A Scandalous Man

The man nodded his greasy hair towards a stack of London A to Z guides, then turned away. Harry bought an A to Z, cursing under his breath. He handed over a ten pound note. The change was returned slowly and without a word. Harry looked at the newsagent’s flabby, white, unshaven jowls.

‘Somefink else I can do for you?’ the newsagent snapped.

‘Yes,’ Harry said. ‘You could die.’

He took the map and walked out. The newsagent mumbled curses of his own. Harry searched for the address and began walking towards the heath. The apartment was part of a red-brick Victorian mansion block facing south. It sat squat like a fort. He climbed the steps to the front door and into an entrance hall lined with polished brass panels and tinted mirrors. The jade-coloured marble floor was spotless. The concierge was formal, black tail-coat and white shirt. It was like stepping back into the London of Charles Dickens.

‘Good evening, sir. How may I help you?’ Harry cleared his throat.

‘My name is Harry Burnett. I …’

‘Ah yes,’ the concierge interrupted. He beamed. ‘I’ve been waiting for you, Mr Burnett. I’m due to go off duty, but I wanted to help in any way that I can. I am so sorry about what has happened to your father.’

The concierge proffered a hand and they shook formally.

‘Sorry?’

‘Yes, ever so sorry, sir.’

Harry blinked and then savoured the moment. He could not remember ever meeting anyone sorry about his father before.

‘Thank you,’ he murmured.

‘How is he?’

‘Still alive is all I know,’ Harry responded.

‘A bad business.’

‘Yes, indeed.’

‘I’m Sidney Pearl, chief concierge here at Hampstead Tower Mansions. Anything I can do for you, just ask. Anything.’

‘I’d like to look around the flat while I wait for the police, if I may.’

‘Of course.’

He gave Harry the keys.

‘Thank you, Mr Pearl.’

‘Sidney, please.’

‘Thank you, Sidney. Please call me Harry. The police are on their way…’ He checked his watch. ‘They should be here any minute.’

‘I shouldn’t bet on it,’ Sidney responded. ‘Always late in my experience. Last time I called them to report a spot of vandalism, they arrived two days late. Do you want to go up now – or perhaps have a cup of tea? I’ve just made myself a pot.’

Tea sounded a good idea.

Harry wanted to hear more from the only living human being he had ever directly encountered who showed respect for Robin Burnett. The concierge nodded towards the leather armchairs in the hallway as he disappeared into his private kitchen.

‘Please, make yourself at home.’

Sidney emerged a few minutes later, smiling, with cups and a plate of bourbon biscuits.

‘The burglar alarm in the flat is off,’ he said, placing the tray in front of Harry. ‘I turn it off for the cleaners. I will re-set it when you leave. Your father was very particular about his security. I’m pleased to say he trusted me. Trusts me. He called this his “Place of Safety”. I like to think of it like that. A haven, if you will.’

Harry waited for an explanation. There wasn’t one. Sidney picked up his own tea-cup and smiled again.

‘You knew him well?’

Sidney shrugged.

‘For many years I have had the pleasure of knowing your father in my professional capacity. We are neighbours, so to say. My wife and I have a flat in the basement here. Very handy, it is. Otherwise we would certainly never be able to afford Hampstead, prices being what they are. Your father was – is – a great man, Harry. I hope you don’t mind me saying so. I am sure he will pull through.’

‘Thank you again,’ Harry responded, now somewhat embarrassed. ‘Why do you think he called this his “Place of Safety”?’

Sidney Pearl looked thoughtful.

‘I am not sure that I could answer that, except to say that many of our owners put a lot of store in their privacy. And who can blame them? We have television people here, business people, politicians. Celebrities, so to say. These kind of people have no privacy nowadays, do they?’ Sidney nodded at the window, ‘Not out there, in that world. It’s a fishbowl. Always someone trying to sneak a picture or ask an impertinent question. I sometimes think there is no such thing as privacy any more for anyone who seeks to serve the public. But in here in the Mansions, well, it’s different, isn’t it? Safe. And after… well, you know … after it all blew up around your father, I suppose that a lot of things happened that made him … cautious.’

‘Yes,’ Harry agreed. ‘A lot of things did happen.’

‘They hunted him, sir.’ Sidney Pearl sounded aggrieved. ‘They hunted him like it was a sport.’

‘Fox-hunting and politician-hunting,’ Harry replied. ‘Traditional British blood sports. Ought to be banned.’

They agreed it was an awful business. Harry sipped his black tea and sucked a bourbon biscuit. Sidney Pearl put his own cup to the side and busied himself with a ledger on the desk.

‘May I ask you something, Sidney?’

‘Of course. Anything at all.’

‘You said my father was a great man. Why was that exactly?’

Sidney Pearl looked surprised, as if the answer was so obvious it did not bear repeating.

‘Well, he changed this country, didn’t he? He – and others like him – got us back to work, got the unions off our backs, made us feel it wasn’t all hopeless.’

Now it was Harry who looked surprised.

‘Oh, you’re too young to remember, a young man like you.’

Harry agreed.

‘I was born in 1979. On the day Mrs Thatcher became Prime Minister. My sister jokes that I am one of Thatcher’s Children and that if I’d been a girl my father would have called me Maggie.’

‘Were you born that day? Were you indeed?’ Sidney beamed. ‘Well then, until the moment you arrived among us this country couldn’t do anything right. Our cars were rubbish. I had a British Leyland. Montego it was. Named after a Bay in Jamaica. Very fancy. Only it leaked oil in my driveway and wouldn’t start in the winter. Chap next door had Japanese – a Honda. We laughed at him at first, but it didn’t leak anything, ever, and started every morning without trouble. Nowadays the Japanese have a car industry and we don’t. Tells you something, doesn’t it? People were always on strike. The buses, the trains, the council workers. Your father helped turn it all around. On top of that he is a gent, a real gent. Invited me and the family to the House of Commons. Several times, it was. A big man always has time for the little people, if you get my meaning. The cleaners, the gardeners. Your father always had a kind word or two. He has character, Harry. And character is destiny, isn’t that what they say?’