Hidden Meaning: Jack Knight, #2

By Stuart Warner

'This was going to look bad when Sid Harrington saw it. Jack should have escaped while he had the chance.'

 

A small town in Wales, 1990. Peace-loving accountant Jack Knight wants to scupper his money-grabbing uncle's property development scheme – for the sake of his struggling small-town community. But there are other factors in play and he has to appear neutral.

 

Jack's problems multiply when a local newspaper reporter snaps him with the wrong people. He's innocent but impressions count. Now he's in a race against time to salvage his reputation before the photo is published.

 

Not for the first time, Jack finds that the past refuses to stay buried. A chance discovery prompts him to investigate the secret life of his late father. Events stretching back forty-five years. Stopping his uncle isn't just about the helping local community. It's personal…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stuart Warner
• Release date: Feb 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393938200

Book preview

Friday 14 September 1990

1

At 8.16am, as usual on a weekday, Jack Knight left The Beehive Café and strode along the high street of the small Welsh border town of Drimpton, briefcase in hand. Today he was smiling to himself, thinking how lucky he was to have Estelle as his girlfriend.

If he could just find a magic pause-button, press it, bask in an eternal now of bliss, as his mentor Manjeet Gupta might say. And part of that bliss would include his early morning espresso at The Beehive, a few minutes of private space before he had to chain himself to his desk for the day. Of course, if he could experience infinite consciousness, there would be no desk – no desk, no office, no clients. Yeah, but no Beehive either.

As he was passing Manjeet’s shop, Tinjali, he was woken from his thoughts by the blast of a horn behind him. He turned around to see a dark-green lorry with its passenger-side indicator flashing.

It was dawdling along at not much more than walking pace, and now pulled to a stop on the far side of the street. The lorry’s paint was gleaming in the sun, so clean it surely had to belong to Sid Harrington. He looked up at the cab. Yes, it was Sid behind the wheel – no mistaking that bushy white moustache, like a pair of old shaving brushes sticking out on either side of his face. Sid wound down his window and waved a hand. He must want a word. Coincidence or what? Maybe there was something to the rumour the old-timer was selling his yard.

Jack crossed the street and went round to the passenger side of the lorry. He yanked open the door to see what Sid wanted.

‘Jump in.’ Sid reached across and brushed his hand across the seat a couple of times. ‘I’ll give you a lift.’

‘I’m only going to the office. It’s not far.’

Sid glanced out of his side window. ‘Do me a favour. Hurry up.’

Jack felt like saying no. He was on a tight schedule – files to review for Raveena. However, his good mood got the better of him. He climbed in and pulled the door shut.

‘You wanted a lift.’ Sid put the lorry into gear. He waited for a car to squeeze past, then pulled out. ‘I stopped for you but when you got in I remembered I had a delivery to make.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘If anyone asks.’

Jack looked across at him. If Sid wanted a cover story, there had to be something better. For a start, it was a lie and he wasn’t going to be party to one.

‘No, you’ve been wanting some advice and, when you saw me, you figured it would save you time rather than calling into my office.’

‘I can’t say that.’

Jack waited a few moments before replying as Sid was edging his way around a large truck that was blocking half the road. The back of the truck was open. It must be dropping off supplies.

‘I don’t see why not,’ he said. ‘I am your accountant. If anyone asks, tell them it was a tax question – or financial advice. You needed a few minutes, so you took me for a short ride. I’m assuming this will take a bit longer than dropping me at the office.’

‘Fair enough. Anyways, sorry to hijack you. I saw you walking. Thought I’d better take my chance.’

‘No problem.’ They were approaching the office building now, but Sid was showing no sign of stopping. Jack fumbled for his seat belt and fastened it. ‘You and Graham could have come in to see me, though. Or I could come out to the yard. Just let me know when’s convenient.’

They continued on down the hill and came to the speed signs on the edge of town. Open country lay ahead – the road flanked on both sides by unkempt hedgerows. Bird’s-eye view. Sid remained silent.

‘I have to get to work pretty soon.’

‘We won’t be long,’ Sid said. ‘I wanted a word in private.’

‘So I gathered.’

It could be about the Harrington Transport yard. The local newspaper’s new reporter, Alice Smallcroft, had whispered to Jack about a possible sale of the yard in The Beehive this morning, a few minutes before Sid turned up. She was after stories to boost circulation, asking him what he knew about a fat commission Uncle Keith was going to receive from some property developer by the name of Apsey.

He hadn’t believed her. Sid’s son Graham hadn’t mentioned it when they’d been at the Drimpton Arms last night. And, anyway, the property market was as popular as the plague right now. House prices had started falling in 1989 and now, a year later, they were still heading down.

Jack spotted a wide gateway to the side of the road just ahead, room enough for the lorry.

He pointed. ‘May as well pull in there.’

‘Can’t stop.’ Sid stared straight ahead. ‘I’ll drop you back after. I’ve got a couple of boxes for The White Hart. Only take twenty minutes. You’re early anyhows.’

Twenty minutes? Half an hour, more like. Jack checked his watch, then sighed to himself. It must be about ten miles from Drimpton to Little Oakbridge – a twenty-mile round trip. Lucky he didn’t have an appointment before the chamber of trade networking meeting. Sid was so blinkered. Graham was always on about it.

And Sid was showing no signs of explaining what he wanted. Jack looked out at the passing farmland for what had to be a minute or so before deciding to give him a prompt.

‘So, I take it you want to run something past me?’

‘With Graham in the office now, it’s hard to make a private call. Of course, I’m used to dealing with your uncle for my accounts and your father before him.’

‘I know,’ Jack said. ‘All change. Now it’s Graham who sees me.’

It seemed odd saying that. He and Graham had come across each other when they were young kids, twenty-five years before. Graham was older, six years ahead in school. In a funny kind of way, it still felt natural to look up to him, despite Jack being thirty-one and Graham thirty-seven.

‘I’ve handed over the management to Graham but I still do an honest day’s work. Clock on at quarter to eight, back in the yard by four, hose down the wagon.’

‘Yeah, you’re still driving, I know.’

‘He should be, too,’ Sid said. ‘He can’t make money sitting behind a desk all day, though he’s out at meetings half the time. I used to do the paperwork in the evening once I’d parked up. And Doris Blackwell helped me with the accounts – you know her, she worked for your father before your uncle took over the business. Haulage is a steady income if you minds what you’re doing. It was your dad helped me set everything up. I was driving for Cliff Banfield’s father at the time. He laid me off when Cliff came back from the war. I found a cheap wagon that was going for scrap, did her up. A couple of Banfield customers came over to me the day I started. It was a big step, buying my own lorry, even one that had seen better days. He knew a thing or two about money, your father.’

Jack had an uncomfortable feeling where the conversation might be heading. He should have realised Sid and Graham wouldn’t see eye-to-eye on a sale of the yard.

‘You must have been one of Dad’s first clients.’

‘That’s what makes the town what it is.’ Sid looked across at Jack for a moment. ‘Small firms, long-standing, family owned. Honesty and loyalty, that’s what Drimpton is about.’

They were behind a couple of cars now. The road was two-lane but it was a bit narrow for overtaking in a lorry. They passed the entrance to Estelle’s lane on the left: Orchard Farm. Jack spotted the roof of her house, down in a dip.

What had Sid been prattling on about? Honesty and loyalty? They weren’t enough, that was the problem. Drimpton’s days as a thriving market town were long gone.

‘I agree. Loyalty is important.’

‘Back in the old days–’

‘When Dad was running J Knight & Co.’

‘Yes,’ Sid said. ‘God rest his soul.’

Jack wasn’t sure how to respond. Many people in town said how much they respected Dad, but Sid made it sound like he’d died last week rather than 1970, twenty years in the past. The silence felt awkward. Jack felt impelled to say something.

‘I guess you knew him pretty well.’

Sid agreed that he had done and then proceeded to waffle on for another minute or two about how highly everyone in and around Drimpton had respected John Knight.

‘He never did anyone any harm,’ Sid said. ‘You coming back has brought him into my mind. I wish he was around now. Anyways, I know you get on well with Graham. I was hoping you could give him a bit of advice. It would be better coming from you.’

They were on a short section of straight road now. The car just ahead of them overtook the one in front, though a tight left-hand bend was coming up fast. An adverse camber warning sign was partially obscured by overgrown hedgerow. On impulse Jack pressed his right foot against the floor as if braking. This was the corner where Estelle’s grandfather had his fatal crash, twenty years back, three weeks after Dad died.

‘Idiot,’ he said.

‘Eh?’

‘That car.’ Monk’s Crag the locals called the bend. Not the bend so much as the rock around which the road curved.

‘I had a lot of time for your father,’ Sid said.

A lot of time was what Jack didn’t have right now. Nothing for it. He might as well hear the worst.

‘Look, I’ll help if I can, of course, but what exactly would you like to ask me?’

‘The thing is, Jack, Graham’s full of ideas but he can’t see the value of what he’s sitting on.’

‘The yard, you mean?’

‘No, not the yard. Forget the yard. I’ve heard enough about the yard. You’re in on it, as well – I should have known. Siding against me with Graham. You and Keith.’

Yeah, this spelt trouble: a rift between father and son.

‘I know nothing about it. I hardly speak to my uncle. I only heard a…well, a rumour. This morning, in fact – just before you picked me up.’

Sid looked across at him. Jack returned the gaze, making sure to keep eye contact. Sid looked ahead once more before replying.

‘I need to know who I can trust.’

‘You knew Dad, better than me, I guess. I know everyone respected him. I promise you, on his name, I’ve not spoken to my uncle about this.’

If Jack had one wish, it would be for Uncle Keith to emigrate and never be heard of again. Not only that, he wished he could pay off the rest of the money he owed his uncle. Get free of him for ever.

‘Fair enough,’ Sid said. ‘On your father’s name. Forget the yard. I’m not selling it. My business I’m talking about. Harrington Transport. It’s brought me a steady income since I was younger than you are now. It can be the same for Graham for the next ten, twenty, thirty years.’

Jack felt himself tensing up. Pass on a message to Graham to shackle himself to Harrington Transport? No way was he going to tell him to do that. Graham would love to kiss goodbye to his father’s business and get on with more entrepreneurial ventures. He knew how Graham felt, stuck doing something he hated. If Graham wanted his freedom, good luck to him.

‘You’ve discussed it with him?’

‘I try, but it gets me heated,’ Sid said. ‘We ends up shouting at each other. He’s full of schemes to make money without grafting for it. Them ideas never works. It’s always someone else runs off with the coconut.’

‘But he’s doing pretty well for himself. Everyone round here looks up to him.’

‘He’s not done anything clever for his money.’ Sid flicked the indicator to turn right – the turning to Little Oakbridge. ‘You’ve only come back to Drimpton six months ago, so you wouldn’t know. He had a lucky break with Maggie Thatcher’s council house sell-off. We both did. Graham only had to live in his house three years and she sold it to him for tuppence. I bought mine as well. Nothing to do with business. It’s like digging up treasure in your back garden.’

The road to Little Oakbridge was narrow. A single track with passing places every hundred yards or so.

‘I can see what you mean,’ Jack said, ‘but when you make a bit of money like that, you have to know where to invest it to make more.’

The White Hart was coming up now. He could see it a couple of hundred yards ahead. Thatched roof hanging down over white walls, benches out front and a big car park by the side.

‘That’s a laugh. Easy come, easy go, that’s his problem.’ Sid flicked the indicator again and pulled into the car park. He opened the door, then climbed out, slamming the door shut after him. The engine was still running.

It gave Jack the chance to think. Did Sid really think a quiet word with Graham would make him fall into line? Surely, he knew his son better than that. Graham hated the haulage business.

But what was so bad about being a lorry driver? At least you wouldn’t have to talk to people. Maybe long-distance would be good. You could drive for days, sitting up in the cab looking down on life. He glanced at his watch. It had been more than a minute. He may as well take the chance to meditate for a few moments, like Manjeet advised. Spend some time in contemplation every day.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds. Then he let it out slowly, imagining his consciousness expanding way beyond his body, out to the infinite sky. He repeated the breath pattern, trying to visualise the sky surrounding his body, so there was no limit to the space above him, below, or to any side. The rumbling vibration of the lorry’s engine was so restful. Yeah, he could almost forget his body. His mind didn’t seem to be jumping about as much as normal and, for a few seconds, he bathed in a feeling of deep peace.

It didn’t seem long before Sid climbed back in and they were heading back towards Drimpton. Sid started talking again once they’d reached the main road.

‘Anyways,’ he said. ‘I’m not knocking Graham. Course, I know nothing about buying houses but he’s not much further on than me. If he’d only stuck with them…he’s got a lot to learn. He’s looking to offload one of the old lorries and buy a new one. Look after the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves. You know that, Jack.’

Jack felt like saying he had very little knowledge about making money. Hardly anyone did. You only had to look at the number of empty shops in Drimpton. Most of his clients were struggling to make ends meet – and some of them only managed it by working stupid hours. Graham wasn’t prepared to live his life that way and Jack didn’t blame him.

‘He’s always struck me as pretty switched on.’

‘He’s got brains all right,’ Sid said. ‘He’ll make a much better businessman than me – if he’s given a clear run. But I don’t want him taking a wrong turn now, something he regrets. He can’t see how lucky he is to have a solid business behind him. If you could just take him under your wing.’

Jack laughed. He couldn’t stop himself. ‘Me? I don’t think he sees me as someone to look to for business advice.’ In fact, it was the other way round. Graham had already suggested a couple of business opportunities he might like to get involved with.

‘Not on property so much,’ Sid said. ‘Running a business, I’m talking about. And how the town relies on family businesses like ours.’

Sid had handed the reins of Harrington Transport to Graham, but he was still trying to control the horses. That was the key issue. It wasn’t just that Graham was on the lookout for property deals. Graham and Sid disagreed about any operational decisions, any changes to the long-standing routines the business had traditionally followed. There was no point in telling Graham to agree with Sid because he wouldn’t do it. Anyway, Graham was on the road to riches. He had an entrepreneurial spark in him that wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Why did clients ask Jack to get involved in these family disputes? He wasn’t any good with people. Added to which, there was enough bickering in the world. Peace and harmony. Yeah, like that expansion of consciousness he’d been feeling a few minutes ago. If anything was worth striving for, it was that.

Peace and harmony between Sid and Graham? That would be a challenge. Maybe he should try and help them? Well, from a professional point of view, he had to stay balanced, he couldn’t just side with Graham because he empathised with him. And Sid had said some really kind words about Dad. If peace and harmony were important – and they were – maybe he should go beyond…beyond what Uncle Keith would have done, beyond what was needed from a strictly professional point of view. Maybe he should try to act as a kind of peace negotiator.

‘I can try, Sid. The problem is, I know he’s not going to listen to me and I don’t want to make things worse.’ There had to be a better solution, one that could help Graham. And if he could help Graham, maybe it would help Sid, too. ‘Hang on, though. How about Manjeet?’

‘Manjeet Gupta?’

‘Yeah. Manjeet, if you want someone who can advise Graham.’

‘You’re right,’ Sid said. ‘You’re in with him, I hear. I hadn’t thought of him. He’s a man Graham could learn from if he wants to make money. Don’t forget, Manjeet started with one small shop in Drimpton. He’s not gone looking for properties. He’s stuck to what he started with, opening more shops when he had the chance. Like Caxton Stores. They say he got that for a song.’

Caxton. The biggest shop in Drimpton. Manjeet had paid a reasonable price, but Jack couldn’t divulge confidential information like that. ‘Yeah, he is a great guy. Graham must know him.’

‘I doubt Graham would stop to ask for anyone’s help. Anyways, you’ll tell him we shouldn’t sell the yard?’

‘It’s best if I don’t tell him either way, but at least I can see a possible angle now. Give me a week or so. I’ll have to find the right moment.’

Jack took his pencil and notebook from his jacket pocket. He scribbled a reminder to show Sid he was willing, and then put them back.

‘Graham will be at Hereford races tomorrow,’ Sid said. ‘Rufus told me you’re going as well. I’m not selling. You best tell Graham, set him straight. If your father was alive…’

If Dad was alive, he’d be agreeing to tell Graham. That was what Sid was implying. Maybe, maybe not. More likely, Dad would have been trying to help Sid and Graham find a peaceable way forward.

‘I’ll do my best to help you.’ You meaning Graham as well as Sid. ‘I promise.’

Talking to Graham about stuff he definitely wouldn’t want to hear wasn’t Jack’s idea of a good time. A day at the races with Estelle and Rufus, his godfather, was meant to be relaxing. No, he’d grab a few minutes with Graham at the chamber of trade meeting later on, see if he’d be open to talking with Manjeet.

He’d be seeing Manjeet tonight at Tinjali, the weekly kirtan chanting evening. Whatever advice Manjeet gave to Graham would be worth listening to. And, once Manjeet knew the score, he might be able to suggest how to sort out the yard dispute in a way that suited father and son. If such a way existed, of course.

They continued on in silence, giving Jack the chance to take in the view on either side of the road. Shortly before coming back into town, they passed a Drimpton Estates For Sale sign in a gateway. A field. No, there was some hard standing in there and a low brick building.

Ah, of course, it was Drimpton Halt – the old railway station. He hadn’t thought of the place for years but he used to go there to see the trains. Dad had taken him when he came to stay with him, after he and Mother had separated in the mid-sixties. Then, one time he’d come to stay and Dad said the trains didn’t stop at Drimpton anymore. It had shut down.

Jack had forgotten the Halt was there, hidden from sight behind the hedgerows whenever he drove along this road in his car. What had happened to the train set he’d played with as a child? Maybe he could take it up as a hobby. It would be fun making hills and tunnels, and painting the little people at the railway station.

A short while later, Sid pulled in to the side of the road about a hundred yards before they reached the office.

‘Best drop you here.’ Sid looked at him. ‘I want to call in to see Pete Craddock and I don’t want people talking.’

‘Okay, I’ll be in touch.’ Jack clambered out and watched as Sid drove the short distance to Pete’s Motors, opposite the J Knight & Co office. So, Alice Smallcroft had been right with her development site rumours. But why hadn’t Graham said anything?

2

Jack scampered up the town hall steps on his way in to the chamber of trade networking event. He wasn’t early. He wasn’t ever early for chamber but, for once, he felt a sense of purpose rather than trepidation. He had to grab a quiet word with Graham.

As he walked past the noticeboard in the foyer, he spotted a poster for an upcoming photographic exhibition his godfather Rufus Holroyd had mentioned. It was at the library, starting next week. ‘Old Drimpton’ the exhibition was called, organised by the local history society of which Rufus was chair. That was one to be avoided. Rufus was never keen on answering your questions but when he got on to topics that interested him, he’d blather on for ages.

As he approached the meeting room, he could feel his feet dragging. He stopped when he got to the door and took a deep breath. Psyched himself up. It was only people. People – that was the problem.

When he nudged the door open, he was met by a wall of noise. It felt like a wall anyway. Voices were reverberating against the low ceiling. It looked like there were about thirty people mingling about. He resisted the temptation to count them, in case he made himself too noticeable. None of them seemed to spot him entering – not even his friend Simon Jupe, not even Graham. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a tall woman in a red suit. Not someone he’d seen before, he was sure. The woman really stood out.

He lowered his gaze. Anywhere would be preferable to this. Well, anywhere where he’d be spared the embarrassment of putting his lack of social skills on public view. Estelle said he should just be himself but, if he did that, he wouldn’t be here now.

Keeping close to the wall, he edged forward towards the sanctuary of the refreshments table at the far end of the room. Eyes still down towards the floor as he walked, he peeked sideways. The woman was laughing. Strangely, quite a few people seemed to think this was a nice way to spend their time. What would it be like to spend a few minutes in their heads? He’d gladly swap with them. Not permanently, just long enough to pick up some tips.

He reached the table, which was laden with cups, saucers and two plates of plain biscuits. Base Camp One. The coffee at these events was vile but he filled a cup anyway. It could be a useful prop to help him appear normal, allow him to blend in with the rest of the crowd. He took a biscuit and then nibbled it to give himself thinking time.

He glanced up and saw Graham standing on his own nearby, wearing his usual designer stubble, well-cut suit and polished shoes, looking this way and that across the crowd. Graham enjoyed these events. He said it was better than being stuck in the portakabin at Harrington Transport. Graham would love to see the back of that yard – particularly if he could pocket some cash at the same time.

Jack was about to shuffle over and