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At Handyman Hall Lady Maud’s gracious approach had worked wonders. Like some delicate plant in need of water, Dundridge had blossomed out. He had come expecting to meet Sir Giles but, after the first shock of finding himself alone in a large house with a large woman had worn off, Dundridge began to enjoy himself. For the first time since he had arrived in Worfordshire he was being taken seriously. Lady Maud treated him as a person of consequence.
“It is so good to know that you have come to take over from Lord Leakham,” Lady Maud said as she led him down a corridor to the drawing-room.
Dundridge said he hadn’t actually come to take over. “I’m simply here in an advisory capacity,” he said modestly.
Lady Maud smiled knowingly. “Oh quite, and we all know what that means, don’t we?” she murmured, drawing Dundridge into a warm complicity he found quite delightful.
Dundridge relaxed on the sofa. “The Minister is most anxious that the proposed motorway should fit in with the needs of local residents as much as possible.”
Maud smothered a snarl with another smile. The notion that she was a local resident made her blood boil, but she had set out to humour this snivelling civil servant and humour him she would. “And there is the landscape to consider too,” she said. “The Cleene Forest is one of the few remaining examples of virgin woodland left in England. It would be a terrible shame to spoil it with a motorway, don’t you think?”
Dundridge didn’t think anything of the sort but he knew better than to say so, and besides this seemed as good an opportunity as any to test out his theory of a tu
Lady Maud had risen and for one terrible moment Dundridge thought she was about to assault him. She lurched forward and took his hand. “Oh how wonderful,” she said. “How absolutely brilliant. You dear, dear man,” and she sat down beside him on the sofa and gazed into his face ecstatically. Dundridge blushed and looked down at his shoes. He was quite unused to married women taking his hand, gazing into his face ecstatically and calling him their dear, dear man. “It’s nothing. Only an idea.”
“A splendid idea,” said Lady Maud, engulfing him in a blast of Lavender Water. Out of the corner of his eye Dundridge could see her bosom quivering beneath a nosegay of marigolds. He shrank into the sofa.
“Of course, there would have to be a feasibility study…” he began but Lady Maud brushed his remark aside.
“Of course there would, but that would take time wouldn’t it?”
“Months,” said Dundridge.
“Months!”
“Six months at least.”
“Six months!” Lady Maud relinquished his hand with a sigh and contemplated a respite of six months. In six months so much could happen and if she had anything to do with it a great deal would. Giles would throw his weight behind the tu
“Well… er… I really…”
“Of course you will,” said Lady Maud. “I insist. And you can tell Giles all about the tu
Sir Giles returned from Worford at four to find Lady Maud in a remarkably good mood.
“I had a visit from such a strange young man,” she told him when he enquired what the matter was.
“Oh really?”
“He was called Dundridge. He was from the Ministry of the -”
“Dundridge? Did you say Dundridge?”
“Yes. Such a very interesting man…”
“Interesting? I understood he was a nincom… oh never mind. What did he have to say for himself?”
“Oh, this and that,” said Lady Maud, gratified by her husband’s agitation.
“What do you mean ‘this and that’?”
“We talked about the absurdity of putting a motorway through the Gorge,” said Lady Maud.
“I suppose he’s in favour of the Ottertown route.”
Lady Maud shook her head. “As a matter of fact he isn’t.”
“He isn’t?” said Sir Giles, now thoroughly alarmed. “What the hell is he in favour of then?”
Lady Maud savoured his concern. “He has in mind a third route,” she said. “One that avoids both Ottertown and the Gorge.”
Sir Giles turned pale. “A third route? But there isn’t a third route. There can’t be. He’s not thinking of going through the Forest, is he? It’s an area of designated public beauty.”
“Not through it. Under it,” said Lady Maud triumphantly.
“Under it?”
“A tu
Sir Giles sat down heavily. He was looking quite ill.
“I said ‘Don’t you think that’s a marvellous idea’,” said Lady Maud.
Sir Giles pulled himself together. “Er… What… oh yes… splendid,” he muttered. “Quite splendid.”
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic,” said Lady Maud.
“It’s just that I wouldn’t have thought it was financially viable,” Sir Giles said. “The cost would be enormous. I can’t see the Ministry taking to the idea at all readily.”
“I can,” said Lady Maud, “with a little prodding.” She went out through the french windows on to the terrace and looked lovingly across the park. With Dundridge’s help she had solved one problem. The house had been saved. There remained the question of an heir and it had just occurred to her that here again Dundridge might prove invaluable. Over lunch he had waxed quite eloquent about his work. Once or twice he had mentioned cementation. The word had struck a chord in her. Now as she leant over the balustrade and stared into the depths of the pinetum it returned to her insistently. “Sementation,” she murmured, “sementation.” It was a new word to her and strangely technical for such an intimate act, but Lady Maud was in no mood to quibble.
Sir Giles was. He waddled off to the study and phoned Hoskins. “What’s all this about that bastard Dundridge being a nincompoop?” he snarled. “Do you know what he’s come up with now? A tu
“A tu
“Why not? They’re putting one under the blasted Cha
“I know that, but it would be cost-prohibitive,” said Hoskins.
“Cost-prohibitive my arse. If this sod goes round bleating about tu
“I’ll do my best,” said Hoskins doubtfully.
“You’ll do better than that,” Sir Giles snarled. “You get him on to the idea of Ottertown.”
“But what about the seventy-five council houses -”
“Bugger the seventy-five council houses. Just get him off the bloody tu