by Tom Sharpe
Wilt came back out on to the drawbridge.
“Why don’t you put that filthy gun back in the cabinet? If your father finds you with it, there’ll be hell to pay. Besides, I want to ask you a question.”
“Are you scared of guns or something? Anyway it’s not filthy. I always wipe it clean before I bring it back.”
Edward went inside the house, presumably to the study, and then returned, the gun still swinging by his side.
“What do you want to know?”
“Quite simply this. Do you want to go to university because if you do…”
“Of course I don’t. That’s all Mother’s idea. School was awful enough except for sport. I was quite a good boxer until they stopped me doing that because they said I was picking on the juniors. No, university’s my idea of hell. I know she’s always bleating on about it but I’ll never get in.”
Wilt sighed with relief.
“At least you’re honest about it,” he said. “So what do you really want to do for a career?”
“Go into the army. After all, I’m a good shot and I reckon the Commandos would have me. I’ve been practising abseiling, and swimming up-stream in rivers like the Teme outside Ludlow, and I’ve done a lot of long-distance running, too. I don’t want to go into some smart regiment, I want to see real action. And kill people.”
Wilt gave up. If Edward wanted to be a soldier in some regiment he wasn’t going to be easily stopped, although it sounded as though his motives bore some scrutiny. But given that Lady Clarissa was going to pay for him to be tutored at vast expense he’d at least make a show of it. Wilt informed the boy that if he had an A-level or two, it could help secure him a place with the Commando unit. In truth, he wasn’t exactly sure what qualifications were needed for that. All that concerned him was getting Edward interested enough to sit down to some lessons. They both needed to get through the next few weeks, so that Eva could have her holiday with the quads and Wilt could make a few thousand quid to tide them over until he could think of how else to continue to pay the school fees.
“Right,” he said, “let’s see what would interest you before I prepare a schedule for each day.”
“What…now?”
“Yes, now,” said Wilt firmly, “before you disappear again. But, first, please lower that gun. Even if it is out of ammunition.”
Edward sat himself down by a small writing table but kept the gun by his side, his finger on the trigger. He continued to press it now and again, and each time he heard the ‘click’ Wilt squirmed.
“How much do you know about the Falklands War? The Gulf War?”
“I watch TV, you know.”
“The Second World War?”
“I know lots about that. It was Germany versus England and loads of Jews were killed – maybe two million,” Edward declared, proud that he could come up with such a statistic.
“Actually, over six million Jews died in the war, and as it progressed almost all the major countries in the world became allies of Britain against Germany,” Wilt corrected him, inwardly feeling close to despair. How on earth was he going to drum any depth of knowledge into this homicidal brat…or even begin to convince Lady Clarissa he’d earned his money? He tried another tack.
“Edward, why don’t you tell me what you think you know a lot about instead?”
“I know all about Bravo Two-Zero.”
“Bravo Twenty?” Wilt frowned. He hadn’t heard of this conflict before.
“Bravo Twenty?” Edward asked, mystified. “I don’t know anything about Twenty whatever it is…I only know about Bravo Zero Two. Or was it Zero Bravo Two? Anyway, just goes to show how dated you are. There’s a generation gap between me and you. Why don’t you catch up and then we can try talking again? In the meantime, I’m going to go and do some more target practice. It’s even better at night-time when you can’t see. ‘Bye, old man.”
And Edward whistled as he strolled out, with his gun propped against one shoulder.
Wilt shook his head glumly. Somehow his pupil had got the better of him and been bloody cheeky too. Oh, well, he was a completely lost cause in any case. All Wilt had to do now was spend some time with the boy, be seen to earn his keep. There was absolutely no prospect of any repeat visit to this household. And as for Bravo Twenty, he wasn’t even going to waste his time finding out what that was. Edward had probably dreamt it up after reading some war magazine.
∗
Eva was having a difficult time, too, thought she hadn’t lost her way on this occasion. Nor had she run out of petrol. Instead, to avoid being killed by a huge lorry that had been well over the speed limit when it came round a sharp bend on the wrong side of the road, she had driven her car out of its path and up an embankment, through a hedge and over a ditch into a wheat field where it couldn’t be seen by passing cars. The quads had screamed with fright and carried on as though the world had ended, but none of them had been hurt.
Trying to ignore their swearing and shrieking, Eva had attempted to re-start the car only to find that it had died on her. She reached into her bag for her mobile phone and when she finally found it, under the rear seat, discovered it wouldn’t work. The quads had evidently spent the entire journey texting – goodness knows who since they appeared not to have any friends whatsover – and as a consequence the battery was now completely dead.
Ignoring their protests that if only they were allowed mobile phones themselves they would have a better knowledge of how long batteries lasted, Eva forced them out of the car and made them follow her back to the road where she climbed through the gap in the hedge and stood waiting for a motorist to stop and help. Unfortunately it was not a busy road. After half an hour the first car passed without apparently noticing them – a feat Eva found difficult to believe given that by now the girls were amusing themselves by sunbathing topless on the verge, despite all her entreaties to them to cover themselves up. The second car to come along was driven by an elderly man who was concentrating on the sharp bend ahead, although he did look somewhat shocked by the sight of so much bare flesh on display and, in the event, barely made it round the corner unscathed. By the time the girls had put their clothes back on, grumbling that they would-never-get-a-decent-tan-with-a-prude-for-a-motherand that they never-wanted-to-go-to-some-Godforsaken-Hall-in-the-middle-of-nowhere in the first place, two open-topped sports cars, obviously racing one another, had sped past. Finally, after another hour, a Mini arrived and the driver actually stopped? But having seen the quads he declared that they couldn’t possibly all fit into the back seat of such a small car, shook his head and drove on.
“We’ll just have to walk to a telephone box,” Eva told the quads who were tired of standing by now and were sprawling on the verge, although thankfully fully clothed this time. They got up reluctantly and set off, dragging their feet and walking so slowly that Eva finally resorted to blackmail and promised to buy a pay-as-you-go phone for all four of them if they would only get a move on.
Half a mile further on they at last came to a man who was using a sickle to cut back stinging nettles on the other verge. Eva crossed over and enquired how far it was to the next village.
“I’d say about six miles,” he replied. “Could be a bit further. You lot on a walking tour or something?”
“No, our car is in a wheat field because a huge truck came round a sharp bend on the wrong side of the road and…”
“I saw that raving maniac. He’s going to kill someone one of these days. He ought to lose his licence. The bugger must have been doing well over seventy at least.”
“He nearly killed us,” said Eva bitterly. “Is there somewhere nearby where I can phone a garage? Like a farmhouse or just a phone box?”
The man shook his head.
“Not hereabouts. I mean, who’d want to live this far out, like – it’s the back of beyond. There used to be a phone box, mind you, but that’s long gone. There’s a farm two miles off behind you, but Mrs Wornsley had a baby three days ago and she’s still
in Fenscombe Hospital. Her husband’s gone over to see how she is.” Eva looked round at the flat fields seemingly filled with wheat for as far as the eye could see. The entire landscape was flat. Only the trees along the roadside broke the monotony. Over to the right she could see the spire of a church and what looked like some roofs, but that was a long way off. She turned back to the man cutting nettles.
“How do you get here?” she asked.
“Well, I work here and live in a cottage next to the Wornsleys. I’m his pig man, see. He drives me into market once a week when he’s going, to get my provisions. And I’ve got a bike too.”
At this point he paused and looked along the road. A tractor with a trailer behind was coming round the bend. The man crossed over and flagged it down without any fuss at all. “Ah, Sam! You’re just the bloke I wanted to see. This lady was forced off the road by that bloke who drives like he’s racing. You know, the bugger in the bloody great truck? Her car went into Volly’s field and she cant’ get it out. You’re heading down that way. Be a good chap and take her and these four lookalike girls of hers down there. See if you can get it back on the road for them.” He leant closer to the tractor driver and said in a low voice so that Eva couldn’t hear, “I reckon she’d make it worth your while.”
“All right, I don’t mind if I do. You gone into the wheat or something, missus? Tell your girls to hop up in the trailer. Only I wouldn’t like old Volly to find his wheat mucked up. He’s a very bad-tempered old sod, he is.”
Twenty minutes later, with the aid of the tractor driver’s thick tow rope, the Wilts’ old Ford had been dragged back through the hedge, scratched but not too badly damaged. At first the engine still refused to start, but after Sam had opened the bonnet and poked around a bit it coughed.
“I’d better take you down to Jim Bodle to check this over,” Sam told them. “He’s good with motors. I’m not.” The quads got back into the trailer and he set off towing the Ford behind. Several miles down the road he pulled into a garage forecourt. A man in blue overalls came out of the work area while the quads disappeared into the small shop alongside.
“What’s the trouble?” the garage man asked.
“Don’t know. Wouldn’t start. Not a tick over until I fiddled a bit, but it still isn’t running right. Ran into old Volly’s wheat field but I can’t see as there’s anything obviously wrong.”
“What was it doing in a field?”
Eva intervened.
“I swerved to avoid being killed,” she said. “A great big lorry came round a bend on the wrong side of the road, driven far too fast, so I drove through a hedge and this kind man came along and pulled the car out.” As she spoke, the man called Jim opened the bonnet and peered inside.
“Don’t see anything bust in here. Must be underneath.” He poked about a bit, shining his torch beneath the car. When he came out he was grinning. “Next time you haul a car out of a field, Sam, pull it from the front instead of ploughing it backwards. You’ve blocked the exhaust with earth and straw good and proper. I’ll soon fix that.”
Eva went off to find the quads. Twenty minutes later, after she’d paid for various breakages in the shop and retrieved most of the goods they’d secreted about their persons, they were on their way again with Sam and Jim £20 apiece better off. More than could be said for the shop-keeper who had to close for the rest of the day in order to recover from his ordeal. As they drove off, the quads could be seen giggling in the back of the car. They had learnt yet another way of putting a car temporarily out of action and were now so delayed they were going to be forced to stop somewhere for the night. This holiday was already exceeding their expectations and was certainly a million times better than the boring old Lake District.
20
Lady Clarissa got out of bed feeling slightly better for her long drink-fuelled sleep and went into the bathroom, mentally reviewing the way many of her problems were resolving themselves. In fact, if only she could get George to accept Uncle Harold’s being interred on the Estate, she would have very little left to worry about. Now that Henry Wilt was tutoring him, she felt sure Edward would get into a Cambridge college. And from the time she had spent with him since he’d arrived, she was convinced that the tutor was interested in her and that – more importantly – he would make a good lover. He’d undoubtedly be a more interesting one than the garage man, who was a little unimaginative except for when car engines were involved. And from all that Wilt had said, it did seem as though Eva was unduly obsessed with their daughters.
Clarissa couldn’t imagine that the Wilts had a sexually fulfilling married life. Nor could she imagine that they had much by way of money. She’d seen Mrs Wilt’s eyes light up when she’d told them she would pay fifteen hundred pounds a week with a bonus if Edward got into Porterhouse. Uncle Harold’s death had actually worked out quite neatly for her, financially speaking: she’d spent far more staying at the Black Bear for her weekend visits than she was paying Wilt per week. Not that she was really bothered about money. After all, she had married Gadsley for his wealth and her first husband’s death had left her fairly well off in her own right. She climbed out of the bath, dried herself and got dressed, feeling in a thoroughly good mood.
∗
The same could not be said of Eva. She was in a thoroughly bad mood. In addition to the crises she had already been through on her way to and from the school, she had had to spend another night in a hotel. Although the quads had promised to be on their very best behaviour and she had made absolutely certain the mini-bar in their room was locked and bolted, she had been woken up by the most terrible screeching in the early hours of the morning. It took her a while to realise where it was coming from, and then even longer to persuade the poor woman who had woken to find four girls crawling across her bedroom floor not to call the police. The girls claimed they had gone downstairs to see if they could borrow some books to read and had then returned to the wrong room in error, but that didn’t really explain why Josephine seemed to be wearing the woman’s make-up and Penelope one of her necklaces.
Eva had spent the rest of the night trying to sleep on a chair in their bedroom and in the morning had found herself paying for the woman’s room bill as well as their own. Half an hour later, when she looked into the rear-view mirror and realised that the girls had stolen all of the hotel towels and two of the pillows, she was almost tempted to drive on, thinking that at least they had got their money’s worth, but in the end thought better of it and turned the car round.
The last straw was trying to negotiate her way along the deliberately tortuous driveway to the Hall. Eva had completely forgotten Wilt’s instructions to use the rear entrance and had instead taken the road from the main gate. She’d made dozens of wrong turns, continually finding herself at dead ends, and had had to back up so many times that even the quads fell silent.
Crossing the drawbridge at last, she told them to stay in the car while she went over to pull the bell rope. She had expected Lady Clarissa to greet her at the front door but instead a youth carrying a gun asked her what she wanted, in a tone that suggested he thought she had come to sell something.
“I’m Mrs Wilt and we have been invited to stay.”
“Nobody told me,” Edward said. “I’ll go and get Mrs Bale. She’ll know.” He disappeared into the Hall and presently, after staring down with some alarm at the water below the drawbridge, Eva heard footsteps approaching. When she looked up, she was glad to see what appeared to be a sensible – if rather large – woman standing before her. Mrs Bale introduced herself and apologised for not having answered the bell herself.
“I just hope Edward wasn’t rude to you,” she said, eyeing the four teenage girls in the car.
“Oh, that was Edward? I had an idea he would be a little younger. Well, he wasn’t particularly polite actually,” said Eva. “Seemed to think I had come to sell something.”
“He’s like that. Thinks anyone coming to the front door is a salesperson and wants to scare t
hem off. Anyway, come down to the kitchen. I’ve just made a pot of tea.”
“Thank you. I would love a cup. And perhaps some lemonade or squash for the girls? But is my husband about anywhere if he isn’t with Edward? And Lady Clarissa?”
“In bed, I’m afraid,” Mrs Bale said as they went down the passage, the quads gaping at the ancient portraits on the walls as they followed.
“In bed? Why? With whom? Whatever is the matter?”
“Well, I’m not one to gossip…but you’ll find out soon enough. Too much to drink, as usual.”
“Oh, no! How disgraceful! I don’t know what to say. I feel terrible. Whatever must Sir George make of it?”
“Oh, he’ll no doubt shout and yell a bit but he’ll get over it. Now don’t distress yourself so much. These things happen. Especially in this house.”
“I can’t bear it! I just can’t bear it!”
“Please don’t get upset, there’s really no need. In fact, I’m certain I heard noises a bit earlier. I should think she’ll be up any minute and will come straight down to see you.”
“What, Lady Clarissa’s in bed as well?” said Eva, with some alarm, wondering what on earth was going on. “Did they both drink too much? Please don’t tell me that they’re in bed together…” She broke off abruptly, only too aware of the girls listening with great interest.
“What? Of course Lady Clarissa is in bed. Who on earth did you think I was talking about? Oh…I see. She’s in bed on her own, of course. Well, unless Sir George is with her. Which I very much doubt.”
“I feel so stupid,” Eva protested as they entered the kitchen, the quads nodding their agreement unseen behind her. “But I am sorry to hear about Lady Clarissa.”
“Well, she’s had a recent death in the family. Her uncle. She’s been consoling herself with dry martinis and the like.”
“Oh, dear. How dreadful. I am sorry. It must be the mourning period.”
