Chapter 14: Those That Do Not Remember The Past...

Norman St John-Ferris leant happily on the gate of the drive to Hamblingham Hall, smiling with satisfaction at the sign that said "Closed To Visitors" as Freddie drew up.

Freddie wound down the window of the Aston. "I hope that doesn't include me, old man."

"Quite the reverse," Norman beamed, opening the gate. "Come on up to the Hall."

Freddie drove through. He bounced gingerly over the cattle grid and swung the car across the empty visitors' car park, ignored the signs saying "No Cars Beyond This Point" and continued round to the side of the Hall. Norman followed him on foot. Freddie parked alongside a bright red Ferrari and got out just as Norman stepped across the grass to meet him. "Nice car," said Freddie, "wouldn't have thought it was your style."

He had hardly said it when the door to the Hall opened. Freddie watched, impressed, as a long-limbed girl loped down the steps with antelope-like grace. Her skin was the polished black of a west coast African and her clothes looked as though they cost as much as the Ferrari. She tossed a Michael Kors "Skorpio" satchel handbag into the car, not caring if she scuffed either the bag or the car's upholstery. "Back soon, darling" she called to Norman before peering momentarily over seasonally unnecessary sunglasses at Freddie and sliding into the car in a movement that seemed like she was pouring her legs into the foot well.

A spatter of gravel hit the wall of the Hall as she sped off. Freddie winced at the clunk as she crossed the cattle grid. Ferraris weren't designed for that, Freddie thought.

Freddie looked questioningly at Norman.

"Danoola Iswana," Norman said as he ushered Freddie inside. "Call her Danni. Isn't she something?"

Freddie's immediate reaction was to be worried by this new development, but he put his thoughts to one side. He looked around the entrance hall. The ticket desk and racks of guidebooks had gone. So had the sour faced woman who had asked for his entrance fee on his last visit. "So, you got the National Trust out?" he said. "No problems?"

Norman led the way into the library. Ashtrays, Freddie noticed, had been reintroduced. The wedding pictures had been removed. Norman pulled a bottle of scotch from where it was incongruously perched on the bookshelves. Freddie nodded as Norman offered him a glass. "They didn't like it but they didn't have much choice. I'm letting them run the park, can't be arsed with that, but I've got the house back. Police were a bit curious. Felt it was all a bit of a coincidence, Alicia running out on her gallery, Rani's business getting wacked by the Famiglia, Denise quitting the country club. I didn't feel able to help. Told the police they talked to each other more than they ever did to me. Besides, they only ever spoke to me through their lawyers – tragically, they seem to be out of a job now – so how was I to know anything about what they were up to? Said I'd be happy to help, but I'd been hosting a session on the history of the Hall for the Trust all over that week."