Nine Ten Begin Again: A Grasshopper Lawns affair Read online

  ‘Sylvia?’ Patrick nodded to himself even as he asked. ‘The Cold War spy you set me up on a date with, Edge? Distilled poison, I thought. I still haven’t quite forgiven you for that. Does she dress well?’

  ‘And they say we dress to please men. Yes, she does. Beautifully.’ Edge made up her mind. ‘I’m not remotely hungry, but I am going up for seconds. Vivian, want to come with me?’

  Vivian, who had known that spark of mischief for around fifty years, responded to it automatically, pushing back her chair and getting to her feet. The friends were in sharp contrast as they made their way over the busy room—Edge attractive, slender in well-fitted slacks with a designer jersey which made the most of her slim figure and red-blond colouring, and Vivian overweight but with superb posture and beautiful bone structure, taller and vivid in a navy dress with an intermittent green and white flecking pattern that drew and tricked the eye past her generous curves. The middle-aged server at the buffet eyed them warily as Edge lifted the lid of the nearest chafing dish to reveal rice.

  ‘Ye'r nae suppose tae tak mair.’ She held her ground when both women turned stares on her. ‘Thare wilnae be enough if ye tak mair.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Edge said bracingly, and her eyes sparkled in challenge. ‘It’s nearly two o’clock. No-one will still be coming in for lunch, and there’s plenty left. No-one has ever been turned back before. You’ll only be throwing the leftovers out. And where is Vera?’

  ‘I dinnae ken Vera, bit it's Miz Bateman’s orders. Na seconds, leftovers gang tae the dugs.’

  ‘It’s curry!’ Vivian was indignant. ‘They’re rescue dogs, not dustbins. That’s absolutely ridiculous.’ She spooned rice onto her plate, and opened the second chafing dish. ‘Not very good curry, either,’ she added critically and helped herself. Edge, biting her lip to hide a smile, followed suit as Major Horace marched back to join them, his brushed-up moustache bristling. Under the threefold attack the server, looking mutinous, retreated to the kitchen and Edge and Vivian returned in triumph to the table.

  ‘I’ll eat that, if you like,’ William offered helpfully and cheerfully tucked into the helpings they’d taken.

  ‘It really isn’t very good,’ Edge glanced across at Vivian. ‘I only ever eat lunch inside when Patrick invites himself as my guest, but that was probably the worst I’ve ever had here. Has the food been going downhill lately?’

  Vivian shrugged. ‘I stopped eating lunch here a week or so back, after the worst bouillabaisse I’ve ever had. This was pretty good by comparison. Our rent may include a daily meal but I see no reason to make myself ill. I can’t imagine what Bill MacNab is up to, the food used to be really good.’

  ‘Well now.’ Patrick pushed his plate away and sat back. ‘One of the complaints the Trust received was from Bill. As food and beverage manager he’s always chosen his suppliers himself, and he was saying that being restricted to Ms Bateman’s suppliers was severely affecting quality. So you’d agree with that, then.’

  ‘I take my daily meal as breakfast, and there’s not been a difference there,’ Edge said fairly. ‘The potato scones are as good as ever, and it’s hard to mess up poached egg and kippers. Although now you mention it, Donald was extremely rude about the pork sausages the other morning, and hasn’t had them since. Why on earth is the Bateman woman interfering with the catering, though? Hamish always left that up to Bill. It surely isn’t part of a bursar’s job description.’

  ‘Hamish’s sabbatical created a bit of a problem, it isn’t as easy as you seem to think to get a top quality bursar for a year.’ Patrick was slightly defensive. ‘Jemima’s credentials were impressive. I was asked to pop in and have a word with her about the complaints.’

  ‘Jemima Bateman, the political wannabe? Och, well, that explains it all.’ William shook his head. ‘Politicians haven’t a clue. You of all people should have known that, Patrick.’

  ‘Not my choice. I was appointed an Executive Trustee after she was brought in,’ Patrick said briefly.

  ‘So sad about Hamish’s son being murdered. I’m not surprised it knocked him for a loop, but still, a year!’ Vivian looked back at the buffet. ‘Are we going to risk a pudding, to get rid of the aftertaste of curry?’

  ‘Was that why he took it? I didn’t realize. I assumed he wanted to write a book, or something.’ William pushed back his chair, and Vivian followed suit.

  ‘Typical writer,’ Edge remarked, smiling, to Patrick. ‘I don’t think it has ever occurred to William that anyone would want to do anything but write books.’

  ‘He’s made it work for him. His latest is doing well, deservedly so. I enjoyed it. More accessible than his earlier ones. Have you read it?’

  ‘I haven’t. I’m not good at sci-fi and his books make me feel a complete idiot, but I’ll try it. I hadn’t realized that was why Hamish took off, either. A year seems a long time to mourn a son, especially to leave Scotland when he’s got two other sons here. He’s a very proud grandfather, forever showing me photographs of wee Hamish.’

  ‘Before my time,’ Patrick reminded her patiently. ‘The Trustees made the decision, especially as he recommended Jemima and she did have the qualifications.’

  ‘I can’t imagine why a political wannabe would want to be the bursar for a retirement village. I’d have thought it very time-consuming and very low profile.’

  ‘Well, part of her policy is getting people back in work, and she asked if she could bring in part-timers for repainting, that sort of thing. The Trustees were happy with that. There’s always stuff that needs doing around a place this size, and if she has candidates on file it’s less work for the administrator, after all. You have to admit the place is looking smarter already; all the painting and gardening tidy-up has paid off. Definite improvement when I drove in. Are we having pudding?’

  Meeting with new bursar

  ‘I’m not sure this Trustee appointment will be the easy ride I thought.’ Patrick went back to their earlier conversation as they made their way after lunch up to the administrative offices. ‘The Executive Trustee bit, I mean. I didn’t like to say earlier, but there have been twenty-seven complaints since she took up the reins. Not only things like employing ex-cons; she’s treading on a lot of toes.’

  ‘Make that twenty-eight, ’ Edge said drily as they reached the top of the stairs and the slightly muffled noise audible from the first landing resolved itself into the administrator’s angry voice. Her South African accent always became more noticeable when she was under pressure and her voice raised another notch to a near shout as Patrick and Edge neared her office.

  ‘You hed no right to change kitchen staff, thet is my responsibility,’ she was saying as Patrick tapped at the closed door, then opened it to allow Edge in first. ‘I hed spoken to you about this before, you can’t jist—’

  As they entered she stopped short, bristling, a middle-aged and extremely competent woman so flushed with rage she looked on the brink of an apoplexy. By contrast, the woman opposite her looked perfectly composed, but turned an annoyed face to the intruders.

  ‘Do you mind? This is a private conversation.’

  ‘Not really,’ Patrick said cheerfully. ‘It can be heard halfway round the building. I’m Patrick Fitzpatrick, from the Board of Trustees, and we have an appointment at,’ he glanced at his watch, ‘two-thirty. It’s three minutes to that now. I’d have waited, but this conversation sounded relevant to my visit.’

  ‘Ja well, it is.’ Katryn turned sharply on her heel and went back behind her desk to sit down. ‘I’m very glad to see you, Patrick, and I can tell you straight if you don’t sort this, this situation out, the Board will have my resignation tomorrow. And likely Bill MacNab’s as well. We have clearly defined duties here, we do our jobs extremely well, and, while Hamish was the bursar, never had a single complaint. Ever since Jemima was brought in, I’ve had nothing but complaints and problems across my desk. I’ll be making a formal complaint myself; I’ve just found out about the latest and it’s the final
bluddy straw. Bill has always used two particular contract staff in the kitchen and dining-room, and has a rota of residents who work for house credits. She’s fired the contractors, brought in her own four appointments, and told him that using residents will no longer be suitable, for health and safety reasons. I am in overall charge of staff decisions, and I discuss with Bill or any other section head what their staff needs will be. Not a temporary bursar who hasn’t a bluddy clue!’

  Jemima Bateman flushed slightly under Edge’s interested gaze. She wasn’t unattractive, probably in her forties, well-groomed and with lips slightly thinner than they were painted.

  ‘I hadn’t realized the time, Mr Fitzpatrick, I had planned to be waiting downstairs for your arrival. There’s a private room on this floor, shall we go there now?’

  ‘You can have this office.’ Katryn stood up again. ‘I need to go for a walk to cool down. I would very much like a word with you, Patrick, before you go.’

  She left and Jemima’s thin lips stretched into a mirthless smile. ‘South Africans are so volatile,’ she remarked, and offered a cool hand to Edge. ‘Are you also with the Trust?’

  ‘Mrs Cameron. I’m in the Residents’ Association.’ Edge, who had lived for many years in South Africa and liked Katryn very much, was cool. ‘I’m not here officially. However, when I heard from Patrick about the complaints, and following an incident at lunch today, I invited myself along.’

  Jemima Bateman looked slightly surprised and not entirely pleased, but sank into the other visitor chair with undiminished poise as Patrick rounded the desk to take Katryn’s chair.

  ‘This place is completely inefficient,’ she said without preamble. ‘A large part of the workforce is made up of the residents themselves who aren’t trained to modern health and safety standards. The catering manager has been stretching his budget further than necessary to buy food that can be bought at nearly half the price elsewhere, and his contract staffers were costing us a fortune. By streamlining sources and trimming the excess surplus in every department, the Lawns could be turning a substantial profit instead of breaking even. That administrator is barely competent, the grounds manager is already past retirement age, the front desk manager thinks nothing of walking away from her desk leaving an old prostitute in charge of our public image, and the matron is completely uncooperative.’

  Patrick looked interested. ‘Uncooperative?’ he prodded, and Jemima looked spiteful.

  ‘I had negotiated two local contracts for convalescent patients in the Edinburgh area. People who are well enough to leave hospital, but not yet fit to move back to their own homes. I had arranged for us to take up to five at a time in Frail Care, and she refused. Refused! Said she was far too busy with her other responsibilities to take on full-time nursing duties. In my negotiating I had allowed for two additional nurses so we could offer twenty-four hour care, but we can’t possibly turn a profit if we have to bring in a third nurse. And besides, what does she do, anyway? Daily medication visits, and she runs exercise classes. Do you go to those?’ She glanced at Edge, who nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Jemima looked slightly taken aback. ‘Oh. I couldn’t imagine anyone in an old age home wanting exercise classes. Anyway, I said one person couldn’t possibly offer full care to twenty-six residents and once we employed a second person, the cost would need to be covered somehow. She told me contract night nurses are brought in whenever residents have to stay in Frail Care, and that for the rest she relies on one of the residents, a retired Indian medic, as her back-up. I really don’t think the Trust has any idea what goes on here.’

  ‘Well, now.’ Patrick gave her a very steady look under his bushy white brows. ‘I’m thinking that it is you who has no idea of what goes on here, and that surprises me, because I know you would have been fully briefed. The Trust doesn’t need to turn a profit, or even cover costs, but luckily it does. It’s a retirement village for anyone over fifty-five, not an old-age home, even though some of the older residents are now heading into their eighties. Residence here is conditional on being active, mobile and independent, and the matron does a superb job of ensuring residents are fit and healthy. Many of the residents like to work part-time in the administration of the place, which has always been encouraged and always will be, and they are fully monitored by the staff. In fact I have to echo the administrator: every member of the staff does an excellent job.’

  ‘They waste money hand over fist,’ Jemima argued, undeterred, and he shook his head patiently.

  ‘They have annual budgets and stay within them. You will have to take your comments about those budgets to the Board direct, because, as the Trust accountant, I helped set them. Jemima, I asked to speak to you today because of the stream of complaints we’ve been getting from both the staff and the residents. The Board will be insisting that control of the rota rests with the administrator. Only she, after liaison with the various department managers, will decide who is employed where and to do what. I appreciate you asked to be able to place people here, but that is something that must go through the established channels. We also have to insist that you wait for the department managers to come to you to discuss sourcing suppliers, or maintenance contracts, or any other financial matters. The bursar role was outlined to you in detail, and I checked it when the complaints started coming in. One of your responsibilities is to spot-check the day-to-day accounts to ensure no financial irregularities, but you are expected to raise any issues with the relevant staff member first, with the Trust second, and only on request are you to look for solutions.’

  He gazed at her blandly and she fidgeted, annoyed.

  ‘And you are happy to have a prostitute on the front desk?’ She went back to an earlier accusation and Patrick glanced across at Edge, lifting his brows.

  Edge’s earlier fury had evaporated under Patrick’s calm firm manner, but she was still annoyed. ‘You make her sound like a streetwalker. Actually, she was an actress and entertainer. The fact that she was also a successful madam isn’t exactly tattooed on her forehead. She’s one of several residents who likes to be on standby. Every resident here has an interesting past; you don’t seem to know that’s another condition of acceptance? This is not a village for timid types afraid to rock the boat when we’re bullied. And if there are any other complaints it won’t only be the staff taking them up, it will be the Residents’ Association as well.’

  The two women glared at each other in a perfection of loathing, but it was Jemima’s eyes that dropped first.

  Donald loses his temper

  ‘Do you think she’ll resign?’ Edge asked in an undertone as they went back down the stairs, and Patrick shook his head.

  ‘I hope not,’ he said frankly. ‘I think she was only being a touch over-zealous. She’ll sulk for a while, then remember why she’s doing this and get on with the job. She really is qualified to handle the day–to-day finances, you know. She just needs to learn a touch more diplomacy in addressing what she sees as problem areas.’

  As they reached the big entrance room, one of the elderly rescue Labradors heaved itself out of its basket and padded over to greet them, tail waving.

  ‘Poor old Hector, expected to live on curry scraps.’ Edge fondled his ears and he beamed up at her. She looked across at the front desk, which was unattended, although Josie was curled up in the corner of the sofa nearest to the desk, dozing. At eighty she probably was a bit old to be Megan’s relief person but enjoyed the job so much that no-one had the heart to tell her so. Megan appeared from the library behind the desk, having obviously heard them.

  ‘Curry scraps?’ she asked curiously, taking her seat and smiling across at them. ‘Don’t tell me That Woman is going ahead with her plan? She decided that keeping two dogs on proper dog food was wasteful and said they could have kitchen leftovers instead. I told her I’d report her personally to the SSPCA. We do give them a small bowl of leftovers after lunches, but as a treat, not a meal. And never curry!’

  ‘Patrick sorted her out,’ Ed
ge smiled back, and glinted up at Patrick approvingly.

  Megan brightened. ‘Does that mean she’s going and Hamish will come back?’

  ‘No, unfortunately that’s not an option,’ Patrick said heavily. ‘No-one even knows where he is. It does mean, though, that I’ve had a word, and that you can contact me directly if there are any further problems. Or, of course, go through Katryn. The Trust is extremely happy with the quality of the permanent staff and Jemima has now been reminded of that. I’ll maybe need to see Bill MacNab myself, but could you make that clear to the others? And I also promised to see Katryn before I left. Do you…’

  He was interrupted by Donald’s abrupt entrance into the hall, his whippet at his heels. None of them had ever seen him angry before—ruffled, yes, after Clarissa’s bulldog attacked him some eight months earlier, but not angry.

  ‘Look at my dog! I put her in one of the runs because I was going to be out all morning, and look at her! Those are supposed to be heated kennels, who turned the heating off? And didn’t bother to put up a warning sign?’

  Odette was, indeed, shivering and he turned his blazing blue eyes unerringly on Jemima Bateman, who was coming down the stairs. ‘Five degrees out there, and I left her for four hours. Who the hell do you think you are?’

  She shrank back, far more unnerved than she had been by Katryn’s direct attack, and cringed obsequiously as he thrust his face into hers.

  ‘Stop-saving-money-at-our-expense,’ he gritted through his teeth and she nodded quickly.

  He straightened, visibly controlled himself, turned on his heel, and strode out, ignoring the others. Edge and Patrick exchanged glances as Jemima nodded to Megan.

  ‘Turn the heating on in the runs, Megan. At least while the temperature is below ten degrees.’ Megan glared at her and opened the panel on a complicated control board while Josie, roused by the shouting, watched with bright eyes.

  Katryn came in, colour whipped into her cheeks by the November wind. ‘What got Donald so furious? I don’t think he even saw me, he nearly knocked me flying.’