In spite of his intention to act swiftly the Controller Motorways Midlands found it difficult to act at all. Work on the motorway came to a virtual standstill while the various authorities responsible for the preservation of Guildstead Carbonell and law and order on the one hand wrangled with those responsible for the construction of the motorway and the destruction of the village on the other. To make matters worse there was a walk-out by dumper drivers who claimed they were being victimized by being barred from the Royal George for the damage done to the bar-billiards table by the clog-dancing of the bulldozer men, and a work-to-rule by the demolition experts who asserted that the arrest of Mr Edwards constituted a threat to their basic rights as Trade Unionists. To end the dispute Dundridge paid for the bar-billiards table out of incidental expenses and interceded with the police to release Mr Edwards on bail pending a psychiatrist’s report. In the middle of the confusion he was summoned to London to explain remarks he had made in a television interview filmed in front of the ruins of Finch Grove.
“Couldn’t you have thought of something better than ‘That is the way the cookie crumbles’?” Mr Rees demanded. “And what in God’s name did you mean by ‘There’s many a slip twixt cup and lip’?”
“All I meant was that accidents do happen,” Dundridge explained. “I was being bombarded with -”
“Bombarded? What do you think we’ve been since then? How many letters have we had?”
Mr Joynson consulted his list. “Three thousand four hundred and eighty-two to date, not including postcards.”
“And what about ‘We all have to make sacrifices’? What sort of impression do you think that makes on three million viewers?” shouted Mr Rees. “A man living peacefully in a quiet corner of rural England minding his own business is battered to death in the middle of the night by some fucking idiot with an iron ball weighing two tons and you talk about making sacrifices!”
“As a matter of fact he wasn’t minding his own business,” Dundridge protested, “he was continually ringing up to -”
“And I suppose you think that justifies… I give up.”
“I think we have to look at it from the point of view of the potential housebuyer,” said Mr Joynson tactfully. “It’s difficult enough for the average wage-earner to get a mortgage these days. We don’t want to give people the idea that they run the risk of having their houses demolished without the slightest warning.”
“But the house wasn’t even scheduled for demolition,” Mr Rees pointed out.
“Quite,” said Mr Joynson. “The point I’m trying to make is that Dundridge here must adopt a more tactful approach. He should use persuasion.”
But Dundridge had had enough. “Persuasion?” he snarled. “You don’t seem to understand what I’m up against. You seem to think all I’ve got to do is serve a compulsory purchase order and people simply get out of their houses and everything is hunky-dory. Well let me tell you it isn’t that simple. I’m supposed to be in charge of building a motorway through a house and park belonging to a woman whose idea of persuasion is to take potshots at me with a twelve-bore.”
“And evidently missing,” sighed Mr Rees.
“Why didn’t you inform the police?” Mr Joynson asked more practically.
“The police? She is the police,” said Dundridge. “They eat out of her hand.”
“Like those lions I suppose,” said Mr Rees.
“And what do you think she built that Wildlife Park for?” Dundridge asked.
“I suppose you’re going to tell us next that she wanted to find a way of disposing of her husband,” Mr Rees said wearily.
“To stop the motorway. She intended to whip up public support, gain sympathy and generally cause as much confusion as possible.”
“I should have thought she could have safely left that to you,” said Mr Rees.
Dundridge looked at him balefully. It was obvious that he did not enjoy the confidence of his superiors.
“If that’s the way you feel I can only resign my position as Controller Motorways Midlands and return to London,” he said. Mr Rees looked at Mr Joynson. This was the ultimatum they had feared. Mr Joynson shook his head.
“My dear Dundridge, there is absolutely no need for you to do that,” said Mr Rees with forced affability. “All we ask is that you try to avoid any more unfavourable publicity.”
“In that case I look to you to give me your full support,” said Dundridge. “I can’t be expected to overcome the sort of opposition I’m faced with unless the Ministry is prepared to throw its weight behind my efforts.”
“Anything we can do,” said Mr Rees, “to help, we will certainly do.”
Dundridge left the office mollified and with the feeling that his authority had been enhanced after all.
“Give the swine enough rope and I daresay he’ll hang himself,” said Mr Rees when he had gone. “And frankly I wish Lady Maud the best of British luck.”
“Must be a terrible thing to lose a husband like that,” said Mr Joynson. “No wonder the poor woman is upset.”
But it was less the loss of her husband that was upsetting Lady Maud than the bills she was receiving from various shops in Worford.
“One hundred and fifty tins of frankfurters? One thousand candles? Sixty tons of cement? Two hundred yards of barbed-wire? Forty six-foot reinforcing rods?” she muttered as she went through the bills. “What on earth can Blott be thinking of?” But she paid the bills without question and kept herself to herself. Whatever Blott was up to she wanted to know as little about it as possible. “Ignorance is bliss,” she thought, demonstrating a lack of understanding of the law which did her little credit as a magistrate.
And Blott was busy. He had spent the lull provided by Dundridge’s troubles in preparing his defence. Lady Maud had specified that there must be no violence on his part and as far as he was concerned there would be no necessity for it. The Lodge was practically impregnable to anything short of a full-scale assault by tanks and artillery. He had filled all the rooms on either side of the archway with bits of old iron and cement and had sealed the stairway with concrete. He had covered the roof with sharpened iron rods embedded in concrete and entangled with barbed-wire. To secure an independent water supply he had run a plastic pipe down to the river before the concrete was poured into the rooms below and to ensure that he could withstand a prolonged siege he had laid in enough foodstuffs to last him for two years. If his electricity was cut off he had a thousand candles and several dozen containers of bottled gas and finally, to prevent any attempt to drive him out with tear gas, he had unearthed an old army gas-mask from his cache in the forest. Just in case the mask was no longer proof against the latest gases he had turned his library into an airtight room to which he could retreat. All in all he had converted the Lodge from a very large ornamental arch into a fortress. The only entrance was through a hatch in the roof under the barbed-wire and spikes, and to enable him to leave when he wanted Blott had constructed a rope ladder which he could let down. Finally and just in case things did get violent he had collected a rifle, a Bren gun, a two-inch mortar, several cases of ammunition and hand-grenades with which to deter boarders. “Of course, I’ll only fire over their heads,” he told himself. But there would be no need. Blott knew the British too well to suppose they would do anything to endanger life. And yet without endangering life, and Blott’s life in particular, there was no way of building the motorway on through the Park and Handyman Hall. The Lodge, now Festung Blott, stood directly in the path of the motorway. On either side the cliffs rose steeply. Before anything could be done the Lodge would have to be demolished and since Blott was encased within it, demolishing the arch would mean demolishing him. They couldn’t even use dynamite to blast the cliffs on either side without seriously risking his life and threatening the collapse of the arch. Finally to ensure that no one could even drive through the gateway he erected a series of concrete blocks in the middle of the archway. It was this last that forced Lady Maud to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing.
“How do you expect me to do my shopping if I can’t drive in and out?” she demanded.
Blott pointed to the Bentley and the Land-Rover parked beside the two bulldozers on the other side of the suspension bridge.
“Good Lord,” said Lady Maud, “do you mean to say you moved them without my permission?”
“You said you didn’t want to know what I was doing so I didn’t tell you,” Blott told her. Lady Maud had to admit the logic of the answer.
“It’s going to be very inconvenient,” she said. She looked up at the Lodge. Apart from the spikes and the barbed-wire on the roof it looked as it had always looked. “I just hope you know what you’re doing,” she said and made her way through the concrete blocks and across the bridge to her car. She drove into Worford to see Mr Ganglion about Sir Giles’ will. From what she had been able to ascertain she had been left a widow of very considerable means, and Lady Maud intended to put those means to good use.
“A fortune, my dear lady,” said Mr Ganglion, “an absolute fortune even by today’s standards. Properly invested, you should be able to live quite royally.” He looked at her appreciatively. Now that he came to think of it she had every right to live royally. There was that business of Edward the Seventh. “And as a widower myself…” He looked at her even more appreciatively. She might not be to every man’s taste but then he wasn’t up to much himself and he was getting on in years. And ten million pounds in property was an inducement. So too were those photographs of Mr Dundridge.
“I intend to re-marry as soon as possible,” said Lady Maud. “Sir Giles may have left me well provided for but he did not fulfil his proper functions as a husband.”
“Quite so. Quite so,” said Mr Ganglion, his mind busily considering Dundridge’s accusation of blackmail. It might be worth his while to try a little expeditious blackmail himself. He turned to his safe and twiddled the knob.
“Besides, it’s not good for you to have to live alone in that great house,” he continued. “You need company. Someone to look after you.”
“I have already seen to that,” said Lady Maud. “I have invited Mrs Forthby to come up and make it her home.”
“Mrs Forthby? Mrs Forthby? Do I know her?”
“No,” said Lady Maud, “I don’t suppose you do. She was Giles’… er… governess in London.”
“Really?” said Mr Ganglion glancing at her over the top of his glasses. “Now that you come to mention it I did hear something…”
“Well never mind that,” said Lady Maud, “there’s no point in flogging a dead horse. The thing is that from what I have seen of the will he had made no provision for the poor woman. I intend to make good the deficiency.”
“Very generous of you. Magnanimous,” said Mr Ganglion and took an envelope from the safe. “And while we’re on the subject of human frailties, I wonder if you would mind glancing at these photographs and telling me if you have seen them before.” He opened the envelope and spread them out before her. Lady Maud stared at them intently. It was obvious she had seen them before.
“Where did you get those?” she shouted.
“Ah,” said Mr Ganglion, “now I’m afraid that would be telling.”
“Of course it would,” snarled Lady Maud, “what do you think I asked you for?”
“Well,” said Mr Ganglion, putting the photographs back into the envelope, “a certain person, let us say a prospective client, consulted me…”
“Dundridge. I knew it. Dundridge,” said Lady Maud.
“Your guess is as good as mine, my dear Lady Maud,” said Mr Ganglion. “Well, this client did suggest that you had been using these… er… rather revealing pictures to… er… blackmail him.”
“My God,” shouted Lady Maud, “the filthy little beast!”
“Of course I did my best to assure him that such a thing was out of the question. However he remained unconvinced…” But Lady Maud had heard enough. She rose to her feet and seized the envelope. “Now if you feel that we should institute proceedings for slander…”
“Accused me of blackmail? By God I’ll make him regret the day he was born,” Lady Maud snarled and stumped out of the room with the photographs.
Dundridge was in his Mobile HQ drawing up plans for his next move against Handyman Hall when Lady Maud drove up. Now that he was assured that the Ministry would throw their full weight behind his efforts he viewed the future with renewed confidence. He had spoken to the Chief Constable and had demanded full police co-operation should Lady Maud refuse to comply with the order to move out of Handyman Hall and the Chief Constable had reluctantly agreed. He was just giving Hoskins his instructions to move into the Park when Lady Maud stormed through the door.
“You filthy little swine,” she shouted and tossed the photographs on to his desk. “Take a good look at yourself.” Dundridge did. So did Hoskins.
“Well?” continued Lady Maud. “And what have you got to say now?”
Dundridge stared up at her and tried to think of words to match his feelings. It was impossible.
“If you think you can get away with this you’re mistaken,” bawled Lady Maud.
Dundridge clutched the telephone. The filthy bitch had come back to haunt him with those horrible photographs and this time there was no mistaking who was playing the main role in these obscene contortions and this time too Hoskins was present. The look of horror on Hoskins’ face decided him. There was no way of avoiding a scandal. Dundridge dialled the police.
“Don’t think you can wriggle out of this by calling a lawyer,” Lady Maud yelled.
“I’m not,” said Dundridge finding his voice at last, “I am calling the police.”
“The police?” said Lady Maud.
“The police?” whispered Hoskins.
“I intend to have you charged with attempted blackmail,” said Dundridge.
Lady Maud launched herself across the desk at him. “Why, you filthy little bastard,” she screamed. Dundridge lurched off his chair and ran for the door. Lady Maud turned and raced after him. Behind them Hoskins replaced the telephone and picked up the photographs. He went into the lavatory and shut the door. When he came out Dundridge was cowering behind a bulldozer, Lady Maud was being restrained by six bulldozer drivers and the photographs had been reduced to ashes and flushed down the pan. Hoskins sat down and wiped his face with a handkerchief. It had been a near thing.
“Don’t think you’re going to get away with this,” Lady Maud shouted as she was escorted back to her car. “I’ll sue you for slander. I’ll take every penny you’ve got.” She drove away and Dundridge staggered back to the caravan.
“You heard her,” he said to Hoskins slumping into his chair. “You heard her attempt to blackmail me.” He looked around for the photographs.
“I burnt them,” said Hoskins. “I didn’t think you’d want them lying around.”
Dundridge looked at him gratefully. He certainly didn’t want them lying around. On the other hand the evidence of an attempted crime had been destroyed. There was no point in calling in the police now.
“Well at least if she does sue me you were a witness,” he said finally.
“Definitely,” said Hoskins. “But she’ll never dare.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past that bitch,” said Dundridge recovering his confidence now that both Lady Maud and the photographs were out of the way. “But I’ll tell you one thing. We’re going to move into Handyman Hall now. I’ll teach her to threaten me.”
“Without the photographs I’m afraid you would have no case,” said Mr Ganglion when Lady Maud returned to his office.
“But he told you that I was blackmailing him. You told me so yourself,” said Lady Maud.
Mr Ganglion shook his head sadly. “What-he said to me, my dear Lady Maud, was by way of being a confidential communication. He was after all consulting me as a solicitor and since I represent you in any case my evidence would never be accepted by a court. Now if we could get Hoskins to testify that he had heard him accuse you of blackmail…” He phoned the Regional Planning Board and was put through to Hoskins at the Mobile HQ.
“Certainly not. I never heard anything of the sort,” said Hoskins. “Photographs? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The last thing he wanted to do was to appear in court to testify about those bloody photographs.
“Peculiar,” said Mr Ganglion. “Most peculiar, but there it is. Hoskins won’t testify.”
“That just goes to show you can’t trust anyone these days,” said Lady Maud.
She drove home in a filthy temper which wasn’t improved by having to park the Bentley outside the Lodge and walk up the drive.