        NOT THE REAL THING

British government had ended up
underwriting the entire project.
Gerald, however, was touched by the
minister's words and said as much
to the Foreign Secretary after the
latter had pulled the lever that
opened the first sluice gate.

  That evening in the palace there
was a banquet for over three
hundred guests, including the am-
bassadorial corps and several
leading British businessmen. There
followed the usual interminable
speeches about "historic links",
Multavia's role in Anglo-Soviet
affairs and the "special
relationship" with Britain's own
royal family.

  The highlight of the evening,
however, came after the speeches
when the King made two investi-
tures. The first was the award of
the Order of the Peacock (Second
Class) to the Foreign Secretary.
"The highest award a commoner can
receive," the King explained to the
assembled audience, "as the Order
of the Peacock (First Class) is
reserved for royalty and heads of
state."

  The King then announced a second
investiture. The Order of the
Peacock (Third Class) was to be
awarded to Gerald Haskins, CBE, for
his work on the drainage system of
Teske. Gerald was surprised and
delighted as he was conducted from
his place on the top table to join
the King, who leaned forward to put
a large gold chain encrusted with
gems of various colours and sizes
over his visitor's head. Gerald
took two respectful paces backwards
and bowed low, as the Foreign
Secretary looked up from his seat
and smiled encouragingly at him.

  Gerald was the last foreign guest
to leave the banquet that night.
Angela, who had left on her own
over two hours before, had already
fallen

                101
                 
A TWIST IN THE TALE

.

asleep by the time Gerald returned
to their hotel room. He placed the
chain on the bed, undressed, put on
his pyjamas, checked his wife was
still asleep and then placed the
chain back over his head to rest on
his shoulders.

  Gerald stood and looked at himself
in the bathroom mirror for several
minutes. He could not wait to return
home.

  The moment Gerald got back to Hull
he dictated a letter to the Foreign
Of fice. He requested permission to
be allowed to wear his new award on
those occasions when it stipulated
on the bottom righthand corner of
invitation cards that decorations
and medals should be worn. The
Foreign Office duly referred the
matter to the Palace where the
Queen, a distant cousin of King
Alfons IV, agreed to the request.

  The next official occasion at
which Gerald was given the
opportunity to sport the Order of
the Peacock was the Mayor-making
ceremony held in the chamber of
Hull's City Hall, which was to be
preceded by dinner at the Guildhall.

  Gerald returned especially from
Lagos for the occasion and even
before changing into his dinner
jacket couldn't resist a glance at
the Order of the Peacock (Third
Class). He opened the box that held
his prize possession and stared down
in disbelief: the gold had become
tarnished and one of the stones
looked as if it were coming loose.
Mrs Haskins stopped dressing in
order to steal a glance at the
order. "It's not gold," she declared
with a simplicity that would have
stopped the IMF in their tracks.

Gerald offered no comment and
quickly fixed the

                 102
                  
        NOT THE REAL THING

loose stone back in place with
Araldite but he had to admit to
himself that the craftmanship
didn't bear careful scrutiny.
Neither of them mentioned the
subject again on their journey to
Hull's City Hall.

  Some of the guests during the
Mayor's dinner that night at the
Guildhall Inquired after the his-
tory of the Order of the Peacock
(Third Class), and although it gave
Gerald some considerable satisfac-
tion to explain how he had come by
the distinction and indeed the
Queen's permission to wear it on of
ficial occasions, he felt one or
two of his colleagues had been less
than awed by the tarnished peacock.
Gerald also considered it was
somewhat unfortunate that they had
ended up on the same table as
Walter Ramsbottom, now the Deputy
Mayor.

  "I suppose it would be hard to put
a true value on it," said Walter,
staring disdainfully at the chain.

"It certainly would," said Gerald
firmly.

  "I didn't mean a monetary value,"
said the jeweller with a smirk.
"That would be only too easy to
ascertain. I meant a sentimental
value, of course."

  "Of course," said Gerald. "And are
you expecting to be the Mayor next
year?" he asked, trying to change
the subject.

  "It is the tradition," said
Walter, "that the Deputy succeeds
the Mayor if he doesn't do a second
year. And be assured, Gerald, that
I shall see to it that you are
placed on the top table for that
occasion." Walter paused. "The
Mayor's chain, you know, is
fourteen-carat gold."

  Gerald left the banquet early that
evening determined to do something
about the Order of the

                103
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

Peacock before it was Walter's turn
to be Mayor.

  None of Gerald's friends would
have described him as an
extravagant man and even his wife
was surprised at the whim of vanity
that was to follow. At nine o'clock
the next morning Gerald rang his
office to say he would not be in to
work that day. He then travelled by
train to London to visit Bond
Street in general and a famed
jeweller in particular.

The door of the Bond Street shop
was opened for Gerald by a sergeant
from the Corps of Commissionaires.
Once he had stepped inside Gerald
explained his problem to the tall,
thin gentleman in a black suit who
had come forward to welcome him. He
was then led to a circular glass
counter in the middle of the shop
finer.

  "Our Mr Pullinger will be with you
in a moment," he was assured.
Moments later Asprey's fine-gems
expert arrived and happily agreed
to Gerald's request to value the
Order of the Peacock (Third Class).
Mr Pullinger placed the chain on a-
black velvet cushion before closely
studying the stones through a small
eye glass.

  After a cursory glance he frowned
with the disappointment of a man
who has won third prize at a
shooting range on Blackpool pier.

  "So what's it worth?" asked Gerald
bluntly after several minutes had
elapsed.

  "Hard to put a value on something
so intricately" - Pullinger
hesitated - "unusual."

  "The stones are glass and the
gold's brass, that's what you're
trying to say, isn't it, lad?"

  Mr Pullinger gave a look that
indicated that he could not have
put it more succinctly himself.

                104
                 
        NOT THE REAL THING

  "You might possibly be able to get
a few hundred pounds from someone
who collects such objects, but . .
."

  "Oh, no," said Gerald, quite
offended. "I have no interest in
selling it. My purpose in coming up
to London was to find out if you
can copy it."

"Copy it?" said the expert in
disbelief.

  "Aye," said Gerald. "First, I want
every stone to be the correct gem
according to its colour. Second, I
expect a setting that would impress
a duchess. And third, I require the
finest craftsman put to work on it
in nothing less than eighteen-carat
gold."

  The expert from Asprey's, despite
years of dealing with Arab clients,
was unable to conceal his surprise.

  "It would not be cheap," he
uttered sotto vocc: the word "cheap" was
one of which Asprey's clearly
disapproved.

  "I never doubted that for one
moment," said Gerald. "But you must
understand that this is a
once-in-a-lifetime honour for me.
Now when could I hope to have an
estimate?"

  "A month, six weeks at the most,"
replied the expert.

  Gerald left the plush carpet of
Asprey's for the sewers of Nigeria.
When a little over a month later he
flew back to London, he travelled
in to the West End for his second
meeting with Mr Pullinger.

  The jeweller had not forgotten
Gerald Haskins and his strange
request, and he quickly produced
from his order book a neatly folded
piece of paper. Gerald unfolded it
and read the tender slowly.
Requirement for customer's request:
twelve diamonds, seven amethysts,
three rubies and a

                105
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

sapphire, all to be of the most
perfect colour and of the highest
quality. A peacock to be sculpted in
ivory and painted by a craftsman.
The entire chain then to be moulded
in the finest eighteencarat gold.
The bottom line read: "Two hundred
and eleven thousand pounds -
exclusive of VAT."

  Gerald, who would have thought
nothing of haggling over an estimate
of a few thousand pounds for roofing
material or the hire of heavy
equipment, or even a schedule of
payments, simply asked, "When will
I be able to collect it?"

  "One could not be certain how long
it might take to put together such
a fine piece," said Mr Pullinger.
"Finding stones of a perfect match
and colour will, I fear, take a
little time." He paused. "I am also
hoping that our senior craftsman
will be free to work on this
particular commission. He has been
rather taken up lately with gifts
for the Queen's forthcoming visit to
Saudi Arabia so I don't think it
could be ready before the end of
March."

  Well in time for next year's
Mayor's banquet, thought Gerald.
Councillor Ramsbottom would not be
able to mock him this time.
Fourteen-carat gold, had he said?

Lagos and Rio de Janeiro both had
their sewers down and running long
before Gerald was able to return to
Asprey's. And he only set his eyes
on the unique prize a few weeks
before Mayor-making day.

  When Mr Pullinger first showed his
client the finished work the
Yorkshireman gasped with

                106
                 
        NOT THE REAL THING

delight. The Order was so
magnificent that Gerald found it
necessary to purchase a string of
pearls from Asprey's to ensure a
silent wife.

  On his return to Hull he waited
until after dinner to open the
green leather box from Asprey's and
surprise her with the new Order.
"Fit for a monarch, lass," he
assured his wife but Angela seemed
preoccupied with her pearls.

  After Angela had left to wash up,
her husband continued to stare for
some time at the beautiful jewels
so expertly crafted and superbly
cut before he finally closed the
box. The next morning he
reluctantly took the piece round to
the bank and explained that it must
be kept safely locked in the vaults
as he would only be requiring to
take it out once, perhaps twice, a
year. He couldn't resist showing
the object of his delight to the
bank manager, Mr Sedgley.

  "You'll be wearing it for
Mayor-making day, no doubt?" Mr
Sedgley enquired.

"If I'm invited," said Gerald.

  "Oh, I feel sure Ramsbottom will
want all his old friends to witness
the ceremony. Especially you, I
suspect," he added without
explanation.

Gerald read the news item in the
Court Circular of The Times to his
wife over breakfast: "It has been
announced from Buckingham Palace
that King Alfons IV of Multavia
will make a state visit to Britain
between April 7th and 1 Ith."

  "I wonder if we will have an
opportunity to meet the King
again," said Angela.

Gerald offered no opinion.

In fact Mr and Mrs Gerald Haskins
received two

                107
                 
        A TWIST lN THE TALE

invitations connected with King
Alfons's official visit, one to
dine with the King at Claridge's
-Multavia's London Embassy not
being large enough to cater for
such an occasion - and the second
arriving a day later by special
delivery from Buckingham Palace. ~
-

  Gerald was delighted. The Peacock,
it seemed, was going to get three
outings in one month, as their
visit to the Palace was ten days
before Walter Ramsbottom would be
installed as Mayor.

  The state dinner at Claridge's was
memorable and although there were
several hundred other guests Gerald
still managed to catch a moment
with his host, King Alfons IV who,
he found to his pleasure, could not
take his eyes of Ethe Orderofthe
Peacock (Third Class).

  The trip to Buckingham Palace a
week later was Gerald and Angela's
second, following Gerald's
investiture in 1984 as a Commander
of the British Empire. It took
Gerald almost as long to dress for
the state occasion as it did his
wife. He took some time fiddling
with his collar to be sure that his
CBE could be seen to its full
advantage while the Order ofthe
Peacock still rested squarely on
his shoulders. Gerald had asked his
tailor to sew little loops into his
tailcoat so that the Order did not
have to be continually readjusted.

  When the Haskins arrived at
Buckingham Palace they followed a
throng of bemedalled men and
tiara'd ladies through to the state
dining room where a footman handed
out seating cards to each of the
guests. Gerald unfolded his to find
an arrow pointing to his name. He
took his wife by the arm and guided
her to their places.

                108
                 
        NOT THE REAL THING

  He noticed that Angela's head kept
turning whenever she saw a tiara.

  Although they were seated some
distance away from Her Majesty at an
offshoot of the main table, there
was still a minor royal on Gerald's
left and the Minister of Agriculture
on his right. He was more than
satisfied. In fact the whole evening
went far too quickly, and Gerald was
already beginning to feel that
Mayor-making day would be something
of an anti-climax. Nevertheless,
Gerald imagined a scene where
Councillor Ramsbottom was admiring
the Order of the Peacock (Third
Class), while he was telling him
about the dinner at the Palace.

  After two loyal toasts and two
national anthems the Queen rose to
her feet. She spoke warmly of
Multavia as she addressed her three
hundred guests, and affectionately
of her distant cousin the King. Her
Majesty added that she hoped to
visit his kingdom at some time in
the near future. This was greeted
with considerable applause. She then
concluded her speech by saying it
was her intention to make two
investitures.

  The Queen created King Alfons IV a
Knight Commander of the Royal
Victorian Order (KCVO), and then
Multavia's Ambassador to the Court
of StJames a Commander of the same
order (CVO), both being personal
orders of the monarch. A box of
royal blue was opened by the Court
Chamberlain and the awards placed
over the recipients' shoulders. As
soon as the Queen had completed her
formal duties, King Alfons rose to
make his reply.

  "Your Majesty," he continued after
the usual formalities and thanks had
been completed. "I also

                109
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

would like to make two awards. The
first is to an Englishman who has
given great service to my country
through his expertise and
diligence" - the King then glanced
in Gerald's direction - "a man," he
continued, "who completed a feat of
sanitary engineering that any
nation on earth could be proud of
and indeed, Your Majesty, it was
opened by your own Foreign
Secretary. We in the capital of
Teske will remain in his debt for
generations to come. We therefore
bestow on Mr Gerald Haskins, CBE,
the Order of the Peacock (Second
Class)."

Gerald couldn't believe his ears.

  Tumultuous applause greeted a
surprised Gerald as he made his way
up towards their Majesties. He came
to a standstill behind the throned
chairs somewhere between the Queen
of England and the King of
Multavia. The King smiled at the
new recipient of the Order of the
Peacock (Second Class) as the two
men shook hands. But before
bestowing the new honour upon him,
King Alfons leaned forward and with
some difficulty removed from
Gerald's shoulders his Order of the
Peacock (Third Class).

  "You won't be needing this any
longer," the King whispered in
Gerald's ear.

  Gerald watched in horror as his
prize possession disappeared into a
red leather box held open by the
King's private secretary, who stood
poised behind his sovereign. Gerald
continued to stare at the private
secretary, who was either a
diplomat of the highest order or
had not been privy to the Kingis
plan, for his face showed no sign
of anything untoward. Once Gerald's
magnificent prize had been safely
removed, the box snapped closed
like a safe of

                110
                 
        NOT THE REAL THING

which Gerald had not been told the
combination. Gerald wanted to
protest, but remained speechless.

  King Alfons then removed from
another box the Order of the
Peacock (Second Class) and placed
it over Gerald's shoulders. Gerald,
staring at the indifferent coloured
glass stones, hesitated for a few
moments before stumbling a pace
back, bowing, and then returning to
his place in the great dining room.
He did not hear the waves of
applause that accompanied him; his
only thought was how he could
possibly retrieve his lost chain
immediately the speeches were over.
He slumped down in the chair next
to his wife.

  "And now," continued the King, "I
wish to present a decoration that
has not been bestowed on anyone
since my late father's death. The
Order of the Peacock (First Class),
which it gives me special delight
to bestow on Her Majesty Queen
Elizabeth II."

  The Queen rose from her place as
the King's private secretary once
again stepped forward. In his hands
was held the same red leather case
that had snapped shut so firmly on
Gerald's unique possession. The
case was re-opened and the King
removed the magnificent Order from
the box and placed it on the
shoulders of the Queen. The jewels
sparkled in the candlelight and the
guests gasped at the sheer
magnificence of the piece.

  Gerald was the only person in the
room who knew its true value.

  "Well, you always said it was fit
for a monarch," his wife remarked
as she touched her string of
pearls.

111

        A TWIST IN THE TALE

  "Aye," said Gerald. "But what's
Ramsbottom going to say when he
sees this?" he added sadly,
fingering the Order of the Peacock
(Second Class). "He'll know it's
not the real thing."

"I don't see it matters that much,"
said Angela.

  "What do you mean, lass?" asked
Gerald. "I'll be the laughing stock
of Hull on Mayor-making day."

  "You should start reading the
evening papers, Gerald, and stop
looking in mirrors and then you'd
know Walter isn't going to be Mayor
this year."

"Not going to be Mayor?" repeated
Gerald.

  "No. The present Mayor has opted
to do a second term so Walter won't
be Mayor until next year."

"Is that right?" said Gerald with a
smile.

  "And if you're thinking what I
think you're thinking, Gerald
Haskins, this time it's going to
cost you a tiara."

                112
                 
           ll5t
       Good Friends
             
JUST GOOD FRIENDS
-
                I
woke up before him
feeling slightly
randy but I knew
there was nothing I
could do about it.

  I blinked and my
eyes immediately
accustomed themselves
to the half light. I
raised my head and
gazed at the large
expanse of motionless
white flesh lying
next to me. If only
he took as much
exercise as I did he
wouldn't have that
spare lyre, I thought
unsympathetically.

  Roger stirred
restlessly and even
turned over to face
me, but I knew he
would not be fully
awake until the alarm
on his side of the
bed started ringing.
I pondered for a
moment whether I
could go back to
sleep again or should
get up and find
myself some breakfast
before he woke. In
the end I settled
forjust lying still
on my side
day-dreaming, but
making sure I didn't
disturb him. When he
did eventually open
his eyes I planned to
pretend I was still
asleep- that way he
would end up getting
breakfast for me. I
began to go over the
things that needed to
be done after he had
left for the of fice.
As long as I was at
home ready to greet
him when he

 -     115

        A TWIST IN THE TALE

returned from work, he didn't seem
to mind what I got up to during the
day.

  A gentle rumble emanated from his
side of the bed. Roger's snoring
never disturbed me. My affection for
him was unbounded, and I only wished
I could find the words to let him
know. In truth, he was the first man
I had really appreciated. As I gazed
at his unshaven face I was reminded
that it hadn't been his looks which
had attracted me in the pub that
night.

  I had first come across Roger in
the Cat and Whistle, a public house
situated on the corner of Mafeking
Road. You might say it was our
local. He used to come in around
eight, order a pint of mild and take
it to a small table in the corner of
the room just beyond the dartboard.
Mostly he would sit alone, watching
the darts being thrown towards
double top but more often settling
in one or five, if they managed to
land on the board at all. He never
played the game himself, and I often
wondered, from my vantage point
behind the bar, if he were fearful
of relinquishing his favourite seat
orjust had no interest in the sport.

  Then things suddenly changed for
Roger - for the better, was no doubt
how he saw it - when one evening in
early spring a blonde named
Madeleine, wearing an imitation fur
coat and drinking double gin and
its, perched on the stool beside
him. I had never seen her in the pub
before but she was obviously known
locally, and loose bar talk led me
to believe it couldn't last. You
see, word was about that she was
looking for someone whose horizons
stretched beyond the Cat and
Whistle.

In fact the affair - if that's what
it ever came to -

                116
                 
         JUST GOOD FRIENDS

lasted for only twenty days. I know
because I counted every one of
them. Then one night voices were
raised and heads turned as she left
the small stool just as suddenly as
she had come. His tired eyes
watched her walk to a vacant place
at the corner of the bar, but he
didn't show any surprise at her
departure and made no attempt to
pursue her.

  Her exit was my cue to enter. I
almost leapt from behind the bar
and, moving as quickly as dignity
allowed, was seconds later sitting
on the vacant stool beside him. He
didn't comment and certainly made
no attempt to offer me a drink, but
the one glance he shot in my
direction did not suggest he found
me an unacceptable replacement. I
looked around to see if anyone else
had plans to usurp my position. The
men standing round the dartboard
didn't seem to care. Treble
seventeen, twelve and a five kept
them more than occupied. I glanced
towards the bar to check if the
boss had noticed my absence, but he
was busy taking orders. I saw
Madeleine was already sipping a
glass of champagne from the pub's
only bottle, purchased by a
stranger whose stylish
double-breasted blazer and striped
bow tie convinced me she wouldn't
be bothering with Roger any longer.
She looked well set for at least
another twenty days.

  I looked up at Roger - I had known
his name for some time, although I
had never addressed him as such and
I couldn't be sure that he was
aware of mine. I began to flutter
my eyelashes in a rather
exaggerated way. I felt a little
stupid but at least it elicited a
gentle smile. He leaned over and
touched my cheek, his hands
surprisingly gentle. Neither of us
felt the need to speak. We were
both lonely and it

                117
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

seemed unnecessary to explain why.
We sat in silence, he occasionally
sipping his beer, I from time to
time rearranging my legs, while a
few feet from us the darts pursued
their undetermined course.

  When the publican cried, "Last
orders," Roger downed the remains of
his beer while the dart players
completed what had to be their final
game.

  No one commented when we left
together and I was surprised that
Roger made no protest as I
accompanied him back to his little
semi-detached. I already knew
exactly where he lived because I had
seen him on several occasions
standing at the bus queue in Dobson
Street in a silent line of reluctant
morning passengers. Once I even
positioned myself on a nearby wall
in order to study his features more
carefully. It was an anonymous,
almost commonplace face but he had
the warmest eyes and the kindest
smile I had observed in any man.

  My only anxiety was that he didn't
seem aware of my existence, just
constantly preoccupied, his eyes
each evening and his thoughts each
morning only for Madeleine. How I
envied that girl. She had everything
I wanted - except a decent fur coat,
the only thing my mother had left
me. In truth, I have no right to be
catty about Madeleine, as her past
couldn't have been more murky than
mine.

  All that had taken place well over
a year ago and, to prove my total
devotion to Roger, I have never
entered the Cat and Whistle since.
He seemed to have forgotten
Madeleine because he never once
spoke of her in front of me. An
unusual man, he didn't question me
about any of my past relationships
either.

                118
                 
         JUST GOOD FRIENDS

  Perhaps he should have. I would
have liked him to know the truth
about my life before we'd met,
though it all seems irrelevant now.
You see, I had been the youngest in
a family of four so I always came
last in line. I had never known my
father, and I arrived home one
night to discover that my mother
had run off with another man.
Tracy, one of my sisters, warned me
not to expect her back. She turned
out to be right, for I have never
seen my mother since that day. It's
awful to have to admit, if only to
oneself, that one's mother is a
tramp.

  Now an orphan, I began to drift,
often trying to stay one step ahead
of the law - not so easy when you
haven't always got somewhere to put
your head down. I can't even recall
how I ended up with Derek - if that
was his real name. Derek, whose
dark sensual looks would have
attracted any susceptible female,
told me that he had been on a
merchant steamer for the past three
years. When he made love to me I
was ready to believe anything. I
explained to him that all I wanted
was a warm home, regular food and
perhaps in time a family of my own.
He ensured that one of my wishes
was fulfilled, because a few weeks
after he left me I ended up with
twins, two girls. Derek never set
eyes on them: he had returned to
sea even before I could tell him I
was pregnant. He hadn't needed to
promise me the earth; he was so
good-looking he must have known I
would have been his just for a
night on the tiles.

  I tried to bring up the girls
decently, but the authorities
caught up with me this time and I
lost them both. I wonder where they
are now? God knows. I only hope
they've ended up in a good

                119
                 
         A TWIST IN THE TALE

home. At least they inherited
Derek's irresistible looks, which
can only help them through life.
It's just one more thing Roger will
never know about. His unquestioning
trust only makes me feel more
guilty, and now I never seem able to
find a way of letting him know the
truth.

  After Derek had gone back to sea I
was on my own for almost a year
before getting part-time work at the
Cat and Whistle. The publican was so
mean that he wouldn't have even
provided food and drink for me, if
I hadn't kept to my part of the
bargain.

  Roger used to come in about once,
perhaps twice a week before he met
the blonde with the shabby fur coat.
After that it was every night until
she upped and left him.

  I knew he was perfect for me the
first time I heard him order a pint
of mild. A pint of mild - I can't
think of a better description of
Roger. In those early days the
barmaids used to flirt openly with
him, but he didn't show any
interest. Until Madeleine latched on
to him I wasn't even sure that it
was women he preferred. Perhaps in
the end it was my androgynous looks
that appealed to him.

  I think I must have been the only
one in that pub who was looking for
something more permanent.

  And so Roger allowed me to spend
the night with him. I remember that
he slipped into the bathroom to
undress while I rested on what I
assumed would be my side of the bed.
Since that night he has never once
asked me to leave, let alone tried
to kick me out. It's an easy-going
relationship. I've never known him
raise his voice or scold me
unfairly. Forgive the cliche, but
for once I have fallen on my feet.

                 120
                  
         JUST GOOD FRIENDS

  Brr. Brr. Brr. That damned alarm.
I wished I could have buried it. The
noise would go on and on until at
last Roger decided to stir himself.
I once tried to stretch across him
and put a stop to its infernal
ringing, only ending up knocking the
contraption on to the floor, which
annoyed him even more than the
ringing. Never again, I concluded.
Eventually a long arm emerged from
under the blanket and a palm dropped
on to the top of the clock and the
awful din subsided. I'm a light
sleeper - the slightest movement
stirs me. If only he had asked me I
could have woken him far more gently
each morning. After all, my methods
are every bit as reliable as any
man-made contraption.

  Half awake, Roger gave me a brief
cuddle before kneading my back,
always guaranteed to elicit a smile.
Then he yawned, stretched and
declared as he did every morning,
"Must hurry along or I'll be late
for the office." I suppose some
females would have been annoyed by
the predictability of our morning
routine - but not this lady. It was
all part of a life that made me feel
secure in the belief that at last I
had found something worthwhile.

  Roger managed to get his feet into
the wrong slippers - always a
fifty-fifty chance - before
lumbering towards the bathroom. He
emerged fifteen minutes later, as he
always did, looking only slightly
better than he had when he entered.
I've learned to live with what some
would have called his foibles, while
he has learned to accept my mania
for cleanliness and a need to feel
secure.

  "Get up, lazy-bones," he
remonstrated but then only smiled
when I re-settled myself, refusing
to leave the warm hollow that had
been left by his body.

                121
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

  "I suppose you expect me to get
your breakfast before I go to
work?" he added as he made his way
downstairs. I didn't bother to
reply. I knew that in a few
moments' time he would be opening
the front door, picking up the
morning newspaper, any mail, and
our regular pint of milk. Reliable
as ever, he would put on the
kettle, then head for the pantry,
fill a bowl with my
favouritebreakfast food and add my
portion of the milk, leaving
himselfjust enough for two cups of
coffee.

  I could anticipate almost to the
second when breakfast would be
ready. First I would hear the
kettle boil, a few moments later
the milk would be poured, then
finally there would be the sound of
a chair being pulled up. That was
the signal I needed to confirm it
was time for me to join him.

  I stretched my legs slowly,
noticing my nails needed some
attention. I had already decided
against a proper wash until after
he had left for the office. I could
hear the sound of the chair being
scraped along the kitchen lino. I
felt so happy that I literally
jumped off the bed before making my
way towards the open door. A few
seconds later I was downstairs.
Although he had already taken his
first mouthful of cornflakes he
stopped eating the moment he saw
me.

  "Good of you to join me," he said,
a grin spreading over his face.

  I padded over towards him and
looked up expectantly. He bent down
and pushed my bowl towards me. I
began to lap up the milk happily,
my tail swishing from side to side.

  It's a myth that we only swish our
tails when we're angry.

                122
                 
      THE STEAL

               ~
HRISTOPHER and
Margaret Roberts
always spent their
summer holiday as
far away from
England as they
could possibly
afford. However, as
Christopher was the
classics master at
St Cuthbert's, a
small preparatory
school just north of
Yeovil, and Margaret
was the school
matron, their
experience of four
of the five
continents was
largely confined to
periodicals such as
the Nalional
Geographic Magazine
and Time.

  The Roberts'
annual holiday each
August was
nevertheless
sacrosanct and they
spent eleven months
of the year saving,
planning and
preparing for their
one extravagant
luxury. The
following eleven
months were then
spent passing on
their discoveries to
the "offspring": the
Roberts, without
children of their
own, looked on all
the pupils of St
Cuthbert's as
"offspring".

  During the long
evenings when the
"offspring" were
meant to be asleep
in their
dormitories, the
Roberts would pore
over maps, analyse
expert opinion and
then finally come up
with a shortlist to
consider. In recent
expeditions they had
been as far

         125
          
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

afield as Norway, Northern Italy
and Yugoslavia, ending up the
previous year exploring Achilles'
island, Skyros, off the east coast
of Greece.

  "It has to be Turkey this year,"
said Christopher after much
soul-searching. A week later
Margaret came to the same
conclusion, and so they were able
to move on to Phase Two. Every book
on Turkey in the local library was
borrowed, consulted, reborrowed and
re-consulted. Every brochure
obtainable from the Turkish Embassy
or local travel agents received the
same relentless scrutiny.

  By the first day of the summer
term, charter tickets had been paid
for, a car hired, accommodation
booked and everything that could be
insured comprehensively covered.
Their plans lacked only one final
detail.

  "So what will be our 'steal' this
year?" asked Christopher.

  "A carpet," Margaret said, without
hesitation. "It has to be. For over
a thousand years Turkey has
produced the most sought-after
carpets in the world. We'd be
foolish to consider anything else."

"How much shall we spend on it?"

  "Five hundred pounds," said
Margaret, feeling very extravagant.

  Having agreed, they once again
swapped memories about the "steals"
they had made over the years. In
Norway, it had been a whale's tooth
carved in the shape of a galleon by
a local artist who soon after had
been taken up by Steuben. In
Tuscany, it had been a ceramic bowl
found in a small village where they
cast-and fired them to be sold in
Rome at exorbitant prices: a small
blemish which only an expert would
have noticed made it a

                126
                 
             THE STEAL

"steal". Just outside Skopje the
Roberts had visited a local glass
factory and acquired a water jug
moments after it had been blown in
front of their eyes, and in Skyros
they had picked up their greatest
triumph to date, a fragment of an
urn they discovered near an old
excavation site. The Roberts
reported their find immediately to
the authorities, but the Greek
officials had not considered the
fragment important enough to
prevent it being exported to St
Cuthbert's.

  On returning to England
Christopher couldn't resist just
checking with the senior classics
don at his old alma mater. He
confirmed the piece was probably
twelfth century. This latest
"steal" now stood, carefully
mounted, on their drawing room
mantelpiece.

  "Yes, a carpet would be perfect,"
Margaret mused. "The trouble is,
everyone goes to Turkey with the
idea of picking up a carpet on the
cheap. So to find a really good
one...."

  She knelt and began to measure the
small space in front of their
drawing room fireplace.

"Seven by three should do it," she
said.

  Within a few days of term ending,
the Roberts travelled by bus to
Heathrow. The journey took a little
longer than by rail but at half the
cost. "Money saved is money that
can be spent on the carpet,"
Margaret reminded her husband.

"Agreed, Matron," said Christopher,
laughing.

  On arrival at Heathrow they
checked their baggage on to the
charter flight, selected two non-
smoking seats and, finding they had
time to spare, decided to watch
other planes taking off to even
more exotic places.

                127
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

  It was Christopher who first
spotted the two passengers dashing
across the tarmac, obviously late.

  "Look," he said, pointing at the
running couple. His wife studied
the overweight pair, still brown
from a previous holiday, as they
lumbered up the steps to their
plane.

  "Mr and Mrs Kendall-Hume,"
Margaret said in disbelief. After
hesitating for a moment, she added,
"I wouldn't want to be uncharitable
about any of the offspring, but I
do find young Malcolm Kendall-Hume
a . . ." She paused.

"'Spoilt little brat'?" suggested
her husband.

  "Quite," said Margaret. "I can't
begin to think what his parents
must be like."

  "Very successful, if the boy's
stories are to be believed," said
Christopher. "A string of second-
hand garages from Birmingham to
Bristol."

"Thank God they're not on our
flight."

  "Bermuda or the Bahamas would be
my guess," suggested Christopher.

  A voice emanating from the
loudspeaker gave Margaret no chance
to offer her opinion.

  "Olympic Airways Flight 172 to
Istanbul is now boarding at Gate
No. 37."

  "That's us," said Christopher
happily as they began their long
route-march to their departure
gate.

  They were the first passengers to
board, and once shown to their
seats they settled down to study
the guidebooks of Turkey and their
three files of research.

  "We must be sure to see Diana's
Temple when we visit Ephesus," said
Christopher, as the plane taxied
out on to the runway.

                128
                 
             THE STEAL

  "Not forgetting that at that time
we shall be only a few kilometres
away from the purported last home
of the Virgin Mary," added
Margaret.

  "Taken with a pinch of salt by
serious historians," Christopher
remarked as if addressing a member
of the Lower Fourth, but his wife
was too engrossed in her book to
notice. They both continued to
study on their own before
Christopher asked what his wife was
reading.

  "Carpets - Fact and Fiction by
Abdul Verizoglu -seventeenth
edition," she said, confident that
any errors would have been
eradicated in the previous sixteen.
"It's most informative. The finest
examples, it seems, are from Hereke
and are woven in silk and are
sometimes worked on by up to twenty
young women, even children, at a
time."

  "Why young?" pondered Christopher.
"You'd have thought experience
would have been essential for such
a delicate task."

  "Apparently not," said Margaret.
"Herekes are woven by those with
young eyes which can discern
intricate patterns sometimes no
larger than a pinpoint and with up
to nine hundred knots a square
inch. Such a carpet," continued
Margaret, "can cost as much as
fifteen, even twenty, thousand
pounds."

  "And at the other end of the
scale? Carpets woven in old
leftover wool by old leftover
women?" suggested Christopher,
answering his own question.

  "No doubt," said Margaret. "But
even for our humble purse there are
some simple guidelines to follow."

Christopher leaned over so that he
could be sure

               11?9
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

to take in every word above the roar
of the engines. "The muted reds and
blues with a green base are
considered classic and are much
admired by Turkish collectors, but
one should avoid the bright yellows
and oranges," read his wife aloud.
"And never consider a carpet that
displays animals, birds or fishes,
as they are produced only to satisfy
Western tastes."

"Don't they like animals?"

  "I don't think that's the point,"
said Margaret. "The Sunni Muslims,
who are the country's religious
rulers, don't approve of graven
images. But if we search diligently
round the bazaars we should still be
able to come across a bargain for a
few hundred pounds."

  "What a wonderful excuse to spend
all day in the bazaars."

  Margaret smiled, before
continuing. "But listen. It's most
important to bargain. The opening
price the dealer offers is likely to
be double what he expects to get and
treble what the carpet is worth."
She looked up from her book. "If
there's any bargaining to be done it
will have to be carried out by you,
my dear. They're not used to that
sort of thing at Marks & Spencer."

Christopher smiled.

 - "And finally," continued his
wife, turning a page of her book,
"if the dealer offers you coffee you
should accept. I t means he expects
the process to go on for some time
as he enjoys the bargaining as much
as the sale."

  "If that's the case they had
better have a very large pot
percolating for us," said
Christopher as he closed his eyes
and began to contemplate the

                130
                 
             THE STEAL

pleasures that awaited him. Margaret
only closed her books on carpets
when the plane touched down at
Istanbul airport, and at once opened
file Number One, entitled
"Pre-Turkey".

  "A shuttle bus should be waiting
for us at the north side of the
terminal. It will take us on to the
local flight," she assured her
husband as she carefully wound her
watch forward two hours.

  The Roberts were soon following
the stream of passengers heading in
the direction of passport control.
The first people they saw in front
of them were the same middle-aged
couple they had assumed were
destined for more exotic shores.

  "Wonder where they're heading,"
said Christopher.

  "Istanbul Hilton, I expect," said
Margaret as they climbed into a
vehicle that had been declared
redundant by the Glasgow Corporation
Bus Company some twenty years
before. It spluttered out black
exhaust fumes as it rewed up before
heading off in the direction of the
local THY flight.

  The Roberts soon forgot all about
Mr and Mrs Kendall-Hume once they
looked out of the little aeroplane
windows to admire the west coast of
Turkey highlighted by the setting
sun. The plane landed in the port of
Izmir just as the shimmering red
ball disappeared behind the highest
hill. Another bus, even older than
the earlier one, ensured that the
Roberts reached their little guest
house just in time for late supper.

  Their room was tiny but clean and
the owner much in the same mould. He
greeted them both with exaggerated
gesturing and a brilliant smile
which augured well for the next
twenty-one days.

                131
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

Early the following morning, the
Roberts checked over their detailed
plans for Day One in file Number
Two. They were first to collect the
rented Fiat that had already been
paid for in England, before driving
off into the hills to the ancient
Byzantine fortress at Selcuk in the
morning, to be followed by the
Temple of Diana in the afternoon if
they still had time.

  After breakfast had been cleared
away and they had cleaned their
teeth, the Roberts left the guest
house a few minutes before nine.
Armed with their hire car form and
guidebook, they headed off for
Beyazik's Garage where their
promised car awaited them. They
strolled down the cobbled streets
past the little white houses,
enjoying the sea breeze until they
reached the bay. Christopher
spotted the sign for Beyazik's
Garage when it was still a hundred
yards ahead of them.

  As they passed the magnificent
yachts moored alongside the
harbour, they tested each other on
the nationality of each flag,
feeling not unlike the "offspring"
completing a geography test.

  "Italian, French, Liberian,
Panamanian, German. There aren't
many British boats," said
Christopher, sounding unusually
patriotic, the way he always did,
Margaret reflected, the moment they
were abroad.

  She stared at the rows of gleaming
hulls lined up like buses in
Piccadilly during the rush hour;
some ofthe boats were even bigger
than buses. "I wonder what kind of
people can possibly afford such
luxury?" she asked, not expecting a
reply.

  "Mr and Mrs Roberts, isn't it?"
shouted a voice from behind them.
They both turned to see a

                132
                 
             THE STEAL

now-familiar figure dressed in a
white shirt and white shorts,
wearing a hat that made him look
not unlike the "Bird's Eye"
captain, waving at them from the
bow of one of the bigger yachts.

  "Climb on board, me hearties," Mr
KendallHume declared
enthusiastically, more in the
manner of a command than an
invitation.

  Reluctantly the Roberts walked the
gangplank.

  "Look who's here," their host
shouted down a large hole in the
middle of the deck. A moment later
Mrs Kendall-Hume appeared from
below, dressed in a diaphanous
orange sarong and a matching bikini
top. "It's Mr and Mrs Roberts - you
remember, from Malcolm's school."

  Kendall-Hume turned back to face
the dismayed couple. "I don't
remember your first names, but this
is Melody and I'm Ray."

  "Christopher and Margaret," the
schoolmaster admitted as handshakes
were exchanged.

"What about a drink? Gin, vodka or
. . . ?"

  "Oh, no," said Margaret. "Thank
you very much, we'll both have an
orange juice."

  "Suit yourselves," said Ray
Kendall-Hume. "You must stay for
lunch."

"But we couldn't impose . . ."

  "I insist," said Mr Kendall-Hume.
"After all, we're on holiday. By
the way, we'll be going over to the
other side of the bay for lunch.
There's one hell of a beach there,
and it will give you a chance to
sunbathe and swim in peace."

"How considerate of you," said
Christopher.

  "And where's young Malcolm?" asked
Margaret.

                 1
                 
         ATWISTIN THE TALK

  "He's on a scouting holiday in
Scotland. Doesn't like to mess
about in boats the way we do."

  For the first time he could recall
Christopher felt some admiration
for the boy. A moment later the
engine started thunderously.

  On the trip across the bay, Ray
Kendall-Hume expounded his theories
about "having to get away from it
all". "Nothing like a yacht to
ensure your privacy and not having
to mix with the hoi polloi." He
only wanted the simple things in
life: the sun, the sea and an
infinite supply of good food and
drink.

  The Roberts could have asked for
nothing less. By the end of the day
they were both suffering from a
mild bout of sunstroke and were
also feeling a little seasick.
Despite white pills, red pills and
yellow pills, liberally supplied by
Melody, when they finally got back
to their room that night they were
unable to sleep.

Avoiding the Kendall-Humes over the
next twenty days did not prove
easy. Beyazik's, the garage where
their little hire car awaited them
each morning and to which it had to
be returned each night, could only
be reached via the quayside where
the Kendall-Humes' motor yacht was
moored like an insuperable barrier
at a gymkhana. Hardly a day passed
that the Roberts did not have to
spend some part of their precious
time bobbing up and down on
Turkey's choppy coastal waters,
eating oily food and discussing how
large a carpet would be needed to
fill the Kendall-Humes' front room.

  However, they still managed to
complete a large part of their
programme and determinedly set
aside

                134
                 
              THE STEAL

the whole ofthe last day ofthe
holiday in their quest for a carpet.
As they did not need Beyazik's car
to go into town, they felt confident
that for that day at least they
could safely avoid their tormentors.

  On the final morning they rose a
little later than planned and after
breakfast strolled down the tiny
cobbled path together, Christopher
in possession of the seventeenth
edition of Carpets - Fact and
Fiction, Margaret with a tape
measure and five hundred pounds in
travellers' cheques.

  Once the schoolmaster and his wife
had reached the bazaar they began to
look around a myriad of little
shops, wondering where they should
begin their adventure. Fez-topped
men tried to entice them to enter
their tiny emporiums but the Roberts
spent the first hour simply taking
in the atmosphere.

  "I'm ready to start the search
now," shouted Margaret above the
babble of voices around her.

  "Then we've found you just in
time," said the one voice they
thought they had escaped.

"We were just about to -"

"Then follow me."

  The Roberts' hearts sank as they
were led by Ray Kendall-Hume out of
the bazaar and back towards the
town.

  "Take my advice, and you'll end up
with one hell of a bargain,"
Kendall-Hume assured them both.
"I've picked up some real beauties
in my time from every corner of the
globe at prices you wouldn't
believe. I am happy to let you take
full advantage of my expertise at no
extra charge."

  "I don't know how you could stand
the noise and smell of that bazaar,"
said Melody, obviously glad

                 155
                  
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

to be back among the familiar signs
of Gucci, Lacoste and Saint
Laurent.

"We rather like . . ."

  "Rescued in the nick oftime," said
Ray KendallHume. "And the place I'm
told you have to start and finish
at if you want to purchase a
serious carpet is Osman's."

  Margaret recalled the name from
her carpet book: "Only to be
visited if money is no object and
you know exactly what you are
looking for." The vital last
morning was to be wasted, she
reflected as she pushed open the
large glass doors of Osman's to
enter a ground-floor area the size
of a tennis court. The room was
covered in carpets on the floor,
the walls, the windowsills, and
even the tables. Anywhere a carpet
could be laid out, a carpet was
there to be seen. Although the
Roberts realised immediately that
nothing on show could possibly be
in their price range, the sheer
beauty of the display entranced
them.

  Margaret walked slowly round the
room, mentally measuring the small
carpets so she could anticipate the
sort of thing they might look for
once they had escaped.

  A tall, elegant man, hands raised
as if in prayer and dressed
immaculately in a tailored worsted
suit that could have been made in
Savile Row, advanced to greet them.

  "Good morning, sir," he said to Mr
KendallHume, selecting the serious
spender without difficulty. "Can I
be of assistance?"

  "You certainly can," replied
Kendall-Hume. "I want to be shown
your finest carpets, but I do not
intend to pay your finest prices."

                136
                 
             THE STEAL

  The dealer smiled politely and
clapped his hands. Six small
carpets were brought in by three
assistants who rolled them out in
the centre of the room. Margaret
fell in love with a muted green-
based carpet with a pattern of tiny
red squares woven around the
borders. The pattern was so
intricate she could not take her
eyes off it. She measured the
carpet out of interest: seven by
three exactly.

  "You have excellent taste, madam,"
said the dealer. Margaret,
colouring slightly, quickly stood
up, took a pace backwards and hid
the tape measure behind her back.

  "How do you feel about that lot,
pet?" asked Kendall-Hume, sweeping
a hand across the six carpets.

  "None of them are big enough,"
Melody replied, giving them only a
fleeting glance.

  The dealer clapped his hands a
second time and the exhibits were
rolled up and taken away. Four
larger ones soon replaced them.

  "Would you care for some coffee?"
the dealer asked Mr Kendall-Hume as
the new carpets lay unfurled at
their feet.

  "Haven't the time," said
Kendall-Hume shortly. "Here to buy
a carpet. If I want a coffee, I can
always go to a coffee shop," he
said with a chuckle. Melody smiled
her complicity.

  "Well, I would like some coffee,"
declared Margaret, determined to
rebel at some point on the holiday.

  "Delighted, madam," said the
dealer, and one of the assistants
disappeared to carry out her wishes
while the Kendall-Humes studied the
new carpets.

                137
                 
A TWIST IN THE TALE

. _

The coffee arrived a few moments
later. She thanked the young
assistant and began to sip the thick
black liquid slowly. Delicious, she
thought, and smiled her
acknowledgment to the dealer.

  "Still not large enough," Mrs
Kendall-Hume insisted. The dealer
gave a slight sigh and clapped his
hands yet again. Once more the
assistants began to roll up the
rejected goods. He then addressed
one of his staffin Turkish. The
assistant looked doubtfully at his
mentor but the dealer gave a firm
nod and waved him away. The
assistant returned a little later
with a small platoon of lesser
assistants carrying two carpets,
both of which when unfolded took up
most of the shop floor. Margaret
liked them even less than the ones
she had just been shown, but as her
opinion was not sought she did not
offer it.

  "That's more like it," said Ray
Kendall-Hume. "Just about the right
size for the lounge, wouldn't you
say, Melody?"

  "Perfect," his wife replied, making
no attempt to measure either of the
carpets.

  "I'm glad we agree," said Ray
Kendall-Hume. "But which one, my
pet? The faded red and blue, or the
bright yellow and orange?"

  "The yellow and orange one," said
Melody without hesitation. "I like
the pattern of brightly coloured
birds running round the outside."
Christopher thought he saw the
dealer wince.

  "So now all we have left to do is
agree on a price," said
Kendall-Hume. "You'd better sit
down, pet, as this may take a
while."

  "I hope not," said Mrs
Kendall-Hume, resolutely standing.
The Roberts remained mute.

                 138
                  
              THE STEAL

  "Unfortunately, sir," began the
dealer, "your wife has selected one
of the finest carpets in our
collection and so I fear there can
be little room for any
re-adjustment."

"How much?" said Kendall-Hume.

  "You see, sir, this carpet was
woven in Demirdji, in the province
of Izmir, by over a hundred seam-
stresses and it took them more than
a year to complete."

  "Don't give me that baloney," said
KendallHume, winking at Christopher.
"Just tell me how much I'm expected
to pay."

  "I feel it my duty to point out,
sir, that this carpet shouldn't be
here at all," said the Turk
plaintively. "It was originally made
for an Arab prince who failed to
complete the transaction when the
price of oil collapsed."

  "But he must have agreed on a
price at the time?"

  "I cannot reveal the exact figure,
sir. It embarrasses me to mention
it."

  "It wouldn't embarrass me," said
KendallHume. "Come on, what's the
price?" he insisted.

  "Which currency would you prefer
to trade in?" the Turk asked.

"Pounds."

  The dealer removed a slim
calculator from his jacket pocket,
programmed some numbers into it,
then looked unhappily towards the
KendallHumes.

  Christopher and Margaret remained
silent, like schoolchildren fearing
the headmaster might ask them a
question to which they could not
possibly know the answer.

                 139
                  
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

  "Come on, come on, how much were
you hoping to sting me for?"

  "I think you must prepare yourself
for a shock, sir," said the dealer.

  "How much?" repeated Kendall-Hume,
impatiently.

"Twenty-five thousand."

'iPounds?"

"Pounds."

  "You must be joking," said
Kendall-Hume, walking round the
carpet and ending up standing next
to Margaret. "You're about to find
out why I'm considered the scourge
of the East Midlands car trade," he
whispered to her. "I wouldn't pay
more than fifteen thousand for that
carpet." He turned back to nice the
dealer. "Even if my life depended
on it."

  "Then I fear your time has been
wasted, sir," the Turk replied.
"For this is a carpet intended only
for the cognoscenti. Perhaps madam might
reconsider the red and blue?"

  "Certainly not," said
Kendall-Hume. "The colour's all
faded. Can't you see? You obviously
left it in the window too long, and
the sun has got at it. No, you'll
have to reconsider your price if
you want the orange and yellow one
to end up in the home of a
connoisseur."

  The dealer sighed as his fingers
tapped the calculator again.

  While the transaction continued,
Melody looked on vacantly,
occasionally gazing out of the
window towards the bay.

  "I could not drop a penny below
twenty-three thousand pounds."

                140
                 
             THE STEAL

  "I'd be willing to go as high as
eighteen thousand," said
Kendall-Hume, "but not a penny
more."

  The Roberts watched the dealer tap
the numbers into the calculator.

  "That would not even cover the
cost of what I paid for it myself,"
he said sadly, staring down at the
little glowing figures.

  "You're pushing me, but don't push
me too far. Nineteen thousand,"
said Mr Kendall-Hume. "That's my
final offer."

  "Twenty thousand pounds is the
lowest figure I could consider,"
replied the dealer. "A give-away
price on my mother's grave."

  Kendall-Hume took out his wallet
and placed it on the table by the
side of the dealer.

  "Nineteen thousand pounds and
you've got yourself a deal," he
said.

  "But how will I feed my children?"
asked the dealer, his arms raised
above his head.

  "The same way I feed mine," said
KendallHume, laughing. "By making a
fair profit."

  The dealer paused as if
re-considering, then said, "I can't
do it, sir. I'm sorry. We must show
you some other carpets." The
assistants came forward on cue.

  "No, that's the one I want," said
Mrs KendallHume. "Don't quarrel
over a thousand pounds, pet."

  "Take my word for it, madam," the
dealer said, turning towards Mrs
Kendall-Hume. "My family would
starve if we only did business with
customers like your husband."

  "Okay, you get the twenty
thousand, but on one condition."

                141
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

"Condition?"

  "My receipt must show that the
bill was for ten thousand pounds.
Otherwise I'll only end up paying
the difference in customs duty."

  The dealer bowed low as if to
indicate he did not find the
request an unusual one.

  Mr Kendall-Hume opened his wallet
and withdrew ten thousand pounds in
travellers' cheques and ten
thousand pounds in cash.

  "As you can see," he said,
grinning, "I came prepared." He
removed another five thousand
pounds and, waving it at the
dealer, added, "and I would have
been willing to pay far more."

  The dealer shrugged. "You drive a
hard bargain, sir. But you will not
hear me complain now the deal has
been struck."

  The vast carpet was folded,
wrapped and a receipt for ten
thousand pounds made out while the
travellers' cheques and cash were
paid over.

  The Roberts had not uttered a word
for twenty minutes. When they saw
the cash change hands it crossed
Margaret's mind that it was more
money than the two of them earned
in a year.

  "Time to get back to the yacht,"
said KendallHume. "Dojoin us for
lunch if you choose a carpet in
time."

  "Thank you," said the Roberts in
unison. They waited until the
Kendall-Humes were out of sight,
two assistants bearing the-orange
and yellow carpet in their wake,
before they thanked the dealer for
the coffee and in turn began to
make their move towards the door.

  "What sort of carpet were you
looking for?" asked the dealer.

                142
                 
             THE STEAL

  "I fear your prices are way beyond
us," said Christopher politely.
"But thank you."

  "Well, let me at least find out.
Have you or your wife seen a carpet
you liked?"

  "Yes," replied Margaret, "the
small carpet, but . . ."

  "Ah, yes," said the dealer. "I
remember madam's eyes when she saw
the Hereke."

  He left them, to return a few
moments later with the little
soft-toned, green-based carpet with
the tiny red squares that the
Kendall-Humes had so firmly
rejected. Not waiting for
assistance he rolled it out himself
for the Roberts in inspect more
carefully.

  Margaret thought it looked even
more magnificent the second time
and feared that she could never
hope to find its equal in the few
hours left to them.

"Perfect," she admitted, quite
unashamedly.

  "Then we have only the price to
discuss," said the dealer kindly.
"How much were you wanting to
spend, madam?"

  "We had planned to spend three
hundred pounds," said Christopher,
jumping in. Margaret was unable to
hide her surprise.

"But we agreed -" she began.

  "Thank you, my dear, I think I
should deal with this matter."

  The dealer smiled and returned to
the bargaining.

  "I would have to charge you six
hundred pounds," he said. "Anything
less would be mbbery."

"Four hundred pounds is my final
offer," said

                143
                 
A TWIST IN THE TALE

.

Christopher, trying to sound in
control.

  "Five hundred pounds would have to
be my bottom price," said the
dealer.

"I'll take it!" cried Christopher.

  An assistant began waving his arms
and talking to the dealer noisily in
his native tongue. The owner raised
a hand to dismiss the young man's
protests, while the Roberts looked
on anxiously.

  "My son," explained the dealer,
"is not happy with the arrangement,
but I am delighted that the little
carpet will reside in the home of a
couple who will so obviously
appreciate its true worth."

"Thank you," said Christopher
quietly.

"Will you also require a bill of a
different price?"

  "No, thank you," said Christopher,
handing over ten fifty-pound notes
and then waiting until the carpet
was wrapped and he was presented
with the correct receipt.

  As he watched the Roberts leave
his shop clinging on to their
purchase, the dealer smiled to
himself.

  When they arrived at the quayside,
the KendallHumes' boat was already
half way across the bay heading
towards the quiet beach. The Roberts
sighed their combined relief and
returned to the bazaar for lunch.

It was while they were waiting for
their baggage to appear on the
carousel at Heathrow Airport that
Christopher felt a tap on his
shoulder. He turned round to face a
beaming Ray Kendall-Hume.

"I wonder if you could do mesa
favour, old boy?"

"I will if I can," said Christopher,
who still

                 1H
                  
             THE STEAL
had not fully recovered from their
last encounter.

  "It's simple enough," said
Kendall-Hume. "The old girl and I
have brought back far too many
presents and I wondered if you could
take one of them through customs.
Otherwise we're likely to be held up
all night."

  Melody, standing behind an already
laden trolley, smiled at the two men
benignly.

  "You would still have to pay any
duty that was due on it," said
Christopher firmly.

  "I wouldn't dream of doing
otherwise," said Kendall-Hume,
struggling with a massive package
before pushing it on the Roberts'
trolley. Christopher wanted to
protest as Kendall-Hume peeled off
two thousand pounds and handed the
money and the receipt over to the
schoolmaster.

  "What do we do if they claim your
carpet is worth a lot more than ten
thousand pounds?" asked Margaret
anxiously, coming to stand by her
husband's side.

  "Pay the difference and I'll
refund you immediately. But I assure
you it's most unlikely to arise."

"I hope you're right."

  "Of course I'm right," said
Kendall-Hume. "Don't worry, I've
done this sort of thing before. And
I won't forget your help when it
comes to the next school appeal," he
added, leaving them with the huge
parcel.

  Once Christopher and Margaret had
located their own bags, they
collected the second trolley and
took their place in the red
"Something to Declare" queue.

"Are you in possession of any items
over five

                 145
                  
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

hundred pounds in value?" asked the
young customs official politely.

  "Yes," said Christopher. "We
purchased two carpets when we were
on holiday in Turkey." He handed
over the two bills.

  The customs official studied the
receipts carefully, then asked if
he might be allowed to see the
carpets for himself.

  "Certainly," said Christopher, and
began the task of undoing the
larger package while Margaret
worked on the smaller one.

  "I shall need to have these looked
at by an expert," said the official
once the parcels were unwrapped.
"It shouldn't take more than a few
minutes." The carpets were soon
taken away.

  The "few minutes" turned out to be
over fifteen and Christopher and
Margaret were soon regretting their
decision to assist the
Kendall-Humes, whatever the needs
of the school appeal. They began to
indulge in irrelevant small-talk
that wouldn't have fooled the most
amateur of sleuths.

At last the customs official
returned.

  "I wonder if you would be kind
enough to have a word with my
colleague in private?" he asked.

  "Is that really necessary?" asked
Christopher, reddening.

"I'm afraid so, sir."

  "We shouldn't have agreed to it in
the first place," whispered
Margaret. "We've never been in any
trouble with the authorities
before."

  "Don't fret, dear. It will be all
over in a few minutes, you'll see,"
said Christopher, not sure that he
believed his own words. They
followed the young man out through
the back and into a small room.

                146
                 
             THE STEAL

  "Good afternoon, sir," said a
white-haired man with several gold
rings around the cuffofhis sleeve.
"I am sorry to have kept you
waiting but we have had your
carpets looked at by our expert and
he feels sure a mistake must have
been made."

  Christopher wanted to protest but
he couldn't get a word out.

"A mistake?" managed Margaret.

  "Yes, madam. The bills you
presented don't make any sense to
him."

"Don't make any sense?"

  "No, madam," said the senior
customs officer. "I repeat, we feel
certain a mistake has been made."

  "What kind of mistake?" asked
Christopher, at last finding his
voice.

  "Well, you have come forward and
declared two carpets, one at a
price of ten thousand pounds and
one at a price of five hundred
pounds, according to these
receipts."

"Yes?"

  "Every year hundreds of people
return to England with Turkish
carpets, so we have some experience
in these matters. Our adviser feels
certain that the bills have been
incorrectly made out."

  "I don't begin to understand . .
." said Christopher.

  "Well," explained the senior
officer, "the large carpet, we are
assured, has been spun with a crude
distaff and has only two hundred
ghiordes, or knots, per square
inch. Despite its size we estimate
it to be valued around five
thousand pounds. The small carpet,
on the other hand, we estimate to
have nine hundred knots per square
inch and is a fine example of a
silk hand-woven traditional

                147
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

Herekeand undoubtedly would have
been a bargain at five thousand
pounds. As both carpets come from
the same shop, we assume it must be
a clerical error."

The Roberts remained speechless.

  "It doesn't make any difference to
the duty you will have to pay, but
we felt sure you would want to
know, for insurance purposes."

Still the Roberts said nothing.

  "As you're allowed five hundred
pounds before paying any duty, the
excise will still be two thousand
pounds."

  Christopher quickly handed over
the KendallHumes' wad of notes. The
senior officer counted them while
his junior carefully re-wrapped the
two carpets.

  "Thank you," said Christopher, as
they were handed back the parcels
and a receipt for the two thousand
pounds.

  The Roberts quickly bundled the
large package on to its trolley
before wheeling it through the
concourse and on to the pavement
outside where the Kendall-Humes
impatiently awaited them.

  "You were in there a long time,"
said KendallHume. "Any problems?"

  "No, they were just assessing the
value of the carpets."

  "Any extra charge?" Kendall-Hume
asked apprehensively.

  "No, your two thousand pounds
covered everything," said
Christopher, passing over the
receipt.

  "Then we got away with it, old
fellow. Well done. One hell of a
bargain to add to my collection."
Kendall-Hume turned to bundle the
large package

                148
                 
             THE STEAL

into the boot of his Mercedes
before locking it and taking his
place behind the steering wheel.
"Well done," he repeated through
the open window, as the car drove
off. "I won't forget the school
appeal."

  The Roberts stood and watched as
the silver grey car joined a line
of traffic leaving the airport.

  "Why didn't you tell Mr
Kendall-Hume the real value of his
carpet?" asked Margaret once they
were seated in the bus.

  "I did give it some considerable
thought but I came to the
conclusion that the troth was the
last thing Kendall-Hume wanted to
be told."

  "But don't you feel any guilt?
After all, we've stolen "

  "Not at all, my dear. We haven't
stolen anything. But we did get one
hell of a 'steal'."

                149
                 
Colonel
BullTros

  COLONEL BULLFROG

               THERE
is one cathedral in
England that has
never found it
necessary to launch
a national appeal.

When the Colonel
woke he found
himself tied to a
stake where the
ambush had taken
place. He could feel
a numb sensation in
his leg. The last
thing he could
recall was the
bayonet entering his
thigh. All he was
aware of now were
ants crawling up the
leg on an endless
march towards the
wound.

  It would have been
better to have
remained
unconscious, he
decided.

  Then someone undid
the knots and he
collapsed head first
into the mud. It
would be better
still to be dead, he
concluded. The
Colonel somehow got
to his knees and
crawled over to the
stake next to him.
Tied to it was a
corporal who must
have been dead for
several hours. Ants
were crawling into
his mouth. The
Colonel tore off a
strip from the man's
shirt, washed it in
a large puddle
nearby and cleaned
the wound in his leg
as best he could
before binding it
tightly.

153

        A TWIST IN THE TALE

  That was February 1 7th, 1943, a
date that would be etched on the
Colonel's memory for the rest of
his life.

  That same morning theJapanese
received orders that the newly
captured Allied prisoners were to
be moved at dawn. Many were to die
on the march and even more had
perished before the trek began.
Colonel Richard Moore was
determined not to be counted among
them.

  Twenty-nine days later, one
hundred and seventeen of the
original seven hundred and
thirty-two Allied troops reached
Tonchan. Any man whose travels had
previously not taken him beyond
Rome could hardly have been
prepared for such an experience as
Tonchan. This heavily guarded
prisoner-of-war camp, some three
hundred miles north of Singapore
and hidden in the deepest
equatorial jungle, offered no
possibility of freedom. Anyone who
contemplated escape could not hope
to survive in the jungle for more
than a few days, while those who
remained discovered the odds were
not a lot shorter.

  When the Colonel first arrived,
Major Sakata, the camp commandant,
informed him that he was the senior
ranking officer and would therefore
be held responsible for the welfare
of all Allied troops.

  Colonel Moore had stared down at
theJapanese officer. Sakata must
have been a foot shorter than
himself but after that
twenty-eight-day march the British
soldier couldn't have weighed much
more than the diminutive Major.

  Moore's first act on leaving the
commandant's office was to call
together all the Allied officers.
He discovered there was a good
cross-section from

                154
                 
         COLONEL BULLFROG

Britain, Australia, New Zealand and
America but few could have been
described as fit. Men were dying
daily from malaria, dysentery and
malnutrition. He was suddenly aware
what the expression "dying like
flies" meant.

  The Colonel learned from his staff
of ricers that for the previous two
years of the camp's existence they
had been ordered to build bamboo
huts for the Japanese officers.
These had had to be completed
before they had been allowed to
start on a hospital for their own
men and only recently huts for
themselves. Many prisoners had died
during those two years, not from
illness but from the atrocities
some Japanese perpetrated on a
daily basis. Major Sakata, known
because of his skinny arms as
"Chopsticks", was, however, not
considered to be the villain. His
second-in-command, Lieutenant
Takasaki (the Undertaker), and
Sergeant Ayut (the Pig) were of a
different mould and to be avoided
at all cost, his men warned him.

  It took the Colonel only a few
days to discover why.

  He decided his first task was to
try to raise the battered morale of
his troops. As there was no padre
among those of ricers who had been
captured he began each day by
conducting a short service of
prayer. Once the service was over
the men would start work on the
railway that ran alongside the
camp. Each arduous day consisted of
laying tracks to help Japanese
soldiers get to the front more
quickly soithey could in turn kill
and capture more Allied troops. Any
prisoner suspected of undermining
this work was found guilty of
sabotage and put to death without
trial. Lieutenant Takasalci

                155
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

considered taking an unscheduled
five-minuec break to be sabotage.

  At lunch prisoners were allowed
twenty minutes off to share a bowl
of rice - usually with maggots
-and, if they were lucky, a mug of
water. Although the men returned to
the camp each night exhausted, the
Colonel still set about organising
squads to be responsible for the
cleanliness of their huts and the
state of the latrines.

  After only a few months, the
Colonel was able to organise a
football match between the British
and the Americans, and following
its success even set up a camp
league. But he was even more
delighted when the men turned up
for karate lessons under Sergeant
Hawke, a thick-set Australian, who
had a Black Belt and for good
measure also played the
mouth-organ. The tiny instrument
had survived the march through the
jungle but everyone assumed it
would be discovered before long and
confiscated.

  Each day Moore renewed his
determination not to allow the
Japanese to believe for one moment
that the Allies were beaten -
despite the fact that while he was
at Tonchan he lost another twenty
pounds in weight, and at least one
man under his command every day.

  To the Colonel's surprise the camp
commandant, despite the Japanese
national belief that any soldier
who allowed himself to be captured
ought to be treated as a deserter,
did not place too many unnecessary
obstacles in his path.

  "You are like the British
Bullfrog," Major Sakata suggested
one evening as he watched the
Colonel carving cricket bails out
of bamboo. It was

                156
                 
         COLONEL BULLFROG

one of the rare occasions when the
Colonel managed a smile.

  His real problems continued to
come from Lieutenant Takasaki and
his henchmen, who considered
captured Allied prisoners fit only
to be considered as traitors.
Takasaki was always careful how he
treated the Colonel personally, but
felt no such reservations when
dealing with the other ranks, with
the result that Allied soldiers
often ended up with their meagre
rations confiscated, a rifle butt
in the stomach, or even left bound
to a tree for days on end.

  Whenever the Colonel made an
official complaint to the
commandant, Major Sakata listened
sympathetically and even made an
effort to weed out the main
offenders. Moore's happiest moment
at Tonchan was to witness the
Undertaker and the Pig boarding the
train for the front line. No one
attempted to sabotage that journey.
The commandant replaced them with
Sergeant Akida and Corporal Sushi,
known by the prisoners almost
affectionately as "Sweet and Sour
Pork". However, the Japanese High
Command sent a new Number Two to
the camp, a Lieutenant Osawa, who
quickly became known as "The Devil"
since he perpetrated atrocities
that made the Undertaker and the
Pig look like church fete
organisers.

  As the months passed the Colonel
and the commandant's mutual respect
grew. Sakata even confided to his
English prisoner that he had
requested that he be sent to the
front line and join the real war.
"And if," the Major added, "the
High Command grants my request,
there will be only two NCOs I would
want to accompany me."

                157
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

  Colonel Moore knew the Major had
Sweet and Sour Pork in mind, and
was fearful what might become of
his men if the only three Japanese
he could work with were posted back
to active duties to leave
Lieutenant Osawa in command of the
camp.

Colonel Moore realised that
something quite extraordinary must
have taken place for Major Sakata
to come to his hut, because he had
never done so before. The Colonel
put his bowl of rice back down on
the table and asked the three
Allied officers who were sharing
breakfast with him to wait outside.

The Major stood to attention and
saluted.

  The Colonel pushed himself to his
full six feet, returned the salute
and stared down into Sakata's eyes.

  "The war is over," said
theJapanese officer. For a
briefmoment Moore feared the worst.
"Japan has surrendered
unconditionally. You, sir," Sakata
said quietly, "are now in command
of the camp."

  The Colonel immediately ordered
all Japanese officers to be placed
under arrest in the commandant's
quarters. While his orders were
being carried out he personally
went in search of The Devil. Moore
marched across the parade ground
and headed towards the officers'
quarters. He located the
second-in-command's hut, walked up
the steps and threw open Osawa's
door. The sight that met the new
commandant's eyes was one he would
never forget. The Colonel had read
of ceremonial hara-kiri without any
real idea of what the final act
consisted. Lieutenant Osawa must
have cut himself

                158
                 
         COLONEL BULLFROG

a hundred times before he
eventually died. The blood, the
stench and the sight of the
mutilated body would have caused a
Gurkha to be sick. Only the head
was there to confirm that the
remains had once belonged to a
human being.

  The Colonel ordered Osawa to be
buried outside the gates of the
camp.

When the surrender of Japan was
finally signed on board the US
Missouri in Tokyo Bay, all at
Tonchan PoW camp listened to the
ceremony on the single camp radio.
Colonel Moore then called a full
parade on the camp square. For the
first time in two and a half years
he wore his dress uniform which
made him look like a pierrot who
had turned up at a formal party. He
accepted the Japanese flag of
surrender from Major Sakata on
behalf of the Allies, then made the
defeated enemy raise the American
and British flags to the sound of
both national anthems played in
turn by Sergeant Hawke on his
mouth-organ.

  The Colonel then held a short
service of thanksgiving which he
conducted in the presence of all
the Allied and Japanese soldiers.

Once command had changed hands
Colonel Moore waited as week
followed pointless week for news
that he would be sent home. Many of
his men had been given their orders
to start the tenthousand-mile
journey back to England via Bangkok
and Calcutta, but no such orders
came for the Colonel and he waited
in vain to be sent his repatriation
papers.

Then, in January 1946, a smartly
dressed young

                159
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

Guards officer arrived at the camp
with orders to see the Colonel. He
was conducted to the commandant's
office and saluted before shaking
hands. Richard Moore stared at the
young captain who, from his healthy
complexion, had obviously arrived
in the Far East long after
theJapanese had surrendered. The
captain handed over a letter to the
Colonel.

  "Home at last," said the older man
breezily, as he ripped open the
envelope, only to discover that it
would be years before he could hope
to exchange the paddy fields of
Tonchan for the green fields of
Lincolushire.

  The letter requested that the
Colonel.travel to Tokyo and
represent Britain on the
forthcoming war tribunal which was
to be conducted in the Japanese
capital. Captain Ross of the
Coldstream Guards would take over
his command at Tonchan.

The tribunal was to consist of
twelve officers under the
chairmanship of General Matthew
Tomkins. Moore was to be the sole
British representative and was to
report directly to the General, "as
soon as you find it convenient".
Further details would be supplied
to him on his arrival in Tokyo. The
letter ended: "If for any reason
you should require my help in your
deliberations, do not hesitate to
contact me personally." There
followed the signature of Clement
Attlee.

  Staff officers are not in the
habit of disobeying Prime
Ministers, so the Colonel resigned
himselfto a prolonged stay in
Japan.

  It took several months to set up
the tribunal and during that time
Colonel Moore continued

                160
                 
         COLONEL BULLFROG

supervising the return of British
troops to their homeland. The
paperwork was endless and some of
the men under his command were so
frail that he found it necessary to
build them up spiritually as well
as physically before he could put
them on boats to their various
destinations. Some died long after
the declaration of surrender had
been ratified.

  During this period of waiting,
Colonel Moore used Major Sakata and
the two NCOs in whom he had placed
so much trust, Sergeant Akidaand
Corporal Sushi, as his liaison
officers. This sudden change of
command did not affect the
relationship between the two senior
officers, although Sakata admitted
to the Colonel that he wished he
had been killed in the defence of
his country and not left to witness
its humiliations. The Colonel found
the Japanese remained
well-disciplined while they waited
to learn their fate, and most of
them assumed death was the natural
consequence of defeat.

The war tribunal held its first
plenary session in Tokyo on April
19th, 1946. General Tomkins took
over the fifth floor of the old
Imperial Courthouse in the Ginza
quarter of Tokyo - one of the few
buildings that had survived the war
intact. Tomkins, a squat,
short-tempered man who was
described by his own staff officer
as a "pen-pusher from the
Pentagon", arrived in Tokyo only a
week before he began his first
deliberations. The only
rat-a-tat-tat this General had ever
heard, the staffoffficer freely
admitted to Colonel Moore, had come
from the typewriter in his
secretary's office. However, when
it came to those on trial the
General was in no doubt

                161
                 
          A TWIST IN THE TALE

as to where the guilt lay and how the
guilty should be punished.

  "Hang every one of the little
slit-eyed, yellow bastards," turned out
to be one of Tomkins's favourite
expressions.

  Seated round a table in an old
courtroom, the twelve-man tribunal
conducted their deliberations. It was
clear from the opening session that the
General had no intention of considering
"extenuating circumstances", "past
record" or "humanitarian grounds". As
the Colonel listened to Tomkins's views
he began to fear for the lives of any
innocent member of the armed forces who
was brought in front of the General.

 -   The Colonel quickly identified
four Americans

from the tribunal who, like himself,
did not always
concur with the General's sweeping
judgments.
Two were lawyers and the other two had
been
fighting soldiers recently involved in
combat duty.
The five men began to work together to
counteract
the General's most prejudiced
decisions. During
the following weeks they were able to
persuade one
or two others around the table to
commute the
sentences of hanging to life
imprisonment for
several Japanese who had been
condemned for
crimes they could not possibly have
committed.

  As each such case was debated, General
Tomkins left the five men in no doubt
as to his contempt for their views.
"Goddam Nip sympathisers," he often
suggested, and not always under his
breath. As the General still held sway
over the twelve~man tribunal, the
Colonel's successes turned out to be
few in number.

When the time came to determine the
fate of

                  162
                   
COLONEL BULLFROG
                       -
those who had been in command of the
PoW camp at Tonchanthe General
demanded mass hanging for
everyJapanese officer involved
without even the presence of a
proper trial. He showed no surprise
when the usual five tribunal members
raised their voices in protest.
Colonel Moore spoke eloquently of
having been a prisoner at Tonchan
and petitioned in the defence of
Major Sakata, Sergeant Akida and
Corporal Sushi. He attempted to ex-
plain why hanging them would in its
own way be as barbaric as any
atrocity carried out by the
Japanese. He insisted their sentence
should be commuted to life
imprisonment. The General yawned
throughout the Colonel's remarks
and, once Moore had completed his
case, made no attempt to justify his
position but simply called for a
vote. To the General's surprise, the
result was six-all; an American
lawyer who previously had sided with
the General raised his hand to join
the Colonel's five. Without
hesitation the General threw his
casting vote in favour of the
gallows. Tomkins leered down the
table at Moore and said, "Time for
lunch, I think, gentlemen. I don't
know about you but I'm famished. And
no one can say that this time we
didn't give the little yellow
bastards a fair hearing."

  Colonel Moore rose from his place
and without offering an opinion left
the room.

  He ran down the steps of the
courthouse and instructed his driver
to take him to British HQ in the
centre of the city as quickly as
possible. The short journey took
them some time because of the melee
of people that were always thronging
the streets night and day. Once the
Colonel arrived at

                 163
                  
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

his office he asked his secretary
to place a call through to England.
While she was carrying out his
order Moore went to his green
cabinet and thumbed through several
files until he reached the one
marked "Personal". He opened it and
fished out the letter. He wanted to
be certain that he had remembered
the sentence accurately . . .

  "If for any reason you should
require my help in your
deliberations, do not hesitate to
contact me personally."

  "He's coming to the phone, sir,"
the secretary said nervously. The
Colonel walked over to the phone
and waited. He found
himself-standing to attention when
he heard the gentle, cultivated
voice ask, "Is that you, Colonel?"
It took Richard Moore less than ten
minutes to explain the problem he
faced and obtain the authority he
needed.

  Immediately he had completed his
conversation he returned to the
tribunal headquarters. He marched
straight back into the conference
room just as General Tomkins was
settling down in his chair to start
the afternoon proceedings.

  The Colonel was the first to rise
from his place when the General
declared the tribunal to be in
session. "I wonder if I might be
allowed to open with a statement?"
he requested.

  "Be my guest," said Tomkins. "But
make it brief. We've got a lot more
of these Japs to get through yet."

  Colonel Moore looked around the
table at the other eleven men.

  "Gentlemen," he began. "I hereby
resign my position as the British
representative on this commission."

                161
                 
         COLONEL BULLFROG

General Tomkins was unable to
stifle a smile.

  "I do it," the Colonel continued,
"reluctantly, but with the backing
of my Prime Minister, to whom I
spoke only a few moments ago." At
this piece of information Tomkins's
smile was replaced by a frown. "I
shall be returning to England in
order to make a full report to Mr
Attlee and the British Cabinet on
the manner in which this tribunal
is being conducted."

  "Now look here, sonny," began the
General. "You can't-"

  "I can, sir, and I will. Unlike
you, I am unwilling to have the
blood of innocent soldiers on my
hands for the rest of my life."

  "Now look here, sonny," the
General repeated. "Let's at least
talk this through before you do
anything you might regret."

  There was no break for the rest of
that day, and by late afternoon
Major Sakata, Sergeant Akida and
Corporal Sushi had had their
sentences commuted to life
imprisonment.

  Within a month, General Tomkins
had been recalled by the Pentagon
to be replaced by a distinguished
American marine who had been
decorated in combat during the
First World War.

  In the weeks that followed the new
appointment the death sentences of
two hundred and twentynine Japanese
prisoners of war were commuted.

  Colonel Moore returned to
Lincolnshire on November I I th,
1948, having had enough of the
realities of war and the
hypocrisies of peace.

Just under two years later Richard
Moore took holy orders and became a
parish priest in the sleepy

                165
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

hamlet of Weddlebeach, in Suffolk.
He enjoyed his calling and although
he rarely mentioned his wartime
experiences to his parishioners he
often thought of his days in Japan.

  "Blessed are the peacemakers for
they shall . . ." the vicar began
his sermon from the pulpit one Palm
Sunday morning in the early 1960s,
but he failed to complete the
sentence.

  His parishioners looked up
anxiously only to see that a broad
smile had spread across the vicar's
face as he gazed down at someone
seated in the third row.

  The man he was staring at bowed
his head in embarrassment and the
vicar quickly continued with his
sermon.

  When the service was over Richard
Moore waited by the east door to be
sure his eyes had not deceived him.
When they met face to face for the
first time in fifteen years both
men bowed and then shook hands.

  The priest was delighted to learn
over lunch that day back at the
vicarage that Chopsticks Sakata had
been released from prison after
only five years, following the
Allies' agreement with the newly
installed Japanese government to
release all prisoners who had not
committed capital crimes. When the
Colonel enquired after "Sweet and
Sour Pork" the Major admitted that
he had lost touch with Sergeant
Akida (Sweet) but that Corporal
Sushi (Sour) and he were working
for the same electronics company.
"And whenever we meet," he assured
the priest, "we talk of the
honourable man who saved our lives,
'the British Bullfrog'."

* * *

                166
                 
         COLONEL BULLFROG

Over the years, the priest and his
Japanese friend progressed in their
chosen professions and regularly
corresponded with each other. In
1971 Ari Sakata was put in charge
of a large electronics factory in
Osaka while eighteen months later
Richard Moore became the Very Revd
Richard Moore, Dean of Lincoln
Cathedral.

  "I read in the London Times that
your cathedral is appealing for a
new roof," wrote Sakata from his
homeland in 1975.

  "Nothing unusual about that," the
Dean explained in his letter of
reply. "There isn't a cathedral in
England that doesn't suffer from
dry rot or bomb damage. The former
I fear is terminal; the latter at
least has the chance of a cure."

  A few weeks later the Dean
received a cheque for ten thousand
pounds from a not-unknown Japanese
electronics company.

  When in 1979 the Very Revd Richard
Moore was appointed to the
bishopric of Taunton, the new
managing director of the largest
electronics company in Japan flew
over to attend his enthronement.

  "I see you have another roof
problem," commented Ari Sakata as
he gazed up at the scaffolding
surrounding the pulpit. "How much
will it cost this time?"

  "At least twenty-five thousand
pounds a year," replied the Bishop
without thought. "Just to make sure
the roof doesn't fall in on the
congregation during my sterner
sermons." He sighed as he passed
the evidence of reconstruction all
around him. "As soon as I've
settled into my new job I intend to
launch a proper appeal to ensure my

                167
                 
         A TWIST IN THE TALE
successor doesn't have to worry about
the roofever

again.'

  The managing director nodded his
understanding. A week later a cheque
for twenty-five thousand pounds
arrived on the churchman's desk.

  The Bishop tried hard to express
his grateful thanks. He knew he must
never allow Chopsticks to feel that
by his generosity he might have done
the wrong thing as this would only
insult his friend and undoubtedly
end their relationship. Rewrite
after rewrite was drafted to ensure
that the final version of the long
hand-written letter would have
passed muster with the Foreign Of
lice mandarin in charge of
theJapanese desk. Finally the letter
was posted.

  As the years passed Richard Moore
became fearful of writing to his old
friend more than once a year as each
letter elicited an even larger
cheque. And, when towards the end of
1986 he did write, he made no
reference to the Dean and Chapter's
decision to designate 1988 as the
cathedral's appeal year. Nor did he
mention his own failing health, lest
the oldJapanese gentleman should
feel in some way responsible, as his
doctor had warned him that he could
never expect to recover fully from
those experiences at Tonchan.

  The Bishop set about forming his
appeal committee in January 1987.
The Prince of Wales became the
patron and the Lord Lieutenant of
the county its chairman. In his
opening address to the members of
the appeal committee the Bishop in-
structed them that it was their duty
to raise not less than three million
pounds during 1988. Some
apprehensive looks appeared on the
faces around the table.

                 168
                  
         COLONEL BULLFROG

  On August 1 Ith, 1987, the Bishop
of Taunton was umpiring a village
cricket match when he suddenly
collapsed from a heart attack. "See
that the appeal brochures are
printed in time for the next
meeting," were his final words to
the captain of the local team.

  Bishop Moore's memorial service
was held in Taunton Cathedral and
conducted by the Archbishop of
Canterbury. Not a seat could be
found in the cathedral that day,
and so many crowded into every pew
that the west door was left open.
Those who arrived late had to
listen to the Archbishop's address
relayed over loudspeakers placed
around the market square.

  Casual onlookers must have been
puzzled by the presence of several
elderly Japanese gentlemen dotted
around the congregation.

  When the service came to an end
the Archbishop held a private
meeting in the vestry of the
cathedral with the chairman of the
largest electronics company in the
world.

  "You must be Mr Sakata," said the
Archbishop, warmly shaking the hand
of a man who stepped forward from
the small cluster of Japanese who
were in attendance. "Thank you for
taking the trouble to write and let
me know that you would be coming. I
am delighted to meet you at last.
The Bishop always spoke of you with
great affection and as a close
friend - 'Chopsticks', if I
remember."

Mr Sakata bowed low.

  "And I also know that he always
considered himself in your personal
debt for such generosity over so
many years."

"No, no, not me," replied the
former Major. "I,

                169
                 
A TWIST IN THE TALE
                      . . _

like my dear friend the late Bishop,
am representative of higher
authority."

The Archbishop looked puzzled.

  "You see, sir," continued Mr
Sakata, "I am only the chairman of
the company. May I have the honour
of introducing my President?"

  Mr Sakata took a pace backwards to
allow an even smaller figure, whom
the Archbishop had originally
assumed to be part of Mr Sakata's
entourage, to step forward.

  The President bowed low and, still
without speaking, passed an envelope
to the Archbishop.

  "May I be allowed to open it?" the
church leader asked, unaware of the
Japanese custom of waiting until the
giver has departed.

The little man bowed again.

  The Archbishop slit open the
envelope and removed a cheque for
three million pounds.

  "The late Bishop must have been a
very close friend," was all he could
think of saying.

  "No, sir," the President replied.
"I did not have that privilege."

  "Then he must have done something
incredible to be deserving of such a
munificent gesture."

  "He performed an act of honour
over forty years ago and now I try
inadequately to repay it."

  "Then he would surely have
remembered you," said the
Archbishop.

  "Is possible he would remember me
but if so only as the sour half of
'Sweet and Sour Pork'."

There is one cathedral in England
that has never found it necessary to
launch a national appeal.

                 170
                  
(herkm~te

         ATWISTIN THE TALK

              As she entered the
room every eye turned towards her.

  When admiring a girl some men
start with her head and work down.
I start with the ankles and work
up.

  She wore black high-heeled velvet
shoes and a tight-fitting black
dress that stopped high enough
above the knees to reveal the most
perfectly tapering legs. As my eyes
continued their upward sweep they
paused to take in her narrow waist
and slim athletic figure. But it
was the oval face that I found
captivating, slightly pouting lips
and the largest blue eyes I've ever
seen, crowned with a head of thick,
black, short-cut hair that
literally shone with lustre. Her
entrance was all the more
breathtaking because of the
surroundings she had chosen. Heads
would have turned at a diplomatic
reception, a society cocktail
party, even a charity ball, but at
a chess tournament . . .

  I followed her every movement,
patronisingly unable to accept she
could be a player. She walked
slowly over to the club secretary's
table and signed in to prove me
wrong. She was handed a number to

                172
                 
             CHECKMATE

indicate her challenger for the
opening match. Anyone who had not
yet been allocated an opponent
waited to see if she would take her
place opposite their side of the
board.

  The player checked the number she
had been given and made her way
towards an elderly man who was
seated in the far corner of the
room, a former captain of the club
now past his best.

  As the club's new captain I had
been responsible for instigating
these round-robin matches. We meet
on the last Friday of the month in
a large club-like room on top of
the Mason's Arms in the High
Street. The landlord sees to it
that thirty tables are set out for
us and that food and drink are
readily available. Three or four
other clubs in the district send
half a dozen opponents to play a
couple of blitz games, giving us a
chance to face rivals we would not
normally play. The rules for the
matches are simple enough - one
minute on the clock is the maximum
allowed for each move, so a game
rarely lasts for more than an hour,
and if a pawn hasn't been captured
in thirty moves the game is auto-
matically declared a draw. A short
break for a drink between games,
paid for by the loser, ensures that
everyone has the chance to
challenge two opponents during the
evening.

  A thin man wearing half-moon
spectacles and a dark blue
three-piece suit made his way over
towards my board. We smiled and
shook hands. My guess would have
been a solicitor, but I was wrong
as he turned out to be an
accountant working for a stationery
supplier in Woking.

  I found it hard to concentrate on
my opponent's well-rehearsed Moscow
opening as my eyes kept

                173
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

leaving the board and wandering over
to the girl in the black dress. On
the one occasion our eyes did meet
she gave me an enigmatic smile, but
although I tried again I was unable
to elicit the same response a second
time. Despite being preoccupied I
still managed to defeat the
accountant, who seemed unaware that
there were several ways out of a
seven-pawn attack.

  At the half-time break three other
members of the club had offered her
a drink before I even reached the
bar. I knew I could not hope to play
my second match against the girl as
I would be expected to challenge one
of the visiting team captains. In
fact she ended up playing the
accountant.

  I defeated my new opponent in a
little over forty minutes and, as a
solicitous host, began to take an
interest in the other matches that
were still being played. I set out
on a circuitous route that ensured
I ended up at her table. I could see
that the accountant already had the
better of her and within moments of
my arrival she had lost both her
queen and the game.

  I introduced myself and found that
just shaking hands with her was a
sexual experience. Weaving our way
through the tables we strolled over
to the bar together. Her name, she
told me, was Amanda Curzon. I
ordered Amanda the glass of red wine
she requested and a half-pint of
beer for myself. I began by
commiserating with her over the
defeat.

"How did you get on against him?"
she asked.

  "Just managed to beat him," I
said. "But it was very close. How
did your first game with our old
captain turn out?"

                174
                 
             CHECKMATE

  "Stalemate," said Amanda. "But I
think he was just being courteous."

  "Last time I played him it ended
up in stalemate," I told her.

  She smiled. "Perhaps we ought to
have a game some time?"

  "I'll look forward to that," I
said, as she finished her drink.

  "Well, I must be off," she
announced suddenly. "Have to catch
the last train to Hounslow."

  "Allow me to drive you," I said
gallantly. "It's the least the host
captain can be expected to do."

"But surely it's miles out of your
way?"

  "Not at all," I lied, Hounslow
being about twenty minutes beyond
my flat. I gulped down the last
drop of my beer and helped Amanda
on with her coat. Before leaving I
thanked the landlord for the
efficient organisation of the
evening.

  We then strolled into the car
park. I opened the passenger door
of my Scirocco to allow Amanda to
climb in.

  "A slight improvement on London
Transport," she said as I slid into
my side of the car. I smiled and
headed out on the road northwards.
That black dress that I described
earlier goes even higher up the
legs when a girl sits back in a
Scirocco. It didn't seem to
embarrass her.

  "It's still very early," I
ventured after a few
inconsequential remarks about the
club evening. "Have you time to
drop in for a drink?"

  "It would have to be a quick
one," she replied, looking at her
watch. "I've a busy day ahead of me
tomorrow."

"Of course," I said, chatting on,
hoping she

                175
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

wouldn't notice a detour that could
hardly be described as on the way to
Hounslow.

"Do you work in town?" I asked.

  "Yes. I'm a receptionist for a
firm of estate agents in Berkeley
Square."

"I'm surprised you're not a model."

  "I used to be," she replied
without further explanation. She
seemed quite oblivious to the route
I was taking as she chatted on about
her holiday plans for Ibiza. Once we
had arrived at my place I parked the
car and led Amandathrough my front
gate and up to the flat. In the hall
I helped her off with her coat
before taking her through to the
front room.

"What would you like to drink?" I
asked.

  "I'll stick to wine, if you've a
bottle already open," she replied,
as she walked slowly round, taking
in the unusually tidy room. My
mother must have dropped by during
the morning, I thought gratefully.

  "It's only a bachelor pad," I
said, emphasising the word
"bachelor" before going into the
kitchen. To my relief I found there
was an unopened bottle of wine in
the larder. I joined Amanda with the
bottle and two glasses a few moments
later, to find her studying my chess
board and fingering the delicate
ivory pieces that were set out for
a game I was playing by post.

  "What a beautiful set," she
volunteered as I handed her a glass
of wine. "Where did you find it?"

  "Mexico," I told her, not
explaining that I had won it in a
tournament while on holiday there.
"I was only sorry we didn't have the
chance to have a game ourselves."

                176
                 
            CHECKMATE
-
  She checked her watch. "Time for a
quick one," she said, taking a seat
behind the little white pieces.

  I quickly took my place opposite
her. She smiled, picked up a white
and a black bishop and hid them
behind her back. Her dress became
even tighter and emphasised the
shape of her breasts. She then
placed both clenched fists in front
of me. I touched her right hand and
she turned it over and opened it to
reveal a white bishop.

  "Is there to be a wager of any
kind?" I asked lightheartedly. She
checked inside her evening bag.

"I only have a few pounds on me,"
she said.

"I'd be willing to play for lower
stakes."

"What do you have in mind?" she
asked.

"What can you offer?"

"What would you like?"

"Ten pounds if you win."

''And if I lose?"

"You take something off."

  I regretted the words the moment
I had said them and waited for her
to slap my face and leave but she
said simply, "There's not much harm
in that if we only play one game."

  I nodded my agreement and stared
down at the board.

  She wasn't a bad player - what the
pros call a patter- though her Roux
opening was somewhat orthodox. I
managed to make the game last twenty
minutes while sacrificing several
pieces without making it look too
obvious. When I said "Checkmate",
she kicked off both her shoes and
laughed.

  "Care for another drink?" I asked,
not feeling too hopeful. "After all,
it's not yet eleven."

                177
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

  "All right. Just a small one and
then I must be off."

  I went to the kitchen, returned a
moment later clutching the bottle,
and refilled her glass.

"I only wanted half a glass," she
said, frowning.

  "I was lucky to win," I said,
ignoring her remark, "after your
bishop captured my knight.
Extremely close-run thing."

"Perhaps," she replied.

"Care for another game?" I
ventured.

She hesitated.

"Double or quits?"

"What do you mean?"

"Twenty pounds or another garment?"

  "Neither of us is going to lose
much tonight, are we?"

  She pulled up her chair as I
turned the board round and we both
began to put the ivory pieces back
in place.

  The second game took a little
longer as I made a silly mistake
early on, castling on my queen's
side, and it took several moves to
recover. However, I still managed
to finish the game off in thirty
minutes and even found time to
refill Amanda's glass when she
wasn't looking.

  She smiled at me as she hitched
her dress up high enough to allow
me to see the tops of her
stockings. She undid the suspenders
and slowly peeled the stockings
offbefore dropping them on my side
ofthe table.

"I nearly beat you that time," she
said.

  "Almost," I replied. "Want another
chance to get even? Let's say fifty
pounds this time," I suggested,
trying to make the offer sound
magnanimous.

                178
                 
              CHECKMATE

  "The stakes are getting higher for
both of us," -she replied as she
reset the board. I began to wonder
what might be going through her
mind. Whatever it was, she foolishly
sacrificed both her rooks early on
and the game was over in a matter of
minutes.

  Once again she lifted her dress
but this time well above her waist.
My eyes were glued to her thighs as
she undid the black suspender belt
and held it high above my head
before letting it drop and join her
stockings on my side of the table.

  "Once I had lost the second rook,"
she said, "I was never in with a
chance."

  "I agree. It would therefore only
be fair to allow you one more
chance," I said, quickly re-setting
the board. "After all," I added,
"you could win one hundred pounds
this time." She smiled.

  "I really ought to be going home,"
she said as she moved her queen's
pawn two squares forward. She smiled
that enigmatic smile again as I
countered with my bishop's pawn.

  It was the best game she had
played all evening and her use of
the Warsaw gambit kept me at the
board for over thirty minutes. In
fact I damn nearly lost early on
because I found it hard to
concentrate properly on her defence
strategy. A couple of times Amanda
chuckled when she thought she had
got the better of me, but it became
obvious she had not seen Karpov play
the Sicilian defence and win from a
seemingly impossible position.

"Checkmate," I finally declared.

  "Damn," she said, and standing up
turned her back on me. "You'll have
to give me a hand." Trembling, I
leaned over and slowly pulled the
zip

                 179
                  
A TWIST IN THE TALE
                      _

down until it reached the small of
her back. Once again I wanted to
touch the smooth, creamy skin. She
swung round to face me, shrugged
gracefully and the dress fell to the
ground as if a statue were being
unveiled. She leaned forward and
brushed the side of my cheek with
her hand, which had much the same
effect as an electric shock. I
emptied the last of the bottle of
wine into her glass and left for the
kitchen with the excuse of needing
to refill my own. When I returned
she hadn't moved. A gauzy black bra
and pair of panties were now the
only garments that I still hoped to
see removed.

  "I don't suppose you'd play one
more game?" I asked, trying not to
sound desperate.

  "It's time you took me home," she
said with a giggle.

  I passed her another glass of
wine. "Just one more," I begged.
"But this time it must be for both
garments."

  She laughed. "Certainly not," she
said. "I couldn't afford to lose."

  "It would have to be the last
game," I agreed. "But two hundred
pounds this time and we play for
both garments." I waited, hoping the
size of the wager would tempt her.
"The odds must surely be on your
side. After all, you've nearly won
three times."

  She sipped her drink as if
considering the proposition. "All
right," she said. "One last fling."

  Neither of us voiced our feeling
as to what was certain to happen if
she lost.

  I could not stop myself trembling
as I set the board up once again. I
cleared my mind, hoping she hadn't
noticed that I had drunk only one
glass

                 1~
                  
             CHECKMATE

of wine all night. I was determined
to finish this one off quickly.

  I moved my queen's pawn one square
forward. She retaliated, pushing
her king's pawn up two squares. I
knew exactly what my next move
needed to be and because of it the
game only lasted eleven minutes.

  I have never been so
comprehensively beaten in my life.
Amanda was in a totally different
class to me. She anticipated my
every move and had gambits I had
never encountered or even read of
before.

  It was her turn to say
"Checkmate", which she delivered
with the same enigmatic smile as
before, adding, "You did say the
odds were on my side this timed'

  I lowered my head in disbelief.
When I looked up again, she had
already slipped that beautiful
black dress back on, and was
stuffing her stockings and
suspenders into her evening bag. A
moment later she put on her shoes.

  I took out my cheque book, filled
in the name "Amanda Curzon" and
added the figure "200", the date
and my signature. While I was doing
this she replaced the little ivory
pieces on the exact squares on
which they had been when she had
first entered the room.

  She bent over and kissed me gently
on the cheek. "Thank you," she said
as she placed the cheque in her
handbag. "We must play again some
time." I was still staring at the
re-set board in disbeliefwhen I
heard the front door close behind
her.

  "Wait a minute," I said, rushing
to the door. "How will you get
home?"

I was just in time to see her
running down the

                181
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

steps and towards the open door of
a BMW. She climbed in, allowing me
one more look at those long
tapering legs. She smiled as the
car door was closed behind her.

  The accountant strolled round to
the driver's side, got in, rewed
up the engine and drove the
champion home.

               1~12
                 
         Honout Among
            Thieves
               
HONOUR AMONG THIEVES

               THE
first occasion I met
Sefton Hamilton was
in late August last
year when my wife
and I were dining
with Henry and
Suzanne Kennedy at
their home in
Warwick Square.

  Hamilton was one
of those unfortunate
men who have
inherited immense
wealth but not a lot
more. He was able
quickly to convince
us that he had
little time to read
and no time to
attend the theatre
or opera. However,
this did not prevent
him from holding
opinions on every
subject from Shaw to
Pavarotti, from
Gorbachev to
Picasso. He remained
puzzled, for
instance, as to what
the unemployed had
to complain about
when their dole
packet was only just
less than what he
was currently paying
the labourers on his
estate. In any case,
they only spent it
on bingo and
drinking, he assured
us.

  Drinking brings me
to the other dinner
guest that night -
Freddie Barker, the
President of the
Wine Society, who
sat opposite my wife
and unlike Hamilton
hardly uttered a
word. Henry had
assured me over the
phone that Barker
had not only managed
to get the Society
back on to a proper

         185
          
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

financial footing but was also
acknowledged as a leading authority
on his subject. I looked forward to
picking up useful bits of inside
knowledge. Whenever Barker was
allowed to get a word in edgeways,
he showed enough knowledge of the
topic under discussion to convince
me that he would be fascinating if
only Hamilton would remain silent
long enough for him to speak.

  While our hostess produced as a
starter a spinach souffle that
melted in the mouth, Henry moved
round the table pouring each of us
a glass of wine.

  Barker sniffed his appreciatively.
"Appropriate in bicentennial year
that we should be drinking an
Australian Chablis of such fine
vintage. I feel sure their whites
will soon be making the French look
to their laurels."

  "Australian?" said Hamilton in
disbelief as he put down his glass.
"How could a nation of beerswiggers
begin to understand the first thing
about producing a half decent
wine?"

  "I think you'll find," began
Barker, "that the Australians -"

  "Bicentennial indeed," Hamilton
continued. "Let's face it, they're
only celebrating two hundred years
of parole." No one laughed except
Hamilton. "I'd still pack the rest
of our criminals off there, given
half a chance."

No one doubted him.

  Hamilton sipped the wine
tentatively, like a man who fears
he is about to be poisoned, then
began to explain why, in his
considered view, judges were far
too lenient with petty criminals. I
found myself concentrating more on
the food than the incessant flow of
my neighbour's views.

1~;

       HONOUR AMONG THIEVES

  I Sways enjoy Beef Wellington, and
Suzanne can produce a pastry that
doesn't flake when cut and meat
that's so tender that once one has
finished a first helping, Oliver
Twist comes to mind. It certainly
helped me to endure Hamilton's
pontificating. Barker managed to
pass an appreciative comment to
Henry on the quality of the claret
between Hamilton's opinions on the
chances of Paddy Ashdown reviving
the Liberal Party and the role of
Arthur Scargill in the trade union
movement, allowing no one the
chance to reply.

  "I don't allow my staff to belong
to any union," Hamilton declared,
gulping down his drink. "I run a
closed shop." He laughed once more
at his own joke and held his empty
glass high in the air as if it
would be filled by magic. In fact
it was filled by Henry with a
discretion that shamed Hamiltonnot
that he noticed. In the brief pause
that followed, my wife suggested
that perhaps the trade union
movement had been born out of a
response to a genuine social need.

  "Balderdash, madam," said
Hamilton. "With great respect, the
trade unions have been the single
most important factor in the
decline of Britain as we know it.
They've no interest in anybody but
themselves. You only have to look
at Ron Todd and the whole Ford
fiasco to understand that."

  Suzanne began to clear the plates
away and I noticed she took the
opportunity to nudge Henry, who
quickly changed the subject.

  Moments later a raspberry meringue
glazed with a thick sauce appeared.
It seemed a pity to cut such a
creation but Suzanne carefully
divided six generous helpings like
a nanny feeding her charges while

                187
                 
         A TWIST IN THE TALE

Henry uncorked a 1981 Sauternes.
Barker literally licked his lips in
anticipation.

  "And another thing," Hamilton was
saying. "The Prime Minister has got
far too many Wets in her Cabinet for
my liking."

  "With whom would you replace
them?" asked Barker innocently.

  Herod would have had little
trouble in convincing the list of
gentlemen Hamilton proffered that
the slaughter of the innocents was
merely an extension of the child
care programme.

  Once again I became more
interested in Suzanne's culinary
efforts, especially as she had
allowed me an indulgence: Cheddar
was to be served as the final
course. I knew the moment I tasted
it that it had been purchased from
the Alvis Brothers' farm in
Keynsham; we all have to be
knowledgeable about something, and
Cheddar is my speciality.

  To accompany the cheese, Henry
supplied a port. which was to be the
highlight of the evening. "Sandeman
1970," he said in an aside to Barker
as he poured the first drops into
the expert's glass.

  "Yes, of course," said Barker,
holding it to his nose. "I would
have known it anywhere. Typical
Sandeman warmth but with real body.
I hope you've laid some down,
Henry," he added. "You'll enjoy it
even more in your old age."

  "Think you're a bit of an
authority on wines, do you?" said
Hamilton, the first question he had
asked all evening.

"Not exactly," began Barker, "but I
-"

"You're all a bunch of humbugs, the
lot of you,"

                 1&8
                  
       HONOUR AMONG THIEVES

interrupted Hamilton. "You sniff
and you swirl, you taste and you
spit, then you spout a whole lot of
gobbledegook and expect us to
swallow it. Body and warmth be
damned. You can't take me in that
easily."

"No one was trying to," said Barker
with feeling.

  "You've been keen to put one over
on us all evening," replied
Hamilton, "with your 'Yes, of
course, I'd have known it anywhere'
routine. Come on, admit it."

"I didn't mean to suggest-" added
Barker.

"I'll prove it, if you like," said
Hamilton.

  The five of us stared at the
ungracious guest and, for the first
time that evening, I wondered what
could possibly be coming next.

  "I have heard it said," continued
Hamilton, "that Sefton Hall boasts
one of the finest wine cellars in
England. It was laid down by my
Other and his father before him,
though I confess I haven't found
the time to continue the
tradition." Barker nodded in
belief. "But my butler knows
exactly what I like. I therefore
invite you, sir, tojoin me for
lunch on the Saturday after next,
when I will produce four wines of
the finest vintage for your
consideration. And I offer you a
wager," he added, looking straight
at Barker. "Five hundred pounds to
fifty a bottle- tempting odds, I'm
sure you'll agree- that you will be
unable to name any one of them." He
stared belligerently at the distin-
guished President of the Wine
Society.

"The sum is so large that I could
not consider-"

  "Unwilling to take up the
challenge, eh, Barker? Then you
are, sir, a coward as well as a
humbug."

                lag
                 
          A TWIST IN THE TALE

  After the embarrassing pause that
followed, Barker replied, "As you wish,
sir. It appears I am left with no
choice but to accept your challenge."

  A satisfied grin appeared on the
other man's face. "You must come along
as a witness, Henry," he said, turning
to our host. "And why don't you bring
along that author johnny?" he added,
pointing at me. "Then he'll really have
something to write about for a change."

  From Hamilton's manner it was obvious
that the feelings of our wives were not
to be taken into consideration. Mary
gave me a wry smile.

  Henry looked anxiously towards me,
but I was quite content to be an
observer of this unfolding drama. I
nodded my assent.

  "Good," said Hamilton, rising from
his place, his napkin still tucked
under his collar. "I look forward to
seeing the three of you at Sefton Hall
on Saturday week. Shall we say twelve
thirty?" He bowed to Suzanne.

  "I won't be able to join you, I'm
afraid," she said, clearing up any
lingering doubt she might have been
included in the invitation. "I always
have lunch with my mother on
Saturdays."

  Hamilton waved a hand to signify that
it did not concern him one way or the
other.

  After the strange guest had left we
sat in silence for some moments before
Henry volunteered a statement. "I'm
sorry about all that," he began. "His
mother and my aunt are old friends and
she's asked me on several occasions to
have him over to dinner. It seems no
one else will."

  "Don't worry," said Barker
eventually. "I'll do my best not to let
you down. And in return for such

 -                 190

HONOUR AMONG THIEVES

.

excellent hospitality perhaps both
of you would be kind enough to leave
Saturday evening free? There is," he
explained, "an inn near Sefton Hall
I have wanted to visit for some
time: the Hamilton Arms. The food,
I'm assured, is more than adequate
but the wine list is . . ." he
hesitated, "considered by experts to
be exceptional."

  Henry and I both checked our
diaries and readily accepted his
invitation.

I thought a great deal about Sefton
Hamilton during the next ten days
and awaited our lunch with a mixture
of apprehension and anticipation. On
the Saturday morning Henry drove the
three of us down to Sefton Park and
we arrived a little after twelve
thirty. Actually we passed through
the massive wrought-iron gates at
twelve thirty precisely, but did not
reach the front door of the house
until twelve thirty-seven.

  The great oak door was opened
before we had a chance to knock by a
tall elegant man in a tail coat,
wing collar and black tie. He
informed us that he was Adams, the
butler. He then escorted us to the
morning room, where we were greeted
by a large log fire. Above it hung a
picture of a disapproving man who I
presumed was Sefton Hamilton's
grandfather. On the other walls was
a massive tapestry of the Battle of
Waterloo and an enormous oil of the
Crimean War. Antique furniture
littered the room and the one
sculpture on display was of a Greek
figure throwing a discus. Looking
around, I reflected that only the
telephone belonged to the present
century.

Sefton Hamilton entered the room as
a gale

                 191
                  
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

might hit an unhappy seaside town.
Immediately he stood with his back
to the fire, blocking any heat we
might have been appreciating,

  "Whisky!" he bellowed as Adams
appeared once again. "Barker?"

"Not for me," said Barker with a
thin smile.

  "Ah," said Hamilton. "Want to keep
your taste buds at their most
sensitive, eh?"

  Barker did not reply. Before we
went into lunch we learned that the
estate was seven thousand acres in
size and had some of the finest
shooting outside of Scotland. The
Hall had one hundred and twelve
rooms, one or two of which Hamilton
had not visited since he was a
child. The roof itself, he assured
us finally, was an acre and a half,
a statistic that will long remain
in my memory as it is the same size
as my garden.

  The 10ngcase clock in the corner
of the room struck one. "Time for
the contest to begin," declared
Hamilton, and marched out of the
room like a general who assumes his
troops will follow him without
question. We did, all the way down
thirty yards of corridor to the
dining room. The four of us then
took our places around a
seventeenth-century oak table that
could comfortably have seated
twenty.

  Adorning the centre of the table
were two Georgian decanters and two
unlabelled bottles. The first
bottle was filled with a clear
white wine, the first decanter with
a red, the second bottle with a
richer white and the second
decanter with a tawny red
substance. In front ofthe four
wines were four white cards. By
each lay a slim bundle of
fifty-pound notes.

                192
                 
       HONOUR AMONG THIEVES

  Hamilton took his place in the
large chair at the top of the table
while Barker and I sat opposite
each other in the centre, facing
the wine, leaving Henry to occupy
the final place at the far end of
the table.

  The butler stood one pace behind
his master's chair. He nodded and
four footmen appeared, bearing the
first course. A fish and prawn
terrine was placed in front of each
of us. Adams received a nod from
his master before he picked up the
first bottle and began to fill
Barker's glass. Barker waited for
the butler to go round the table
and fill the other three glasses
before he began his ritual.

  First he swirled the wine round
while at the same time studying it
carefully. Then he sniffed it. He
hesitated and a surprised look came
over his face. He took a sip.

  "Um," he said eventually. "I
confess, quite a challenge. " He
sniffed it again just to be sure.
Then he looked up and gave a smile
of satisfaction. Hamilton stared at
him, his mouth slightly open,
although he remained unusually
silent.

  Barker took one more sip.
"Montaguy Tete de Cuvee 1985," he
declared with the confidence of an
expert, "bottled by Louis Latour."
We al} looked towards Hamilton who,
in contrast, displayed an unhappy
frown.

  "You're right," said Hamilton. "It
was bottled by Latour. But that's
about as clever as telling us that
Heinz bottle tomato sauce. And as
my father died in 1984 I can assure
you, sir, you are mistaken." He
looked round at his butler to
confirm the statement. Adams's face
remained inscrutable. Barker turned
over the card. It read: "Chevalier
Montrachet Les Demorselles 1983".
He stared at

                193
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

the card, obviously unable to
believe his eyes.

  "One down and three to go,"
Hamilton dedared, oblivious to
Barker's reaction. The footmen
reappeared and took away the fish
plates, to replace them a few
moments later with lightly cooked
grouse. While its accompaniments
were being served Barker did not
speak. He just stared at the other
three decanters, not even hearing
his host inform Henry who his guests
were to be for the first shoot of
the season the following week. I
remember that the names corresponded
roughly with the ones Hamilton had
suggested for his ideal Cabinet.

  Barker nibbled at the grouse as he
waited for Adams to fill a glass
from the first decanter. He had not
finished his terrineafter the
opening failure, only taking the
occasional sip of water.

  "As Adams and I spent a
considerable part of our morning
selecting the wines for this little
challenge, let us hope you can do
better this time," said Hamilton,
unable to hide his satisfaction.
Barker once again began to swirl the
wine round. He seemed to take longer
this time, sniffing it several times
before putting his glass to his lips
and finally sipping from it.

  A smile of instant recognition
appeared on his face and he did not
hesitate. "Chateau la Louviere
1978."

  "This time you have the correct
year, sir, but you have insulted the
wine."

  Immediately Barker turned the card
over and read it out incredulously:
Chateau Lafite 1978. Even I knew
that to be one of the finest clarets
one might ever hope to taste. Barker
lapsed into a deep silence and
continued to nibble at his food.

                194
                 
       HONOUR AMONC THIEVES

Hamilton appeared to be enjoying
the wine almost as much as the
half-time score. "One hundred
pounds to me, nothing to the
President of the Wine Society," he
reminded us. Embarrassed, Henry and
I tried to keep the conversation
going until the third course had
been served - a lemon and lime
souffle which could not compare in
presentation or subtlety with any
of Suzanne's offerings.

  "Shall we move on to my third
challenge?" asked Hamilton crisply.

  Once again, Adams picked up a
decanter and began to pour the
wine. I was surprised to see that
he spilled a little as he filled
Barker's glass.

"Clumsy oaf," barked Hamilton.

  "I do apologise, sir," said Adams.
He removed the spilled drop from
the wooden table with a napkin. As
he did so he stared at Barker with
a desperate look that I felt sure
had nothing to do with the spilling
of the wine. However, he remained
mute as he continued to circle the
table.

  Once again Barker went through his
ritual, the swirling, the sniffing
and finally the tasting. This time
he took even longer. Hamilton
became impatient and drummed the
greet Jacobean table with his podgy
fingers.

"It's a Sauternes," began Barker.

  "Any half-wit could tell you
that," said Hamilton. "I want to
know the year and the vintage."

His guest hesitated.

"Chateau Guiraud 1976," he said
flatly.

  "At least you are consistent,"
said Hamilton. "You're always
wrong."

Barker flicked over the card.

"Chateau d'Yquem 1980," he said in
disbelief. It

                195
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

was a vintage that I had only seen
at the bottom of wine lists in
expensive restaurants and had never
had the privilege of tasting. It
puzzled me greatly that Barker
could have been wrong about the
Mona Lisa of wines.

  Barker quickly turned towards
Hamilton to protest and must have
seen Adams standing behind his
master, all six foot three of the
man trembling, at exactly the same
time I did. I wanted Hamilton to
leave the room so I could ask Adams
what was making him so fearful, but
the owner of Sefton Hall was now in
full cry.

  Meanwhile Barker gazed at the
butler for a moment more and,
sensing his discomfort, lowered his
eyes and contributed nothing else
to the conversation until the port
was poured some twenty minutes
later.

  "Your last chance to avoid
complete humiliation," said
Hamilton.

  A cheese board, displaying several
varieties, was brought round and
each guest selected his choiceI
stuck to a Cheddar that I could
have told Hamilton had not been
made in Somerset. Meanwhile the
port was poured by the butler, who
was now as white as a sheet. I
began to wonder if he was going to
faint, but somehow he managed to
fill all four glasses before
returning to stand a pace behind
his master's chair. Hamilton
noticed nothing untoward.

  Barker drank the port, not
bothering with any of his previous
preliminaries.

"Taylors," he began.

  "Agreed," said Hamilton. "But as
there are only three decent
suppliers of port in the world, the
year

                196
                 
        HONOUR AMONG THIEVES

can be all that matters - as you, in
your exalted position, must be well
aware, Mr Barker."

  Freddie nodded his agreement.
"Nineteen seventy-five," he said
firmly, then quickly flicked the
card over.

"Taylors 1927", I read upside-down.

  Once again Barker turned sharply
towards his host, who was rocking
with laughter. The butler stared
back at his master's guest with
haunted eyes. Barker hesitated only
for a moment before removing a
cheque book from his inside pocket.
He filled in the name "Sefton
Hamilton" and the figure of 200. He
signed it and wordlessly passed the
cheque along the table to his host.

  "That was only half the bargain,"
said Hamilton, enjoying every moment
of his triumph.

Barker rose, paused and said, "I am
a humbug."

"You are indeed, sir," said
Hamilton.

  After spending three of the most
unpleasant hours of my life, I
managed to escape with Henry and
Freddie Barker a little after four
o'clock. As Henry drove away from
Sefton Hall neither of us uttered a
word. Perhaps we both felt that
Barker should be allowed the first
comment.

  "I fear, gentlemen," he said
eventually, "I shall not be good
company for the next few hours, and
so I will, with your permission,
take a brisk walk and join you both
for dinner at the Hamilton Arms
around seven thirty. I have booked
a table for eight o'clock." Without
another word, Barker signalled that
Henry should bring the car to a halt
and we watched as he climbed out and
headed off clown a country lane.
Henry did not drive on until his
friend was well out of sight.

                 197
                  
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

  My sympathies were entirely with
Barker, although I remained puzzled
by the whole affair. How could the
President of the Wine Society make
such basic mistakes? After all, I
could read one page of Dickens and
know it wasn't Graham Greene.

  Like Dr Watson, I felt I required
a fuller explanation.

Barker found us sitting round the
fire in the private bar at the
Hamilton Arms a little after seven
thirty that night. Following his
exercise, he appeared in far better
spirits. He chatted about nothing
consequential and didn't once
mention what had taken place at
lunchtime.

  It must have been a few minutes
later, when I turned to check the
old clock above the door, that I
saw Hamilton's butler seated at the
bar in earnest conversation with
the innkeeper. I would have thought
nothing of it had I not noticed the
same terrified look that I had
witnessed earlier in the afternoon
as he pointed in our direction. The
innkeeper appeared equally anxious,
as if he had been found guilty of
serving half-measures by a customs
and excise officer.

  He picked up some menus and walked
over to our table.

  "We've no need for those," said
Barker. "Your reputation goes
before you. We are in your hands.
Whatever you suggest we will
happily consume."

  "Thank you, sir," he said and
passed our host the wine list.

  Barker studied the contents inside
the leatherbound covers for some
time before a large smile

                198
                 
       HONOUR AMONG THIEVES

appeared on his face. "I think you
had better select the wines as
well," he said, "as I have a
feeling you know the sort of thing
I would expect."

  "Of course, sir," said the
innkeeper as Freddie passed back
the wine list leaving me totally
mystified, remembering that this
was Barker's first visit to the
inn.

  The innkeeper left for the
kitchens while we chatted away and
didn't reappear for some fifteen
minutes.

  "Your table is ready, gentlemen,"
he said, and we followed him into
an adjoining dining room. There
were only a dozen tables but as
ours was the last to be filled
there was no doubting the inn's
popularity.

  The innkeeper had selected a light
supper of consomme, followed by
thin slices of duck, almost as if
he had known that we would be
unable to handle another heavy meal
aRer our lunch at the Hall.

  I was also surprised to find that
all the wines he had chosen were
served in decanters and I assumed
that the innkeeper must therefore
have selected the house wines. As
each was poured and consumed I
admit that, to my untutored palate,
they seemed far superior to those
which I had drunk at Sefton Hall
earlier that day. Barker certainly
seemed to linger over every
mouthful and on one occasion said
appreciatively, "This is the real
McCoy."

  At the end of the evening when our
table had been cleared we sat back
and enjoyed a magnificent port and
smoked cigars.

  It was at this point that Henry
mentioned Hamilton for the first
time.

                199
                 
        A TWIST IN THE TALE

  "Are you going to let us into the
mystery of what really happened at
lunch today?" he asked.

  "I'm still not altogether sure
myself," came back Barker's reply,
"but I am certain of one thing: Mr
Hamilton's father was a man who
knew his wines, while his son
doesn't."

  I would have pressed Barker
further on the subject if the
innkeeper had not arrived by his
side at that moment.

  "An excellent meal," Barker
declared. "And as for the wine -
quite exceptional."

  "You are kind, sir," said the
innkeeper, as he handed him the
bill.

  My curiosity got the better of me,
I'm sorry to admit, and I glanced
at the bottom of the slim strip of
paper. I couldn't believe my eyes -
the bill came to two hundred
pounds.

  To my surprise, Barker only
commented, "Very reasonable,
considering." He wrote out a cheque
and passed it over to the
innkeeper. "I have only tasted
Chateau d'Yquem 1980 once before
today;" he added, "and Taylors 1927
never."

  The innkeeper smiled. "I hope you
enjoyed them both, sir. I feel sure
you wouldn't have wanted to see
them wasted on a humbug."

Barker nodded his agreement.

  I watched as the innkeeper left
the dining room and returned to his
place behind the bar.

  He passed the cheque over to Adams
the butler, who studied it for a
moment, smiled and then tore it
into little pieces.

                200
                 
