ahead was now giving promise of the sea. Against the intense blue sky I could see the rather sinister silhouette of a large house – more than a house – a mansion – with enough towers & turrets to give the impression it had had youthful ambitions to grow into a castle!
– Denham Park – said Tom.
– where Lady Denham lives? – I guessed.
– oh no. She lives at Sandytown Hall – he replied – which her first husband – Hollis – acquired – along with the Lordship of the Sandytown Hundreds – an ancient traditional rank – acquired by purchase – unlike her subsequent title –
It sounded to me like shed got that by purchase too – & I think I detected a little twitch from Mary. Us psychologists are v sensitive to twitches!
– the Denham property – Tom went on – & the baronetcy of course – went to her nephew-in-law – Edward –
Here our conversation was interrupted – wed been driving with the sun-roof open – to get the full benefit of the invigorating Sandytown air I presume – & suddenly – in an instant – the car filled with the most disgusting smell imaginable.
Pig shit! – on a huge scale – it made our slurry lagoon seem like a rose-bowl!
Mary hit the button to close the sun-roof – apologizing profusely.
– the Hollis pig farm – she said – except calling it a farm is an insult to real farmers! –
– now now my dear – said Tom mildly – its a natural smell – & nothing natural is harmful to man –
– nothing natural about the way they keep those poor animals – said Mary.
– intensive farming is the price we pay for not wanting to pay the price we would have to pay without it – said Tom – & its very rare that the wind is in a quarter which wafts the aroma into Sandytown –
– indeed no! – said Mary – which is why Daphne Brereton spent most of her time at her first husbands house – even after shed married her second! –
Yes – I know – mysterious! – but all will be explained later. Meanwhile we drove for a mile or more alongside a high wired fence through which I could see rows & rows of concrete buildings with all the charm of a concentration camp. Finally we reached the main entrance to the site – with a huge double gate – & a sign reading HOLLIS’S HAM – the Taste of Yorkshire – except that someone had been at work with a spray can – & it now read – the Taste of Death.
There was a man up a ladder with a bucket & scrubbing brush. He paused in his work as we passed & gave a wave. Tom wound down the window & called – Morning Ollie! More trouble, eh? – but Mary didnt slow down enough to give the man time to reply – & Tom closed the window again but not before wed got another near fatal dose of the porky pong!
A few minutes later Mary signalled to turn seawards as we approached a sign saying Sandytown via North Cliff.
Tom said – my dear – why dont you takes us round by South Cliff – & through the town – so Charlotte can give us her reactions – first impressions are so important –
Obediently Mary switched off the signal & drove on.
I didnt correct Tom about first impressions. Diplomatically I hadnt mentioned the famous excursion. Now I began to see for myself what Tom – of course – had already told me – that Sandytown – originally just a fishing village – is situated in a broad bay between two lofty headlands – North Cliff & South Cliff.
A loop of road runs down from North Cliff – through the village – then up to the coastal road again – via South Cliff.
Got that? – or do you need a diagram! –
As we approached the South Cliff turn off – I could see the headland here was dominated by a complex of buildings. One of them looked like an old mansion house – green with ivy – with a long extension – in keeping but definitely recent. A couple of hundred yards away was a modern two storeyed building – the stonework brilliant white – broad reflective glass windows catching the drift of small white clouds across the bright blue sky. Alongside that – a long single storeyed building – in the same style.
We turned off the coast road – but before we began the descent proper – at Toms request Mary pulled in by a gilded entrance gate – set in a dense thorn boundary hedge – bit like the entrance to heaven in that Pilgrims Progress you got for a Sunday School prize – remember? – we used to tear pages out to roll our ciggies!
A large elegantly designed sign board was inscribed Welcome to THE AVALON FOUNDATION. There was a small gatehouse from which a man emerged – his face breaking into a smile when he recognized the car.
– Morning Mrs Parker – Mr Parker – he called.
– Morning Stan – replied Parker – How are things? Family well? –
– Yes thank you – all middling well. Yourself? –
– in the pink Stan – said Parker – which was either a bit of an exaggeration – or Mr Godleys healing hands really had done the business.
As they talked – I studied a site diagram beneath the welcome sign. It indicated that the main two storeyed modern block was the Avalon Clinic – the long single storey was the Avalon Nursing Home – & the old house was the Avalon Convalescent Home.
A phone attached to the gate-mans belt bleeped. He excused himself & turned away to answer it.
I said to Tom – how do the locals like having the clinic on thier doorstep? –
– some initial unease – lots of loose talk about lunatics & lepers – Tom replied – country folk are ready to believe the worst of strangers – but they also have an innate trust in authority. Round here that means Lady D & – to a lesser extent – myself. Once we showed the way – they followed – & suspicion has long been replaced by pride –
– the jobs & the extra income helped – observed Mary dryly.
The gate-man was saying into his phone – no definitely not – nobody in the last hour – yes – Ill keep an eye out – dont imagine hell go far dressed like that! –
He switched off – turned back to the car & said – sorry Mr Parker – one of our convies has gone walkabout – elderly gent – might be a bit confused – Id best bring his photo up on the computer. See you soon I hope –
– you too Stan – said Parker.
Mary set the car forward. Ahead the road began its descent to the village.
– Convies? – I said – thinking convicts!
– what? – Oh thats what the staff call those staying at the convalescent home. Patients at the clinic are clinnies – & residents of the nursing home are rezzies. What they call the staff I dont know – Mary – take care! –
Mary Parker – as I have said –
