Chapter 10

From:
Holliday & String
Solicitors
7, Main Street
Chinfold Major
15 March

To:
Trask, Blaimire & Co.
Solicitors
1, Haymarket
Lower Newton Godfrey

For the attention of Mr Henry Blaimire

Dear Mr Blaimire,

Thank you for your letter of 13 March. Forgive me if I have difficulty in concentrating on a reply, the reason being that I am hard pressed to contain my hilarity. Why? You ‘boast’ of your triumph over Nether Walford in your recent chess match. Really, Mr Blaimire, this is too much. That you prevailed by only 4 : 2 is scarcely something to broadcast. The duffers in question asked us for a match last year. Knowing something about them, we sent our second team. The result was a predictable 6 : 0 to us. I do not enjoy being so frank, but the truth is that a team of chimpanzees would not be greatly extended in producing a similar outcome. As far as chess is concerned, Nether Walford is not on the map. Sorry to take the gilt from your gingerbread.

I hope you have now recovered from your ‘slight chill’. Not having heard that expression for decades, I am bound to wonder about the manner of man with whom I am corresponding. I have no wish to cast aspersions upon your professional competence, but am thinking in wider terms, and have deduced that you are a gentleman of – shall we say? – mature years. Is it wise for you to expose yourself to sitting still for a possible four or five hour session of intense attention to the chessboard? Please accept that I am thinking of your own good. Even as a stripling of fifty-seven, I am beginning to find that my fidgeting – I do not have the capacity for bodily inertia that the Germans call Sitzfleisch – another surprise for you there? – in addition to which my frequent visits to the smallest room cause bewilderment to some of my opponents. I hope I shall know when to call it a day. Will you, I wonder? But then, men of your age often appear to be comatose for long periods, so if you can manage the odd twitch now and then during play, you might get through.

You seem to have misinterpreted my comments concerning the late Doctor Alekhine. Apart from deriving some enjoyment from his chess games, I was not one of his admirers. He was at times addicted to drink – as you no doubt know, he temporarily lost his world title because of that weakness – whereas I am inclined to moderation with respect to alcohol. My aim was merely to inject a touch of common humanity into our exchanges, but if you insist on placing your subjective construction upon my every word, I fear that any path we share will be a thorny one.

The only proposal I can make in order to clear the air is that we – I mean our respective teams – meet over the chessboard and try conclusions on even terms. I would suggest that we visit you, but have reservations about your facilities. For our part, we have excellent premises for a contest, plus six sets of top-quality boxwood pieces (four-inch kings) and handsome boards, plus folding tables which we share with our bridge club. In saying this, I am mindful of a recent away engagement, in which our opponents furnished two barely acceptable plywood boards, plus four made from the tops of cartons plundered from the local supermarket, and an assortment of pieces which would have interested antique dealers but not, I think, near-professional standard players of what one likes to think of as the royal game. I hope that long sentence has not confused you. We are ready at all times, but it occurs to me that you may wish to go into training. Kindly let me have your views.

I will say no more about the late Eric Blaimire, except that I feel we shall all meet in the beyond and find ourselves able to exchange notes. Of course, that depends upon our all going to the same place. Perhaps you agree that this might depend upon our conduct on this plane.

I understand that the Aytuzi v King matter is due for hearing in the near future. Sharpen your claws.

Yours fraternally,

Lionel String
Partner

From:
Cedric King
Poplar House
Halfpenny Lane
15 March

To:
Aytuzi Finance Company
Unit 3, White Horse Yard
Newton Godfrey

Dear Bri,

How nice to hear from you again. I got your letter this morning and am able to fit in a little time to reply. You have no idea how my commitments engulf me. Still, in your own way, you are a priority of sorts and I must attend to your concerns.

I am comforted to learn that your roaming Rottweiler is basically a nice fellow. Perhaps I was wrong to fear that he might hand me a faceful of vitriol. No doubt I was thinking of another Sherlock Holmes case – I think it was ‘The Illustrious Client’ – in which Kitty Winter did that to the dastardly Baron Gruner. By the way, I have always thought that the latter’s surname should have qualified for an umlaut, but no matter, as the nuances of Conan Doyle’s work are probably too esoteric for you. Being averse to repetition, I apologise for bringing up the great detective again.

The next time Mr Rook calls, I will invite him in for cup of nettle tea. By the way, in case you thought you were putting the wind up me with the allusion to his iron-pumping, be aware that I am no slouch in that department, my speciality being the clean and jerk.

I suppose I should be well enough acquainted with the kind of thing we are going through, as I once spent some time in the USA, where I became friendly with a repo man. In case you don’t know, these people are engaged to recover items, especially cars, when repayments have been missed. The chap I have in mind was alarmingly bulky and, as they say, of simian aspect (apelike, in case you’re floundering) but was a most charming type, though he was always armed and thought nothing of exchanging shots with his defaulters. I accompanied him for three weeks, and was comforted to find that he was an excellent marksman, though he did lose an earlobe in one sprightly engagement. Overall, the experience was somewhat disquieting.

Now, I would like to leave this until last, but I have never been one to shirk unpleasantness. Aunt Ethel has staged an astonishing recovery and is back to her normal querulous state. This is somewhat unsettling. She has gone so far as to say that she was precipitate in making what I had been convinced was her last will and testament, and that she may reconsider. I am beginning to wonder what to do about the pestilential old bat. As Verdi’s Duke of Mantua so eloquently put it, la donna è mobile. Is this a little above your head?