Heirs And Descendants Collection

9. Snowdrops

“If it"s all the same to you, Harry, I"d like to get out today. I"m a bit of a botanical freak, and I love spring, with its promise of new life. Today looks like it will be lovely. How about the moors? If the crocuses are so wonderful here, I bet the snowdrops, up at that height, are truly marvellous.”

We were at breakfast on the Sunday and I hadn"t heard her return from her night"s excursion, but I had broken away from tradition. There seemed little point in having a selection of dishes from which to choose, carried upstairs from the kitchen and presented in the dining room, as she had eaten the same dishes on the mornings of her stay. One slice of dry toast, brown, of which she had left half, a bowl of one shredded wheat with skimmed milk, and then some tinned fruit in their juices. She had decaffeinated coffee, whilst I had tea. As far as my own breakfast was concerned, I was perfectly happy with my normal routine of raiding the refrigerator for delights, and having my tea either in my office, or the estates.

I found the formality of the first meal of the day wearisome and over indulgent, especially with my own consumption of the last few days. In homes such as mine, it is not unusual to have breakfast served; however as my guest ate so little, I had decided to dispense with that ritual, and had brought Judith"s favourites from downstairs to the table. I had also prepared a plate of cold beef, left over from the previous night"s dinner, for myself. Cook, with her pleasant habit of cooking too many, always kept the crispiest roasted potatoes left untouched for my snacking, and I had a few of these on my plate as well.

Judith was surprised and complimentary with the care I had taken over the arrangement of her preferences, but still felt obliged to criticise the contents of my own.

“You"ll die young from high cholesterol poisoning if that"s what you pig out on in the mornings. No wonder you"re overweight. You could lose a few pounds, especially around your waist. I haven"t seen you eat anything healthy since I"ve been here,” she declared, in a gentle voice solicitously adding. “How are the cows? Have you heard from the vet with his report, yet? That reminds me…your hair could definitely do with a cut. You"d look silly with a pigtail. If you want, I could do it for you? I used to cut an old boyfriend"s hair once, made a good job of it too, even if I say so myself. I"m no Nicky Clarke, but neither do I need a basin to put over your head. I"ll tidy it up for you.”

There was no mocking in her speech, no hint of inane criticism or witty indulgence. I thought I detected a sense of fond warm-heartedness that could be easily be taken as affection. All of a sudden, my breakfast table had taken on a different perspective. Had I married this women in my sleeping hours, whilst I had been drugged and stupefied? I quickly glanced at my left hand to see if the ring of captivity had been slipped on, or if the ink from the register had stained my fingers. Where did this concern come from if not from a marital partner?

“Yes, it would be nice to get away,” was the trite statement I was able to make. I felt as though I was suffocating in the intoxicating air! “By the way, did you have a pleasant night and a peaceful drive?”

“Don"t want to discuss it, Harry. Boring as being at a nun"s convention discussing the virtues of contraception. Do you think we could have an hour"s ride together straight after this? Nothing too strenuous with all that floating around inside you of course. I"ll be kind!”

Again, where I would have made some clever remark about "a ride together," I didn"t. I was lost and incapable it seemed, of regaining my sanity.

"a ride together,"“Why not?” I replied, thinking it was better than "you wash, I"ll dry" which any moment soon would be my suggestion. I should have said that the report from the vet had indeed shown some infection in the herd, and that I must lend a hand in the inoculations, but I didn"t. I made things worse.

“The only thing is, I really must be at St Michael"s, our local church, by ten-thirty. As the new Earl it"s my duty to attend on the first Sunday of each month. This one is special, anyway. It is to commemorate my father, and I"ll be expected to say a few words. Would you like to come?” I insanely asked, still caught, unexplainably, in her dazzling headlights.

Overnight I had become the doting, dutiful husband of a malnourished refugee rescued from the Third World. Better stay clear of the hot roasted spuds at the Spy Glass after church, I thought, as I struggled to free myself from this malaise.

Better stay clear of the hot roasted spuds at the Spy Glass after church“There was something I was meaning to ask you, Harry. I hope you don"t mind…it"s a bit personal.”

In the trancelike state that I was in, I doubted that I could have kept any private matter from her, and I was not mistaken.

“Ask away, Judith, do.”

“Well, you smell in the mornings. There"s a whiff of chlorine in the air when you"re around. You don"t use it as a deodorant, do you?”

“Funnily, no. I swim every morning, spend a good hour or so in the pool. I have done since I was a child.”

“You"ve been holding out on me, H! Have you got a pool here?” She was on her fruit course and almost dropped both fork and spoon, holding on to them at the cost of her half eaten toast, which fell, plate as well, noisily to the wooden floor.

I was helpless, caught with my trousers down at my ankles. I had been trying to keep the pool strictly to myself, but I was caught in her hypnotic presence and was unable to escape.

“Hadn"t I mentioned it?” Bedazzled I replied. “No, I hadn"t had I, must have slipped my mind. I promise I"ll show you after breakfast and sort you out a costume to wear. There are steam rooms there, a sauna and heated relaxing loungers. Help yourself.”

Another time I would have substituted "a couple of handkerchiefs" for the word costume, but that seemed an age away. I attended church alone; whilst Judith enjoyed my secret. However, by the time of my return I had regained my senses.

"a couple of handkerchiefs"It was a six mile drive to the part of the North York Moors National Park nearest my favourite pub, and I hung on for grim life for every inch of that journey, as she hurled her car into every blind corner with seemingly reckless disregard for everything. When we had ridden out, earlier, she had shown no signs of this k******e trait, being comfortable and judicious, canny and perceptive. We had done the schooling jumps then ventured out across the estate. I had not removed some of the gallops from the racing stable days, and along these she had shown good riding skills in her posture and balance, beating me easily in a pretend race. I was heavy now, in my fortieth year, having given up on almost all sport, since a complicated knee injury I had sustained whilst playing rugby for the Army had curtailed my participation.

I played the occasional round of golf, if the arthritis in my knee allowed at a nearby course, or took some part in the annual estate cricket match in which to vent my anger. Other than that, and the occasional ride with my swim each day, there was nothing in which I could exert myself. I had always been heavily built; it was in the family genes. In my youth this had been to no disadvantage, having never been bullied nor ostracised at schools.

Apparently I was everyone"s "best pal" if house-mates were threatened with any the "Seniors" pranks, and at Eton there were many. One such was the variation of the "Wall Game" where there was no ball and goals were often scored, unlike in the real thing. Every Ascension Day, after the conventional event, "Oppidans", the Seniors, would suspend first year King"s Scholars, called "fags" over the curved wall and drop them, spread-eagled, into the mud below. A goal was scored each time a "fag" rolled over in that mud before being able to extradite himself from the all-clinging morass!

"Seniors""fags"Nobody dared to argue the point with me when I refused, none too politely nor gently, to a particularly noxious Seniors offer to partake in this tradition. I hit him once and promptly knocked him out, then calmly turned from the rowdy crowd and walked away. Overnight I became my dormitory "fellows" champion and, on more than one occasion, was offered up to resolve a matter which they had with other Seniors. I, for my part, had no inclination to refuse!

I was, however, no warrior more a worrier, as she drove to the Moors that Sunday afternoon. When I had the time to think I wondered if her husband"s death had made her suicidal and when at last we stopped, that was exactly what I asked her.

worrier

“Now, you look here, Lord Harry bloody Paterson. Don"t question things that are nothing to do with you. My private life is precisely that; private. If ever I decide to speak about it, it will be my decision, not yours. Got that? As far as my driving ability is concerned then you are perfectly safe with me. I love to drive fast. I hold an advanced driving certificate, which I gained after completing the Metropolitan Police Advance and Defensive driving course at Hendon. The top academy for such things in the world. I am also the holder of the women"s lap speed record in Formula Three cars, and on 500cc motorcycles, at both the Brand"s Hatch and Silverstone circuits. So button up, Harry, and don"t pontificate on things you know nothing about.” My views on self-preservation clearly did not harmonise with her own.

We both sat in an uncomfortable silence for a while, me determined not to apologise and Judith, in her state of disgruntlement, staring straight ahead. I broke the stalemate with a deep sigh and, at the same time, offered my cigarettes.

“At least it was invigorating. Would one of these help?”

“I"ve got my own, thank you. Joseph left 200 in my room yesterday. You know, if you didn"t keep tripping up over your ego, you wouldn"t be such a pain.”

The silence had returned, only this time it was Judith that spoke first, having discarded the melancholy mood I had caused.

“You"re holding something back, Harry, and I don"t mean about hidden facilities at that house of yours. Why would Peter Trimble want you in the first place? Why not use an experienced field agent? I don"t think it was only for your expertise in the chemical industry. I believe it was for your name, your title and it all stemmed from that tie-up between the bank account, and Maudlin"s denial of having anything to do with it. Now, from where I"m sitting, only you can provide that link, and I believe you know what that is. You"ve painted a rosy portrait of your family bond, yet conveniently forgotten your father"s reaction after that shooting weekend when obviously the backing of the bid for the takeover, of those BP assets in Antwerp, were discussed. He would have been over the moon, surely, with the chance to help his country and all that. I bet he partied into the morning!

You"re trying to lock me out because of some egocentric reason, and that"s not going to help in discovering who murdered your father if that…is what you want to find out! I"m going to be completely upfront with you, and tell you some things about me that just might, hopefully, help in opening you up. I have a master"s degree in Psychology, Sociology and Psychotherapy, and I also lecture on experimental Psychoanalysis when I get the time. I was headhunted whilst at Oxford to join Joint Intelligence, and have been there since 2002 when I was 27, so now if you"re quick you"ll know I"m 36…anyway a divergence. Back to the point. I"ve had one file to concentrate on since that day, and it"s directly handled by Peter. It"s cross-referenced with a file coded Garden of which, with my classification, I"ve been privy to only smidgins. I"ve been fed crumbs for nine years just to keep me drooling. Then I get this break; unkind on your Dad, but wicked for me. Someone wants to wipe away a memory or take revenge. And I"m backing the first of those options!”

isGardenShe was on a private crusade, as if to fight evil dragons. The intensity of that glare in her green wide eyes and the tightening of her upper lip that said, come on, I"m ready for you, was there for all to see, but it was only I that witnessed it; and I was happy that it was not me she had in her sights.

come on, I"m ready for you,“I need you to work with me Harry, seriously. I need to find the rhythm that"s running through those two files: Garden, and Cockpit Steps, my one, about all of you in the Paterson clan.”

Garden,Cockpit Steps,“I wouldn"t know who wanted revenge on my father Judith. I really can"t think of anyone. To my knowledge he has never done anything that would warrant someone to hold a grudge and kill him.”

“I didn"t expect you to. We"ve got to lift the lid on what Maudlin did together, and find out what he bought with his money before the war and if I"m right, what he kept paying for after it. That"s what I need your knowledge for!”

“I don"t know how I can help you.”

“Yes you do, Harry. You can make me deliriously happy by telling me that your father found the missing link and told you, and then H, you can confirm my suspicions, and tell how you went digging and came up with zero. Now, I know that I"m right and you"re playing for time, hoping I go away and you can carry on being the Inspector Clouseau in your own private "Pinky" pantomime, but you"re not going to get anywhere doing that. You haven"t had the access to what I"ve had, and you"re not likely to. I"ve got what you want dates, names, and coincidences. You"ve got the ability to make those opaquely unconnected occurrences glue together, and make the whole thing stand up.”

I wish I could say that I sat and thought for a while, but I didn"t. I discarded the valued memories of patriotic Patersons and seemingly betrayed them. I was free now from Morpheus, the mythological god of dreams, and in full conscious control of my thoughts. It was the renascence of my conscience, and a relief to share.

“I know about the money. It was from the bank,” I revealed, blatantly.

Turning in her seat towards me and leaning forward, she eagerly asked “Was there more, lots more, Harry? And did it start in the late fifties?”

There was a strength and ferocity to that question, a belief in the knowledge of my reaction and answer. To what coloured door did I have the key to, and what was on the other side if we open it, I wondered?

“Look, Harry, over there. Snowdrops, can you see? I told you that if we looked, we would find them. Spring…it"s a new beginning,” she said, sitting back buoyant and perky; now in the driving seat.