New Directions (3)

3

The middle of Cambridge is well off for pubs. Dev seemed to know the place better than me. I half followed him along a short pedestrianised street paved in pinkish-brown criss-crossed bricks dodging bikes and aimless window shoppers staring into whatever was behind the glass reflecting their image. I hardly noticed the elegant Georgian buildings above the shop fronts until we came to a cross roads and Dev pointed to the opposite street. On its right, a mixture of pastel painted Georgian and black trimmed Tudor edifices. Solid redbrick medieval structures spaced out between neat pockets of low wrought iron fenced lawns stood on the left side. The low winter sun highlighted the features of about twenty perfectly painted classical squares-within-rectangle windows.

‘There is a very nice place just along here.’ Dev led the way to the fifth building on the right, a grey bricked dull looking three story regency job. The style of the ground level frontage, identical to the two-a-penny upmarket pubs in London, painted black with the name in large guilt letters over three white framed six-by-five picture windows. As we went in I noticed a sign on the wall by the entrance boasting Indian cuisine. I knew the flavour of the bar snack I’d feel obliged to choose.

The Pub’s interior could have been in any one of a thousand south of Nottinghamshire. The bar and restaurant areas were joined together by a wide arch knocked out of an original dividing wall. The floor of the bar was covered with a claret coloured carpet with an ugly white and blue mock medieval pattern. Two walls were lined with faux-leather button padded seating in the same colour as the carpet like armless Chesterfieds. Square oak tables each with a pair of chairs sat in front of them all upholstered in the same fake material as the benches. The walls were painted in a creamy white and pocked with old photos of the city, one wall had two oars screwed to it. They reminded me of a filthy limerick I’d heard at school about certain individuals out punting.

The darkish grey-blue covered the walls in the dining section hoped for a cosy feel but achieved more of an upmarket dungeon effect due to the lack of a window. The floor had oak-stained floorboards and a number of small round oak tables spaced around on it. Another armless Chesterfield with tables and chairs took up one end with another pair of opposing oars above it. Dev guided me to one of the bijou round tables furnished with the same type of chairs as the rest of the place.

The pub ran a kind of part-time waiting service. A couple of pretty well-spoken girls welcomed us. I guessed they were students working for pocket money or free booze in the evenings. Their job was to take customers’ food orders and deliver them when ready, but we had to go the bar to order drinks and fetch them ourselves. Dev left me to peruse while he went to get a couple of pints of Becks Blue shandy.

A neat blue booklet placed in the centre of the table turned out to be a menu. I’d half expected one of the girls to bring a plastified plank the size of a broadsheet covered with “specials!” and photo-shopped pictures of meals which never looked like the ones you received.

The thought that I eat in the wrong kind of pub was passing through my mind when Dev came into the room carefully carrying two very full glasses of a fizzy urine coloured liquid. He placed them on the table without spilling a drop. ‘Have you decided on anything, Mr. James?’ he enquired.

‘Since you’re buying me food you’d better call me Terence.’

Dev smiled at me and pushed his rimless specs back in place with his left forefinger. ‘That is a very nice name,’ his slight frown told me he thought I was called something else but was too polite to mention it. ‘I’m Dev.’

‘Yes I know, you told me when you . . . button holed me.’ I added a grin to sweeten the barb.

Oh yes, I’m very sorry. I don’t normally do that kind of thing, but when I saw you I took the opportunity to speak to you. I’ve been intending to call you. Daniels gave me your number. I hope you do not mind.’

‘I mind Daniels gave you my number.’

Dev’s face took on a slightly red tone. ‘Oh dear, I am sorry. They should have agreed it with you shouldn’t they? I must admit it didn’t occur to me.’

‘Yes they should have. It didn’t seem to occur to them either.’

I was making Dev uncomfortable. He had the look of a kid caught taking two purple sweets out the Quality Street box. ‘Too late now.’ I said, ‘it’s only spilt milk. I think I’ll just have tandoori chicken and some salad. I don’t eat much in the middle of the day.’

One of the girls approached our table two minutes after Dev picked up the menu. He ordered chicken and bacon avocado salad. I must have looked as surprised as I felt, but he said nothing.

‘You said you wanted to explain. I still don’t see why you think I can help.’ I was anxious to get this over with, I didn’t want to drag things out over a meal. I wasn’t even hungry.

‘Yes of course, Mr. James. As I indicated, it’s a rather delicate situation.’

‘So you said.’

‘I bought the lease on a small cottage in Berkshire. I got it for a very good price because it has a sitting tenant in it. One of a terrace of five cottages. The lease on the other four runs out in three years but the owners do not want to sell yet. I’m trying to negotiate a sale in due course.’

‘So you took a gamble on buying a sitting tenant. Now you’re in luck and you want to kick her out. Right?’

Dev looked at me like I’d just spat in his face. ‘Mr James . . . Terence . . . that is certainly not my intention. She is a very old lady—‘

‘What’s the problem then?’

‘Please let me finish. She normally pays regularly right on time, but the payments stopped three months ago. I’m worried about her. Something might have happened.’

‘Have been over to see her?’ The question seemed pointless to me.

‘I try to avoid meeting my tenants. I find it prevents embarrassment. I generally let Daniels do that, but . . .’ I finished the sentence for him.

‘This one isn’t on their books’

‘Yes. Lapse of me I know, but the arrangement she had with the lease holders had worked for a long time, I just took it over. Looking back I should have changed to Daniels, but it was a very busy time.’

My mind started wandering, the white shirt with one too many top buttons undone on the cute brunette who took the food order seemed more interesting. ‘So you don’t actually know the old lady?’ I said trying to drag my mind back to understanding what Dev wanted.

‘Well yes I do know her. I met her when I took over the cottage, there were papers to sign. She is a very nice person, her father was a general in the British army. She grew up in India, never married. She was delighted to meet me. I’ve never been to India you see. My grandfather came to the UK from Africa when my father was five. She spent the whole afternoon telling me all about India, she made me feel so welcome. She is completely on her own now, but she was very well connected. Her father was at school and Sandhurst with the father of the landowner who owns the lease on many of the houses around Maplebury. He’s a Duke.’ Dev’s eyes filled with tears as he told his tale. I realised I liked him

‘So when all the family passed the duke fixed her up in one of his cottages.’

‘Not exactly, but close enough. That is why I asked you for help.’

‘Dev,’ I said trying to show the sympathy I felt, ‘visiting frail old ladies to ask them to cough up the rent they owe is about as far off what I do as riding a polo pony.’

I don’t know if anybody can look sad, confused and disappointed at the same time but Dev got pretty close. ‘Well a man called Tom O’Brian told me about your service. I don’t see the problem.’

Tom O’Brian is a soft headed young lad who owns a few properties willed to him by his late dad who died too young. He has about as much idea about being a landlord as a mountain gorilla, but he’s too tight to pay someone to do it for him. He asked me “to have a chat” with a vicious tenant who wouldn’t pay and threatened to wreck the property. I took pity on young Tom. I persuaded the guy to vacate – let’s say I can have a certain, “presence” when necessary. Unfortunately, Tom O’Brian has a big mouth. Word went round.

‘Dev, I once helped Tom with a difficult tenant and one or two others have asked for help since then. I don’t offer a service and what I do is certainly unfit for a lovely old lady.’ Putting my hands on the table I began to heave myself to my feet. The wide eyed pleading look of a child stopped me half way. Dev’s a decent man. He’s got integrity, all landlords should be like him. I sat down.

‘Give me her name and address,’ I said, 'I’ll just go and see what she has to say.’

Pub grub image from wiki commons