The Mandrake Effect– ONE– by P J Searle
Chapter Three

Alfred Watkins, a dapper 70-year-old Englishman, whistles tunelessly as he busies himself, polishing and dusting the palatial apartment. He carefully avoids the myriad of modern and vintage electronic equipment: satellite, DVD, CD, flashing modems, video, fax and even an ancient telex, plus every modern computer IT communication peripheral. This is Harry’s abode, everything remote-controlled, from the curtains to the dishwasher––remote control hand-units are scattered in every room of the apartment.

Outside in the hallway, Harry fiddles clumsily with his keys, his hands being full of packages. He opens the door, enters and smiles as he sees Alfred, pottering. ‘Alfie, old mate, leave that… Good news!’

‘I’ll put the kettle on… Sir?’ says Alfred, aloof, in a common-as-muck London accent.

‘Oh Lor,’ sighs Harry, wearily. ’We’re not back to ‘Sir’, are we? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but you know… a lady!’

‘It may interest Sir to know, that I too have a lady, and she bloodywell likes to see me from time to time. Last night’s dinner is in the bin. Do I put the kettle on or wot?’

Harry lays down his packages and flops into a big soft Chesterfield, sighs again and closes his eyes. ‘Alfie, be a love, don’t be cross. I’ve got good news and bad news: I’ve got to go away for some time.’

‘Away? Where?’

’You don’t need to know ‘where’ or how long, I’ll keep in touch. Just keep everything going – don’t forget to water my mandrakes, not just the potted ones, remember the outside ones, and keep the frost off.’

‘Hey, I’m not your bloody gardener!’

‘Move your lady in for a while if you like. Now the good news.’

‘Oh… I thought that was the good news’

‘Yes, that is funny. I’ll laugh later, when I’ve got more time. Now, I can pay all your back pay, your holiday pay and a month’s advance wages plus a little bonus… how’s that, old mate? When Harry Mandrake is in clover, everyone’s in clover.’

‘Yeah, and when Harry Mandrake’s in the shit, everyone’s in the shit – We’re not in the shit are we, Harry?’

‘How dare you! No, I’m not in any trouble, but you will be if you don’t make that bloody tea. Now, leave me alone to make some calls. Pack my bags or something… not much… I’m on expenses.’

Alfred shrugs and leaves the room. Harry rests for a few moments, then rises, picks up the telephone, trailing the long wire as he steps out onto the veranda overlooking a panoramic view of Edinburgh castle. He picks a new flower from his window box and replaces his buttonhole, gives it a sniff then dials. The call connects:

‘Hello, do you recognize my voice – don’t say my name – just say yes, if you do? … Right, now listen. I’ll pay you in full, Saturday … No, I can’t pay before. It has to be Saturday. I’ve got to go to London to get the money.’ He stops and listens for a few moments. ‘Good. We’ll meet at the old university offices in Wells Street: write this down, I don’t want any mistakes––you can write, I take it? … Sorry! Yes, I’ll leave the door unlocked. Take the lift to the third floor, the third floor, got that? And wait for me there, you’ll replace it. Half past eight in the evening, not a moment before. Got all that? And try not to be conspicuous. … What I mean is try not to let anyone see you. With a bit of luck, they’ll all be gone by then, so you won’t embarrass any … It was a … it was a joke, for Christ sake. I’m sorry. … Yes in full… yes… Yes! Goodbye.’

Alfred brings in the tea tray. Harry emerges from the veranda sporting a boyish grin. He triumphantly punches his hand into the air, then tosses the hand-piece of the phone over his shoulder, spins around and catches it onto the receiver, ‘Bloody bingo!’

‘Wot you been up to, I know that faffin yell… that means trouble?’

Harry ignores Alfred’s rhetorical question. He takes his tea, and places the telephone on the tray. ‘Get London on the phone, Alfie: Tell them I’ll be coming to check my uncle’s documents. I’ll need the cine-projector and the video equipment… first thing in the morning. If they quibble tell them I’ll also settle my arrears.’

‘Bloody hell! You feeling okay?’

‘I’ll travel to London tonight. Book a flight. Oh, and also settle my account at Ratner’s, I need to pick up a few sparklies while I’m there.’

‘Load of sparkly crap, you mean.’

Harry shrugs and flops back into the sofa and drinks his tea, then surrounds himself in cushions and dozes, leaving Alfred to make the arrangements.

After grudgingly completing his chores, Alfred wakes Harry with a sharp shriek into his ear, ‘DONE, MASTER!’ Harry startles, Alfred smiles, and continues, ‘Your flight is at seven. London didn’t mention your arrears, so nor did I. The Ratner’s account, I said it would be paid in full when you call tomorrow. Any other whim I can satisfy… Sire?’

‘Excellent. For this, I award you your freedom… go and be fruitful. Now, bugger off. I’m going to get some kip.’

Harry pours another cup of tea then disappears into his bedroom.