Two minutes later he was in the driver’s seat and had started the engine. He drove off as fast as the flat tyre would allow, crouching low and waiting for the blast of the shotgun. But nothing came and he passed under the Lodge and into the darkness of the wood. He switched on the headlights, negotiated the suspension bridge and headed up the hill, his flat tyre thumping on the road and the steering pulling violently to the left. Around him the Cleene Forest closed in, his headlights picked out monstrous shapes and weird shadows but Dundridge had lost his terror of the wild landscape. Anything was preferable to the human horrors he had left behind and even when two miles further on the tyre finally came away from the rim and he had to jack the car up and change it for the other flat spare he did so without hesitation. After that he drove more slowly and reached Worford as dawn broke. He parked his car on the double yellow line outside his flat, made sure there was nobody about and flitted across the pavement and down the alley to the outside stairs that led up to his apartment. Even here he was baulked. The key of his flat was in the pocket of his dinner-jacket.

Dundridge stood on the landing outside his door, naked, shivering and livid. Deprived of dignity, pretensions, authority and reason, Dundridge was almost human. For a moment he hesitated and then with a sudden ferocity he hurled himself against the door. At the second attempt the lock gave. He went inside slamming it to behind him. He had made up his mind. Come hell or high water he would do his damnedest to see that the route of the motorway was changed. They could bribe him and blackmail him for all they were worth but he’d get his own back. By the time he had finished that fat insane bitch would laugh on the other side of her filthy face.

His opportunity came sooner than he had expected and from an unforeseen quarter. Overwhelmed by the volume of complaints arriving at his office from the tenants of the seventy-five council houses due for demolition, harried by the Ottertown Town Council, infuriated by the refusal of the Minister of the Environment to re-open the Enquiry, and warned by his doctors that unless he curtailed most of his activities his heart would end them all, Francis Puckerington resigned his seat in Parliament. Sir Giles was the first to congratulate him on the wisdom of his withdrawal from public life. “Wish I could do the same myself,” he said, “but you know how things are.”

Mr Puckerington didn’t but he had a shrewd idea that lurking behind Sir Giles’ benevolent concern there was financial advantage. Lady Maud shared his suspicion. Ever since the Enquiry there had been something strange about Giles’s manner, an air of expectation and suppressed excitement about him which she found disturbing. Several times she had noticed him looking at her with a smile on his face and when Sir Giles smiled it usually meant that something unpleasant was about to happen. What it was she couldn’t imagine and since she took no interest in politics the likely consequences of Mr Puckerington’s resignation escaped her. Hoskins was understandably more informed. He realized at once why Sir Giles had agreed so readily to the Ottertown route. “Brilliant,” he told him when he saw him at the Golf Club. Sir Giles looked mystified.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I had no idea the poor fellow was so ill. A great loss to the party.”

“My eye and Betty Martin,” said Hoskins.

“I’d rather have your Bessie Williams myself,” Sir Giles said, relaxing a little. “I trust she is keeping well?”

“Very well. She and her husband took a holiday in Majorca I believe.”

“Sensible of them,” Sir Giles said. “So our young friend Dundridge must be a little puzzled by now. No harm in keeping him hanging in the wind, as someone once put it.”

“He’s probably blown that money you gave him.”

“I gave him?” said Sir Giles who preferred not to let his right hand know what his left was doing.

“Say no more,” said Hoskins. “I’ll tell you one thing though. He’s lost all interest in your wife.”

Sir Giles sighed. “Such a pity,” he said. “There was a time when I entertained the hope that he would… One can’t expect miracles. Still, it was a nice thought.”

“He’s got it in for her now, anyway. Hates her guts.”

“I wonder why,” said Sir Giles thoughtfully. “Ah well, it happens to us all in the end. Still, it couldn’t have come at a better time.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Hoskins. “He’s already sent three memoranda to the Ministry asking for the motorway to be re-routed through the Gorge.”

“Quite the little weathercock, isn’t he? I trust you tried to dissuade him.”

“Every time. Every time.”

“But not too hard, eh?”

Hoskins smiled. “I try to keep an open mind on the matter.”

“Very wise of you,” said Sir Giles. “No point in getting yourself involved. Well, things seem to be moving.”

Things certainly were. In London Francis Puckerington’s resignation had immediate repercussions.

“Seventy-five council houses due for demolition in a constituency with a bye-election pending?” said the Prime Minister. “And what did you say his last majority was?”

“Forty-five,” said the Chief Whip. “A marginal seat.”

“Marginal be damned. It’s lost.”

“It does rather look that way,” the Chief Whip agreed. “Of course if the motorway could be re-routed…”

The Prime Minister reached for the phone.

Ten minutes later Mr Rees sent for Mr Joynson.

“Done it,” he said beaming delightedly.

“Done what?”

“Pulled the fat out of the fire. The Ottertown scheme is dead and buried. The M101 is going ahead through the Cleene Gorge.”

“Oh, that is good news,” said Mr Joynson. “How on earth did you do it?”

“Just a question of patience and gentle persuasion. Ministers may come and ministers may go but in the end they do tend to see the errors of their ways.”

“I suppose this means you’ll be recalling Dundridge,” said Mr Joynson, who was inclined to look on the dark side of things.

“Not on your Nelly,” said Mr Rees, “Dundridge is coping very well. I look forward to his perpetual absence.”

Dundridge received the news with mixed emotions. On the one hand here was his golden opportunity to teach that bitch Lady Maud a lesson. On the other the knowledge that he had accepted a bribe from Sir Giles bothered him. He looked forward to Lady Maud’s misery when she learnt that Handyman Hall was going to be demolished after all but he didn’t relish the thought of her husband’s reaction. He need not have worried. Sir Giles, anxious to be out of the way when the storm broke, had taken the precaution of being tied up in London in advance of the announcement. In any case Hoskins was reassuring.

“You don’t have to worry about Giles,” he told Dundridge. “It’s Maud who’ll be out for blood.”

Dundridge knew exactly what he meant. “If she calls I’m not in,” he told the girl on the switchboard. “Remember that. I am never in to Lady Maud.”

While Hoskins concentrated on the actual details of the new route and arranged for the posting of advance notices of compulsory purchase, Dundridge spent much of his time on field work, which meant in fact sitting in his flat and not answering the telephone. To occupy his mind and to lend some sort of credence to his title of Controller Motorways Midlands, he set about devising a strategy for dealing with the campaign to stop construction which he was convinced Lady Maud would initiate.

“Surprise is of the essence,” he explained to Hoskins.

“She’s had that already,” Hoskins pointed out. He had in his time supervised the eviction of too many obstinate householders to be daunted by the threat of Lady Maud, and besides he was relying on Sir Giles to undermine her efforts. “She’s not going to give us any trouble. You’ll see. When it comes to the push she’ll go. They all do. It’s the law.” Dundridge wasn’t convinced. From his personal experience he knew how little the law meant to Lady Maud.