Deadheads. Reginald Hill
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another name in the legend caught Pascoe’s eye.
‘I see there’s someone called Aldermann,’ he said. ‘Any connection?’
He worked out which it was. A slightly built man with a black moustache and a rather melancholy expression (even though smiling) who reminded Pascoe of Neville Chamberlain.
‘With our Patrick, you mean?’ said Elgood. ‘Yes, that’s Eddie Aldermann. He’d be, let me see, his great-uncle. A good lad was Eddie. I got into a bit of a tangle in them early days and someone put me on to Eddie and he got it sorted and after that he managed all my finance. He was a genius with figures. Could have been a millionaire, I reckon. Would have been if his missus had her way.’
‘Oh. How was that?’
Elgood’s desire to be rid of him seemed to have weakened now he was into the past. The only period of history which really fascinates most people, Pascoe had often remarked, is that commencing with their own childhood and ending about ten years ago.
‘Flo Aldermann was a pushy woman. Eddie would have been happy enough working for a steady wage and getting home in plenty of time to look after his patch of garden, but Flo wanted more than that. And she was right, in a way. He had the talent, he made the money. A man should use his talents. The trouble was, he had more than one talent. The other was with gardens, roses in particular. And Flo over-reached herself when she pushed him into buying that house of theirs, Rosemont. It was too big for ’em and had been badly neglected, but she wanted it, so Eddie spent thousands doing it up. But the gardens needed doing up too, and that’s where Flo got caught. Eddie wasn’t an obstinate man except when it came to his gardening. Now instead of a quarter-acre he had four or five. He dug his heels in, and his spade too, likely. This came first from now on. Well, they were very comfortable, very comfortable indeed, but it was the gardens at Rosemont as robbed Flo of her million, I reckon.’
‘And Patrick inherited the estate? They had no children of their own?’
‘No. Flo wasn’t the mothering kind. It was her niece, Penny Highsmith, that inherited. Nice lass, Penny. Bonny lass.’
Elgood’s eyes gleamed with a connoisseur’s enthusiasm.
‘And Patrick inherited when she died?’ said Pascoe.
‘No,’ said Elgood in exasperation. ‘Penny’s Patrick’s mother. She’s still living down in London somewhere.’
Now Pascoe was really puzzled.
‘You say she was Mrs Aldermann’s niece. And her name’s Highsmith? And she’s still alive? But Patrick owns Rosemont and he’s called Aldermann?’
‘Oh aye, it does sound a bit odd, I reckon. She split up the estate when he came of age, so I gather. She missed London and the bright lights, he wanted to stay up here, I suppose. So he got the house and she went off with the rest and set herself up down south.’
‘And the name?’
‘He changed it, by deed poll, soon as he came of age. He thought the sun shone out of Eddie’s arsehole, so it seems. Wanted to follow his example in every way. It came of not having a father of his own, I expect. Well, he managed it so far as Rosemont goes, from what I’ve seen. He’s got a real touch with the roses, I’ll give him that. But he doesn’t come within a light-year of being the accountant old Eddie was.’
‘Yet you took him on at Perfecta?’
Now they were back on the old track again, Elgood immediately began to show signs of his old impatience to end the interview.
‘Why not? It was a gesture for old times’ sake. He needed a job. I saw no harm in pushing a bit of work his way. There’s room for a bit of sentiment in business, Mr Pascoe.’
‘You mean he was out of work? An accountant?’ said Pascoe who placed accountants with doctors, undertakers and whores in the class of the perpetually employed.
‘He was with some firm in Harrogate for a bit, but he fell out with them and left. There was some talk of a bit of bother, but Yorkshire’s a grand place for smoke with not much fire, so there was likely nothing in it. He’d been working private for a couple of years when I took him on. I reckon he’d been living on capital, myself, and doing most of his work in those bloody gardens of his!’
‘But you kept him on? Promoted him in fact?’
Elgood shook his head angrily and said, ‘Not really. In fact he was just on the point of getting the push. We had to start cutting back because of the recession. We’re still at it, which is why I’m hanging around here waiting for this bloody meeting to finish. We got shot of all our part-timers for a start, from the factory through to the executive level. Aldermann was finished. Then Chris Burke died. Our policy, again at all levels, was to offer part-timers a full-time job if there was a vacancy. Aldermann was the only one who could do Burke’s job, obvious. So he got it.’
‘And he’s not done it very well?’
‘He muddles through,’ said Elgood. ‘But his heart’s not in it. But he can be a charmer too, and he’s not without friends at court. There’s a few on my board think he’s the bee’s knees.’
The intercom buzzed. He answered it.
Miss Dominic’s voice said, ‘The meeting’s over, Mr Elgood.’
‘Right. Thanks.’
To Pascoe’s surprise, Elgood started tidying up, rolling down his sleeves, fastening his tie, buttoning his waistcoat, putting on his jacket. He had assumed that the dishevelled look was specially prepared for encounters with the work force.
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