BOOK 4: PREPARATION / CH. 24:BLACKWOOD CAMPING
WEDNESDAY 13TH DECEMBER 3PM
Matt and Bob knocked on the door of Charlie Wordsworth's house.
“Eh up, what's this a delegation?”
“Not really, Charlie.” Bob said, “I've been told to let you know that there's what I believe Mabel would call 'Ructions'.”
“I heard there'd been lots of coming and goings at her lawyers, what's she done now?”
“All my boss's fault, she decided to stir things up a bit.” Bob admitted.
Matt added “Mabel's now the happy owner of a house with no mortgage and various other things which it probably isn't my place to speak about, and I've got a new boss,” he nodded in Bob's direction.
“Since my boss is a bit of a soft-hearted young lady, Charlie, I've bought Matt along so he can tell you what's going to happen to the cabin's prices, and she's going to give you the opportunity to retire if you want to.”
“You mean, you can actually drop the price of those cabins in winter to get people in them, Matt?”
“Worse than that. I've got to try and get ninety percent occupancy.” Matt said with glee.
“Why not a hundred?” Charlie asked, curiously.
“That'd mean that I'm not charging enough and there's no time for maintenance.”
“Matt's going to a fully flexible price structure, within limits.”
“We're not going to have prices change every few hours, probably more like once a week, but if we're taking bookings faster than the graphic, the price goes up, if they're slow, the price goes down. I've got lots of data on how the cabins sell with a fixed price.”
“I bet. But people don't normally decide on the spur of the moment. They like to look and decide.”
“I know.” Matt agreed, “I've got data on that too. We'll let people hold the price for just enough time to decide, and if the price goes down half way through, we'll help them make their mind up to book with that hold by giving them a discount a bit below the current price. I was prepared, you know, just in case Mabel ever changed her mind.”
“Or sold up. OK. I get it. And let me guess, because you don't have the site rental now, you're going to be able to go low low low in a slack year.”
“Exactly. And our boss is relatively confident that if the impact happens then people are going think a bit more about value for money, and those cabins were costing more than some foreign holidays.”
“I know. Criminal isn't it, how you can get a week in the sun with jet-lag for less than you can stay at home? Someone must be really raking it in. That'd be your boss with her land rent, of course. I don't suppose she'd want to go flexible on that would she?”
“What, you'd volunteer to pay more in peak months so you can pay less if you're only half full?”
“Ah, probably not.” Charlie said.
“Didn't think so. You're pretty full most of the time anyone wants to camp, and you hardly pay anything this time of year.”
“Sad that, isn't it?” Charlie said with a grin.
“Probably depends on you point of view. I can't see tears on your face.” Matt said.
“And I was just looking at what you pay for the whole site, house included, compared to lease rents on the average building plot.” Bob added.
“Uh oh.” Charlie said. “But it's hardly fair that those cabins get all that lovely space between them and I have to crowd people on this little postage stamp, is it?”
Bob shaded his eyes looking for the edge of the campsite. “Pretty big postage stamp. I can't see the boundary. You've got as much land to put people on as the cabins, Charlie, and you cram them in at about three times the density, more, probably. Anyone can wander in the woods. And if you want to expand, all you need to do is ask, it's easy enough to move the fence posts.” Bob pointed out. “But like you said last year, it's already quite a long walk at night if you need to get to the toilet block.”
“Anyway,” Matt said, “our boss thought it might make more sense to put the two sites under the one roof, as it were, so if there is this slack five years like they're predicting, we cut the profit to the bone but no one actually goes broke.”
“Five years?” Charlie was surprised.
“I've got this report here, looks like it was written by some university professor of economics. Summary is five bad years if we're lucky. You're welcome to borrow it for bedtime reading. It's good — it put me right to sleep.” Bob offered.
“You can keep it, Bob. So, tell me, what's the offer?”
“Well, she started out saying book value for the buildings and everything plus last year's dividend for the whole kit and caboodle, or split the cost of getting professionally valued. That's the baseline of what she offered Mabel. Mabel got some other options because of the twins. Trouble is your house is wrapped up in the company, isn't it?”
“It is, and that's my home, Bob, it's where I was born, where my kids were born, and where I plan to be when I die.”
“I told her it was your home, Charlie. She said something like, 'Oh, that's harder' and gave me a free hand. So tell me, Charlie. What do you want?”
“Just like that?”
“I don't know. You ask too much, I say no or we haggle. I was thinking one option might be to get someone to value your house without the land it's on, and then take that off the price. You'd pay your winter land rent the whole year.”
“You're not interested in me buying the freehold then?”
“I looked at the land's value, Charlie. Stick that much cash in the bank and you'll get more interest than the land rent. Alternatively, I'll let you pay twenty year's worth of land rent and we'll say that covers it for your life. It's still less than what the free hold would cost you.”
“Really?”
“I'm not trying to cheat you. Check it out,” Bob said.
“I will.”
“There's another option,” Bob said.
“Say on.”
“You rent the house from us too. Index-linked guaranteed rate of course. It saves whoever's in my job the hassle of buying it back from whoever inherits it, and as I'm sure you're aware, it's in a wonderful spot for whoever's running the campsite.”
“That it is.”
“Which brings me to yet another random speculation... If you're not ready to retire quite yet, then if you sell up I know someone who'll need a guy who knows how to run a campsite, at least for a few years to train up a replacement.”
“And your boss would go for that?”
“She gave me a free hand. She said she'd be a bit grumpy with me if she didn't like the bottom line, and I'd rather that didn't happen.”
“Are you sweet on her or something?”
“No! We're just friends.”
“Oh aye. I've heard that before!”
“Charlie, I've known her since she was about six. I used to give her piggy back-rides round the garden when I worked with her Dad, all right? I'm a family friend, or I would be if her parent's hadn't been killed just after I came up here. And me coming here was at least partially her idea. I owe her big time, I'm very happily married, and so is she.”
“Sorry, Bob, no offence meant.”
“That's OK, Charlie, you didn't know. So, are you interested in any of this?”
“You're offering me a pile of cash, some certainty in an uncertain future, the chance to stay in my home 'till I die, and retirement whenever I like? Of course I'm a bit interested. But my son's said he was interested in taking over the business one day, and I don't think my daughter will stay in the city much longer. So I'll ask them, just in case.” Charlie lied, he hadn't heard from his children since their mother's funeral. “Is there an expiry date on the offer?” he added playing along.
“Well, by valuing the company with last years dividend, then the boss is being pretty generous: she's assuming you're thinking the asteroid will miss, and next year will be as good as this year was. Once that asteroid hits, then past performance doesn't mean much, and somewhere in the middle she knows you're going to get more certain. I think she's certain already, but she's making allowances. So, yes. There's a time limit to that number I said at the beginning — mid January. You realise she could have just waited until the hard times hit and then make an offer, but she doesn't want to be that sort of bully.”
“She ought to be, if she's going to get rich.” he said, thinking about what a difference his real dividend would make to the deal, as opposed to what he told the tax-man.
“She is rich. Carbon-carbon land management is worth about what I used to buy or sell in an average week.”
“What trade was that in?” He asked, genuinely curious.
“Gemstones. Diamonds mostly. It got too stressful for me, and since I was a friend they set up Carbon-carbon for me to feel useful in while I recovered.”
“And now you've got a debt to pay? I mean, morally?” Charlie asked.
“I certainly don't want to disappoint her. And if I play the ruthless so and so, then that would disappoint too.”
“Now, you know I've got to bring this up. What about cabins?”
“You'd cut down on your tent space, and under the present land rental it'd cost you dear, probably more than you get in terms of income, since the 'no campers' reduced rate wouldn't kick in. But OK. The boss would insist on a change of name. Two firms with almost the same name, both offering cabins? It's is going to confuse people.”
“A 'no' would have been shorter.”
“It's not a 'no', Charlie,” Bob said. “I'm just pointing out some facts.”
“Oh well. That land rental is the killer again isn't it? It just gets a bit boring in off-season, you know, nothing to do but make up the accounts. On the other hand, if I sell up, then there wouldn't be any land rent would there?”
“No,” Matt said, “And if we can convince Bob it's worth building the things, then I don't see why not. We'd point your old booking page to a combined one, offer the rustic cabins, the camping-site cabins and camping all on the same site. I'm guessing that the camping-site cabins wouldn't be en-suite, since you've got those toilet blocks, am I right?” Matt suggested.
“I was thinking so, but maybe plumbing a few in as premium ones would be worth the plumbing by the end of the first year.”
“Charlie, what was that about making up the accounts?” Bob asked.
“Well, I do my own accounts, don't I? The tax man doesn't demand they get audited, since I'm too small for that rubbish. So, I note down how many people I've had, and I keep receipts for things, of course.”
“But you're saying that there's a certain amount of guesswork in what your income is?”
“Well, I suppose so, yes. You know, I charge more for the last few plots, less for the first few. Nothing like a few tents to persuade other people they'll stay too.”
“And you don't don't actually keep a record of how much you charge who?”
“You must be joking! Have you seen how busy it gets in the summer? It all works out about right in the end.”
“Charlie, submitting false accounts is a serious crime.” Matt pointed out.
“They're not false! I know roughly the income from looking at my bank account, and the tax man can see that too. It just might not be correct down to the last few digits. Is your boss going to worry about a few digits of what dividend I pay myself?”
“In the grand scheme of things, no. But it certainly makes me worry about trusting the book value of your assets.”
“What does book value mean? I was going to ask. Assets is the buildings, right?”
“Bob, Charlie doesn't have audited accounts. Or even real accounts at all. He's got a cash flow summary.” Matt said.
“Yes, that's it. That's what the tax people want. Pretty girl explained it to me years and years ago, when I was setting up.”
“So Charlie, you don't actually know what the campsite is worth, do you?” Bob asked.
“Not as such. No. It must be worth quite a bit, I'd think. Is that a problem?”
Bob looked at Matt, who grinned and shrugged his shoulders.
“Charlie, you do know what your dividend is?”
“Not really. Is it the same as what I tell the tax man is my profit? That was a about forty thousand last year. Not bad for half a year's work.”
“I guess in your case it's the same figure. If you don't know what it's worth, then how do you know if I offered you, say, a quarter of a million for the lot, excluding your house of course, how would you know if I was conning you or not?”
“I don't know. Call in an estate agent? I'd probably talk to my mates down the pub too. Quarter of a million? Not bad, not bad at all. I think I might accept that, Bob, especially if it went up!”
“OK don't take that quarter of a million very seriously, I just picked it out of my head. I haven't even counted your buildings. You talk to an estate agent and get me something sensible on paper, and I'll talk to some colleagues too, if that's all right with you, just so we get a second opinion.”
“Charlie?” Matt asked, “Do you get people booking in advance, or do they just turn up?”
“Mostly it's turn up trade. I get a lot of regular customers — come every year.”
“And you just charge what you think people will pay?”
“I've got a price list up in the office. I do give people a discount sometimes, and add a bit more if we're really full — peak season surcharge I call it — it's mentioned on the price list. That's what makes the accounts tricky.”
“I'm sure it does, Charlie. I'll talk to my colleagues, and see you soon.” Bob said, shaking his head in wonder.
“Charlie, can I have a look at that price list?” Matt asked.
“Sure. I'll get you the old one, it'll need replacing.” he went into the office.
“I thought we could estimate the turnover with that.” Matt whispered to Bob.
“Good idea.” Bob whispered back.
“Here you are.” Charlie said.
“This is great Charlie, and basically you're full with these prices for the whole season?”
“Pretty much. A lot of experience in that price list. It'd be a trade secret if I didn't have to display it to all the guests.”
“It's amazing what people will pay for a patch of ground in a pretty place, isn't it?” Bob commented, looking at the summer rates.
“Some people like to camp, I guess.”
“I know. Every year Henry catches some setting up camp in the wood, and sends a few people down to you, tells them if they want to camp there's a site down here.” Matt said.
“Aye. I know. And they tell me Henry sent them and expect a discount.”
“Do they get one?”
“Often enough. I reckon that if I don't they're going to sneak back into the woods, and that's not exactly hygienic, is it?”
“No. Thanks for that Charlie.” Bob said “I wasn't aware of that. Maybe if we take you over then we'd allow it in certain areas, for a fee of course, and put some facilities in at strategic points.”
“Now, that'd be very popular amongst the walkers, I assure you.” Charlie observed.
“I can imagine.” Matt agreed.
“Well have a lovely afternoon, gentlemen. I think I've got to talk to an estate agent about a valuation.”
“'Bye Charlie.” Matt said.
“Goodbye.”
After they'd got back to the Carbon-carbon office, Bob said “Tell me your thoughts, Matt.”
“I think he's got no idea what he's sitting on, and I'm not surprised that he grouches about the land rental if he's only getting forty thousand at the end of the year.”
“I expect that he's only counting cash in that. I mean, I've seen him eating stock from the camp shop. But yes, it's a pretty low rate of return, isn't it. Makes me feel a bit guilty that he's got all the risk, made all the investment, and is getting such a lousy return on it.”
Five minutes later, after Matt had entered some more numbers in the spreadsheet he'd made from the price list, he said “This doesn't make any sense, Bob.”
“Oh?”
“Well, I had to make some guesses of course, but unless I don't have the site rental right or he's spending masses on site maintenance, I can't come up with anything as low as forty thousand.”
“Show me.” Bob demanded.
“OK, he's got a hundred and fifty pitches, right? And based on the figures on his price list, then making some guesses on occupancy and how much he's discounting, this equation ought to give the income side of the turnover.”
“The maths looks about right, Yes.” Bob agreed.
“So his turnover ought to be well over half a million. Which is a problem right from the start, since that's when the tax authorities want to see full accounts.” Matt pointed out.
“So, unless he's discounting far more heavily than he lets on, he's on the fiddle somewhere?”
“I think he has to be.”
“Any other odd numbers?”
“Yes. The site rental's the same formula as for the cabins, right? Fixed price plus occupied amount?”
“Yes, but he's got a 'no activity' clause too. When there's no one on the site for a month then he only pays a tenth. Per-pitch he's paying a third of what your cabins were.”
“Lucky guy. Does this number look right to you?”
“They're low.... you left out April. Yes, that's that he's paying.”
“So, his site rental is under a third of his turn-over. Even if my guesses are badly wrong, where's the rest going?” Matt asked, amazed.
“Look at this map on the price list, Matt. There's 'side A' and 'side B'. Want to bet that he used to split the income with his wife to keep it under the taxable limit?”
“And now he's probably carrying on with that, or giving it to his kids.” Matt speculated.
“Lucky kids. He didn't actually say he was going to sell did he?” Bob said.
“No. Led us on a bit, sounded interested. I bet the answer's no.”
“Charlie's got a bit of a reputation for generosity, hasn't he? Often buying the rounds at the pub, you know.”
“Even forty thousand's twice my salary. He can afford to be generous,” Matt pointed out “And I've heard rumours of a mistress, too.”
“Maybe she's getting a share of the turnover too.” Bob speculated. “No wonder he's interested in the cabins; he started asking after his wife died, you know. They'd have let him put income into building and maintaining them, and he'd have to pay some more site rental, which is pretty trivial compared to the missing turnover, but it would give him a motive for saying 'Hey, Mr tax-man, I've got a bigger business than I used to have.' and start submitting proper accounts without raising too much suspicion.”
“You might be right. Or he might just be greedy.”
“So, what do we do?”
“Right now, all we've got is a lot of speculation, confusion, and guess-work. I'd say, if he goes for the deal then we can submit honest accounts and if the tax authorities are surprised we can say so were we and leave it at that. We don't need to get an old man thrown in jail just when he starts going honest.”
Matt pondered: “Hmmm. As long as he is starting to go honest. You pretty much offered him the job, and I'm not sure I'd want to trust him with any money.”
“Good point. And if he says no, then we'd need to say something, or we'd be accessories.”
“Aren't we going to be accessories after the fact anyway, if we don't say something?” Matt pointed out.
Bob said “I'm going to make a call to a lawyer. There's always another option entirely, you know.”
“What's that?” Matt asked.
“That he fed us even more lies than we thought, as some sort of integrity test, and he has really been submitting proper accounts.”
“You know, that's the most hopeful thing I've heard since I got to the office.”
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“So, Frank, there you have it. Either he's an inveterate liar about everything, or he was telling the truth about no accounts and he's a tax-dodger.”
“Or somehow there's two businesses working the campsite, and he just operates it as one.” Frank said.
“Possible, but a violation of the rental agreement. I'm sorry, Frank. I should have been more on the ball.”
“Bob, there's no way this is your fault. The whole thing stinks, but the landlord doesn't have a duty to check the client's accounts. He paid his rent on time, I presume.”
“Regular as clockwork.”
“Would you consider him a friend?”
“Not especially.”
“And he's not a client. You have a duty under law to report what you know. You don't have a duty to tell him what you're going to do, but on the other hand, if you give him a few hours to turn himself in, then it'll probably feel less like stabbing him in the back. Alternatively you could do it anonymously, but he'll be pretty sure who it was, I expect.”
“I expect so. You think that just a few hours is enough notice?”
“Plenty. It doesn't take long to confess to the tax authorities. Their investigation afterwoods takes a long time, of course. I don't need to tell you not to purchase the company, do I?”
“Not at all?” Bob asked.
“Unless there's an aquittal. If he's failed to submit proper accounts then he gets fined and or jailed as administrator, but the tax bill goes to the company. If you purchase, then any liability would fall on Carbon-carbon.”
“Oh good grief. I hadn't thought of that. I'd be giving him money so I can pay the back-taxes.”
“Whereas, what we should be doing, assuming he's guilty, the money's gone and the company is insolvent is repossessing the lease.”
“His house is on the land.”
“Well, that will make life more interesting. He might be able to stay on in the house. But that's for another day, Bob. Make the call to the tax authorities today. You don't have a choice, but you can wait until the evening if you like.”
“Thank you for the advice, Frank.”
“Instructions, mainly.”
“Yes. I need them.”
“I've got another one for you, actually. Get Matt to warn him, after all, he found the problem, and you don't need the stress of an abusive reaction. You should probably be the one to alert the authorities though, based on his bringing it to you.”
“If you say so, Frank.”
“I do. Do that with Christine around. I know her presence helps you.”
“How do you know that?”
“You've told me enough times, remember.”
“Fair enough. Bye Frank.”
“Bye, Bob. Oh. Before I go. If you think he might suicide, then don't warn him at all, just call the authorities.”
Bob turned to Matt “I was almost a prize idiot. If we buy the company we buy its debts to the tax office. If he's been siphoning off money ever since we bought the lease off the previous owners, or even before, then that could be more than the company's worth.”
“Ouch. So one of us needs to report him.”
“I'll do that. This evening, based on you bringing me your calculations, which I trust you'll send me at going home time. Right now, since you've done the calculations, I'd like you ask him what he thinks he's playing at. No don't do that, it leads to arguments and excuses. Just tell him what you've worked out, and that you've got a duty to tell me, and then I've got a duty to pass it on to the tax-man, today. Call him I think, that way you don't get punched.”
“You think he might turn violent?”
“I don't know if he's going to turn violent, suicidal or what. If you think he turn suicidal, then I call the tax authorities immediately. One of the reasons they react fast, is because they're used to that response.”
“I don't know him well enough to guess that.” Matt said.
“Me neither.”
“Henry might. They're drinking buddies.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“But on the other hand, Henry might warn him.” Bob pointed out.
“He was adamant he wanted stay in that house, wasn't he?”
“Yes, quite.”
“I'd rather be called names for backstabbing than having his death on my conscience.” Matt decided.
“Good thought. I'll make that call.”
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Charlie Wordsworth looked at the blank space on his office wall. The realisation of what he'd just done struck him. “You shouldn't have done that, Charlie.” He said to himself. “You shouldn't have told them you don't have accounts, you certainly shouldn't have told them you tell tax man that the dividend's only forty thousand, and you should have said 'that's my trade secret, gentlemen. I'll give you the prices when we have a deal.' They had no idea what people pay for staying here, and you told them, didn't you Charlie. You should have just told them you weren't interested, but instead you told them the last part of the secret. They already know the rest. Well, maybe they're gullible. Maybe they'll buy my little pig in a poke. I doubt it though. Imagine, Bob a diamond dealer. That must have meant buying raw and selling cut. He'll know business. And he didn't say he never played dirty, just that it would upset the boss. He's going to work out my turnover, he needs to, so he can work out the bottom line for the little girl. Forty thousand! What a silly amount. You could hardly buy the guys a drink with forty thousand, let alone play the horses. A man needs his little pleasures. You can't sell up, Charlie, they'd try to make an honest man out of you. Ha! Next thing you know you'll be singing in church. Bob guessed a quarter of a million for this place! Pah! You've kissed away that much on one day at the races before now, Charlie. They'll probably offer you a salary of ten thousand a year, like Henry gets.”
He thought about his choices. He could call himself in. Maybe they'd be lenient, maybe not send him to jail, but he'd lose everything. He could wait and see what happened. But he was fairly sure they wouldn't fail to be good little boy scouts. Choices, choices. No gun, so there was tablets, knife, or gas. Or rope of course. Maybe rope was best.
“Well, children, if you'd ever thought of giving your dad a call on his birthday, it's too late now.” he addressed the ten year old picture of his kids. “Gone your separate ways, not interested one bit in the family firm. Of course, maybe you would have been if I hadn't told you it was all trouble and no gain, Eh? If I hadn't lied to everyone about only ever spending ten or twenty on a race. Ten or twenty thousand, that what gets the blood going! Sometimes I even won. Half a million once. Half a million in pretty notes. That went back on the horses though. Finding out about that killed you mother. Now I guess it's my time.”
He decided to write a note. “To whoever finds my body, Please pass on to my kids I lied to them: this place was a gold mine, if only the money didn't go on the horses. Sorry if it makes you sad, but I'm an unrepentant gambler. Tried to kick the habit a few times, but failed. Sorry about your legacy. Tell the tax men: This place made me about four hundred thousand a year profit, in today's money, for the last thirty-five years, and you never once cottoned on! Suckers.”
He turned on the screen to watch one last horse race.
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“Yes, that's right, Blackwood camping. My colleague and I were floating the idea to the owner-operator that we as lease-holder would be interested in buying him out. He didn't commit himself at all, but he told us us he's reporting about forty thousand dividend, which seemed very low compared to the value of the site. We of course know what his site rent is, and that incorporates a component of occupancy rates. He's got a hundred and fifty plots that he manages to fill to about ninety percent capacity for seven months of the year. I can send a copy of his price list, but with some guesses about what discount he might offer that works out to a turnover of well over half a million, more in the six hundred thousand plus area.”
“So you strongly believe that he's under-reporting?”
“I know what the site rental is, sir, it's not even a third of that amount. He further admitted to us that he doesn't keep up to date accounts, or even proper records of income. Perhaps it is an elaborate joke, but the price-list came off his office wall, and he had no knowledge that we'd visit.”
“So, you're not sure of the actual prices charged, but you have what you believe to be an actual list, and you know his site rental. Would there be any maintenance or other costs?”
“He has a number of washing areas and toilet blocks. From the look of them they last had some painting done some years ago, they looked a bit tired to me, at least externally. I cannot imagine the maintenance bill is more than ten thousand, which leaves approximately four hundred thousand per annum unaccounted for. The site has been in continuous operation for decades, and the occupancy levels he's reporting to us are quite consistent. He says he gets a lot of repeat custom.”
“Could you describe the site rental?”
“Yes, There's a flat fee per camping pitch, and an occupied fee which is double the flat fee. He'd have no motive to over-report. The structure is one that we've inherited from the previous lease holder, and we saw no reason to alter it, except in line with inflation. Oh, there is a concessionary clause that when he has no occupied pitches at all, then the flat fee is reduced to a peppercorn rent.”
“Thank you sir. To your knowledge, has he been informed of your intention to make this call?”
“No. He is obviously aware of the information he's given us, and our intention to seek to obtain a realistic valuation of his company. I think it would be natural to attempt to estimate the company turn-over as part of that. Oh, I forgot to say. His family home is on the site and is part of the company property. He seemed quite adamant that he had no desire to move away. We discussed options for him should he sell.”
“His family?”
“Wife is dead, children moved away. He said they were still in contact and thinking of moving back, but it sounded like a lie to me.”
“Thank you very much sir. We'll take it from here.”
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Charlie saw that he'd just missed a race, the big one of the day was coming up. By habit he checked which horses were racing. No, that was crazy. This was Rumpletop's distance, what was he doing at those odds? Crazy odds, odds that sounded like he'd fall at the first corner. But he'd won here last year at that distance. OK, he'd been off his form a bit lately. Charlie remembered that when he'd been at the track he'd overheard Rumpletop's trainer whispering to a jockey 'save him for the big one'. He hadn't made the connection, but for Rumpletop this was the big one. It was irresistable, really. Long odds on a horse that ought to be favourite. And why not go out this way, eh? One last gamble. He looked at his other account, the one where most of the camper's money went, and which went to the races with him. Sadly low. Then he had a thought, and looked at his official bank account. It was pleasantly full. So it should be really, it was supposed to keep him in whiskey and beer and maybe even some food until the start of the season and beyond. But he wasn't going to be around to drink that, so why not? One last go, why not blow the whole lot? He broke the golden rule, the one his dad had taught him when he'd got him addicted to the horses. Never link the two accounts. Put stuff in the one or in the other, never transfer. Didn't matter now, did it? He emptied his account into the other one. All except forty. Just for luck. Then he put the whole lot on Rumpletop. If he won, then maybe he'd even have enough to talk to the taxman about. That'd be worth living for. See their faces when he admitted to thirty five years of cheating them and would they like some of his winnings. That'd be a gamble too, but with that much, repentance might even mean he'd keep the house and the campsite. Yeah. He could live with that.
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There was a well rehearsed programme of events that Bob's call set into process. The first, least complex as far as the tax authorities were concerned, was to dispatch police to detain the suspect. The police knew the routine, too. It didn't happen very often, but when that code came through you didn't finish your donuts. Get there too late and you might be detaining a corpse. The next, which was considerably more resource intensive, was to trace bank accounts. What accounts did the person have? And close relatives, and dead relatives, which were unaccountably still active. What accounts paid into or extracted money from those accounts? Quickly the AI saw a pattern. A set of people had paid money to Charlie Wordsworth's account during the summer. Many of them showed up in previous years. He had spent the money in all sorts of different ways, as you might expect for a normal bank account, and the amount coming in agreed with the tax summary that had been submitted. At least closely enough to not be worth fussing over. Allowable mistake margin, they called it. With the authority of the tax department's investigation department the AI then looked at all of these other accounts. They all matched the criteria for a normal account. Of course they'd made payments into other accounts. A list of these accounts was created, and patterns were compared. There were comonalities. Unsurprisingly they'd paid into shops. In the week or two preceding the payment into Mr Wordsworth's account they'd paid into shops and restaurants linked to the New Blackwood area. There was a strong correlation between payment into Mr Wordsworth's account and the length of stay in the New Blackwood area. The pattern was observed by the AI. In other years, they'd also displayed a matching behaviour, without the payment into Wordsworth's account. Payments that would represent the cost of the holiday were sought. many went to other legitimate sites, easily explained. But many of these missing payments, with the same correlation between length of stay and amount had gone to another account, not linked to any other establishment. They also showed amounts with a remarkable year-on-year correspondence to the amounts going into to Wordsworth's account. Processing continued. There were no other accounts which displayed this pattern. The AI reached its first concludion. Wordsworth was operating a second account. It processed this second account. Many more deposits were made into this account than the main account. The total corresponded to the missing four hundred thousand per annum. The expenses from this account were of a particularly unusual pattern. The account was paying to only five different accounts. Four were gambling establishments, a fifth was a much smaller amount, paid at monthly intervals to an account owned individually, by a woman. The computer flagged the link between accounts as for possible future investigation.
Time for one of those slow humans to make a decision. All but a few of the AI's circuits were deprived of work to do, and so closed down to power saving mode. The computer displayed the results on the relevant terminal.
“Thank you very much sir.” the operator was just saying “We'll take it from here.”
He closed the connection and scanned the result. Yes, that woman was worth investigating. He brought up her file. Oh dear. He called his supervisor over.
“This account, sir, has a ninety-nine percent correlation with a report I've just received. It's being used as an undeclared corporate account to avoid declaring an income to the tune of roughly four hundred and ten thousand per annum. Police are on the way. The funds are going on gambling, it would seem sir. High risk horse racing, by the looks of it. All except regular payments of five hundred a month into the account of this person here.”
“How long for?”
“Thirty five years, sir, since when the account was first opened.”
“Forward the details to Internal Auditing. Not your problem to investigate further.”
“I understand sir.”
He turned back to the main case, and saw two new transactions. He called the en-route policemen. “Hello. We've got a new development on the case. The suspect is clearly guilty. He's a high stakes gambler, very careful to keep his two lives separate, except just now. He's taken all his money from his normal account, moved it to the hidden one and placed a bet with it. My guess is we're talking about a final fling of the dice, or whatever the right term is for betting on horses.”
“When was this?”
“Last minute.”
“Where was the transaction initiated?”
“Perpetrator's home.”
“We're probably OK then, we're two minutes from the destination, horse races normally last longer than that.”
They ran to the house, and saw through the window they saw that a noose had been prepared, it was hanging from the stair's banisters, in plain sight through the window. They tried the front door. It wasn't locked, there was the sound of shouting from a side room.
“Come on, Rumpeltop! Come on! Yes! Yes! YES! A WINNERRR! I've won! I've won!”
“Mr Charlie Wandsworth, I'm placing you under arrest for tax evasion and embezzlement.”
“I've won!”
“I'm sure that the tax authorities will be pleased to collect your winnings for you, sir. I see you've also prepared a confession. How very considerate of you. If you'd come this way, sir.”
“I've won! All my money at seventy five to one, and I've won!”
“Very good sir, now, if you'd get into the car? We'll just take down your noose, we don't want to scare any visitors you have, do we sir?”
“I've lost, haven't I?” Charlie said, his mind catching up with recent events.
“I expect so, sir,” the policeman said, “but where there's life there's hope, they say.”
Charlie was silent, reliving the excitement of his last bet in a long time, before it faded.
----------------------------------------
WEDNESDAY 13TH DECEMBER 7PM
“Bob did you know you saved a life today?” Christine said.
“Saved one? I thought I'd ruined one.” Bob said.
“They found him with a noose all ready for after the horse-race.”
“I won't pretend to have any idea how you found that out.”
“I used my super-human abilities and read the front page of the New Blackwood gazette, Bob.”
“I hope it doesn't say we shopped him.”
“It said 'Anonymous tip-off saves local businessman. Charlie Wordswith, troubled owner-operator of Blackweed camping was sawed by the timely intervention of local police after they'd received an anonymous tip off that he might be considering soupicide as his tax affairs were under investigation. Police express their tanks for the tip off and say that the self-confessed compulsive gamboler had prepared a noose and was preparing to kill himself after the end of the house race he was watching.' Shall I read on? The spelling is really atrocious. They must have been in a real hurry.”
“A 'house' race, eh?”
“Yes. I like 'soupicide'.”
“I wonder who gave the tip off.”
“It was probably the tax authorities. Later on it says something about him emptying his account to bet on the horse race.”
“Why are the press reporting on this? Don't they normally wait until the case has gone to court.”
“He admitted everything, apparently. Court hadn't closed, and so he pleaded guilty, said that he'd been getting roughly two thirds of the customers to pay into a separate account. He said that he realised that he'd given two honest men a piece of paper that was enough to convict him, and had realised the game was up, hence the noose. He also stated in court that as a final gamble, (or gambol as in a lamb, as the paper spelt it) he'd put everything he had on a real outsider. The horse won, just before his arrest. He hopes his winnings will be sufficient to pay the tax he owes to the authorities. The court has ordered that all his assets be frozen, pending the final decision on his tax bill, and penalty charges and interest, and since he did have a noose prepared, he's not in no way eligible for bail until the court has decided if he's due for prison or not.”
“I guess we won't be buying the company then. At least not now.”
“I don't think so. But that was the second half of the afternoon. I know what this morning's meeting was like, but what about the start of the afternoon? You were going to go up with one of the ATV's from the cabins, weren't you?”
“Yes. I did. It works. We went up one of the paths, I met a group of guests out for a walk, and we went to the ridge. It's still beautiful, and I want an excuse to take you up there some time.”
“Why do you need an excuse?”
“Because it's a long walk.”
“You're not working on Saturday, are you?”
“No.”
“So let's go and see this beautiful view.”
“I thought you had plans?”
“I've changed them. I'm going to spend lots of quality and quantity time with my husband.”
“That's nice. Then tournament on Sunday?”
“Yes, that'll be fun. Now come on, you got to the ridge, then what?”
“Using the photo Mabel gave us, we were able to work out the old route. The edge of the ridge isn't too steep, so we went down. I had the limits of Carbon-Carbon's land on my wrist unit, and we didn't get anywhere near them. The pond is on the obvious route, but there are other options. We could have come into the back of the campsite, for instance, but even more interesting is that we could get to that wedge of land beside the station. Now that gives me a very interesting future plan.”
“Go on, tell me.”
“Well, imagine we do one day build a ski-lift or a cable car. Where better to end it than next to the station, eh? We can tell people 'you can catch a train to the town and then choose to either be driven to your cabin by ATV, or catch a ski-lift to the peak and ski down.' What do you think?”
“I think it may not work with boxes of food like they have to bring.”
“That's true. However, I was thinking about that. If we're going to have a full compliment of guests at the cabins, then it might make it worth it to do a bread and tins delivery.”
“Not sure. I mean, advertising the cabins as back to basics, escape the trappings of city life, and then offering fresh bread daily? It seems a bit incongruous.”
“I know, but I wonder if the lack of fresh bread would put some people off. Oh, I didn't say, we gave one of the walkers a lift on the ATV. She was very thankful. Her boots had started disintegrating — great big chunks of the sole had been falling off. We took her to the boot shop, then Henry was going to take her back to the cabin. And you know what, she knew about the new ownership!”
“How on Earth?”
“She knows Sarah, would you believe it? Several of them from that group do.”
“I hope you invited them round.”
“I did, she said they'd got a few more walks they wanted to do, and they're leaving tomorrow, so probably not, but they'll discuss it.”
“I don't envy her breaking in new boots on the last day of her holiday.”
“Me neither, but on the other hand, the rate her old ones were self-destructing, she'd have been barefoot by the end of today.”
“Nasty.”
“Yes. We need to get a list of local shops and services for all of the cabins. It hadn't even occurred to her there might be a boot shop in the town. She was thinking she'd need to order some. One of the others looked like she'd come early for the tournament at the weekend. Fully belted member of the royal court of the fifth kingdom, armed and dangerous, assassin trained.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And unless I misremember my runes she's got real-world authority too. My guess is Security.”
“Always useful to have around if things get out of hand. But she's not going to be at the tournament?”
“She said they were thinking about it as a separate trip. Her boyfriend's a reenacter too. He was a bit surprised I recognised the assassin's mark.”
“Did you tell her how you did?”
“I just smiled enigmaticly. She got the point immediately.”
“Not literally, I hope.”
“No. I don't go to work armed and dangerous. I'm not sure it's wise to pull a knife on a guest outside the tourney ground anyway. Especially not with her bodyguard around.”
“You think so?”
“I'm going to see if I recognise any of them next time the royal family are on the screen.”
“You think they're all Security then?”
He ticked the points off on his fingers. “Henry told me later they'd said were civil servants, who worked weekends a lot. The broken boots looked almost army issue, but more suitable for running. They were all ridiculously fit, and when we met them they were paying a lot of attention to the ruined hut that's up there.”
“Not amateur historians?” Christine asked.
“From my assassin training, I'd say they were considering its potential use as an ambush site. Henry agreed with me, and passed on something else, which got me thinking.”
“Go on.”
“Don't pass it on, but Sarah said something about planning to make the cabins fit for royalty. She explained it away, saying that she didn't want her face broadcast by the cameras to any journalist in the area, and that she'd also she'd have a cousin coming up to the cabins for her honeymoon, who will have had some celebrities at her wedding. What do we know about Sarah's cousins?”
“Nothing on her Dad's side, that's fairly certain. His big sister never had any, and he never spoke of any.”
“No. Were you at their wedding?”
“Me? No. I wasn't even in the company then. Hold on. The dress? You're thinking the dress, aren't you?”
“I'm thinking that a cousin on Sarah's mother's side might well be allowed to borrow her mum's wedding dress. In which case, no wonder she wants the stoves safe, the cameras secure, and she's wondering how quickly she can install her dad's security AI into a cabin or two.”
“Is she?”
“Well, she pointed out that at the moment it's in the path of an asteroid, so it's got to move somewhere.”
“And Sarah's got security clearance herself and an unmentionable workplace?”
“It seemed like she could have told me, but if she did I couldn't tell you. What sort of place is that?”
“One where reporting about who works there is forbidden, of course love.” Christine said.
“Oh? You think so?”
“Well, we can ask her about it all when she gets here, can't we?”
“We can. Thinking about unreportable places... I guess we ought to not think about who may or may not be visiting in public, should we?” Bob thought.
“No. So, let's change to a new subject: babies.”
“Are small, often cute, and often noisy. Next subject?”
“Bob. We decided that we wouldn't have any until you were better. That was a long time ago, and I'd sort of given up hope.”
“I'm sorry, love.”
“But, in my expert opinion you're better. You've got your spark back, and it's a bit later than ideal but not too late. Can we try?”
Bob looked at his beloved wife's eyes, brimming with hope. “Of course we can, love.”
“Good.”
----------------------------------------
8.00PM
“How are the new boots?” Bella asked Pris.
“A bit stiff, but no blisters so far, not even any tender spots.”
“That's good.”
“And the new manager seems a good guy.” Pris said
“Yes, even if he is yet another reenactor.”
“Who recognised Eliza's secret mark.”
“Probably because he wears one too.” Bella said.
“You think so?”
“When you were getting your boots examined and I was leaning on the ATV, he was pondering what we were doing in the cabin. He decided we were checking it as an ambush site, like he'd been trained to do as a pretend assassin, and given your old boots look light-weight but military quality, we're probably Security.”
“You didn't say anything.”
“Probably isn't certainly.” Bella pointed out.
“No. But he knows Sarah's going to replace the cameras, and that we know Sarah.”
“And he and his wife knew Sarah's parents and probably saw wedding pictures.”
“Maybe we should have accepted their invitation then.” Pris said.
“Invitation?”
“He said any friend of Sarah's is a friend of his, and invited us to visit.”
“Not really time, is there?” Bella said.
“That's what I said. Unless we alter one of the walks tomorrow to go over the ridge and down to the town, roughly speaking way we went on the ATV. He did suggest it. Actually, he suggested that if we were feeling brave we could try going down on some sledges.”
“Wow. That'd be quite some run.” Bella said.
“And it is, just possibly, the sort of thing that our friends might feel they want to do.”
“It is. They're young and foolish and full of hormones like us.”
“Speak for yourself.” Pris said.
“Oh? You're not?”
“We've done a lot of talking. But I don't know. I really don't know.”
“Is this just nervous, or uncovered incompatibilities?”
“Probably just nervous.”
“Well see how safe he can make you feel on a sledge then.”
“Should we discuss it with the others?”
“I suppose so. How are your muscles?"
“They're fine, and no, I don't want another sparring match. One bloody nose a week is plenty, thanks.”
“I'm really really sorry about your nose, Pris.”
“I know, you've said it before. I guess the regrown tissue is still ultra fragile.”
“I hope I haven't caused any permanent problems.”
“I doubt it. It feels fine, and Dirk was very kind.”
“Pris, I know you say you're having doubts, but I don't think he is.”
“I don't think he is either. But it's too early, and he is younger than me.”
“Don't forget the impact effect!” Bella said.
“I'm not. I'm trying to overrule it with some logic.”
“Fair enough, that's your choice. Up you get then, let's see if we can convince the others they want to go sledging. Where do we get the sledges?”
“Call the ever-helpful Henry tomorrow morning.”
“He's got a stock?” Bella asked.
“Not yet. Bob said that he wasn't sure there'd be any demand. But there's plenty on sale in the town.”
“And then we'd have to go down to reception to get them?”
“No, Henry'll bring them up, and take us up to the top if we like.”
“Luxury! Travel without walking!” Bella exclaimed.
“Really? How?” Eliza asked.
“We've been offered some sledges to go down the slope to the town, lunch at the new director's house, since we're Sarah's friends, and then a lift back up here, or to reception if we feel the need to walk off our lunch.” Pris reported. “Bella thought that we ought to try it, just in case our friends took up a similar offer.”
“Sarah being our previously anonymous benefactress on the camera front and the new owner of these cabins.” Bella added.
“And obviously much better off than I thought.” Eliza said.
“So, do we accept?” Bella asked. “Bob and his wife, Christine, were friends and colleagues of Sarah's parents. They probably saw the dress Sarah's mother wore, at least in pictures. We should probably assume they know the history of it.”
Trevor was confused “Excuse me for being thick, what does Sarah's mother's dress have to do with anything?”
“Sarah is one of the cousins. Hence her motivation to help out.”
“Oh. So Bob and Christine have knowledge to link our friends to Sarah.”
“And they're smart enough to put two and two together, especially since Bob saw us working out if that ruin would be a good sniper site.” Eliza said.
“How do you know he'd think of that?” Dirk asked.
“Because he's a reenactor, and recognised my little assassin badge with ease. I expect he has one too. And really, we were being so obvious.” Eliza said.
“That's my fault,” Nigel said, “I thought they were going up another trail.”
“So, do we accept?” Bella asked “Someone on site needs to know at some point, so that relevant precautions can be set up.”
“Yes, but that was supposed to be closer to the event.” Nigel said.
“We're only a month away as it is.”
“How do we know Bob and Christine are trustworthy?” Dirk asked.
“I've just initiated a security check. All OK so far” Pris said.
“Sarah trusts them, Sarah's dad trusted them.” Bella said.
“And we trust Sarah's opinion?” Nigel asked.
“We trust Sarah.” Bella said. “More to the point, their Majesties and Maria trust Sarah.”
“And how trusting is Sarah?” Nigel asked.
Bella frowned “Possibly overly. Point taken.”
“Oooh!” Pris said. “Christine used to be cleared. Level four gamma, civilian role.”
“Used to be?”
“Moved jobs. Poached by Sarah's dad, in fact. New message from Maria. 'Bob used to trade and courier diamonds for Sarah's dad, and also used to do some deliveries for Security. Past clearance level two beta, both easily reactivated, upgrading of Christine's in progress. Go and talk to them. Let them know why. When's not going to hold any surprises.'”
“Well, it's not our decision then.” Bella said “I guess we're going sledging.”
“We don't need to use the sledges.” Pris pointed out.
“But we might as well, it'd save time and be fun.” Dirk countered.
“I agree.” Eliza said.
“Me too.”
“All right, I resign myself to plunging down a slope on a few pieces of wood and metal. But no one going down on their stomachs and head first, please!”
“I was assuming we'd be going down feet forwards, in pairs.” Bella said.
“Pris, I know what pairings the others are going to pick, and I'm happy with that. Are you?” Dirk asked.
“I thought you would be. Yes, I'm fine. I'll tell Bob that he's got six extra for lunch, and we'd like three two-person sledges.” she said, and headed for the bedroom.
“Do we do that last walk, to the other side of the site and up to the peak then?” Trevor asked. “It'd be a lot of walking for just the morning.”
“If Henry can meet us on the ridge with the sledges, I think we can do it.”
Bella said. “That was the offer.”
“All this personalised service!” Eliza said “I don't feel so cut off from the world all of a sudden.”
“It seemed like a long way from the station, but that's only because we had to go round the ridge.” Trevor pointed out. “I can see why Bob thinks it has potential as something of an occasional ski centre. There's already most of the infrastructure. It probably would have been developed centuries ago if it had more snow. OK, ten to fifteen centimetres of snow like we've got now isn't going to please everyone, but I think skiing or sledging as an optional extra for a walking holiday, it's great.”
“With the maglev station here, and the hypersonic transit so close, he'd probably get day-trippers, wouldn't he?” Dirk said.
“Probably. It's not very cheap, but on the other hand it's so lovely here.” She stretched expansively, just 'happening' to end up with an arm round Nigel's waist. “I could get used to saying here.”
Pris came back. “Is that a job application, Eliza?”
“Pardon?” Eliza asked, surprised.
“I was just thinking, when our friends come up, and I see no reason at all why they shouldn't. Anyone else?” there were shakes of heads “Right, so Nigel, Bella and colleagues need to decide how many people to put where — I'm presuming that means a neighbouring cabin or two, and a few extra cameras watching the approaches certainly wouldn't come amiss. That sort of thing will probably need someone to come up a few days earlier, possibly a full week.”
“That's a job for someone in liaison, surely?” Eliza asked.
“Hence my question, youngster. Come and discuss it?”
“But I thought...” Dirk started to say, but clamped his mouth shut.
----------------------------------------
“I'm urm, honoured, I think that you'd think I'm up for the job, but I thought I'd applied to be courier?”
“You did. What do you know about being a courier, Eliza?”
“You need to be good with people, you travel a lot. Both of those appeal.”
“Do you know how much you travel?”
“Urm, not really.”
“Basically, you should expect two flights a day, if you're going somewhere easy. If not, then you might need to add some days for internal transfers t. If it's really uncivilised, expect to be doing a lot of smelling people's armpits on public transport. You get rest time wherever you are when you're due for a rest day. As a variety, sometimes you get seconded to an office, where you're expected to fit in, or you might get sent ahead of someone to find out everything so that you can give them a briefing on the way from the airport. In the entire time, you're trying to be entirely unnoticeable and easily forgotten. It also plays havoc with any social life you might have. You are allowed to nominate a place or person you'd like to work with by preference. Since I seemed to click with Maria's daughter, I nominated them. In your case, they might allow you to deliver messages for palace briefings, for example, which would maybe let you steal an occasional kiss, but a palace visit is hardly ever a long one for a courier. I'd say half an hour is the longest I've ever been there in that role.
"So, what I'm asking first of all is would you like to know more, or would you like to reconsider your application.”
Eliza's face had been slowly progressing from surprise, to shock and then growing horror. “I don't really think I want that job, Pris.”
“That's good. I'm planning to submit an assessment which says given what I've observed of your personality and your clear commitment to individuals, you would be very ill-advised to proceed further with that application.”
“Thank you. Should I sign it too, or write 'sorry that application was a stupid mistake' separately?”
“No need. I'll just add that we've talked it over and you wholeheartedly agree.”
“Thank you Pris. What did you mean, clear commitment to individuals? That I'm in love with Nigel?”
“No. More like the way it's pretty clear from some of what you've said that you see life as moving from between one group of friends to another, and you don't seem to ever lose contact with them.”
“I guess you're right.”
“I mean, you swapped net-IDs with that little girl, promising to meet up if you came back this way. That's wonderful, but I think you mean to keep that promise, and as a courier, you wouldn't be able to promise that.
"I'm guessing that sort of thing would put you in something like a constant state of mourning.”
“How do you know me so well?”
“Practice. One thing you get practice at in this job is reading people quickly. So, you're too active for analysis, too people centred to be courier. I could imagine you on fieldwork if you weren't so flamboyant, but I've got the feeling that everyone you meet remembers you at least a decade. Even then, that's not necessarily a problem, as long as they don't ever suspect you. If they do, you won't be able to go back. That also suggests that you staying in witness protection isn't a great idea. So, where do we put you? You're not totally wasted in protection, I can see you being a good supervisor once you can't move, but not much before then. Any thoughts?”
“I need to resign?” Eliza asked, feeling gloomy at this list of jobs she wasn't really fit for.
“Don't you dare! What haven't I mentioned? Your chance. Tell what's good and bad about them?”
“Royal protection? Good point, I'd be near Nigel. Bad point, Nigel would be near me.”
“Expand on why that's a bad point.”
“Male hormones. If we're both on duty at the same time he might be distracted.”
“Face it, Eliza, you might be too.” Pris pointed out with a grin.
“OK. Yes.”
“Next?”
“Liaison. I think that's low profile too, though, sometimes.”
“But not all the time.”
“So it's possible?”
“Yes.”
“Diplomatic work. You know, Ambassadorial support? I'd need to learn a lot though. Bad point — long way from Nigel.”
“Very good. But you could solve that by him leaving R.P. and joining you, either on Ambassadorial protection or a similar support role. I tend to think protection.”
“Recruitment? I think it might be possible, but I'm going to end up missing people too much.”
“You could be good in it. Certainly on the making a memorable impression, but if you think it'll be too tough on you it probably will be. Training might be better — you'd meet less people, more chance of staying in touch.”
“But unless I'm martial arts, it's a bit static for me. Any other ideas?”
“Yes. Totally not my place to discuss it with you, though, not without Maria answering my last message.”
“Something I'm not going to guess then?”
“I doubt it.”
“Can you tell me anything about it?”
“I think it fits you fairly well, and I'm not saying more.”
“Where does that leave me?”
“Thinking of getting back to Nigel and telling him not to worry, you're not going to be a courier.”
“He knew it was possible?”
“Yes. It probably filled his heart with dread, assuming he has any imagination. Which he must, considering your joint hobby.”
“Pris, if you don't mind me asking... that kiss you gave Nigel.”
“Surprised me.”
“Was there anything behind it? I mean, was it meant to say 'hey Nigel, I exist too?'”
“It wasn't a conscious thing at all, but I had been feeling a bit along those lines earlier in the day. Mostly it was thanks and relief and nothing more. I'd been really really shocked when Henry recognised me and it didn't occur to me or Bella that he'd have a guest list. I saw the look you all gave me in response, too.”
“What did it look like?”
“In no particular order: Bella and Trevor, 'where did that come from?' Dirk was definitely kicked puppy; Nigel's face said, 'I'm in trouble now.' and your look, Eliza was the purest look of 'how would you like to die?' that I've ever seen. So that certainly helped me make a decision.”
“You mean you didn't want to die?”
“Not really. I decided that while I was mildly interested in Nigel, I obviously wasn't as interested as you. Which is why I was very miffed with the boys about the arm wrestling. I thought I'd give you some time to calm down. I also was half expecting you not to accept my hug after you'd prayed.”
“I was surprised myself. Evidence of the new, changed, me. And then you spent a lot of time talking to my big brother.”
“Yes. Mostly about that kiss, and about you, I'm afraid.”
“About me?”
“Yes. I was curious about all sorts of things. Your belt for example. He said it was a bit like geek code. And then he needed to explain what geek code was.”
“Well, I guess it started that way. Very useful though.”
“What's wrong with just talking to people? You're not socially inept.”
“You've seen my latest bit of embroidery?”
“You've drawn something like a nose. Nigel's emblem?”
“Yes. Those few stitches mean that no one, at least no one who reads the code, is going to ask me out, unless they're drunk or an idiot. When I came back after fixing my atheist symbol I also put a tiny little dot there. It meant that I was hopeful. I didn't need the embarrassment of asking Nigel what he really thought about me. It wasn't as shocking as that kiss, but it actually communicated more clearly. If he was interested, then he could look, and since he was the only one around who could understand the code, it was enough of a clue for him. He probably wouldn't have noticed it if he wasn't a bit curious, and he certainly didn't need to responded to it if he wasn't. He noticed it as we were arm-wrestling. But yes, there are a lot of socially inept people who do reenacting, or people who are at least a bit too shy to ask without some encouragement.”
“And if there's no encouragement, then they know not to ask?”
“Well if there's nothing there, then it means you're available. There's other symbols you can put to say don't bother asking.”
“Complicated way of encouraging the boys.”
“Oh, it's not just women who wear them. Of course, it'll probably be a better idea if I embroider my own symbol on Nigel's belt. He's not very good, and my symbol's a bit complex.”
“I don't see you wearing one.”
“Yes you do, you just thought it was fancy embroidery on my dress.” she pointed out the pattern.
“That's your symbol?”
“It is.”
“I see what you mean.”
“Pris, can I ask? Dirk?”
“I'm not sure. That's the truth. I'm not sure. You know, that kiss. That was because I was realising how much being a courier is part of who I am, or at least, it's been my life so far and I'm not sure I'm ready to give it up. But on the other hand, I was moaning to Bella that it'd be nice to not be single my whole life. And I can't have both.”
“So, if you weren't hoping to get back to being a courier?”
“Then, so far, Dirk's the only applicant.”
“What, ever?”
“I've never had a second date; once guys heard I'm a courier, they lost interest. Since I've been a Christian, no one suitable's even asked before this week.”
“So, Dirk is Christian, just, knows you're a courier, and I don't think he has lost interest.”
“No... So he's unusual, but then, I'm not a courier at the moment am I?”
“It sounds like you need to decide what's most important to you.”
“Yes. Actually, I've realised that what I really need is some sensible advice about what I am if I'm not a courier, or if I'm going to stay one until I die.”
“I don't think I'm really qualified to help there.”
“Probably not, sorry.”
“Do you know who is?” Eliza asked.
“I'm not sure I do.” Pris admitted, feeling depressed once more.
“I think I know someone — God. Shall we pray?”
“Eliza, you're wonderful! Yes please.”