by Bill James
‘It’s all right,’ Shale said. He was in the back.
‘No, it fucking well –’
‘It’s all right.’ The van signalled left and turned into a lay-by. ‘Follow her,’ Shale said.
‘What?’ The point was, Eldon stayed jumpy and confused after that mess-up with the Laguna. He thought if you went out on a shoot mission you shot. Well, perhaps. He did have a case. But there could also be some subtle facets to life that you had to take care of. Knowing such things and being aware of facets was probably the difference between a leader and a fucking chauffeur in a fucking comical cap, but correct.
They parked behind the VW. Eldon kept a hand under his jacket. Carmel left the van and walked fast to the Jaguar. She had on lightweight cream trousers and a man’s striped shirt, not tucked in at the waist. Manse thought she looked good, though, of course, still a bit too heavy, and very upset. Well, the way she drove her clapped-out tin box would of showed that, anyway. Women did wrangle. You had to put up with it. Often they had something to wrangle about, and not just weight. ‘It’s a friend, from before your time, Eldon,’ Mansel said. ‘A very considerate lady who keeps in touch with her parents regardless.’ He opened the rear door and she climbed in with him. ‘I thought I recognized you, Carm, just from the back of your head.’ Her hair was dark, worn straight to her shoulders. Eldon half turned in the driver’s seat, watching her, no sex in his eyes, just watching.
‘I’ve been hanging about, driving about, sauntering about, hoping I’d spot you on the way home from somewhere,’ Carmel said. ‘Obviously, I couldn’t call or phone, could I? Your wife’s there now, isn’t she, re-rectorified?’ A snarl arrived with this. Carmel could do snarls, although she said her name came from a mountain with prophets on in the Bible.
The Jaguar had that glass partition between the front and rear seats which Manse hardly ever closed, because he loathed snootiness. Good man management said you should not make employees feel they was low grade, and this helped you manage them – that is, keep them low grade. Yes, even when Denzil drove, Manse generally left the partition open and allowed conversation, if you could call what Denz said conversation. ‘I like the camper, Carmel,’ he said. ‘Vintage, almost.’
‘For God’s sake, what’s happening, Manse?’ she said.
‘Yes, what is? Eldon was scared we’d been ambushed, weren’t you, Eldon? He’s into stress and tension these days.’ Manse could borrow a couple of excellent terms from Ms Norvenne.
‘You might have got shot, Carmel,’ Eldon said. ‘Carmel? That your name?’
‘Have you sent someone, Manse?’ she replied.
‘Sent someone where?’ Shale said.
‘Does she want to see what I look like, then?’ Carmel said.
‘Who?’ Shale said.
‘Your damn wife,’ Carmel said. ‘Dearest reinstalled Sybil. She has to know how jealous she should be, does she, and also who she should watch out for in case I try to come back? Well, I won’t. She should relax. I’ve got someone really true and good now.’
‘Is it his van?’ Eldon asked. ‘This looks like a van of somebody really true and good.’
‘That kind of thing could spoil it all for me,’ she said.
‘What kind of thing?’ Shale said.
‘He’s as angry as I am,’ Carmel replied.
‘Who?’ Shale said.
‘Phil, of course,’ she said. ‘He’s bound to wonder. It could turn him off.’
‘He’s the van man?’ Eldon said.
‘What happened?’ Shale said.
‘Oh, you bloody well know what happened, don’t you?’ Carmel said.
‘What happened?’ Manse replied.
‘Yes, what happened?’ Eldon said. ‘I can assure you, Mansel is genuinely puzzled and I personally can’t offer help, not knowing the situation.’
‘Who’s he, Manse?’ she said.
‘Eldon looks after various aspects,’ Shale said. ‘More than just a chauffeur. The cap’s not the full story.’
‘Like a Denz figure?’ she said. ‘Another caddy?’
‘Not really, no,’ Shale said.
‘Have you told him about the two-course pistol feast in Denz’s gob?’
‘What is it that troubles you?’ Shale replied.
‘You’ve had the tale, Manse, haven’t you?’ she said.
‘Which tale?’ he said.
‘Yes, which tale?’ Eldon said.
Carmel said: ‘I come out of the flat with Phil –’
‘So, Phil is the van man, is he?’ Shale asked.
‘– and nearly straight away I spot some sod taking photographs of us. Squat guy, forties, boozer’s heavy red cheeks. He’s trying to be secret about it, using a parked car for cover, but, hell, Manse, he’s so obvious. I don’t know what you’re paying him, but I’ll tell you he’s not worth it.’
‘Photographs of you and Phil?’ Eldon said.
‘Both. But it’s me he wants. Phil being there – just an accident.’
‘Wants you why?’ Manse said.
‘You tell me.’
‘He’s focusing on you, is he?’ Eldon said.
‘Close-ups of my face.’
‘Good taste. Maybe you been discovered, Carmel,’ Shale said. ‘About time.’
‘Don’t fuck about, Manse,’ she said. ‘This is a predicament, and you made it. You’ve got the pictures, have you? Do you look at them together, you telling her how much more beautiful she is?’
‘Who?’ Manse said.
‘Sybil, your damn wife,’ she said.
‘There used to be a lot of street photographers around, doing snaps on spec. They back in fashion?’ Eldon said.
‘You know the street. I sent a change of address card, Manse.’
Shale said: ‘Well yes, of course, I know the street, but that don’t mean –’
‘Just because he received a change of address card doesn’t signify Manse sent anyone,’ Eldon said.
‘Fuck off, spokesperson, will you?’ Carmel replied. ‘This is between Manse and me as previous items. Do you want to know what he said to me?’
‘Who?’ Shale said.
‘This really riled Phil. We’re supposed to be going on a trip to Italy,’ Carmel said.
‘In the van?’ Eldon said. He didn’t seem bothered by the swearing. Probably he’d had a lot of it in his career – someone so pushy. This could be a useful lad in a minor post.
Carmel said: ‘I shout at the photographer guy, “What’s it about, then? Who are you?” He keeps on clicking away, even while he’s talking. Brazen.’
‘He answered?’ Eldon replied.
‘He said: “You’re Carmel Arlington, once of St James’ rectory, yes? I’ve got it right? And I’d say you’re definitely alive in all particulars, wouldn’t you?” ’
‘What’s that mean?’ Eldon said.
‘He’s got my biog, hasn’t he?’ Carmel replied. ‘Who could give him that – who could give him the name, St James’ rectory? That’s why I say, what’s it about, Manse? What you trying to do? Is that supposed to scare me?’
‘What?’ Shale said.
‘This guy’s answer – “I’d say you’re definitely alive, in all particulars, wouldn’t you?” If somebody tells you you’re alive in all particulars – like so bloody obvious I’m alive, isn’t it? – if someone says that, what does it mean? Does it mean they’re thinking that because I’m alive I could be killed?’
‘Have you got enemies, Carm?’ Shale said.
‘I don’t know. Have I?’
‘This photographer is taking pictures to prove to someone you’re alive, right?’ Eldon said.
‘Does that make sense?’ Carmel said. ‘Manse knows I’m alive. He’d have heard if I wasn’t.’
‘It might not be for Manse,’ Eldon said.
‘Of course it’s not,’ Shale said.
‘Who then?’ Carmel said.
‘I don’t think we can answer yet,’ Eldon said.
Actually, Manse did
n’t mind this too much, not too much – the way Eldon took over, like replying for both of them. No, Manse didn’t mind that too much. Not too much, because he saw maybe he, himself, could answer. This would be a point where you spotted another difference between a chauffeur and him. Manse possessed special insights. Hadn’t Laurent and Matilda, both, thought that the mess on the stairs must be due to a bad fight, a fatal fight, with Lowri or Patricia or Carmel while the children was over with Sybil and Ivor in Wales? Laurent might have give up worrying about that, but possibly Matilda couldn’t, and so the edginess Ms Norvenne had noted, and which Manse himself, as a good father, had noted. Matilda would not tell the school or the Third World what really upset her, but suppose she told someone else, and someone else decided that the way to soothe her, reassure her, was to produce pictures of Lowri, Patricia and Carmel obviously still OK. Suppose, suppose. Who’d do that?
When Manse tried to answer this, he had another thought – another thought Eldon couldn’t equal or share, being just a fucking chauffeur. It had looked to Manse pretty evident that Matilda in that weird, mysterious, maybe fantasy way of hers suspected ACC Iles went into her bedroom sometime while she was away, as she’d half mentioned to Dauda – but no name for the ACC there. Perhaps she thought Iles saw who’d been on the stairs and could say whether it was one of the women.
And, perhaps – another, lousy, frightening perhaps – perhaps she had gone to call on Iles during that mitched lunch hour to ask if he knew anything about the rectory stairs, because she worried and wanted to get some peace through the right answers from Iles. He could be a bullying lout – usually was. But he had his amazing moments of decency and kindness. Manse had never seen any, but people did speak of them now and then, and he half believed it. Iles might pity Matilda and admire her for making the journey. Did he send the photographer? Fat, boozer’s face and the insolence – it sounded right for a cop with a camera. And Iles would probably arrange for some police vehicle to take her back to school. The idea of his daughter possibly meeting up with police in a cooperative style dazed Manse, of course, and especially with that famed drool-at-schoolgirls yob, Iles. But Manse knew he had to consider it. The idea made him even more angry with Chandor. Had he caused this terrible move by Matilda? He’d destroy a family if not stopped.
Of course, Shale carried in his wallet with the Monty membership and organ donation cards, French claret by-the-year vintages guide, and other usual stuff, a typed help sheet containing registration numbers, makes and colours of unmarked police cars identified by him and his people around the Valencia and elsewhere. Because of the sort of arrangement with Iles for the sake of peace, these patrols did not usually give no trouble, but you had to be ready in case all that changed one day. Plan B. Ralph Ember and his people also contributed, and the list was continually updated and exchanged between the two firms, like the CIA and MI5 swapping insights. Once, during a sweet jokey mood, that fucker Ralphy had told him he shouldn’t keep the organ donation card in a breast-pocket wallet because if he got shot by police marksmen trained to aim at the heart, not only would the heart itself get destroyed but also the authorization for the rest of him. Now he had the thought about Matilda and Iles, Manse took the piece of A4 out and unfolded it. Only three silver Astras figured. The third’s registration matched the one Ms Norvenne had given him.
‘What’s that, Manse?’ Carmel asked.
‘We’ll do some inquiries,’ Shale replied, putting the paper back into his wallet. ‘We might be able to trace the cameraman and find out what’s what.’
‘It’ll be tough,’ Eldon said.
‘Are you kidding me now, Manse? It wasn’t you who sent him?’ Carmel said.
‘Definitely not us, I can swear to it,’ Eldon replied. ‘Not at all how we operate, believe me, Carm.’ Carmel went back to the VW. Eldon called out: ‘Enjoy Rome, do!’ The van pulled away. Eldon said: ‘Nice piece, Manse.’
‘She can be difficult.’
‘I could see that, right off. Oh, yes. But obviously devoted. Perhaps difficult because obviously devoted. How I’d read it. They can become a nuisance then.’
‘Well, yes.’
‘But considerately sends a change of address card in case you want to –’
‘That’s what I mean – difficult. An open card like that. The postman has a giggle, most probably,’ Shale said. ‘Tells mates. A general joke. Carmel Arlington is now living at such-and-such, don’t you fucking know?’
‘Yes, I guessed she could be awkward.’
‘A gem, but she can be awkward.’
‘Right,’ Eldon replied. ‘I wondered if you ordered photos so you can hand them out for identification and get her hit by someone. Is she really making things hard for you? They can be like that. And putting the kilos on? In one way, stupid of her to send the changed address card. Gives a location.’
‘I didn’t order no photos.’
‘No need, as it happens, because I’ve seen her face to face and close. I wouldn’t depend on photos if you want something done. But she’s going to be away in Italy.’
‘I didn’t order no photos.’
‘No, right,’ Eldon said. ‘You didn’t order pictures. Message received. I’ve got it.’
‘I mean it.’
‘I said I’ve got it, didn’t I, Manse?’
Shale could tell Eldon didn’t believe him. He was a lad who would see some things very clear and some things very clear and very wrong. That’s why he was still only a fucking chauffeur and general heavy and would stay there. Eldon drove the Jaguar to his place, not far from where Detective Chief Superintendent Harpur lived in Arthur Street. When Denzil Lake was alive and doing the right-hand man stuff he occupied a small flat at the top of the rectory. But Eldon had a partner and a couple of small children and needed more room. Shale gave him and a few other members of the firm a bit of a subsidy to help with the mortgage as essential staff. You had to, owing to the bottom rung of the housing ladder being so hard to get on these days. In any case, Manse didn’t like the notion of Eldon on the premises, with or without his family. Probably once he got in he’d start talking about ‘our’ rectory. Manse switched to the driver’s seat and went home.
In the evening he took Sybil and the children to a performance of the Messiah, at St James’ church. He felt that if you lived in what used to be the rectory for this church you ought to support any of its special activities by attending and coughing plenty to the funds for reroofing and missionary efforts. The church could not afford to run the rectory now, but, due to certain ventures, he luckily could. And he thought that brought a duty. He went in an ordinary suit, not the special outfit he wore to Ralph Ember’s place. The important things here were the sacred music and singing, not how he looked, for fuck’s sake. It would be bad to try to steal attention through fine tailoring.
This kind of music and singing, Manse could put up with pretty well. Naturally, the children wanted to dodge out of going, but he told them education should be more than just school, such as finding out about oratorios. This was what the leaflet from the church called the Messiah, written by Handel who did many, and all credit to him – at the start of his life German, but then turning English. Manse hoped the children would get familiar with all sorts in the arts. When she kicked up about having to go, he felt like saying to Matilda that that Dauda in the Third World would never have the chance to listen to an oratorio just around the corner even if he existed, an oratorio by a true oratorio expert. But Manse did not mention he’d been up the school and knew about Dauda, and neither of the children seemed to have seen the Jaguar or heard from other kids that a Jaguar was there.
He thought sections of this music might help soothe Matilda and get rid of some of her tension. There were quiet parts, not that blah-blah rowdiness and beat of rap. Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people. Great. And, big cheerfulness came, also – His name shall be called, Wonderful, really given a true blast by the choir. Manse wondered whether Matilda and Laurent could join this c
hoir soon, as another good link between the rectory and the church. It might help to keep Matilda bucked up. He liked to think of a vicar at the church telling friends that although they’d been forced to let the rectory go, they still had a very pleasant connection with it through the children of Mr and Mrs Mansel Shale, now living there, if Sybil stayed. The end of that line about being called Wonderful said another name was Prince of Peace. Manse loved that idea – a prince of peace. Always he looked for peace.
At the end Manse congratulated the vicar on a great show because he liked to encourage this kind of person. Vicars didn’t really have any idea what life was like now and how to make enough to run a rectory, but they knew about the past and music, and these was important in their little way. He took the family home and later picked out one of the Heckler and Koch automatic pistols from the wall safe behind his Arthur Hughes and did a tour of the Valencia Esplanade district where he had a lot of people trading. Peace. He wanted to make sure things around the Valencia enjoyed this peace. Also, he would harvest. He had dished out plenty of cash today, on the school fees and in church collection boxes, and needed a refill wad. All right, the notes might give a bulge to his coat, as he said to the headmistress, but you had to have something in your pocket for various purchases.
Obviously, he tried not to use banks much. Banks recorded all their ins and outs and people like Iles could arrange a gaze at these figures – maybe legit, maybe otherwise – if he got suddenly nosy and hard, which he did, often. Or, in fact, which he almost always fucking did. This kind of visit to the Valencia was routine for Manse. He always went in the Jaguar, and almost always alone, say six nights out of the seven. Folk in his firm would not resent the Jaguar or a BMW or Merc because if things developed all right for them they knew these was the sorts of motors they’d buy theirselves. But a Rolls or Bentley they’d regard as showy and royal, with God knows how many layers of paint to stop scratch marks. And they wouldn’t like it, either, if he came to the Valencia chauffeured, especially chauffeured by someone under a cap. In leadership you had to think of these things, known as ‘employee relations’. Although Manse did fancy a Roller, some sacrifices seemed crucial for the sake of keeping the workforce unbolshy. It would be the same if he was offered a knighthood for his activities in the commercial scene. This would be the open commercial scene, of course – the haulage and scrap businesses – not his real money-making side of things relating to the commodities. He’d have to refuse a title, though with full politeness. He thought he would reply that the firm he led was a team and it would not be appropriate for him to accept a special award.
