The Long Gallery, Chapter Ten & Eleven (standard:drama, 2312 words) [6/6] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Oct 02 2015	Views/Reads: 1796/1446	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Young Daisy Truman has inherited a country estate, Harvest Hall. But within its walls lie valuables that a crooked consortium is bent on discovering.

Chapter Ten 

Jeffries bore the look of a disgruntled man; pushing his diary away as
though it carried some infectious disease, he said, ‘So gentlemen, the 
maintenance of Harvest Hall Estate has been awarded to an agency. I 
need scarcely tell you this is unfortunate news.' He locked his fingers 
together, pressing them tightly to his chest. He sat at the head of a 
highly polished rectangular table, within the oak-panelled private 
chamber of the Spa Club. He was in the company of four club members. 
They were Samuel Biggins, Anthony Daly, Denis Wroughton and Peter 
Parkinson. Glancing at each in turn, he said, ‘I believe the proprietor 
of the agency concerned to be associated with this club.' ‘Well then, 
why the air of doom and gloom? This sounds a significant step in our 
favour.' It was Biggins who spoke; a short, balding company director of 
fifty plus years. Looking enthusiastically about him, he said, ‘All we 
need do is negotiate. This fellow needn't know the finer ...' 

‘There is a problem,' Jeffries broke in, rising from his chair and
pacing to a sash window. He stood shuffling his hands in his pockets, 
looking out. His breath frosted the window as he said, ‘The proprietor 
is a certain Frobisher-French – a fringe member, you may not be 
familiar with him. At any rate, I believe his interests might be 
similar to ours – I believe he knows something exists within the 
Gallery.' 

‘Good heavens man.' Public schoolmaster Wroughton threw a suspicious
glance around the room. ‘Are you saying he knows what's hidden there? 
How can this be, unless one of us has ...' 

‘No, no.' Jeffries did an about turn, facing the four, stomach thrust
out, hands still inside his trousers. ‘I said I believe he knows 
something exists. Frobisher-French, I believe, is something of an 
opportunist – a middle-class conman if you like. The passing of Harvest 
Hall to Daisy Truman is hardly classified information. I'll vouch he 
senses something without knowing or understanding what it is. 
Nonetheless, it does present a substantial obstacle.' 

‘How has this come to light, might I ask?' Accountant Timothy Daly
furrowed his brow, removed his spectacles and placed them carefully 
upon the table. 

‘I have the Hall under close scrutiny, gentlemen, and will continue to
do so. What lies within is far too valuable, not to, as we all know. 
Thus, nothing much happens without my knowledge. It is doubly 
unfortunate that Miss Truman proves so obstinate – steadfastly refusing 
to employ staff who could be deemed within our capability to control – 
she will not name the company she has contracted, but my information 
strongly suggests Frobisher-French.' 

Jeffries caught the questioning glance of psychologist Parkinson. ‘Yes,
Peter?' 

‘I was merely going to ask the obvious, such as what do we do now?'
Jeffries circled the table, coming to a stop behind the tall, 
sandy-haired Parkinson. He drew breath. ‘As I say, Frobisher-French 
socialises with the fringe elements of our club – thus, he would smell 
a rat at the slightest move we make to manoeuvre ourselves into a 
position where we have access inside the Hall. And so, I might add, 
would Miss Truman, though for a different reason – she is a headstrong 
young woman who would accept no presence other than that she has 
delegated. However, you may be sure that I will monitor the situation 
closely. Moreover, I do believe Frobisher-French's company will only be 
awarded an interim contract. Gentlemen, we need to ensure that it goes 
no further. I have a plan.' Jeffries returned to his seat and from his 
case drew out a file.   

Chapter Eleven 

William reached the brow of the hill and checking his mirror, pulled
across the road, bringing his car to a halt in a lay-by outside a 
terrace of cottages. The road was narrow, twisting and thickly wooded, 
but William ushered Jane across to a clearing between the trees. Below 
lay Harvest Hall, basking in warm sunlight; to its south and west folds 
of green meadow rolled down towards the country house, while, to the 
east, lay forest, fanning out to encroach upon its northern edge. 


Click here to read the rest of this story (192 more lines)