proposition.’ Clearly, this was a disingenuous representation of the previous evening’s sequence of events. I had entered the licensed premises because I was gasping for a drink. Hickey only mentioned his proposition as I was leaving.
‘A business proposition, did Mr Hickey say?’
‘Yes.’
Tocka tocka . ‘See what he wants.’
‘Well, it’s obvious. He wants to make money.’
‘And what is so wrong with that?’
He had me there. You could say that M. Deauville brought Hickey and me together. Yes, I think it would be fair to say that.
*
Hickey was back that afternoon, tugging on the bell pull on the front door and not pushing the buzzer by the tradesman’s entrance. I looked out the window and saw his truck parked below on the gravel.
The tails of the setters thumped the floor in welcome when I appeared downstairs, then they remembered themselves and angled worried eyes at Father, who was standing at the window looking out at Hickey’s truck. I had hoped that the castle might be large enough that we should not have to rub up against each other in this fashion. ‘Do you know that . . . ?’ Father groped for a suitable word as he contemplated the hairy spectacle of Hickey. ‘ Character ,’ he eventually managed.
‘Yes.’
‘Kindly go out and inform him that we’ve nothing left to steal.’
Hickey had already cased the joint in the time it took me to get down to him. ‘Gutters need replacing,’ he pointed out. ‘Chimley’s bollixed. Rotten windows. State a them slanty walls. An here, have you seen this?’ The cracks under the sills. ‘Subsidence.’ He sucked air through his teeth. ‘You’re talking big money there, big money.’
I opened the passenger door of his truck and got in. ‘I believe you have something to show me, yes?’
Hickey drove as a dog might, with some part of his anatomy – his elbow or sometimes his head – shoved out the window. The apple on the dashboard rolled to my side when he swung a right onto Harbour Road. ‘See that?’ He indicated a chipper facing the marina. ‘Built that in ’04. Do you remember what was there before?’
Nope, I admitted, I didn’t.
‘That’s because there was nothing there!’
‘Gosh.’ You would think he had invented matter. I never met a man with a higher opinion of his abilities.
The tour-guide commentary persisted up the hill as my attention was drawn to this converted shopfront and that new townhouse. ‘Small fry,’ he protested with false modesty, as if such an assortment of odd jobs could be interpreted as anything other than small fry, but then, I suppose they were big fry to a man like Hickey. ‘Wait’ll you see what I’m up to next, Tristram.’ He flashed me a wolfish smile.
At the church in the village where the road forked, Hickey blessed himself and took a right, speaking with great animation about his next project. A posh old pile, he said over the engine, which was struggling with the gradient. The apple toppled off the dashboard. I caught it and placed it in the handbrake well. He dropped down to second gear, and then first, telling me he hoped to get it off the owner at a fair price. It had been vacant for some years now and was a bit the worse for wear. Not in the same state as the castle, obviously. I mean, it wasn’t totally banjaxed. Huge gardens though, he added, nodding to himself. A good eight acres at least, though he hadn’t had the land surveyed since the property hadn’t come to the market yet. The zoning in the area was one dwelling per eighth of an acre, so he estimated he’d get permission for a small luxury development on the eastern boundary. Large family dwellings, five bedrooms, a jacks for each arse sort of thing. Retain the mature trees, obviously, or a few of them at least. Mature trees sold a development. Pain in the hole building around them but there it is.
Windgate Road still retained the leafy air of a country lane. A country lane punctuated by ten-foot-high electronic
‘A business proposition, did Mr Hickey say?’
‘Yes.’
Tocka tocka . ‘See what he wants.’
‘Well, it’s obvious. He wants to make money.’
‘And what is so wrong with that?’
He had me there. You could say that M. Deauville brought Hickey and me together. Yes, I think it would be fair to say that.
*
Hickey was back that afternoon, tugging on the bell pull on the front door and not pushing the buzzer by the tradesman’s entrance. I looked out the window and saw his truck parked below on the gravel.
The tails of the setters thumped the floor in welcome when I appeared downstairs, then they remembered themselves and angled worried eyes at Father, who was standing at the window looking out at Hickey’s truck. I had hoped that the castle might be large enough that we should not have to rub up against each other in this fashion. ‘Do you know that . . . ?’ Father groped for a suitable word as he contemplated the hairy spectacle of Hickey. ‘ Character ,’ he eventually managed.
‘Yes.’
‘Kindly go out and inform him that we’ve nothing left to steal.’
Hickey had already cased the joint in the time it took me to get down to him. ‘Gutters need replacing,’ he pointed out. ‘Chimley’s bollixed. Rotten windows. State a them slanty walls. An here, have you seen this?’ The cracks under the sills. ‘Subsidence.’ He sucked air through his teeth. ‘You’re talking big money there, big money.’
I opened the passenger door of his truck and got in. ‘I believe you have something to show me, yes?’
Hickey drove as a dog might, with some part of his anatomy – his elbow or sometimes his head – shoved out the window. The apple on the dashboard rolled to my side when he swung a right onto Harbour Road. ‘See that?’ He indicated a chipper facing the marina. ‘Built that in ’04. Do you remember what was there before?’
Nope, I admitted, I didn’t.
‘That’s because there was nothing there!’
‘Gosh.’ You would think he had invented matter. I never met a man with a higher opinion of his abilities.
The tour-guide commentary persisted up the hill as my attention was drawn to this converted shopfront and that new townhouse. ‘Small fry,’ he protested with false modesty, as if such an assortment of odd jobs could be interpreted as anything other than small fry, but then, I suppose they were big fry to a man like Hickey. ‘Wait’ll you see what I’m up to next, Tristram.’ He flashed me a wolfish smile.
At the church in the village where the road forked, Hickey blessed himself and took a right, speaking with great animation about his next project. A posh old pile, he said over the engine, which was struggling with the gradient. The apple toppled off the dashboard. I caught it and placed it in the handbrake well. He dropped down to second gear, and then first, telling me he hoped to get it off the owner at a fair price. It had been vacant for some years now and was a bit the worse for wear. Not in the same state as the castle, obviously. I mean, it wasn’t totally banjaxed. Huge gardens though, he added, nodding to himself. A good eight acres at least, though he hadn’t had the land surveyed since the property hadn’t come to the market yet. The zoning in the area was one dwelling per eighth of an acre, so he estimated he’d get permission for a small luxury development on the eastern boundary. Large family dwellings, five bedrooms, a jacks for each arse sort of thing. Retain the mature trees, obviously, or a few of them at least. Mature trees sold a development. Pain in the hole building around them but there it is.
Windgate Road still retained the leafy air of a country lane. A country lane punctuated by ten-foot-high electronic
Similar Books
The Old Contemptibles
Martha Grimes
Rogue of the High Seas
Cynthia Breeding
Provoking the Dom
Alicia Roberts
Mind Switch
Lorne L. Bentley
Vicious Carousel
Tymber Dalton
Charmed
Koko Brown
Change of Heart
Fran Shaff
Abbot's Passion
Stephen Wheeler
Noah
Justine Elvira
The Shadow Girl
Jennifer Archer