Read Online A City of Strangers by Robert Barnard - Free Book Online Page B

nodding.
    â€œYou’re probably right. I don’t believe for a moment that lots of people on welfare benefits have children in order to get more handouts, as the tabloids tell us. They’re not that stupid. But the Phelans are. The only time I talked to the parents, when Kevin and June were in Middle School and creating merry hell there, the father made it clear he resented having to send them to school at all. Bloody waste of time, he said: They should be out earning money. Kevin was then eleven. I got the impression that if we started sending children down the mines again, or into the mills, he’d be first in the queue to register his lot.”
    â€œIt’s no wonder they’ve grown up as they have done,” said Lynn. “That makes me all the more determined they’re not coming here. A slum is containable. A potential buyer needn’t know about it, beyond the garden. But slum children infect the whole neighborhood, and I’m not having my children catching the disease.”
    Everyone nodded with understanding, though Jennifer thought he ought to have more faith in his own sons.
    â€œNow—right. Who’s going to do what? We need someone to approach Pickering.”
    â€œI can do that,” said Adrian Eastlake. “He’s still officially my mother’s doctor, though he’s never been very understanding. . . . But I suppose we know him as well as anyone.”
    â€œSplendid!” said Lynn, with a hollow ring to his voice. He had neverknown a wimp achieve anything yet. “And perhaps Mrs. Bridewell can back you up.” He did not notice the expression of distaste on her face. “You two are among the oldest residents here. And what about you, Mr. Cartwright?”
    Algy shook his head dubiously.
    â€œHe’s a brusque kind of chap,” he said. “A mite short in his manner. Happen three of us would put his back up.”
    â€œGood thinking. Well, you’ve done your bit anyway. Now I think I’d better do the building societies. It’s something for someone in the business world, and I know some of the local heads. What I can do is limited, of course, but I can warn. Then there’s the estate agents. Who are handling the house?”
    â€œGreenheads, unfortunately,” said Daphne Bridewell. “One of the biggest.”
    â€œYes—a family firm would be more approachable. . . . Perhaps you, Dr. Copperwhite—or is it Professor?—”
    â€œMr.,” said Steven, with a strained smile. “Pure and simple. Well, I suppose I could have a try. What sort of line do you think I should use?”
    Lynn Packard had once more to suppress irritation. These bloody intellectuals, he said to himself: They seem to need a nanny all their lives.
    â€œWell, you could point out that more unreliable purchasers could hardly be found, that they would have a disastrous effect on the neighborhood and amenities, and that potential sellers in the Lane in the future would hardly be likely to use Greenheads, if they make a sale of that sort. . . . ” It sounded feeble even to him. He rubbed his hands together with fake enthusiasm. “Right. To work. We know what we’ve got to do. Let’s get down to it. Another meeting to report progress here in this house as soon as possible. Shall we say Tuesday, same time?”
    His enthusiasm was not infectious. They pushed back their chairs and got up to go, but Steven Copperwhite murmured to Adrian Eastlake, “Bonny Prince Charles on the eve of Culloden.” That about summed up the general feeling. The terrible prospect of the Phelans as neighbors had galvanized Lynn Packard into action, but it was factitious action, because essentially there was nothing they could do. Lynn could dominate a meeting, but he could not enthuse one. They all felt sheepish rather than bullish.
    In the hall Daphne Bridewell detained Adrian by the arm.
    â€œI