Chapter 25

“For now, yes, by issuing a similar threat against them at this address. It seemed to have worked, but they may be thinking they can do a switch and start again at another location.”

“I see, so what do I do? I normally visit the premises and compile my description for the sale prospectus, but I am apprehensive about visiting a place with criminals on the premises. Will you go with me, dear, to make me feel more secure?”

“If that is what you want, Georgie, certainly. Come to think of it, it might be useful for me to see around inside the building, in case I have to resume my earlier plans to sabotage them.”

She grabbed me in a sudden hug, and kissed me passionately.

“You are a darling, Bob! We are so lucky to have you.”

I blushed at this unexpected effusion of praise, and stammered, “Well, it is just me being me.”

“I know, Bob, but you do it so well, just as you fuck so well and give us lovely children.”

I retorted, with the right emphasis, “It was you who taught me how to do lovemaking, Georgie! That is why I am so good at it now. The lovely kids is just a matter of luck; you get what you get. It is you mothers who make them into good kids once they arrive in the world.”

That got me another hug, and a tearful sniff.

“You know how to make a girl feel good, you big lug. Do you have to ask Daddy for time off to come with me on that examination visit?”

“I usually do, so that he appears to be in charge, love. Just let me know when you have the visit arranged, and I’ll be ready. Presumably you’ll pick me up so we go in your car with the agency logo on the side? We need to show we are official representatives of the agency.”

“That is what I usually do, Bob. You don’t have to over-emphasize that routine.”

“Sorry, pet. It is a habit I have got into; covering ourselves any time we deal with someone unsavoury. I apologise.” I felt bad about my words.

“Apology accepted. I’ll ring you tomorrow, the minute I get a time and date fixed. Now can I go see what is happening about dinner?”

“Of course. I’d be interested as well. Sandy said something about trying a new recipe involving venison that our butcher has got in.”

“I heard about that,”?said Georgie. “It seems that our fruit and veg shop has got in a batch of wild-harvested blaeberries, and historically they go well with venison, much like blueberries do.”

“There is a difference then, not just in name?” I asked.

“Yes. They are different species and the colour of the flesh is red, not the white of blueberries. They don’t thrive in commercial cultivation, which is why getting any blaeberries at all is so uncommon.”

“I’m glad to hear this. I remember tasting blaeberries from bushes up on the whin hill near the golf course, when I was a young teenager. Quite tart, they were, but a great taste. I loved walking up that tall hill on a sunny day, the wind wafting past me as I climbed the steep footpath up to the golf clubhouse on the other side of the peak. If you looked closely you could see the occasional overgrown levelled tee where possible early golf holes were sited on the hillside before the course was rebuilt on the other side of the hill by a golf course professional. It is almost a case of an archaeological dig being needed to confirm my teenage assumptions!”

After this, we had to wait another two days before Georgie was able to confirm her date and time for viewing the premises to be put on sale.

She told me, “I had to point out that I couldn’t just put it on sale without the building details, or it would look silly and not result in a worthwhile sale. They put me off until they could be certain the building would be empty of people except for the one to show me around. I have never encountered this type of reticence before, Bob.”

I chuckled, “It is more evidence that they are a criminal group. They are trying to hide as much as they can before any outsider gets to see round the building. I am more than ever sure I am going with you. You can explain that I am your sales agent who shows the property to potential buyers, so you need to be fully informed.”

“That was my own thought, Bob. I must remember not to call you darling or any other term of endearment while we are there.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that, Georgie. Giving jobs to relatives is standard practice in criminal circles, as it keeps their activities within the family!”

We finally made the visit. I had warned Daddy Thomson of my appointment with Georgina, and he waved it off dismissively, “Whatever. Let the staff know what you are doing, Robert. Tell me when you get back today, or just be here tomorrow. I have a will to draw up tomorrow morning; it may be complicated, as it involves a business ownership and that has to be ironclad if control goes to one member of the family.”

Georgie picked me up and drove us to Union Street and the address of the building to be sold. It looked much as it did before, when I had checked it for access to the basement room. There was no sign of new paint or any other alteration. That was good.

After drawing up by the kerbside, we got out and viewed the frontage to decide on the best angle for taking a photograph of the exterior for the sales dossier. The front door opened, and a woman looked out at us and the clearly marked agency car.

“You the woman coming to view the house?” she asked acidly.

“I am,” Georgie answered. “My name is Georgina. My colleague here, named Robert, has to see it as well, as he does the property viewing with possible purchasers. He needs to know what good points to mention and what defects to gloss over,”

“Ah, yes. I see what you mean,” replied the woman. “I am Jean Murphy. I usually do all the cleaning of the house several times a week, so I was asked to escort you round as I can show you corners that are often missed in a quick look through...”

“A wise choice,” Georgie agreed. “Allow me a minute or two to take an exterior picture for the file on the building, then we can go in. I shall need pics of the vestibule and stairway if they are linked, plus a shot of each of the main rooms.”

“They are all clean and tidy,” Jean informed us, “So there will be no problem with that.”

Georgie selected her spot and took a few pics of the outside, so she could choose the best later, then we went up the front steps and entered. The inside was as good as one should expect from these upscale houses. The vestibule had a high ceiling and opened onto a wide marble staircase to the upper floor. The criminal elite certainly lived well, judging by the building they owned.

Jean showed us round the ground floor: kitchen and pantry, dining room, lounge and downstairs bathroom and toilet. She remarked that the boiler for the heating system was in the basement, and it was gas-fired.

“Converted from coke a few years back,” she remarked. “So much simpler, as no-one has to see to coke supplies and keep the boiler fed with coke – it went through coke like nobody’s business, they were told! It needed good ventilation to burn well, which is why the outside door of the coke chute was slatted and not solid. I haven’t been down to see if it has been blocked off, but I hope not, as the basement might get damp, and that is not good for a house.”

I contributed, “Good point, Jean. I’ll make a point of going down there to check that out. At least if wood gets damp you soon get to smell it; brick and stone are okay though.”

“You know your stuff, young man. You are good looking, too. I have an unmarried daughter around your age. She and you might hit it off, as she is a looker.”

“Sorry, Jean. I am already spoken for,” and I showed her my wedding ring.

“Pity. Some woman has got herself a good man, by the looks of it.”

“Thank you, Jean. You are very bright for a woman in your job.”

She harrumphed, “Lost my husband to cancer, so I had to work for a living, and employers are looking for qualifications. I didn’t have any to speak of; married soon after leaving school, so I had to take what I could get after he died. I have a good reputation as a hard worker, though.”

“I am sure you have, Jean,” said Georgie. “To move on. If you could show Robert the door to the basement, he can deal with that and you and I could have a look upstairs. Is there an attic as well, where there could be storage space, perhaps if it is floored?”

I was shown the door behind the staircase, and it revealed stone steps down to the basement. There was a light switch next to the door, and that gave me illumination of the basement.

The basement showed changes from the last time I had ‘dropped in’. It was more expansive, with most of the remaining furniture stacked high to the sides. The former desk had vanished, as had the shelving. I looked for the coal/coke chute, and found it blocked off by a large chest of drawers deposited in front of it. The slats were still there, but covered with chicken wire netting to prevent larger wildlife from entering; anything other than spiders and flies would be kept out. I also noticed a new strong bolt making it secure from the inside. The owner or owners had done their best to prevent a repeat of my theft of their arsenal. They had concluded that the coal chute had been the entry point.

I ignored all that, and reverted to my official duty. I estimated the basement space and noted that for the present it was only half empty. I then ascended the steps back to the main hall. I could hear Georgie and Jean talking upstairs, so I went up to join them.

Georgie noticed my arrival and came out of one of the rooms, which I assumed was a bedroom.

“Ah, there you are, Robert. What was the basement like?”

“Only half empty, Georgina. The rest of the space was taken up with furniture. If there is still a coal chute, it is out of sight. The space overall probably matches the footprint of the house.”

“Fine. Thank You, Robert. I don’t think a photo of the basement is warranted.”

“I would agree. It is pretty basic down there.”

“Now, Jean tells me there is an attic, accessed by a small door from this landing. Do you mind being a dear and going up and having a shufti at it?”

“Anything for my boss, boss. Any danger money?”

“You know perfectly well there isn’t, Robert, so stop teasing me.”

“Okay, Georgina. This door, is it?” I pointed.

“Yes, and don’t be afraid that a spider will get you!”

Jean chuckled at this repartee.

“You make a good couple!” she said.

I told her, “Don’t tell my wife that!”

Georgie explained, “He is married to my sister. Thinks this means he can get away with being cheeky.”

I quickly moved to the access door, flicked the light switch down, and entered, finding myself facing a steep set of wooden stairs. The hanging light was high up in the roof space but without a lampshade, casting its wan glow over the entire attic. I moved up the stairs and found myself at the top, looking across a bare planked floor, with the roof trusses above me. It smelled dry but unventilated, and I was not impressed with the available lighting. Still, how many people ever came up here? I suppose that at one time a maid would have slept up here, but there wasn’t even a skylight to enliven the place. I suppose back then a servant didn’t merit sight of the sky as she would be here mostly at night-time. Live-in servants had little time off, as I recalled reading that scrap of intelligence in my history books.

I went down and reported my findings. Georgie was disappointed.

“Doesn’t have any services up there? Water, electricity, gas?”

“Not that I could see,” I reported. “The electricity seems to be limited to a cable to that light bulb, and nothing else, There was no water tap, no sink or washbasin, so it looks like anyone living up there would have to come down for a wash, a bath, or even go to the loo.”

“Hmm. I think we have to list the attic as ‘ripe for conversion’!”

Jean Murphy giggled, “Is that what you estate agents call it? Surely that is misleading?”

Georgie shrugged. “Standard estate agency language, Jean. Ripe for conversion usually means there is nothing there to start from! If you want to buy a house, learn the lingo attached to it.”

I asked, “What about the rooms on this floor? Good or what?”

“Not too bad. All are bedrooms except one which is apparently a meeting room, but we’ll call it an ‘upstairs lounge’. Clients can see it for themselves, and decide what they want to do with it if they buy the building. They might call it The Library and put shelving all round the walls.”

“Oh, I see what you mean!” Jean blurted out. “To you, a house is just an amount of living space with the buyer deciding what to do with all the rooms.”

“That’s it exactly, Jean. That is why we need to see into every room, so we can describe it all and leave it to the purchaser to either leave it as it is, or change it to his own needs and desires.”

“Then when Robert takes clients round for a viewing, he can tell them of the possibilities and so on?”

Georgie motioned for me to answer this.

“Roughly, Jean. I point out what aspects make the house look expensive on the outside but simpler and easier to cope with on the inside for family living. I want them to buy it, so I emphasize the good points and downplay parts that are not so encouraging. It is always up to the client to make the decision to buy or not.”

Georgie announced, “I think we are finished, unless you want to mention aspects we may have missed, Jean.”

“The only thing I can think of is that all the rooms have chimneys from the time the house was first built, last century. Some rooms, mainly the larger ones, might be able to have a wood-fired stove in the fireplace. A friend of mine had one put in, as burning wood was cheaper than coal. The only thing she was warned about was the need to have the chimney swept more often than with coal; something to do with tarry deposits, she said.”