The Vivero Letter

I went home and found Bob's camera. I daresay he could have been called an advanced amateur and he had good equipment -- a Pentax camera with a good range of lenses and a Durst enlarger with all the associated trimmings in a properly arranged darkroom. I found a spool of unexposed black and white film, loaded the camera and got to work. His fancy electronic flash gave me some trouble before I got the hang of it and twice it went off unexpectedly, but I finally shot off the whole spool and developed the film more or less successfully. I couldn't make prints before the film dried, so I went to bed early. But not before I locked the tray in the safe.

III

The next morning I continued the battle with Jack Edgecombe who was putting up a stubborn resistance to new ideas. He said unhappily, 'Eighty cows to a hundred acres is too many, Mr. Wheale, sir; we've never done it like that before.'

I resisted the impulse to scream, and said patiently, 'Look, Jack: up to now this farm has grown its own feedstuff for the cattle. Why?'

He shrugged. 'It's always been like that.' That wasn't an answer and he knew it. I said, 'We can buy cattle feed for less than it costs us to grow it, so why the devil should we grow it?' I again laid out the plan that had come from the computer, but giving reasons the computer hadn't. 'We increase the dairy herd to eighty head and we allocate this land which is pretty lush, and any extra feed we buy.' I swept my hand over the map. 'This hill area is good for nothing but sheep, so we let the sheep have it. I'd like to build up a nice flock of greyface. We can feed sheep economically by planting root crops on the flat by the river, and we alternate the roots with a cash crop such as malting barley. Best of all. we do away with all this market garden stuff. This is a farm, not an allotment; it takes too much time and we're not near enough to a big town to make it pay.'

Jack looked uncomprehendingly stubborn. It wasn't done that way, it never had been done that way, and he didn't see why it should be done that way. I was in trouble because unless Jack saw it my way we could never get on together.

We were interrupted by Madge. There's a lady to see you, Mr. Wheale.'

'Did she give a name?'

'It's a Mrs. Halstead.'

That gave me pause. Eventually I said, 'Ask her to wait a few minutes, will you? Make her comfortable -- ask her if she'd like a cuppa.'

I turned back to Jack. One thing at a time was my policy. I knew what was the matter with him. If he became farm manager and the policy of the farm changed radically, he'd have to take an awful lot of joshing from the neighbouring farmers. He had his reputation to consider.

I said, 'Look at it this way. Jack: if we start on this thing, you'll be farm manager and I'll be the more-or-less absentee landlord. If the scheme falls down you can put all the blame on me because I'll deserve it, and you're only doing what I tell you to. If it's a success -- which it will be if we both work hard at it -- then a lot of the credit will go to you because you'll have been the one who made it work. You are the practical farmer, not me. I'm just the theoretical boy. But I reckon we can show the lads around here a thing or two.'

He contemplated that argument and brightened visibly -- I'd offered him a way out with no damage to his self-esteem. He said slowly, 'You know, I like that bit about doing away with the garden produce; it's always been a lot of trouble -- too much hand work, for one thing.' He shuffled among the papers. 'You know, sir, if we got rid of that I reckon we could work the farm with one less man.'

That had already been figured out -- by the computer, not me -- but I was perfectly prepared to let Jack take the credit for the idea. I said, 'Hey, so we could! I have to go now, but you stay here and go through the whole thing again. If you come up with any more bright ideas like that then let me know.'

I left him to it and went to see Mrs. Halstead. I walked into the living-room and said, 'I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.' Then I stopped dead because Mrs. Halstead was quite a woman -- red hair, green eyes, a nice smile and a figure to make a man struggle to keep his hands to himself -- even a grey little man like me..

'That's all right, Mr. Wheale,' she said. 'Your housekeeper looked after me.' Her voice matched the rest of her; she was too perfect to be true.

I sat opposite her. 'What can I do for you, Mrs. Halstead?'

'I believe you own a gold tray, Mr. Wheale.'

That is correct.'

She opened her handbag. 'I saw a report in a newspaper. Is this the tray?'

I took the clipping and studied it. It was the report that had appeared in the Western Morning News which I had heard of but not seen. The photograph was a bit blurred. I said, 'Yes, this is the tray.'

That picture is not very good, is it? Could you tell me if your tray is anything like this one?'