For Faughie's Sake

by Laura Marney

  ‘What asking price?’ I asked.

  Jenny lifted her head, only now noticing me in the room. She turned round to face me.

  ‘Listen: we’re going to Faughie Castle and we need you to come with us.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We’re going to make an offer and we need you to persuade Dinah to accept.’

  ‘Oh. Right,’ I said.

  This took me a few seconds to get my head round. This was exactly what I’d been after. If the committee bought the estate from Dinah I’d get my part of the bargain: Harrosie. Mine to sell to the highest bidder. I should have been pleased, and I tried to be, testing out an unconvincing smile, but I was too busy trying to stop an infestation of toatie wee imaginary beasties crawling over my skin.

  Jenny wanted my help but she had mistaken me for a noble person. How ironic this whole horrible pickle was. Little did she know, but Jenny, dear selfless trusting Jenny, was actually pushing me towards feathering my own sleazy cash-for-questions nest. And what if my double-dealing ever came to light? How would Jenny and Walter and Steven and Jackie, and everybody in Inverfaughie feel about me then?

  ‘C’mon Trixie,’ said Jenny, ‘Now is the time for all good women to come to the aid of the party and all that.’

  Brenda and Jenny had no idea of the treachery they were encouraging me towards. How could I tell them?

  ‘You said there wasn’t the money to buy her estate,’ I complained, ‘I remember you talking about Joe, the lollipop man, and having to fund his wages. And now you’re going to just give all the money to Dinah Anglicus?’

  ‘It’s our only option,’ said Brenda, entering the fray. ‘As expected, Dinah’s been called as a witness. Dinah Anglicus owns 93 per cent of Faughie. She’ll have the loudest voice in Luxembourg and, as things stand, she’s indicating that she won’t support our case.’

  ‘No, I’m sure she’ll … Did she actually say that?’

  ‘She did. It’s not in her best interests,’ said Brenda, matter-of-factly. ‘So, despite fierce opposition from Betty and her followers, we’ve got authority to purchase Faughie Estate. In the long run it’ll be useful revenue for funding infrastructure. It’s not ideal, but we need to buy the estate now for the influence it buys us in Luxembourg.’

  ‘Yeah, but where’s the money coming from?’

  ‘We’re borrowing most of it,’ said Jenny. ‘At extortionate rates, but what can we do? Our hands are tied. We’re going to make her an offer. She can’t refuse.’

  ‘An offer she can’t refuse? You’re going to threaten her?’

  ‘Huh! I wish. I’d be a more effective Interim Leader if they let me threaten people.’

  ‘You know,’ I told them, playing Devil’s advocate; playing for time, ‘Faughie Estate has been in her family for hundreds of years. She told me her family fought for it.’

  ‘True,’ said Jenny, ‘in-bred, over-privileged, silly wee tart.’

  ‘Well,’ I argued, ‘if her family fought for it hundreds of years ago and she’s still sitting on it, is it not about time we had a rematch? There’s only one of her; there are a lot more of us, and the odds are on our side this time.’

  ‘Yup,’ said Brenda, ‘Walter lent me a book, The Poor Had No Lawyers, and the author, Andy Wightman, makes exactly that point. I must say you’re coming out of your shell, Trixie. I’ve underestimated you.’

  You certainly have, I thought sadly, you poor principled naive fool, underestimated what a cheating, lying, low-life scum-bag I am.

  ‘So, you’ll help us then?’ Jenny asked.

  What was I supposed to do? I could see the pragmatism of their position: to have a chance at independence they needed to buy the estate, but incurring huge debts to bribe the landed gentry seemed well dodgy. That was politics, I supposed. At least Brenda and Jenny were doing it for the common good, for Faughie. Who was I doing it for? I would personally profit while Faughians would be bonded slaves to the debt.

  ‘No. You go and ask her if you want but I can’t be involved, it’s too difficult, too – complicated.’

  ‘But we need you!’ wailed Brenda, ‘Trixie, you’re the only person in the village on first-name terms with her. I understand it goes against your principles, and I commend them, but we have to be practical. If you won’t come we’ll go without you but we’d rather you came. Please, Trixie, it might make all the difference.’

  Just tell them, I told myself, they’ll understand. It comes to the same thing anyway. It won’t change anything, they’ll still have to buy the estate. Just tell them.

  I cleared my throat. Fluid in my body was flowing to all the wrong places. My mouth was dry and my hands were sweating.

  ‘Well … let the record state that I personally am not in favour of this course of action.’

  ‘But you’ll come?’

  ‘Are you sure it’s what you really really want?’

  ‘FFS,’ said Jenny exasperated, ‘what are you, a firkin’ Spice Girl?’

  ‘No! Of course it’s not what we want,’ Brenda sighed, ‘but it’s the only chance we’ve got.’

  ‘Ok,’ I said calmly, ‘then I’ll do it. I’ll do it for Faughie.’

  Chapter 66

  Dinah was absolutely delighted to see us. Embarrassed, I think, by the boxes stacked up in her fusty main room, she ushered us through to the kitchen where she immediately set about making tea.

  ‘I’ve packed everything away, so I’m terribly sorry, I can’t even offer you a biscuit,’ Dinah apologised. ‘I know you like those Fortnum and Mason ones, Trixie.’

  ‘Och, please don’t trouble yourself, Lady Anglicus,’ said Brenda, ‘we’re very grateful that you were able to see us on such short notice.’

  ‘Please, do call me Dinah.’

  There were nice, slightly awkward, smiles all round.

  I was surprised to see Brenda and Jenny so out of their depth. They had skilfully handled prime ministers, academics and the international press and yet here they were practically doffing their caps. Nerves probably, but if I knew Jenny she’d find her stride once they got down to discussing business.

  Dinah turned from us to pour the water into the teapot and Jenny took the opportunity to swivel her eyes at me, signalling that I should open the discussion. Dinah passed us our tea cups and we all politely sipped. Now that the tea ceremony had been sorted, a bashful silence descended. Jenny began giving me the evil eye again, right in front of Dinah. Dinah reciprocated by also staring hard at me. I was getting it from all sides.

  ‘Well, Dinah, the good news is that Faughie Council has found a way to buy the estate. As you’ve probably worked out from our late-night eleventh-hour appearance, the ladies are here to make you an offer.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so pleased!’

  Another round of smiles, this time more genuine. When no one else spoke, Dinah was forced to, ‘Might I ask what you are offering exactly?’

  ‘The full asking price,’ said Jenny testily.

  ‘Oh, splendid! I must say I am relieved.’

  As the tension broke we gave up the tea party pretence. Brenda whipped the papers out of her briefcase and spread them on the table before Dinah.

  ‘You’ll see from our calculation that if we waive the inheritance tax and stamp duty you would normally pay the UK government, we can discount the price nearly 37 per cent.’

  There was a moment’s silence while everyone assessed Dinah’s reaction. Other than sipping her tea, Dinah made no reaction so Brenda took a breath and ploughed on, ‘We’d make an initial payment of 20 per cent of current market value,’ she said, pointing at a spreadsheet, ‘if you care to look at the payment schedule.’

  Dinah let Brenda burble on for a few minutes but I could see she wasn’t comfortable.

  ‘Forgive me,’ she said coyly, ‘I’m not terribly au fait with the terminology. Eh, could you explain what “payment schedule” means exactly?’

  Brenda and Jenny seemed mystified. I was a bit confused myself. Even I could hazard a guess; s
urely the phrase was self-explanatory? All three of us were reluctant to embarrass Dinah by stating the obvious, but again, somebody had to take the lead. Brenda and Jenny looked at me.

  ‘Well, if I’m understanding things correctly,’ I piped up, ‘it really just means what it says: it’s a schedule.’

  Jenny and Brenda nodded along.

  ‘That is to say, a eh, a ….’

  ‘Timetable.’

  ‘A timetable, thank you, Brenda, a timetable for when Faughie will make the payments to you, eh …’

  ‘The payments,’ Dinah repeated, flatly.

  ‘Yes,’ said Brenda rescuing me, ‘this green figure is the forecasted revenue over the five-year period and the red figure is the payments we’ll make to you; effectively, what’ll be going into your bank account.’

  ‘And this is a projection?’

  ‘Yes, an extrapolation on the revenue we hope to generate.’

  ‘Not an actual, confirmed amount?’

  ‘No-oh, but …’

  ‘If I could just stop you there. I must say I didn’t expect an equity-release scheme. I’m not drawing my pension quite yet.’

  So much for Dinah not knowing the terminology, but everyone obliged with a smile for her wee joke.

  ‘Well,’ Brenda blustered, ‘this plan may share some of the features of equity release, but –’

  ‘But unlike equity release I can’t continue to live here.’

  ‘Well –’

  ‘And you intend to pay instalments from the revenue you “hope to generate”?’

  ‘Yes, but we’re fairly confident –’

  ‘Fairly confident butters no parsnips with HMRC, I’m afraid. I understood you’d come to offer me the asking price, a much-reduced asking price as it is. Can’t you find financial backing? A mortgage even?’

  ‘We have a mortgage. That’s where we raised the 20 per cent down payment.’

  ‘So you’ll be servicing that debt too?’

  Brenda took on the look of a naughty schoolgirl in front of the headmistress.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘As well as all manner of start-up costs, wage bills, running costs.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Dinah folded her arms.

  ‘But,’ Brenda pleaded, ‘I’m sure within the five-year projection …’

  ‘What if I can’t wait five years?’

  ‘Dinah, we’re not finished, hear us out,’ said Jenny. ‘Tell her, Brenda.’

  ‘We’re authorised to offer you a 3 per cent stake in the business,’ said Brenda, obviously reluctant to give it away.

  ‘Three per cent? Please. You might as well offer me cashback or a free Parker Pen.’

  Brenda looked stumped. I thought toffs found it vulgar to talk about money; Dinah wasn’t so much vulgar as downright snarky.

  ‘The percentage is negotiable,’ said Jenny, leaving Brenda to sulk. ‘We’ll go back to the committee and ask them to reconsider, perhaps 5 per cent might be more appropriate …’

  ‘Five per cent of promises? Hmmm, I’d have to think about that.’

  Jenny once again stepped in.

  ‘What would seem an acceptable percentage to you then?’

  Dinah couldn’t hide her smile. Maybe this was what she’d been waiting for: a bigger slice of the pie. She shook her head, trying to shake off the tell-tale smile.

  ‘This piecemeal payment plan, it’s not what I had in mind.’

  ‘Look,’ said Jenny sighing, ‘let’s cut to the chase: Knox MacIntyre’s gone, he’s not coming back, is he? This might be the best offer you get. You call it piecemeal but owning a stake in a multimillion-pound business, well, I call that a damn good pension. And it’s tax efficient. It’s also something to leave your son.’

  Dinah received the last comment like a punch in the stomach.

  Jenny’s voice softened, ‘I know you’re only trying to protect your son’s legacy and this would be a way of your family retaining the title, in name at least. It’s good for tourism. Look, we don’t have to come to any decisions right now. It’s late, you’re off to Luxembourg in the morning. We just wanted you to know the options before you go. Just think about it. We’ll go back to the committee and see if we can’t add a few percentage points; you take it to your financial advisors. We’ll leave you the paperwork; our people will speak to your people, we’ll work something out. I’m sure you realise how very important you are to us and how hard we’ll work to make this work. Please, Lady Anglicus, Dinah, just remember when you’re talking to the judge in Luxembourg: if you stay invested in Faughie, we could be looking at a great future together.’

  Chapter 67

  Dinah left the next morning. To maximise the chances of her accepting the offer, or at least supporting independence when she met the judges, Jenny insisted that we all see her off. Standing there in a line, nicely turned out in smart clothes, smiling obediently, the casual observer might have mistaken us for Dinah’s faithful staff: Walter as the butler, Jenny the housekeeper and the rest of us as below-stairs lackeys. That’s what we looked like. Dinah was gracious, waving at us like the Queen of England, but determinedly non-committal on the subject of her support. Jenny put a brave face on it but from take-off her hopes seemed to be fizzling out, the fizz evaporating with every whirl of the helicopter’s rotor blades. I had offered to look after Mimi while Dinah was in Luxembourg, but Dinah politely declined, taking the dog with her. Another bad omen.

  Two days later Dinah wasn’t greeted with the jubilatory flag-waving that Jenny and co. got when they’d come back, because Dinah didn’t come back. It was reported that she had gone straight to her home in London. There was no word from her about the offer.

  ‘Back to being an absentee landlord,’ proclaimed Walter, ‘the very people who sold Scotland to the English the first time around.’

  That evening Walter and Brenda spent six hours on Skype with the legal team in Luxembourg trying to prevent the case from collapsing. Dinah was chief landowner, and without her support an independent Faughie wasn’t judged to be viable. Walter pleaded with them: we hadn’t had the referendum yet, so how could they make a decision without knowing what the people of Faughie wanted?

  As I let the chickens out the next morning, Brenda told me, with tears rolling down her face, that the dream of independence was over. With Dinah’s collusion, Westminster had managed to convince the world, and more importantly, Luxembourg, that Faughie was being held by a minority of lawless rebels. I sat her down and made her a coffee but I had to turn off the radio. It was full of upbeat commentators – and some Faughians – saying how delighted they were with the ruling. I didn’t see anyone delighted. Westminster wasted no time. That afternoon a party of three ministers – Tobias Grunt had conveniently been replaced – requested a meeting with the committee and were helicoptered in.

  ‘Coming to offer baubles and shiny trinkets to the natives,’ said Walter’s bitter tweet.

  The ministers came with a ‘no hard feelings, let’s kiss and make up,’ attitude, gracious in victory. To heal wounded pride and prevent any festering sores, they declared an amnesty on all legal and licensing infringements. Under the UK Disregard Regulations, tax revenue was discounted, and normal tax-raising powers were reinstituted. Everyone could keep the money they had made, tax-free, up to this point. When the council special committee attempted to argue, the ministers gently explained that they were not here to negotiate, they had no power to do so, they were simply delivering the message. They smiled, shook everyone’s hand and left.

  ‘I have to open this meeting with a heartfelt apology,’ said Walter, standing on a table in the Caley’s function suite, the only place big enough to hold everyone. ‘I’m so sorry we’ve let you down, but, in our struggle for independence, we may have come to the end of the road.’

  There was silence. Everyone had already heard it on the radio and telly of course, but until Walter said it I don’t think we really believed it.

  ‘They can’t shut us down just lik
e that,’ shouted Jackie, ‘if independence is what we want, what’s that got to do with London or Luxembourg?’

  ‘But Jackie,’ said Walter with a humourless laugh, ‘we haven’t yet been able to establish that independence is what the majority of Faughians want.’

  ‘It isn’t!’ yelled Betty Robertson to applause from some of her camp.

  ‘To be fair, that hasn’t been established yet either, Betty,’ Walter replied. ‘The advice we’ve had is that, sadly, the referendum is no longer material to the case.’

  This didn’t go down well.

  ‘Mr Speaker please?’

  Minding her manners this time, La Robertson asked permission and was given the floor.

  ‘What would be the point of a referendum when the legal case has already been decided?’ Betty asked in her deep-toned reasonable voice. ‘All that time, effort, and money expended; what would it realistically achieve?’

  There was a surprising amount of support for this point of view, and I could understand why. People were fed up with all this pointless political wrangling; they just wanted to go back to normal life. It would mean fewer meetings, that was for sure.

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Walter continued, ‘the committee met again today and we have come to a decision. Whatever the legal situation, however material to the case it may or may not be, the fact remains that you voted for a chance to decide your future and we promised you a referendum. We’ve decided to bring forward the date of the referendum by one week and make good our promise to you. I would beseech anyone who has yet to register to vote to do so immediately. Please come to the front and we can get your details. Remember, we’re not only deciding our own future here but that of future generations. It is crucial that each and every one of us takes part, whichever way you vote.’ He spoke slowly and carefully to let the weight of what he was saying sink in. ‘Please be aware of the consequences: if we vote No we accept the Luxembourg ruling. If we vote Yes,’ and here he took a long pause, ‘another Faughie is possible.’