Snatched Read Free Page A

“how it all started”?’
    â€˜A lady’s modesty given fleshly outrage,’ Jervis said.
    â€˜Which lady?’ Ursula said.
    â€˜Then friends and relatives ran to her defence. A coach full, from Kidderminster.’
    â€˜Outraged how?’ Lepage asked.
    Jervis said: ‘I have to piece things together from all the screaming, howling, bellowing, but as I hear it, she was by herself in that cosy ancient peasant room off the Folk Hall—’
    â€˜Middle Ages Domestic Scene, yes,’ Lepage said.
    â€˜Wax models of some early-century yokels and their kids having the much-missed traditional Old English breakfast – a couple of swedes, some dandelion leaves and an acorn, you know. Suddenly, the Dad figure stands up from his tree stump – yes, this dummy gets to his feet and offers the solitary, lady visitor a big, inviting grin from behind the medieval moustache and whiskers, then drops his trousers and gives her a full meat and potatoes frontal. This was a pre-boxer-shorts epoch. She screeches and passes out. Well, who wouldn’t? This is a meaningful tableau! I heard her cries, and visitors heard, and we all came rushing. She stirs a bit on the floor and does something of an explanation – “the patriarch, a flasher” was how she finished. Friends of hers go berserk and start attacking the models, pulling garments awry, looking for any more working vitals, but they’re all just models, nothing there but seams. He’s gone, scarpered, while she lay out for the count. So they turn on Mr Hamilton and me and the other porters who’ve arrived because of the din. I mean, these visitors have come to believe this is what the Hulliborn stages as the normal thing, and they’re upset, belligerent.’
    Simberdy boomed: ‘Don’t you see, all of you, it’s someone who aims to sabotage our standing with the Museums Inspectorate, and destroy our chance of hosting JASS? I’ve dreaded something of this sort.’
    â€˜Falldew,’ Beresford hissed. ‘Neville’s name is written all over it.’
    â€˜She didn’t mention no tattoo,’ Jervis replied.
    From the door, Ursula said: ‘As to that, is there a description of the perpetrator at all?’
    â€˜Well, he’s covered in hair, isn’t he?’ Jervis said. ‘Couldn’t see much face, most probably. But tall, I understand, thin, and the woman said glassy blue eyes; glassy, mad blue eyes.’
    â€˜And?’ Ursula said.
    â€˜Dr Wex?’ Jervis asked.
    Ursula stared towards his crotch.
    â€˜Oh, I get it,’ Jervis said. ‘Your special knowledge. But all the woman said was it seemed very present-day and alive, not a prop.’

Four
    So, Lepage, in charge, hurried excitedly towards the door and Ursula. Perhaps if the job was going to be like this he wouldn’t want early retirement after all. As he stepped into the corridor, he heard Simberdy call: ‘Director, nothing extreme, I beg. No police. Don’t invite media interest. TV! Christ, think of it. Something unkind, satiric from Bernard Levin! Remember JASS.’
    Simberdy was right to detect overtones. The Hulliborn’s fight for status might typify many a similar fight in Britain’s menaced cultural bodies. Although his views about his own future might vary, Lepage would never deny a strong love and admiration for the Hulliborn. After all, he had been here for fifteen years and was fond of its big, ugly buildings and its galleries smelling of floor polish and school groups. He wished the Hulliborn only good, more or less.
    Another factor: Julia wanted him to collect a knighthood for his time at the top of the Hulliborn, in line with Flounce’s and the previous Director’s. It had to be admitted that Julia could be a bit of a snob. It had to be admitted, too, that there were times when this side of her came near to turning him fatally off. Julia liked being