didn’t it?’ grinned Jonathon.
‘Is this fire going to save Tolmie Park though?’ asked Wendy Pullman in an attempt to resume the initiative.
‘Only if we can utilise the delay to our advantage,’ said another committee member.
‘And step up our campaign,’ seconded the woman at the back.
‘Unless Jonathon has something up his sleeve?’ suggested someone else hopefully.
‘Something legal,’ put in Paul Pullman.
Jonathon Ayling contrived to look injured. ‘I haven’t been caught doing anything that isn’t straight-up yet, have I?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Paul Pullman, ‘would I?’
His wife quite spoilt the effect of this by saying, ‘And we don’t want to know, either.’
‘I don’t think,’ said the woman at the back seriously, ‘that Jonathon should take that as our giving him carte blanche to act in whatever manner he thinks fit.’
‘Of course not,’ said Wendy instantly. ‘We will always act within the law.’
‘What would be a help,’ said her husband acidly, ‘is if everyone else did.’ He turned to the young man at his side. ‘And that goes for you, too, Jonathon, remember.’
Detective Constable Crosby was bored. Standing on sentry duty to one side of all the action was not his idea of fun – or policing. He therefore looked up with interest at the approach of a fresh face, and a fairly young one at that.
‘Sorry, sir,’ he said to the new arrival. ‘No admittance beyond this point.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Stuart Bellamy. ‘I just came to see what’s going on here.’
‘A lot of fire-raisers do that,’ remarked Crosby in an offhand way. ‘They like to see the fire engines and the flames. Touches the spot or something.’
‘I know arsonists are usually male,’ said Stuart Bellamy. ‘It’s not women’s work and all that.’
‘So what brings you?’ asked Crosby, taking out his notebook. He wasn’t hopeful of gleaning much useful information since the man had left his car in clear view but from force of habit he wrote down the registration number of the vehicle.
‘Curiosity,’ replied Stuart Bellamy immediately. ‘You see, I’d just made an offer to buy the place…’
‘Rather you than me,’ said Crosby. ‘I mean, just look at it – it’s practically falling down as it is.’
‘And it’s beginning to look as if someone doesn’t want me to have it,’ said Stuart Bellamy, continuing his own train of thought.
‘Does a bit, doesn’t it?’ agreed Crosby, looking over his shoulder at the smouldering building, and making a mental note to tell his superior officer just that. ‘You can see that even without the fire that it’s going to cost a pretty penny to put it right.’
The cost of repairing Tolmie Park was something Stuart Bellamy hadn’t raised so far with Jason Burke. He knew what his answer would be if he did because it happened every time his manager warned the musician about spending big money. Jason would first quote his old granny, who had always said that it was your economies that you regretted, and then he would sing a couple of lines of an old song beginning, “There’s a hole in your bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza.”
This would evoke the peerless follow-on by Jason himself in a different key of “Then mend it, dear Liza, mend it, dear Liza,” and a little lecture about if you had the money then there was no point in not spending it, was there? Even if Bellamy had finished his articles with the accountancy firm, he felt he would have had no answer to this.
Stuart Bellamy said aloud to Crosby now, ‘And I wondered if you people had any idea of who might not want me to buy it?’
‘Not at this stage, sir,’ said Crosby magisterially. ‘And, of course, if we had, I wouldn’t be in a position to tell you. Now, if you would tell me your name and address I’ll pass it on to the inspector in charge and keep you informed.’
In another part of the forest of charred timbers that had once comprised the roof of
‘Is this fire going to save Tolmie Park though?’ asked Wendy Pullman in an attempt to resume the initiative.
‘Only if we can utilise the delay to our advantage,’ said another committee member.
‘And step up our campaign,’ seconded the woman at the back.
‘Unless Jonathon has something up his sleeve?’ suggested someone else hopefully.
‘Something legal,’ put in Paul Pullman.
Jonathon Ayling contrived to look injured. ‘I haven’t been caught doing anything that isn’t straight-up yet, have I?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Paul Pullman, ‘would I?’
His wife quite spoilt the effect of this by saying, ‘And we don’t want to know, either.’
‘I don’t think,’ said the woman at the back seriously, ‘that Jonathon should take that as our giving him carte blanche to act in whatever manner he thinks fit.’
‘Of course not,’ said Wendy instantly. ‘We will always act within the law.’
‘What would be a help,’ said her husband acidly, ‘is if everyone else did.’ He turned to the young man at his side. ‘And that goes for you, too, Jonathon, remember.’
Detective Constable Crosby was bored. Standing on sentry duty to one side of all the action was not his idea of fun – or policing. He therefore looked up with interest at the approach of a fresh face, and a fairly young one at that.
‘Sorry, sir,’ he said to the new arrival. ‘No admittance beyond this point.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Stuart Bellamy. ‘I just came to see what’s going on here.’
‘A lot of fire-raisers do that,’ remarked Crosby in an offhand way. ‘They like to see the fire engines and the flames. Touches the spot or something.’
‘I know arsonists are usually male,’ said Stuart Bellamy. ‘It’s not women’s work and all that.’
‘So what brings you?’ asked Crosby, taking out his notebook. He wasn’t hopeful of gleaning much useful information since the man had left his car in clear view but from force of habit he wrote down the registration number of the vehicle.
‘Curiosity,’ replied Stuart Bellamy immediately. ‘You see, I’d just made an offer to buy the place…’
‘Rather you than me,’ said Crosby. ‘I mean, just look at it – it’s practically falling down as it is.’
‘And it’s beginning to look as if someone doesn’t want me to have it,’ said Stuart Bellamy, continuing his own train of thought.
‘Does a bit, doesn’t it?’ agreed Crosby, looking over his shoulder at the smouldering building, and making a mental note to tell his superior officer just that. ‘You can see that even without the fire that it’s going to cost a pretty penny to put it right.’
The cost of repairing Tolmie Park was something Stuart Bellamy hadn’t raised so far with Jason Burke. He knew what his answer would be if he did because it happened every time his manager warned the musician about spending big money. Jason would first quote his old granny, who had always said that it was your economies that you regretted, and then he would sing a couple of lines of an old song beginning, “There’s a hole in your bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza.”
This would evoke the peerless follow-on by Jason himself in a different key of “Then mend it, dear Liza, mend it, dear Liza,” and a little lecture about if you had the money then there was no point in not spending it, was there? Even if Bellamy had finished his articles with the accountancy firm, he felt he would have had no answer to this.
Stuart Bellamy said aloud to Crosby now, ‘And I wondered if you people had any idea of who might not want me to buy it?’
‘Not at this stage, sir,’ said Crosby magisterially. ‘And, of course, if we had, I wouldn’t be in a position to tell you. Now, if you would tell me your name and address I’ll pass it on to the inspector in charge and keep you informed.’
In another part of the forest of charred timbers that had once comprised the roof of
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