Hotbed

by Bill James

  ‘Whose lecturer?’ Hazel said.

  ‘This boy’s. He’s a bit older.’

  ‘How much older?’ Harpur replied. ‘Why are you talking to him so much lately?’

  As Jill said, it would have been wrong for Iles and Harpur to attend Turret’s actual villain funeral, but the ACC decided they could and, in fact, must look in on the après crem evening drinks session at the Monty club, owned by Ralph Ember: about this venue Jill had been correct , too. Harpur was at home when the girls returned from the funeral and he gave them their tea-supper before setting out to join Iles at the club. As a single parent he regarded the preparation of their meals as important. When they grew up and looked back on these days he wanted them to recall him as a conscientious, capable father. Denise would probably have helped him with the meal, but she was playing lacrosse for the university this evening. The funeral had thrilled Hazel and Jill as much as they’d expected, and they watched the local news coverage of it on television.

  ‘Both there, you see, dad,’ Jill said, pointing at the screen. ‘Ralphy Ember and Manse Shale. I would of recognized Ralph Ember anyway, because the word’s around that he looks like Charlton Heston on the movie channel in old films.’

  ‘Would have recognized,’ Harpur said.

  ‘And Shaley – someone in the crowd says “There’s Shaley with his new bird.” He’s getting married again soon. She looks too good for him. Auburn. He’s a bit ferrety.’

  ‘Who in the crowd?’ Harpur said.

  ‘A lot of drugs scene people spectating,’ Hazel said.

  ‘How could you tell they were drugs scene?’ Harpur said. ‘Because they recognized everybody, of course,’ Hazel said.

  Jill said: ‘I told you, dad, this boy I know said we should look to see if only one of them came, Ralphy or Manse, because this would be interesting.’

  ‘Which boy?’ Harpur replied. ‘Was he in the crowd?’

  ‘But both turn up,’ Jill said.

  ‘And a lot of very heavy-looking people. I mean, very heavy,’ Hazel said.

  ‘One called Unhinged Humphrey,’ Jill said. ‘But really dressed for a funeral. Black jacket, silver-striped trousers, bowler. That’s not his real name. It’s just how he can be sometimes. Humphrey Maidment-Fane, known as Unhinged, someone in the crowd said.’

  ‘Who?’ Harpur said.

  ‘He goes to all the funerals. That’s why he’s got the gear,’ Jill said. ‘He’s not mad or anything, just . . . well, unhinged sometimes. Nobody gives him a job because . . . because he can be unhinged. So, he’s like what’s known as a freelance. But he went to the funeral all the same.’

  ‘And the parents there, of course, and his brother, who’s the actor Clement Porter Brown,’ Hazel said. ‘I recognized him from pictures in the Sunday supplements, even though he had glasses on, which he doesn’t wear on the stage in dramas from back in history, obviously. Some plays he’s in are old.’

  ‘His mother and father looked like they thought the whole thing – the horses and these thug people everywhere – they looked like . . . well, like they were uncomfortable. They looked like they couldn’t believe their son could be in this kind of funeral, with this sort of people. His parents wanted it over as soon as poss,’ Jill said. ‘This was not their kind of thing. Anyone could tell. I didn’t recognize him – the actor – but you could see he probably had something to do with plays or films. The way they move – like the way they move this way or that shows what they’re thinking, so it helps out their lines.’

  ‘What did he look as if he was thinking?’ Harpur said.

  ‘And someone else there – a surprise,’ Hazel said.

  ‘This girl – really crying in the crowd, dad,’ Jill said. ‘And holding two flowers, two carnations, like she wanted to put them on the coffin but couldn’t. Like it wouldn’t be allowed.’

  ‘Venetia Ember,’ Hazel said.

  ‘How do you know?’ Harpur said.

  ‘We sort of half recognized her. I think she came to judo once or twice. A friend of hers from school does judo and Venetia came to see what it was like. Maybe she didn’t like it. She gave it up. At the funeral, we went to talk to her,’ Hazel said. ‘She had a bike.’

  ‘To give comfort,’ Jill said. ‘It seemed right.’

  ‘Yes,’ Harpur said, ‘I can see that.’

  ‘I asked her did she know Mr Joachim Brown, the deceased, seeing she was so upset,’ Jill said. ‘I didn’t do it in a nosy way or anything like that, not pushy at all, honest, dad, but just so we could understand what was what and how to comfort her. She said, “Indeed, yes.” It was like a really big statement – “Indeed, yes.” Sort of dramatic. Old-type dramatic. Corny dramatic, maybe like some of those plays Joachim’s brother is in. I mean, she’s only about fourteen, but she’s saying things like “Indeed”. What it seemed to me was, she didn’t mind being asked if she knew this deceased because it gave her the chance to come out with this terrific “Indeed”. She wanted to be asked, so she could do a bit more than the weeping.’

  They ate fish cakes, boiled potatoes and peas. Harpur also had a pudding for them, rhubarb tart with custard. The girls were both good at eating and talking at the same time and, in fact, at talking most of the time. He regarded this meal as nutritious. It pleased him, but if he could have devised a meal which kept them quieter he would have served that.

  ‘She stayed far back in the crowd. She told us she didn’t want her father to see her there. And she was scared she might be on TV news,’ Hazel said.

  ‘Like she was some celebrity, but wanting to go anon for once,’ Jill said. ‘You know – what d’you call it?’

  ‘Incognito,’ Harpur said.

  ‘Yes, that sort of thing. But this was how we found out her name for definite,’ Jill said. ‘We asked her if her father was there in the funeral and, if so, who was he and she replied, Mr Ralph W. Ember of Low Pastures. She didn’t say also of the Monty club, like she didn’t think the Monty was much of a place, or not much compared with Low Pastures. She said her father was a “principal mourner” – those were the words, a “principal mourner”, owing to Mr Joachim Brown’s employment. Everyone knows Ralphy Ember got two daughters, one about fourteen, Venetia and Fay. But I didn’t say, “You must be Venetia, then.” I didn’t want her to think everyone had heard about her because her father runs a drugs empire, as well as the Monty dump. “He’d hate it if he found I’d come,” she said. “Who? Your dad?” I asked. “He’s against all that kind of thing,” she said. I didn’t say “Which kind of thing?” because I could tell what she was getting at. This was to do with . . . well . . . relationships . . . sex. She’s only about fourteen, and in the paper it said Mr Joachim Brown was twenty-seven, but –’

  ‘It might all be in her imagination,’ Hazel said.

  ‘We didn’t give our name – I mean, Harpur,’ Jill said. ‘We thought it was better like that. “Oh, many’s the time he came to Low Pastures,” she said. “Our interests, you see – they made a link. We were both very much horse people.” I didn’t say he’d have liked to know the hearse was pulled by four of them, then.’

  ‘No,’ Harpur said. ‘Good.’ He washed up and left soon afterwards. The Monty often hosted these significant gettogethers– almost invariably hosted them. The club had that sort of warm, very solid community role. For now. Harpur knew Ralph yearned to kick out permanently most of the present clientele and lift the Monty to the social level of, say, distinguished London clubs like the Athenaeum or the Garrick, where surgeons, professors, national newspaper editors, judges, media people and Secretaries of State belonged. But this transformation would take at least a while yet – yes, at least – so the present membership could go on using the Monty for many important kinds of traditional celebration:

  (a) wedding, divorce and christening parties,

  (b) jail releases,

  (c) helpful parole o
r bail decisions,

  (d) enemy deaths or major disablings, and turf battle triumphs in general,

  (e) charity cabarets and strip shows,

  (f) acquittals, like that of Shane Gordon Wilkes,

  (g) successful Appeal Court judgements,

  (h) knockabout comics,

  (i) loot share-outs after extremely unnamed jobs,

  (j) suspended sentences due to full prisons,

  (k) births,

  (l) and, as tonight, the traditional drinks session following a funeral, especially when, as with Turret, he’d been an associate of Ralph and deserved a full, affectionate, prestige Monty send-off.

  ‘Ralph!’ Iles cried. ‘Here’s a lovely, large, clean-linened, bustling, deserved turn-out for Joachim.’

  ‘So deserved,’ Ember said. ‘This community had taken him very much to its heart.’

  ‘Obviously, a fucking dangerous spot,’ Iles said.

  ‘On these occasions – not frequent, thank heaven – on these occasions I feel one can enjoy the strength and genuineness of human fellowship, Mr Iles,’ Ralph said.

  ‘Some people here might fit into that category,’ Iles said.

  ‘Which?’ Ember said.

  ‘Human,’ Iles said. He did an inventory gaze. ‘Everyone’s on parade, in tribute to Joachim. That is, everyone not locked up. Old faithfuls – Rex Sallis, Bart Haverson, Unhinged Humph – but Unhinged Humph? Should he be out yet? How’s his unhingedness these days? Then, Teddy Brinscombe, Icon Watkins, all cosy and peaceable in your hotbed, Ralph. You, and you only, can occasionally manage this epic, vile, post-funeral synthesis for a few hours. We salute you. I include Harpur in this.’

  ‘The full range of age groups, women as well as men,’ Ember said. ‘Across the as-it-were board. Such a tribute to the club. It makes me very humble, Mr Iles.’

  Tonight, Ralph had come out from behind the Monty bar and stood in the crowd with Harpur and Iles near one of the pool tables. ‘Joachim will be severely missed in our company policy meetings,’ Ember said. ‘He could be wonderfully succinct. A remarkable gift for administration. This was entirely natural to him.’

  ‘How is policy, Ralph?’ Harpur said.

  ‘Who paid for the hearse nags?’ Iles said.

  ‘Joachim had the manner and looks of someone assured of a splendid future,’ Ember said, ‘someone who could inspire others to share that splendid future with him, and to work for it.’

  ‘This was a man with almost all his own teeth, notwithstanding,’ Iles replied. ‘Harpur will bear me out.’

  ‘Now this,’ Ember said. ‘Who, who, could have wished such an all-round likeable, talented, gracious man dead?’ Ember said. ‘Continually I ask myself that.’

  ‘What answer do you get?’ Harpur said.

  ‘And is Manse with us?’ Iles said. ‘Did he and his grand cohort make it to the funeral, regardless?’

  ‘This was, undoubtedly, a funeral, yet I prefer to think of it as the celebration of a life, Mr Iles,’ Ember said.

  ‘Which bit of Turret’s life should be celebrated most, Ralph?’ Iles said.

  ‘Mansel present?’ Ember replied. ‘Yes, of course. How would he, as it were, not be? This was what I meant by human fellowship, as blazoned by a Monty occasion of this type. Manse would naturally share the general affectionate esteem for Joachim among business colleagues and wish to affirm it today, though sadly.’

  Iles said: ‘Good. Harpur will be glad because he and some others with his kind of dark, unforgiving mind might wonder whether, in view of –’

  ‘Manse and protocol – linked unbreakably,’ Ember said.

  Iles said: ‘And do I see Alec Maximilian Misk over there with some rather grown-up ladies?’

  ‘Alec, a regular,’ Ralph said. ‘And his family.’

  ‘Today, trailing clouds of rumour about his splendid cut from the International Corporate Diverse Securities tickle in London,’ Iles said. ‘Who’d have thought it of dear, stunted Articulate Alec? Graduated to top-level loot from a bank job.’

  ‘That’s what I mean about community, you see, Mr Iles,’ Ralph replied.

  ‘What?’ Iles said.

  ‘Alec with not just his mother but great aunt Edna,’ Ralph said. ‘Cross-generational, inter-gender support of the club.’ Ember sounded almost genuinely delighted, though Harpur thought the Misks would be among the first to get the membership heave-ho from a relaunched, upmarket Monty. Ralph wanted a fine future for the club, and also felt a debt to its past. Twenty years ago, the Monty operated as a select meeting place for local commercial and professional people, and some of the handsome brass fittings and mahogany panelling remained. Ember had taste and believed thoroughly in conservation. Harpur could tell Ralph hungered for true quality. He had begun a mature student Humanities degree at the university up the road and, although he’d suspended this for now because of a sudden need to provide hands-on protection of his charlie, H, skunk and crack territories from intruders, the original turn towards higher education proved his seriousness. Apparently, he’d read quite a few books for the courses. His letters to the local press about the environment always showed weight and judgement. The pollution of rivers and state of the ozone layer gave Ralph a lot of agitation.

  ‘And the rumour goes further,’ Iles said.

  ‘You listen to rumour, Mr Iles? I thought police needed absolute evidence, insisted on absolute evidence to such an inflexible degree they often make it up.’

  ‘I hear the Misks want to use some of the gains by buying into redevelopment of the Monty,’ Iles replied.

  ‘That’s shit,’ Ember said. He seemed startled, though.

  ‘They might think now’s just the time to propose it – you being shaken and weakened by the death of Joachim, one of your best people, Ralph.’

  ‘That’s shit,’ Ember said.

  Harpur wondered. Iles heard a lot.

  ‘Investment of the big sudden funds in a worthy enterprise – the brilliantly salvaged, prestige Monty,’ Iles said.

  ‘That’s shit,’ Ember said.

  ‘Why are they all here, then, Ralph, and looking businesslike?’ the ACC said. ‘Expect an approach. Things mesh, things interlock – Alec’s massive new boodle, Joachim’s death, your known dissatisfaction with the social rating of the Monty – a minus. I’m used to taking the overview. One sees that everything is of a piece. Remember that E.M. Forster plea, Ralph – “Only connect”?’

  Anything that seemed to menace the club would shock Ralph into momentary robotism. He cherished the Monty. It went beyond conservation. He also applied creativeness, and signs of this could clearly be seen at the club. Ralph bought the Monty from trade profits, and since then the tone had altered. He’d added several notable new features to the furnishings and decor, features entirely special to Ralph and chosen by him, some with a cultural quality. For instance, a thick metal slab two metres square and bolted to a support pillar would block any fusillade from a marksman who came blazing through the main club entrance hoping to take out Ralph quickly at his little desk behind the bar with a burst of good chest shots. But, so that this bullet-proof barrier would not look too starkly, vulgarly, a bullet-proof barrier, it was covered with a collage of interesting, prestige illustrations. Ralph had explained to Harpur they came from a collection called The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, by the well-known poet and artist, William Blake, who did Tiger, Tiger, burning bright. Ember most likely heard of him at the university. If asked about the steel screen he always said it came as part of the ventilation system, to improve ducting. He must have sensed that the Athenaeum and the Garrick probably didn’t need this sort of precaution against contracted hit men, and was ashamed for the Monty and its screen, despite the classy drawings.

  ‘The club is proud to act as venue for a general, spontaneous welling-up of affection for one of its own at these times, you see,
Mr Iles,’ Ember said.

  He had mentioned once to Harpur that at the university he’d been asked to read a novel by the Victorian author, Anthony Trollope, in which its hero, happening to walk down Pall Mall, sees a famous statesman and a bishop chatting on the steps of the Athenaeum. This moment stayed vivid in Ember’s memory. He visualized something like it for the Monty steps in Shield Terrace ultimately. If Ember had recounted that to Iles the ACC would probably have replied, ‘Very fucking ultimately,’ but Harpur had only nodded and smiled. He liked to hear of people seeking betterment, no matter how hopelessly. Ember had said that, in his view, the British gentlemen’s club was unique to this country – unmatched in Europe or even the United States. He wanted the Monty to become a notable part of the tradition, though for both sexes.

  ‘Well, and here’s Mansel now, as it happens,’ Ember remarked, fondly beaming, ‘and with his lovely fiancée.’

  Shale and a tall, auburn-haired, mid-thirtyish, undocilelooking woman Harpur did not know edged forward through a knot of people and joined them. She seemed wary in the club crowd, but Harpur would expect this of anyone possibly used to a different sort of company, and most other company would be different. Both she and Shale wore very good dark suits. The cut of Mansel’s jacket looked so right that Harpur felt more or less sure he had no shoulder holster and piece aboard, or only a small, low-calibre Saturday night special. The similarity of these suits might have helped bring her and him together if they wore them to art galleries. Those clothes would stand out among more relaxed, even bohemian, outfits favoured by many paintings fans. ‘Manse!’ Iles said. ‘Splendid! Ralph was just speaking about the community as community. And you undeniably and justifiably figure in that at some level.’

  ‘Naomi, this is Mr Iles and Mr Harpur,’ Ember said.