Full of Money (17 page)

Dean Feston drove the BMW over towards Larch. Dean had obviously been doing some thinking, and had a fair whack on general topics to speak about now. Dean wouldn't degrade himself by discussing Hodge and how to deal with him today. A skimmer could never deserve that kind of attention. Nor would Dean refer to his arrest, with Gabrielle Barter Cornish, on suspicion of involvement in the death of that grossly, persistently, invasive journalist. Dean would regard such behaviour by the police as an automatic, blind, impulsive, not worth a word. Dean liked discussions to be on larger issues. Pellotte could put up with it. Sometimes what Dean said did matter. ‘Very regrettably, some fail to realize the hold a child – son or daughter – has over the feelings of a father, Adrian,' he stated now.

‘In which respect, Dean?'

‘We've traced those four relationships of the TV producer, Larry Edgehill. All hetero, but, crucially, he's got no kids to our knowledge. People like that, they can't properly understand the bond, the sense of parental obligation. Despite those two meetings with Edgehill, I wonder if he'll appreciate how vital, supremely vital, it is for him and his continued well-being in a quite physical sense to make sure of Dione's safety and general contentment. I mean, really exert himself on this, not just something token. In his own interests, Adrian. OK, he's someone at present fit and strong and able to maintain a long conversation while stooped that day in Gideon. This despite a pretty sedentary existence. So, I don't deny he's entitled to feel comfortable with his selfhood, however fragile. But I'd hate to believe he takes your goodwill on this kind of topic for granted, Aid.'

‘We'll return to Edgehill again if necessary and be much more pointed about what I expect from him as a duty – reasonably expect from him as a duty. Much more. I believe he'll try on our behalf, Dione's and mine. I feel he saw the urgency. A call at his own property – he's bound to appreciate the significance of that.'

‘You're always inclined to think generously of people.'

‘How else can one live satisfactorily, responsibly, Dean? How? How? Despair otherwise. Positivism – the search for it must be unceasing.' To quite an extent, Pellotte believed this, and, so, he decided he'd give those opening chats with Edgehill a little while yet to take effect. Occasionally, Pellotte thought well of patience. And for now, in any case, the firm's routine business and related matters had to be carried on. The session with Hodge would be a sorting-out encounter. Dean had spoken of this kind of measure when explaining to Edgehill why, originally, they hadn't doorstepped him. Such a visit, with Pellotte's car, could produce unfavourable repercussions and gossip throughout the estate. Although Pellotte hoped the present call would be fairly untroublesome and quick, he realized there might be snags, complications, even foolish time-wasting.

This morning, Pellotte felt exceptionally eager to avoid these because he and Dean would go on to a meeting later at handsome and fascinating Faunt Castle in the country. The Anthony Powell Society was holding its biennial conference there. Dean and Pellotte both belonged. They loved the novels of Powell, the twentieth-century English writer who wrote about the upper classes. Faunt Castle was thought to be the model for Stourwater, one of the great houses, important in Powell's books. Pellotte and Dean needed to look bandbox smooth when they arrived there, not bloodstained or limping or anything uncomely like that, particularly Dean who had agreed to give a keynote talk. Dean knew Powell's work well. He'd needed something substantial to read in jail and a twelve-volume novel like Powell's
A Dance to the Music of Time
really suited. Dean considered the first book in the series best,
A Question of Upbringing
, because some of it was set in Eton. Although Dean had not been at Eton, or anywhere much at all, he enjoyed reading about schoolboys cooking sausages in their rooms, and their pranks outwitting the masters.

But Dean also had a considerable non-literary side. Now and then he could spot the hidden essentials of a problem. Pellotte listened to Dean's thoughts about the TV producer, and saw some sense in them. Those conversations with Edgehill – on Gideon, and then at his place, 19a Bell Close – certainly did not satisfy Pellotte entirely. Dean might be only an aide, a chauffeur, a sidekick, but now and then he could judge a situation. Why else would Pellotte employ him?

‘Adrian,' Dean said, as they neared Hodge's place in north Whitsun, the glib, duplicitous, pulverizable sod, ‘I've been able to do a detailed language analysis of some statements made by Edgehill in that second interview, the domicile session, rather than the Gideon interview.'

‘Well, I expect so.'

‘I felt it would be unfair to set too much store by what he said in Gideon, because he could not be relaxed and properly thoughtful when crouched.'

‘Agreed, Dean.'

‘But in his drawing room, with tea, a more conducive situation.'

‘Why we went there.'

‘His words on that occasion may, I think, be reasonably subjected to scrutiny. Such as his remark about potential unrest, even violence, among mavericks in the firm –
your
firm, Adrian – over Dione and Bale. Presuming to pronounce on
your
firm, in that regard.'

‘Oh? Something dodgy there?' Pellotte said.

‘His words: “You can take care of all that, I imagine. Par for the course.” What do we
make
of such a statement, Adrian?'

‘He wanted to reassure. That's how
I
took it.'

‘“I imagine”.' Dean replied.

‘What? You imagine what?'

‘No, I mean the way he said it. “I imagine”.'

‘Oh? How
did
he say it?'

‘It's sort of cool, offhand, superior Mr TV Executive speaking. Now hear this! As though he doesn't give a fuck
what
we do – can't be bothered at his altitude with definitions – but he fucking
imagines
we'll manage it somehow or another because we are we.'

‘I don't notice that kind of thing, Dean. It's subtle.'

‘What I mean about you, Adrian – generous to people. Almost to a fault, I have to say. ‘Or take “par for the course”.'

‘“Par for the course”? He's suggesting we've usually got matters under control, Dean. It's a golfing term, meaning a normal performance given the nature of the ground. Yes, he wanted to reassure.'

‘This was tacked on.'

‘Which?'

‘“Par for the course.” I noticed the way his voice went down but immediately picked up again. “You can take care of all this, I imagine.” Then a pause. And, as if he decided he hadn't been chilly and dismissive enough, he extends the insult, makes it more general. “Par for the course”.'

‘Insult? Surely, he's saying we don't have to worry because we know how to deal with such matters. Likewise, we'll handle it if there's any further bother over the playground journalist, Tasker.'

‘Oh, that. But what's Mr Edgehill telling us, Aid?' Dean said.

‘Well—'

‘He's telling us he's got us summed up and classified in his TV executive mind and that he considers you and me a couple of very capable career thug-hoods, accustomed to wiping out opposition on more or less a fucking day-to-day basis.'

‘Possibly he has a—'

‘He comments, we can “take care of all that”. What does “all that” refer to? He speaks like it's a bucketful of things, not worth the bother of listing. But, in reality, “all that” concerns guarding your position at the head of this firm and, crucially, it ultimately concerns your dear daughter, Dione. But to Edgehill these are trivial problems which can be “taken care of” in a standard, bloodletting style. “Take care of” – just a soft-talk way of describing utter brutality – a disgusting slight on you, and those who do your bidding. Possibly a hidden reference also to Tasker – who was “taken care of”.'

‘Yes, Tasker. Occasionally people do have to be “taken care of” in our scene,' Pellotte said, ‘Not as we might “take care of” an elderly relative or stray cat, but “taken care of” in our own manner such as, for instance, this trip to Gordon Basil Hodge. I'm afraid Gordon might have to be “taken care of”.'

‘
You
know about these possibilities, Adrian, and
I
know about them, but is this something an outsider should speak of to us so frankly, so matter-of-factly in his own extremely average property? And then, when we're discussing possible uprisings among the staff, what does he say? “But these are only your tribesmen. They're not going to disrespect you, Adrian, surely.” A delightful term – “tribesmen”? What does it make our people sound like? What does it make
you
sound like? I hope I would never slip into racism, but isn't he talking to us as if we're some primitive, spear and loincloth lot in Africa or South America, you as face-painted jungle headman? “They're not going to disrespect you, Adrian, surely.” He's picked up that word, “disrespect”, because he thinks this is how villain roughs talk here. It's condescending, offensive. If anyone's showing disrespect, it's Larry Edgehill.'

‘Well, I—'

‘What does all this suggest, Adrian?'

‘Well, I—'

‘It suggests that, although he's having what seems to be a nice, serene, tea-based conversation with two Whitsun neighbours, he's thinking the whole time, I've let a couple of lout gangsters into my home and must get them out fucking fast. All right, in some ways he is
not
an outsider. He lives on Whitsun. But he goes off to work in television every day, and a top job in television, not shifting scenery. Untypical for Whitsun, I think you'll concede that. He is hardly a true part of the community as you and I are, Aid, and proud to be. I think it's possible he would like to find a place right
off
Whitsun, if he could afford it. Well, just as Rupert Bale wants an exit from Temperate . . .'

‘Edgehill is—'

‘Take this: I mentioned to him – knowing it would be your wish – I mentioned that you could arrange for his car to be fully honoured and swathed in security on the estate if he bought one. He gives the big ignoral. Why? There could be two reasons, neither very comradely. First, he doesn't intend staying here. Second, he does not wish to seem indebted, beholden to Adrian Pellotte. “Thanks so much for the offer, Dean, but stick it up your arse.
I'm
not one of his fucking tribesmen. I wear a shirt, changed every day.”'

They reached Larch Street and did a couple of slow circuits of the block, to check for police vehicles about on inquiries or patrolling. If officers saw Pellotte's car parked at Hodge's house they might make guesses and decide to try a bit of nosing. ‘We're only doing our job, Adrian.' So, what's their job? To nose. This would possibly turn out awkward later in any court case about what happened to Hodge in this possibly boisterous scenario. Although civvy witnesses on Whitsun could be easily discouraged and/or bought, this didn't apply to some police, and finding out which it
did
apply to often took a while, with the danger of errors.

Pellotte saw nothing to trouble them on the first reconnoitre, but he told Dean to repeat it, taking in a couple of extra streets this time. ‘Maybe you give too much attention to Edgehill's phrasing, Dean,' he said.

‘And then his remark, “A new friendship based on shared musical tastes sounds good for both of them, Dione and Bale,”' Dean replied. He put on a clipped, teacherly voice for that. ‘Those two, Dione and Rupert Bale have both just emerged from emotional crises, yet Edgehill thinks – or
pretends
he thinks – that if they hear a bit of Haydn and Mozart they'll immediately feel OK again, and a healing romance will kick in. “Get someone to play a few bars of
The Magic
fucking
Flute
and she'll be fine.” Flippant? Deeply heartless?'

They stopped outside Hodge's place and sat for a moment watching it. The second round-the-houses tour had been OK, too: nothing on the lurk.

‘Certainly, we can return to Edgehill if necessary and become more pointed,' Pellotte said. Dean often needed to be quietened down. He'd let anxiety run him, anxiety drifting towards rage sometimes if he thought Pellotte or the firm endangered. On the up side, this kept Dean alert. But occasionally he frothed about trivialities. He seemed to think only he saw the seriousness of certain problems. He'd go at them super-hard. He regarded Pellotte as too laid back and kindly.

Although such underling qualities remained pathetically strong in Dean, Pellotte realized he might want to bring him towards heir-ship in due course. Someone must take over Whitsun and Happy Gardening Solutions when Pellotte felt he'd had enough and wanted to withdraw. No job for a daughter, nor for a son-in-law. Not one like Rupert Bale, anyway. One of the most crucial obligations of leadership was to ensure a suitable succession. Think of the Queen, worried about Prince Charles and his speeches and farming notions.

‘You've always been good at the step-by-step approach, Adrian.'

‘What other approach is there? Which other approach is rational?' Pellotte said, pulling on gloves. Dean lacked subtlety and the larger vision. Could they be taught, or was the defect in his DNA? ‘If Hodge has the cash handy and will cough in full at once we take it and forget about anything fully punitive for now, Dean. He'll probably call it “an administrative slip-up”.'

‘Oh, he's got the words, all right. Sometimes I wonder if you're too tender and forgiving,' Dean said.

‘Perhaps just a temporary spell of . . . well, moderation. At this juncture.' Pellotte thought that the sight of him, Adrian Pellotte himself, personally, rather than staff, in Larch on the doorstep might swiftly free up any loot squirrelled by Gordon around the house, the congenital thieving bastard. Adrian did not want those ‘repercussions', especially today. Dean's paper on ‘Lady Widmerpool's Schoolboy Chum' in the Powell tale,
Books Do Furnish a Room
, was scheduled for quite early, and it could be a drawback if he'd failed to recover his settled pulse properly because Hodge turned foolishly obstructive, as people sometimes could when in a money dispute.