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But that was for winter. During the summer he was out and about. Twice a week he cycled over to Guildstead Carbonell to the Royal George and sat in the bar until it was time for bed, the bed in question belonging to Mrs Wy
But now as he washed his neck – it was Friday night and Mrs Wy
He went downstairs and got on his bicycle and cycled off across the bridge towards Guildstead Carbonell. He had just reached the crossroads when he heard a car coming up fast behind him. He got off the bike to let it go by. It was Sir Giles in the Bentley. “Going to the Golf Club to see Hoskins,” he thought, and looked after the car suspiciously. “He’s up to something.” He got back on to his bike and freewheeled reluctantly down the hill towards the Royal George and Mrs Wy
In the Worford Golf Club, Sir Giles and Hoskins discussed tactics.
“He’s got to have a weakness,” said Sir Giles. “Every man has his price.”
“Maud?” said Hoskins.
“Be your age,” said Sir Giles. “She isn’t going to fartarse around with some tinpot civil servant with that reversionary clause in the contract at stake. Besides, I don’t believe it.”
“I distinctly heard him say he found her charming. And comely.”
“All right, so he likes fat women. What else does he like? Money?”
Hoskins shrugged. “Hard to tell. You need time to find that out.”
“Time is what we haven’t got. He’s only got to start blabbing about that bleeding tu
Hoskins looked at him suspiciously. “What’s all this ‘We’ business?” he asked. “It’s your problem, not mine.”
Sir Giles gnawed a fingernail thoughtfully. “How much?”
“Five thousand.”
“For what?”
“Whatever you decide.”
“Make it five per cent of the compensation. When it’s paid.”
Hoskins did a quick calculation and made it twelve and a half thousand. “Cash on the nail,” he said.
“You’re a hard man, Hoskins, a hard man,” Sir Giles said sorrowfully.
“Anyway what do you want me to do? Sound him out?”
Sir Giles shook his head. His little eyes glittered. “Kinky,” he said. “Kinky. What made you say that?”
“I don’t know. Just wondered,” said Hoskins.
“Boys, do you think?”
“Difficult to know,” said Hoskins. “These things take time to find out.”
“Drink, drugs, boys, women, money. There’s got to be some damned thing he’s itching for.”
“Of course, we could frame him,” said Hoskins. “It’s been done before.”
Sir Giles nodded. “The unsolicited gift. The anonymous donor. It’s been done before all right. But it’s too risky. What if he goes to the police?”
“Nothing ventured nothing gained,” said Hoskins. “In any case there would be no indication where it came from. My bet is he’d take the bait.”
“If he didn’t we would have lost him. No, it’s got to be something foolproof.”
They sat in silence and considered a suitably compromising future for Dundridge.
“Ambitious would you say?” Sir Giles asked finally. Hoskins nodded.
“Very.”
“Know any queers?”
“In Worford? You’ve got to be joking,” said Hoskins.
“Anywhere.”
Hoskins shook his head. “If you’re thinking what I’m thinking…”
“I am.”
“Photos?”
“Photos,” Sir Giles agreed. “Nice compromising photos.”
Hoskins gave the matter some thought. “There’s Bessie Williams,” he said. “Used to be a model, if you know what I mean. Married a photographer in Bridgeminster. She’d do it if the money was right.” He smiled reminiscently. “I can have a word with her.”
“You do that,” said Sir Giles. “I’ll pay up to five hundred for a decent set of photos.”
“Leave it to me,” Hoskins told him. “Now then, about the cash.”
By the time Sir Giles left the Golf Club the matter was fixed. He drove home in a haze of whisky. “The stick first and then the carrot,” he muttered. Tomorrow he would go to London and visit Mrs Forthby. It was just as well to be out of the way when things happened.
Chapter 11
Dundridge spent the following morning at the Regional Pla
“It’s either the Cleene Gorge or Ottertown or your tu
“Ridiculous fuss people make about a bit of forest,” Dundridge complained. “Just trees. What’s so special about trees?”
They had lunch at a restaurant in River Street. At the next table a couple in their thirties seemed to find Dundridge quite fascinating and more than once Dundridge looked up to find the woman looking at him with a quiet smile. She was rather attractive, with almond eyes.
In the afternoon Hoskins took him on a tour of the proposed route through Ottertown. They drove over and inspected the council houses and returned through Guildstead Carbonell, Hoskins stopping the car every now and again and insisting that they climb to the top of some hill to get a better view of the proposed route. By the time they got back to Worford Dundridge was exhausted. He was also rather drunk. They had stopped at several pubs along the way and, thanks to Hoskins’ insistence that pints were for men and that only boys drank halves – he put rather a nasty inflection on boys – Dundridge had consumed rather more Handyman Triple XXX than he was used to.
“We’re having a little celebration party at the Golf Club tonight,” Hoskins said as they drove through the town gate. “If you’d care to come over…”
“I think I’ll get an early night,” said Dundridge.
“Pity,” Hoskins said. “You’d meet a number of influential local people. Doesn’t do to give the locals the idea you’re hoity-toity.”
“Oh all right,” said Dundridge grudgingly. “I’ll have a bath and something to eat and see how I feel.”