He shrugged. ‘It’s always been like that.’
That wasn’t an answer and he knew it. I said, ‘We can buy cattle feed for less than it costs us to grow it, so why the devil should we grow it?’ I again laid out the plan that had come from the computer, but giving reasons the computer hadn’t. ‘We increase the dairy herd to eighty head and we allocate this land which is pretty lush, and any extra feed we buy.’ I swept my hand over the map. ‘This hill area is good for nothing but sheep, so we let the sheep have it. I’d like to build up a nice flock of greyface. We can feed sheep economically by planting root crops on the flat by the river, and we alternate the roots with a cash crop such as malting barley. Best of all, we do away with all this market garden stuff. This is a farm, not an allotment; it takes too much time and we’re not near enough to a big town to make it pay.’
Jack looked uncomprehendingly stubborn. It wasn’t done that way, it never had been done that way, and he didn’t see why it should be done that way. I was in trouble because unless Jack saw it my way we could never get on together.
We were interrupted by Madge. ‘There’s a lady to see you, Mr. Wheale.’
‘Did she give a name?’
‘It’s a Mr.s Halstead.’
That gave me pause. Eventually I said, ‘Ask her to wait a few minutes, will you? Make her comfortable — ask her if she’d like a cuppa.’
I turned back to Jack. One thing at a time was my policy. I knew what was the matter with him. If he became farm manager and the policy of the farm changed radically, he’d have to take an awful lot of joshing from the neighbouring farmers. He had his reputation to consider.
I said, ‘Look at it this way, Jack: if we start on this thing, you’ll be farm manager and I’ll be the more-or-less absentee landlord. If the scheme falls down you can put all the blame on me because I’ll deserve it, and you’re only doing what I tell you to. If it’s a success — which it will be if we both work hard at it — then a lot of the credit will go to you because you’ll have been the one who made it work. You are the practical farmer, not me. I’m just the theoretical boy. But I reckon we can show the lads around here a thing or two.’
He contemplated that argument and brightened visibly — I’d offered him a way out with no damage to his self-esteem. He said slowly, ‘You know, I like that bit about doing away with the garden produce; it’s always been a lot of trouble — too much hand work, for one thing.’ He shuffled among the papers. ‘You know, sir, if we got rid of that I reckon we could work the farm with one less man.’
That had already been figured out — by the computer, not me — but I was perfectly prepared to let Jack take the credit for the idea. I said, ‘Hey, so we could! I have to go now, but you stay here and go through the whole thing again. If you come up with any more bright ideas like that then let me know.’
I left him to it and went to see Mr.s Halstead. I walked into the living-room and said, ‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.’ Then I stopped dead because Mr.s Halstead was quite a woman — red hair, green eyes, a nice smile and a figure to make a man struggle to keep his hands to himself — even a grey little man like me.
‘That’s all right, Mr. Wheale,’ she said. ‘Your housekeeper looked after me.’ Her voice matched the rest of her; she was too perfect to be true.
I sat opposite her. ‘What can I do for you, Mr.s Halstead?’
‘I believe you own a gold tray, Mr. Wheale.’
‘That is correct.’
She opened her handbag. ‘I saw a report in a newspaper. Is this the tray?’
I took the clipping and studied it. It was the report that had appeared in the Western Morning News which I had heard of but not seen. The photograph was a bit blurred. I said, ‘Yes, this is the tray.’
‘That picture is not very good, is it? Could you tell me if your tray is anything like this one?’
She held out a postcard-size print. This was a better picture of a tray — but not my tray. It appeared to have been taken in some sort of museum because I could see that the tray was in a glass case and a reflection somewhat ruined the clarity of the picture. Everyone seemed to be pushing photographs of trays at me, and I wondered how many there were. I said cautiously, ‘It might be something like this one. This isn’t the best of pictures, either.’
‘Would it be possible to see your tray, Mr. Wheale?’
‘Why?’ I asked bluntly. ‘Do you want to buy it?’
‘I might — if the price were right.’
I pushed her again. ‘And what would be a right price?’
She fenced very well. ‘That would depend on the tray.’
I said deliberately, ‘The going price has been quoted as being £7,000. Could you match that?’
She said evenly, ‘That’s a lot of money, Mr. Wheate.’
‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘It was, I believe, the amount offered by an American to my brother. Mr. Gatt said he’d pay the price at valuation.’
Perhaps she was a little sad. ‘I don’t think that Paul... my husband... realized it would be as much as that.’
I leaned forward. ‘I think I ought to tell you that I have had an even higher offer from a Mr. Fallon.’
I watched her closely and she seemed to tighten, an almost imperceptible movement soon brought under control. She said quietly, ‘I don’t think we can compete with Professor Fallon when it comes to money.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘He seems to have a larger share than most of us.’
‘Has Professor Fallon seen the tray?’ she asked.
‘No, he hasn’t. He offered me a very large sum, sight unseen. Don’t you find that odd?’
‘Nothing that Fallon does I find odd,’ she said. ‘Unscrupulous, even criminal, but not odd. He has reasons for everything he does.’
I said gently, ‘I’d be careful about saying things like that, Mr.s Halstead, especially in England. Our laws of slander are stricter than in your country.’
‘Is a statement slanderous if it can be proved?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to sell the tray to Fallon?’
‘I haven’t made up my mind.’
She was pensive for a while, then she stirred. ‘Even if it is not possible for us to buy it, would there be any objection to my husband examining it? It could be done here, and I assure you it would come to no harm.’
Fallon had specifically asked that Halstead should not be shown the tray. To hell with that! I said, ‘I don’t see why not.’
‘This morning?’ she said eagerly.
I lied in my teeth. ‘I’m afraid not — I don’t have it here. But it could be here this afternoon. Would that suit you?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, and smiled brilliantly. A woman has no right to be able to smile at a man like that, especially a man involved in tricking her into something. It tends to weaken his resolution. She stood up. ‘I won’t waste any more of your time this morning, Mr. Wheale; I’m sure you’re a busy man. What time should we come this afternoon?’
‘Oh, about two-thirty,’ I said casually. I escorted her to the door and watched her drive away in a small car. These archeological boffins seemed to be a queer crowd; Fallon had imputed dishonesty to Halstead, and Mr.s Halstead had accused Fallon of downright criminality. The in-fighting in academic circles seemed to be done with very sharp knives.
I thought of the chemistry set I had when a boy; it was a marvellous set with lots of little bottles and phials containing powders of various hue. If you mixed the powders odd things were likely to happen, but if they were kept separate they were quite inert.
I was tired of meeting with inertness from Fallon and the Halsteads — no one had been forthright enough to tell why he wanted the tray. I wondered what odd things were likely to happen when I mixed them together at two-thirty that afternoon.