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  ‘Are you not confusing health with life?’ said Mr Bullstrode. ‘And by life I mean the vital element. Now the law of nature has it that every living thing shall die. That, sir, I think you will not deny.’

  ‘I cannot,’ said Dr Magrew, ‘it is the truth. On the other hand I would question your right to call a dying man healthy. In all my experience as a practitioner of medicine I cannot recall being present at the deathbed of a healthy man.’

  Mr Flawse rapped his glass to gain attention and the decanter. ‘I think we are ignoring the factor of unnatural death,’ he said, refilling his glass. ‘You doubtless know the conundrum of the fly and the locomotive. A perfectly healthy fly is travelling at twenty miles an hour in exactly the opposite direction to a locomotive travelling at sixty. The locomotive and the fly collide and the fly is instantaneously dead but in dying it stopped travelling forward at twenty miles per hour and reversed its motion at sixty. Now, sir, if the fly stopped and began reverse progress is it not also true that for it to do so the locomotive must also have stopped if for but the millionth of a second of the fly’s stopping, and, more germane to our argument, is it not true that the fly died healthy?’

  Mr Bullstrode poured himself more port and considered the problem but it was the doctor who took up the cudgels. ‘If the locomotive stopped for a millionth of a second and about that, being no engineer, I cannot speak and must take your word for it, then it is also true that for that millionth of a second the fly was in an extremely unhealthy state. We have but to extend time in proportion to the life-expectancy of a fly to see that this is so. A fly’s natural term of life is, I believe, limited to a single day, whereas the human term is three-score years and ten, present company excepted. In short a fly can look forward to approximately eighty-six thousand four hundred seconds of conscious existence whereas the human being can count on two billion one hundred and seven million five hundred and twenty seconds between birth and death. I leave it to you to discern the difference in lifetime of one millionth of a second for the fly and its equivalent length in a human’s. At short notice I calculate the latter to be of the order of magnitude of five and a half minutes. Certainly sufficient time in which to diagnose the patient as being unhealthy.’

  Having disposed of the fly argument and the rest of the contents of his glass Dr Magrew sat back in his chair triumphantly.

  It was Mr Bullstrode’s turn to apply the methods of the law to the problem. ‘Let us take the question of capital punishment,’ he said. ‘It was one of the proudest boasts of the penal system that no man went to the gallows unless he was fit to be hanged. Now a fit man is a healthy man and since death by hanging is instantaneous, a murderer died healthy.’

  But Dr Magrew was not to be put down so easily. ‘Semantics, sir, semantics. You say that a murderer going to the gallows is fit to be hanged. Now I would have it that no man who murders is fit to live. We can turn these things on their heads. It all depends on one’s viewpoint.’

  ‘Aye, there’s the rub,’ said Mr Flawse, ‘from what viewpoint should we look at things? Now, lacking any firmer ground than that afforded by my own experience, which has been largely confined to dogs and their habits, I would say we should start a little lower on the evolutionary scale than primates. It is a common saying that dog eats dog. The man who said it first did not know dogs. Dogs do not eat dogs. They work in packs and a pack animal is not a cannibal. It depends upon its fellows to bring down its prey and being dependent has the morality of a social being, an instinctive morality but morality for all that. Man, on the other hand, has no natural or instinctive morality. The process of history proves the contrary and the history of religion reinforces it. If there were any natural morality in man there would be no need for religion or indeed for law. And yet without morality man would not have survived. Another conundrum, gentlemen; science destroyed the belief in God upon which morality depended for its source; science has likewise substituted the means for man’s destruction; in short we are without that moral sense that has saved us from extinction in the past and in possession of the means of extinguishing ourselves in the future. A bleak future, gentlemen, and one I trust I shall not be here to experience.’

  ‘And what advice would you offer the future generation, sir?’ enquired Mr Bullstrode.

  ‘That which Cromwell gave his Roundheads,’ said Mr Flawse. ‘To put their faith in God and keep their powder dry.’

  ‘Which is to suppose that God exists,’ said Dr Magrew.

  ‘Which is to suppose no such thing,’ said Mr Flawse. ‘Faith is one thing; knowledge quite another. It were too easy otherwise.’

  ‘Then you fall back on tradition, sir,’ said Mr Bullstrode approvingly. ‘As a lawyer I find much to commend your attitude.’

  ‘I fall but on my family,’ said Mr Flawse. ‘The inheritance of characteristics is a fact of nature. It was Socrates who said “Know thyself.” I would go further and say to know thyself one must first know thy ancestry. It is the key to my instructions to the bastard. Let him find out who his father was and then his grandfather and even further back and then he’ll find himself.’

  ‘And having found himself, what then?’ asked Mr Bullstrode.

  ‘Be himself,’ said Mr Flawse, and promptly fell asleep.

  9

  Upstairs in the solitude of her bedroom Mrs Flawse was beside herself. For the second time in her life a husband had cheated her and the occasion called for wailing and gnashing of teeth. But being a methodical woman and knowing the expense of a new pair of dentures, Mrs Flawse first removed her teeth and put them in a glass of water before gnashing her gums. Nor did she wail. To have done so would have afforded her husband too much satisfaction and Mrs Flawse was determined he should suffer for his sins. Instead she sat toothless and considered her revenge. It lay, she realized, in Lockhart. If in his will Mr Flawse had saddled her with the perpetual occupation of the Hall without amenities, he had likewise saddled his grandson with the task of finding his father. Only then could he deprive her of her inheritance and failing in his search and following the old man’s death she would make what improvements she liked to the Hall. Better still, the income from the estate would be hers to do with as she pleased. She could accumulate it year by year and add it to her savings and one fine day she would have saved enough to leave and not return. But all this only if Lockhart failed to find his father. Deny Lockhart the means to search, and here Mrs Flawse’s thoughts flew to money, and she would be secure. She would see that Lockhart had no means.

  Reaching for her writing-case she put pen to paper and wrote a short, concise letter to Mr Treyer instructing him to dismiss Lockhart from Sandicott & Partner without notice. Then, having sealed the envelope, she put it away to give to Jessica to post or, more ironically, for Lockhart to deliver by hand. Mrs Flawse smiled a toothless smile and went on to consider other ways of taking her revenge, and by the time the afternoon had waned she was in a more cheerful mood. The old man had stipulated in his will that there should be no improvements to the Hall. She intended to stick to the letter of his instructions. There would be no improvements and for the rest of his unnatural life there would be the reverse. Windows would be opened, doors unlatched, food cold and damp beds damper still until with her assistance the infirmities of age had been accelerated to his end. And the old man had toasted Death. It was appropriate. Death would come sooner than he dreamt. Yes, that was it, delay Lockhart at all cost and hasten her husband’s dying and she would be in a position to dispute the will and maybe, better still, bribe Mr Bullstrode to amend its dispositions. She would have to sound the man out. In the meantime she would put a fine face on things.

  *

  If Mrs Flawse had been disturbed by the reading of the will, so had Lockhart. Sitting on Flawse Rigg with Jessica, he did not share her romantic view of his bastardy.

  ‘I didn’t know it meant I had no father,’ he told her. ‘I thought it was just another word he used for me. He’s always calling people bastards.’
/>   ‘But don’t you see how exciting it all is,’ said Jessica. ‘It’s like a paper chase, or Hunt the Father. And when you find him you’ll inherit the whole estate and we can come and live up here.’

  ‘It isn’t going to be easy to find a father who’s got to be flogged within an inch of his life the moment he admits it,’ said Lockhart practically, ‘and anyway I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘Well, at least you know when you were born and all you’ve got to find out then is who your mother was in love with.’

  ‘And how do I find out when I was born?’

  ‘By looking at your birth certificate, silly,’ said Jessica.

  ‘I haven’t got one,’ said Lockhart, ‘Grandpa wouldn’t let me be registered. It’s awfully inconvenient and Mr Treyer wasn’t able to pay my National Insurance stamps or anything. That’s one of the reasons he wouldn’t let me go to work. He said that for all practical purposes I don’t exist and wished I didn’t for impractical ones. I can’t vote or serve on a jury or get a passport.’

  ‘Oh, darling, there must be something you can do,’ said Jessica. ‘I mean once you do find your father he’ll let you have a birth certificate. Why don’t you have a word with Mr Bullstrode about it? He seems the sweetest old gentleman.’

  ‘Seems,’ said Lockhart gloomily, ‘just seems.’

  *

  But as the sun began to set over the firing-range and they walked hand-in-hand back to the house, they found Mr Bullstrode examining the front of the Range Rover with a legal eye.

  ‘It would appear that you have been in some sort of collision,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jessica, ‘we hit a little car.’

  ‘Indeed?’ said Mr Bullstrode. ‘A little car. I trust you reported the accident to the police.’

  Lockhart shook his head. ‘I didn’t bother.’

  ‘Indeed?’ said Mr Bullstrode more legally still. ‘You simply hit a little car and then continued on your way. And the owner of the other vehicle, did he have something to say about it?’

  ‘I didn’t wait to find out,’ said Lockhart.

  ‘And then the police chased us,’ said Jessica, ‘and Lockhart was ever so clever and drove through hedges and across fields where they couldn’t follow us.’

  ‘Hedges?’ said Mr Bullstrode. ‘Am I to understand that having been involved in an accident which you failed to stop and report you were then chased by the police and committed the further felony of driving this remarkable vehicle through hedges and across, by the look of the tyres, ploughed and doubtless planted fields thus damaging property and leaving yourselves liable to criminal prosecution on grounds of trespass?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lockhart, ‘that just about sums it up.’

  ‘Good God,’ said Mr Bullstrode, and scratched his bald head. ‘And did it never occur to you that the police must have taken your number and can trace you by it?’

  ‘Ah, but it wasn’t the right number,’ said Lockhart, and explained his reasons for changing it. By the time he had finished, Mr Bullstrode’s legal sensibilities were in tatters. ‘I hesitate to add to the proscriptions attendant upon your grandfather’s will by describing your actions as wholly criminal and without the law but I must say—’ He broke off, unable to give words to his feelings.

  ‘What?’ said Lockhart.

  Mr Bullstrode consulted common sense. ‘My advice is to leave the vehicle here,’ he said finally, ‘and to travel home by train.’

  ‘And what about finding my father?’ said Lockhart. ‘Have you any opinion to offer on that?’

  ‘I was not alerted to your mother’s death or your delivery until some months had passed,’ said Mr Bullstrode. ‘I can only advise you to consult Dr Magrew. Not, of course, that I impute any interest other than the professional to his concern for your dear mother’s condition at the time of her demise, but he may be able to help in the matter of timing your conception.’

  *

  But Dr Magrew, when they found him in the study warming his feet at the fire, could add little.

  ‘As I remember the occasion,’ he said, ‘you were, to put it mildly, a premature baby distinguished largely by the fact that you appeared to be born with measles. A wrong diagnosis, I have to confess, but understandable in that I have seldom if ever been confronted by a baby born in a stinging-nettle patch. But definitely premature and I would therefore put your conception no earlier than February 1956 and no later than March. I must therefore conclude that your father was in close proximity to these parts and those of your mother during these two months. I am glad to be able to say that I do not qualify as a candidate for your paternity by the good fortune of being out of the country at that time.’

  ‘But didn’t he look like anyone you knew when he was born?’ asked Jessica.

  ‘My dear,’ said Dr Magrew, ‘a premature infant expelled from the womb into a stinging-nettle patch as a result of his mother’s fall from her horse can only be said to look like nothing on earth. I would hesitate to defame any man by saying that Lockhart at birth looked like him. An orang-utan possibly, but an unsightly one at that. No, I am afraid your search will have to proceed along other lines than family likeness.’

  ‘But what about my mother?’ said Lockhart. ‘Surely she must have had friends who would be able to tell me something.’

  Dr Magrew nodded. ‘Your presence here today would seem conclusive evidence of the former proposition,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately your grandfather’s will makes the second highly unlikely.’

  ‘Can you tell us what Lockhart’s mother was like?’ asked Jessica.

  Dr Magrew’s face grew solemn. ‘Let’s just say she was a wild lassie with a tendency to rush her fences,’ he said. ‘Aye, and a beauty too in her day.’

  But that was as much as they could get out of him. And next morning, accepting a lift from Mr Bullstrode, who had stayed overnight, they left the Hall carrying Mrs Flawse’s letter to Mr Treyer.

  ‘My dear,’ said old Mr Flawse, patting Jessica’s hand rather more pruriently than their relationship called for, ‘you have married a numbskull but you’ll make a man of him yet. Come and see me again before I die. I like a woman of spirit.’

  It was a tearful Jessica who got into the car. ‘You must think me awfully sentimental,’ she said.

  ‘Of course ye are, hinnie,’ said the old man, ‘which is what I admire about you. Where there’s mush there’s grit beneath. You must have got it from your father. Your mother’s grit all over and as soft as a slug at the core.’

  And with these parting words they left the Hall. In the background old Mrs Flawse added slugs to the menu of her revenge.

  *

  Two days later Lockhart presented himself for the last time at Sandicott & Partner and handed Mr Treyer the envelope containing Mrs Flawse’s instructions. Half an hour later he left again while behind him Mr Treyer praised whatever gods there be, and in particular Janus, in the environs of Wheedle Street that he had at long last been instructed to fire, sack, dismiss and generally send packing the ghastly liability to the firm of Sandicott & Partner that marched under the name of Lockhart Flawse. His mother-in-law’s letter had been couched in much the same terms as the old man’s will and for once Mr Treyer had no need to equivocate. Lockhart left the office with his head ringing with Mr Treyer’s opinions and returned home to explain this strange turn of events to Jessica.

  ‘But why should Mummy have done such a horrid thing?’ she asked. Lockhart could find no answer.

  ‘Perhaps she doesn’t like me,’ he said.

  ‘Of course she does, darling. She would never have let me marry you if she hadn’t liked you.’

  ‘Well, if you had seen what she wrote in that letter about me you’d have second thoughts about that,’ said Lockhart. But Jessica had already summed her mother up.

  ‘I think she’s just an old cat and she’s cross about the will. That’s what I think. What are you going to do now?’

  ‘Get another job, I suppose,’ said Lockh
art but the supposition came easier than the result. The Labour Exchange in East Pursley was already swamped with applications from ex-stockbrokers and Mr Treyer’s refusal to grant that he had ever been employed at Sandicott, combined with his lack of any means of identification, made Lockhart’s position hopeless. It was the same at the Social Security office. His non-entity in any bureaucratic sense became obvious when he admitted he had never paid any National Insurance stamps.

  ‘As far as we are concerned you don’t statistically speaking exist,’ the clerk told him.

  ‘But I do,’ Lockhart insisted, ‘I am here. You can see me. You can even touch me if you want to.’

  The clerk didn’t. ‘Listen,’ he said with all the politeness of a public servant addressing the public, ‘you’ve admitted you aren’t on the Voters’ Roll, you haven’t been included in any census count, you can’t produce a passport or birth certificate, you haven’t had a job … Yes, I know what you’re going to say but I’ve a letter here from a Mr Treyer who states categorically you didn’t work at Sandicott & Partner, you haven’t paid a penny in National Insurance stamps, you haven’t got a health card. Now then, do you want to go your nonexistent way or do I have to call the police?’ Lockhart indicated that he didn’t want the police to be called.

  ‘Right then,’ said the clerk, ‘let me get on with some other applicants who’ve got a better claim on the Welfare State.’

  Lockhart left him coping with an unemployed graduate in Moral Sciences who had for months been demanding to be treated rather more generously than an old-age pensioner while at the same time refusing any job that was not consistent with his qualifications.

  *

  By the time Lockhart got home he was utterly despondent.