Blott On The Landscape Read Free

all.”
    “Good,” said Lady Maud, and stood up. She went downstairs, leaving Mr Turnbull with the distinct impression that Sir Giles Lynchwood was in for a nasty surprise and, better still, that the firm of Ganglion, Turnbull and Shrine could look forward to a protracted case with substantial fees.
    Outside Blott was waiting in the car.
    “Blott,” said Lady Maud climbing into the back seat, “what do you know about telephone tapping?”
    Blott smiled and started the car. “Easy,” he said, “all you need is some wire and a pair of headphones.”
    “In that case stop at the first radio shop you come to and buy the necessary equipment.”
    By the time they returned to Handyman Hall, Lady Maud had laid her plans.
    So had Sir Giles. The first moment of elation at the prospect of a divorce had worn off and Sir Giles, weighing the matter up in his mind, had recognized some ugly possibilities. For one thing he did not relish the thought of being cross-examined about his private life by some eminent barrister. The newspapers, particularly one or two of the Sundays, would have a ball with Lady Maud’s description of their honeymoon. Worse still, he would be unable to issue writs for libel. The story could be verified by the hotel manager and while Sir Giles might well win the divorce case and retain the Hall he would certainly lose his public reputation. No, the matter would have to be handled in some less conspicuous manner. Sir Giles picked up a pencil and began to doodle.
    The problem was a simple one. The divorce, if and when it came, must be on grounds of his own choosing. He must be free from any breath of scandal. It was too much to hope that Lady Maud would find a lover, but desperation might drive her to some act of folly. Sir Giles rather doubted it, and besides, her age, shape and general disposition made it seem unlikely. And then there was the Hall and the one hundred thousand pounds he had paid for it. He drew a cat and was just considering that there were more ways of making a profit from property than selling it or burning it to the ground when the shape of his drawing, an eight with ears and tail, put him in mind of something he had once seen from the air. A flyover, a spaghetti junction, a motorway.
    A moment later he was unfolding an ordnance survey map and studying it with intense interest. Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? The Cleene Gorge was the ideal route. It lay directly between Sheffingham and Knighton. And with motorways there came compulsory purchase orders and large sums paid in compensation. The perfect solution. All it needed was a word or two in the right ear. Sir Giles picked up the phone and dialled. By the time Lady Maud returned from Worford he was in excellent humour. Hoskins at the Worfordshire Planning Authority had been most helpful, but then Hoskins had always been helpful. It paid him to be and it certainly paid for a rather larger house than his salary would have led one to expect. Sir Giles smiled to himself. Influence was a wonderful thing.
    “I’m going down to London this afternoon,” he told Lady Maud as they sat down to lunch. “One or two business things to fix up. I daresay I shall be tied up for a couple of days.”
    “I shouldn’t be at all surprised,” said Lady Maud.
    “If you need me for anything, leave a message with my secretary.”
    Lady Maud helped herself to cottage pie. She was in a good humour. She had no doubt whatsoever that Sir Giles indulged his taste for restrictive practices with someone in London. It might take time to find out the name of his mistress but she was prepared to wait.
    “Extraordinary woman. Lady Maud,” Mr Turnbull said as he and Mr Ganglion sat in the bar of the Four Feathers in Worford.
    “Extraordinary family,” Mr Ganglion agreed. “I don’t suppose you remember her grandmother, the old Countess. No, you wouldn’t. Before your time. I remember drawing up her will in … now when can it have been … must