. With Tom Im sure he painted things in more visionary terms—the greater good—benefit of the community—environmental concerns—etc—the kind of stuff Tom had been dabbling in all his life.

This was how the great Sandytown Development Consortium got into its stride—& since then—I gather—Sidney has acted not only as its financial consultant—but also as an umpire when Tom & Lady D dont see eye to eye. Lady D is far from persuaded that Toms preoccupation with complementary medicine & the environment is going to be a money spinner for the hotel. Upper class recreational pursuits—facials—manicures—massage—plus maybe the latest post Pilates exercise fad to work up an appetite for the gourmet grub—& thirst for the disgustingly expensive booze—thats what she sees bringing the stinking rich punters in. But Tom wont give ground here—insisting there has to be room for a full range of alternative therapies—something in which his family have always had a deep—in some cases—Mary
hints & Min confirms—an
obsessive
interest. Fortunately it seems Dr Feldenhammer—boss man at the Avalon—after some initial doubts—has been persuaded theres no harm in the clinic presenting a united front with Tom re the complementary stuff.

—very enlightened of him—I said—surprised—knowing most mainstream medics think its all a load of crap—me too if Im honest—which Im not—around dear Tom!

—yes—& the good thing—said Mary—is that it shuts Daphne Brereton up a bit—her feeling about poor Lester the way she does—

—eh?—I said—you dont mean…?—

—oh yes—shes got him in her sights—& wants him in her bed—said Mary grimly—disgraceful—a woman of her age—

Maybe this Sandytown air really does have something special!—I thought.

Its clear Mary has mixed feelings about the relationship between Tom & Lady D. Loyalty makes her stick up for Tom all the time—but theres part of her that sees that its Daphnes lust for profit thats going to keep the consortium solvent—rather than Toms idealism. When Big Bum—funny how nicknames stick!—does let Tom have his way—it usually means
him
paying more &
her
paying less—so Tom looks like hes won a battle—but its cost him—& Mary is always worried he might be overstretching himself.

Not that Tom seems to have a worry in the world! He finally appeared—apologizing like mad for having neglected me.

—tomorrow morning I should have caught up with myself—he said—Ill take you on a tour of the town—on foot! Best way to see a place & meet people!

—but your ankle dear—protested Mary.

—as good as new—he insisted—thanks to the first aid I received from our lovely talented guest (thats me in case you havent twigged!)—not forgetting the healing touch of Mr. Godley—

I left them arguing—or rather discussing—Tom doesnt have arguments!

Met Minnie coming out of bathroom—yawning histrionically! Wouldnt surprise me if shed been listening in on Mary & me—& had to take cover when her father came out of his study—but I cant help liking her. Shed have
followed me into my room—but I shut the door very firmly in her face. I can be tough too!

Nite nite sleep tite

 

Love

Charley xxx