Conspiracy of War (Slaughter of the Innocents)

By John Gardner

Geoffrey Bolting, a dysfunctional librarian in his fifties, has, much to his surprise, finally become a successful writer. Netflix loved his very unconventional view of the cause of The Great Fire of London and bought his book, Conspiracy of Fire, and have commissioned him to turn it into a six part television series. But he’s unhappy with the idea of fame and struggling to stay in the same dimension as everyone else while the lovely Hettie helps and supports him. The death of his agent followed swiftly by the death of his mother, who had always been his beacon, sends Geoffrey perilously close to the edge.
His next book about WW1, Conspiracy of War (Slaughter of the Innocents), examines the real causes of WW1, causes that bear no resemblance to anything written in the history books. Netflix wants it and it looks set to follow the path of Conspiracy of Fire. However life, that capricious beast, is not finished with Geoffrey. The images of his research take their toll of a man already detached from reality and pitches him over the edge of sanity into a world of different dimensions and nightmares.
After his second suicide attempt he is admitted to a private mental clinic where he struggles to find the man he used to be. The man he wants to be but it is a long and very painful journey, not least for Hettie who is thinking that it's maybe time to call a halt. However, Geoffrey wants his life back. He wants Hettie and builds his mental lifeboat that takes him back to reality. To fame, fortune and a life with the gorgeous Hettie.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Gardner
• Release date: Nov 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005397326

John Gardner

Writing is a passion, as are photography and music, they have defined much of my life.

Book preview

Copyright John Gardner 2020

This edition 2022

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

John Gardner reserves the moral right to be identified as the author of this Work.

Acknowledgements

No book is just the product of the writer’s imagination. There are editors, proof readers, artists and friends involved in the process, all of whom help writers do a better job. In my case I had Stewart Preston my life-long pal cast his experienced, critical eye over the manuscript to find my blunders, plot holes and silly bits. My wife Kate caught the typos and grammatical errors. Thanks to both for slogging through the manuscript and its revisions

Other books published by John Gardner:

The Money Virus

I, The Accused

The Conversation

Geoffrey Bolting - Conspiracy of Fire

Why 64 million Frenchmen are wrong!

The Lefirt Diaries (Diary One)

Stress -The Profit Killer

Open Your Eyes

Pleasure Mounds

The Lord, The Manor and The Murders

Bed Time Stories

The Bizznis

Be Happy

Shorties

Geoffrey Bolting, a dysfunctional librarian in his fifties, has, much to his surprise, become a successful writer. Netflix loved his very unconventional view of history and bought his book, Conspiracy of Fire. But he’s unhappy with the idea of fame and struggling to stay in the same dimension as everyone else while the lovely Hettie helps and supports him. But is it time to call a halt? Will his latest book, Conspiracy of War (Slaughter of the Innocents) send him permanently to a private mental clinic or will it be another smash hit and set him free? But will the lovely Hettie wait for him…?

Table of contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 1

Hettie walked through the front door of her home, which had become their home, in time to hear the single and very intense expletive, 'Fuck!' She closed the front door and was walking to what had become Geoffrey's workroom when a small paperback book hurtled past the open door at head height en route to introduce itself to the wall.

'Jesus H fucking Christ!' was the next exasperated thing she heard as she dropped her bag on the hall table and shrugged her coat off.

‘Christ, it’s freezing out there!’ she said hanging her coat up before sticking her head round the door of Geoffrey's room.

'Geoffrey?'

'Dross, fucking dross!' he yelled.

'Bad day love?' It was only then that Geoffrey became aware of her.

'Oh, hello.'

'Hello.’ She walked to him and kissed him at his desk. ‘You look like an Eskimo.’ He was dressed in a thick sweater, a scarf and a hat. ‘Why don’t you turn the heat up?’ she said walking into the hall to check the thermostat. ‘Christ Geoffrey no wonder it’s cold! Why didn’t you turn the heat up?’ She adjusted the thermostat and went back into his room.

‘Em… it wasn’t cold.’

‘You’re dressed like an Eskimo!’

‘Oh, okay.’

‘Are you alright?' she said looking around as if expecting to see a husky lurking in a corner of the room.

'What?'

'Alright? Are you alright?'

'Of course I'm not bloody alright! Look,' he said getting up from behind his desk to pick up the book he had hurled across the room. 'Look, look at this dross!' He thrust the small Pelican paperback into her hands. 'Look!' he said stabbing at a place on the page. 'See that... read it - out loud.'

'Em…,' she cleared her throat, 'the participation of Britain in the World War -'

'One, World War One,' Geoffrey interjected.

'Uh-hu,' she nodded.

'Go on, go on.' He signalled with his hands for her to continue.

'Eh… viewed in its longest perspective, was the inevitable consequence -'

'Inevitable? Inevitable! Says who?'

'Geoffrey do you want me to read this or not?'

'Yes, yes... go on.'

'Was the inevitable consequence of her –'

'Britain's,' he interjected. 'Britain's superiority although historians nearly always write her or England's superiority as if Scotland, Ireland and Wales magically ceased to exist!'

'Ah.'

'Go on, go on,' he encouraged.

'Emm... her world-wide supremacy, both economic and naval, during the mid-Victorian era.' She paused to look at him as he nodded and waved his hands around. 'So?'

'So? Dear God woman this is all bollocks! It's what every bloody historian writes. War was inevitable. No it bloody wasn't! They are denying all the rest of history with this claptrap! This isn't history,’ he said prodding the book, ‘this is manufactured nonsense written by people who want us to believe their fairy tales so we don't seek the truth! As Napoleon said, History is the version of past events that people have decided to agree upon. Exactly! And listen to this,' he said snatching the book from her hand. He flipped through the pages then read aloud, 'It would be excessively innocent and naïve to be scandalized by the comparatively few examples of violent attempts to crush the extension of democracy in the mid nineteenth century. Excessively Naive! Is this man totally bonkers?' he said waving the book at Hettie. 'Men, women and children living in squalor, treated as nothing more than slaves and being murdered by the forces of law and order. Naive? Upper middle-class twat!'

Hettie took the book back before Geoffrey threw it at the wall and flipped to the inside front page. 'Geoffrey this was written nearly seventy years ago.'

'I know! That's the point. It is the very same claptrap taught in schools today! No one, and I do mean no one, has taken that dross off the shelves! And,' he said with great emphasis, 'who has written the history of the poor wretches caught up in the unholy scramble for trade, for money and all of it driven by greed? Who has written their history? People barely educated, trapped in a system that was designed to produce slaves to serve the money machine. Go on tell me. Who has written their history, you're a librarian?'

'Geoffrey,' said Hettie calmly, 'I've just gotten in.' He snatched the book from her hands. 'Time for a glass of wine I think,' she said as she turned to head for the kitchen. She paused to look at the piles of screwed up paper scattered all over the floor.

He looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights. 'What?' She pointed to the floor. 'Oh yes right, right. Sorry.' He moved to her and kissed her warmly. 'Sorry Hettie, just … oh God just bloody dross! I'll clean it up. It's... it's just been a bad day.'

'Yep.' She went into the kitchen and hauled the fridge door open to retrieve a bottle of nicely chilled white Rioja. Geoffrey followed her like a dog on a leash. She handed him the bottle and a corkscrew. 'Here, make yourself useful.'

He pulled the cork and filled two glasses and was about to speak when she silenced him.

'Geoffrey, it has been a long and tiring day. Madge Robinson was having one of her PMT days – again. Third time this month.' He nodded as he handed her a glass of wine. 'You are not alone on the planet.'

'No, no of course not it's just so bloody frustrating.'

'I know petal but you'll get through it.'

Geoffrey took a large slug of wine, dropped his shoulders and sat on a barstool. 'Is that old trout still swinging the lead?' Hettie nodded an, oh yeah! Geoffrey nodded back and took another swig of his wine. 'I've been a bit of a bear for the past couple of months -'

'Ya think?'

'I know. Look... all the pressure to write the teleplay just sort of got on top of me and this new story it's... it's just scrambled my head. The scope of it is beyond imagination. Digging the grains of truth out from the mounds of published dross.' Hettie quietly went about the business of cutting chunks of fresh bread and pouring some very good olive oil and balsamic vinegar onto a plate as he babbled on. 'And it's all there in plain sight and yet it is ignored!'

'Geoffrey I doubt you are the only person in history to see these things but those books remain unpublished because, as you have frequently told me, the establishment, the money men and power brokers control it all and don’t want them published. It is in their best interests to leave things as they are. The truth would not serve them well. And you know that.'

Geoffrey sighed, a deep sigh of frustration then took another sip of his wine. 'I know, I know. It just... drives me bonkers!’ Hettie nodded. ‘The lies, the cover-ups by the money people who are helped and supported by the legal industry and government. The fucking government! An institution elected by the people to protect them from these gangsters! It's madness!'

Hettie gave a sympathetic nod. 'How many times have you told me those in government are the gangsters? Hum?’ He nodded. ‘You're singing to the choir Geoffrey.'

'I know, I know.' He took another swig of wine as Hettie dunked a bit of bread in the oil and vinegar. 'I've been a bit of a plonker haven't I?' She nodded. 'A waste of fucking space!'

'Geoffrey! Don't you ever say that. You hear me? Don't ever say that about yourself.' She hugged him.

'It's just… I seem to be making a mess of things,’ he said dipping a piece of bread into the oil and vinegar.

'The only thing you are making a mess of is this house! And yes, you can be a plonker but you’re my plonker and I rather like my plonker,’ she said kissing him.

'Promise I will try to be a better plonker!’ They both laughed. ‘Look Hettie... I just need to finish this story.’

‘I know.’

‘You remember Peter Chapstone?’

‘Peter...? Oh yes! Skinny little fellow, was fanatical about cataloguing all the obscure medical books,' she said popping a piece of oil and vinegar soaked bread into her mouth.

'Yeah, that's him.'

'Oh this is good! We must get some more of this oil.'

'Yes yummy, anyway, he has a cottage in the Cotswolds. I used to go there from time to time but it's been rented for the past six months or so but it is free this coming weekend with no new tenants lined up. I was thinking -'

'A romantic, lustful getaway! Oh Geoffrey!' she said hugging him.

'Eh?’ She flashed her eyes at him.... ‘Eh no actually.’

'I'm teasing you!'

'Oh. Right. Well no you see I thought if I took myself up there this weekend and spent a week just, you know, bashing on with this I'll get it done. No distractions -'

'Oh, is that what I am?'

'What? No!'

'Geoffrey! Lighten up! I'm teasing you.'

'Oh. Yes I see. Right, well I thought if I went there I would not be making this mess here, I can plough on and you get a bit of a rest from me. What do you think?'

She put her glass down and looked him straight in the eye. ‘I don't need or want a rest from you Geoffrey. I want you to finish your new story and whatever it is you have to do for Netfilx and if this is the best thing for you then that's what you do.’ After a short pause she continued. ‘It's not as if I am short of suitors to wine and dine me in your absence.’ She batted her eyelids at him and he smiled.

'My god what a woman you are!' he said with heartfelt sincerity.

'I didn't say I was teasing about the suitors.'

'Oh stop it!' He kissed her. 'You evil woman. I have a good mind to put you over my knee and give you a jolly good spanking.'

'Really? Ooh, interesting.' She wrapped her arms round his neck. 'I do love you you know.'

'Yes I do know. And you know you are the dearest, most precious thing to me.' They kissed; a long, lingering lover's kiss.

'Come on randy Andy, soft seat.'

He picked up his glass and walked into the living room. Hettie followed and went to the fire to press the discreet little switch that opened the flue then she opened the gas tap and clicked the piezo to fire up the imitation log fire, which did a very fair impression of the real thing.

‘That’s better,’ she said settling into the large comfortable sofa facing Geoffrey who had sprawled out on the other. ‘It’s bloody freezing in here.’ Geoffrey nodded. She suspected he had been the receiver of bad news. 'You okay?'

'Yeah... sort of. The cow called.’ The cow was his departed and unloved wife.

'Ah.'

He nodded. 'Seems she only stayed with her sister for a week, chucked the salesman from the condom machines then moved in with a creep she met when we were on holiday in Brittany a couple of years ago. He's a company accountant and she's been having a fling with him for some time, she took great delight in telling me.’

‘So she was also two timing condom man?’

‘Yep!’

‘Busy girl! You okay?’

‘Yeah. Apparently he's a real man, a corporate hero, someone who, kicks people into touch so she said.’

Hettie raised her eyebrows. How often she had heard that horrible phrase from her long-gone arsehole of a husband.

‘She wants to cut all ties. End of.'

'What