‘Tonight?’
‘I realise it’s short notice. I mean, if you can’t make it…’
‘It’s not that. I’m sure I can juggle things if I need to. It’s just, well – tonight?’
Clive Bamford sighed. ‘Look. Greg, if I could have given you more notice, I would have. But that’s not how they work.’
‘So how do they work?’ Greg Wardle said. ‘They just say “jump” and we ask “how high?”’
‘It’s not like that, Greg. At the moment, they don’t know they can trust us. They’re playing everything very close to their chest.’
‘They’re not bloody MI5. They’re just a bunch of religious nuts.’
Clive could feel his patience ebbing away. ‘Greg, if you don’t want to be involved—’
Greg shook his head. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that I don’t like being bounced into things.’
‘I’m sure that’s not the intention. But you know they’ve been repeatedly misrepresented in the media. We’ve been recommended to them by Rowan Wiseman, but other than that they don’t know us. They don’t know if they’re being set up. My guess is they want to test us out. Do we know our stuff? Are we really prepared to listen to what they have to say?’
‘And do we know our stuff?’ Greg said. ‘I’m not sure I do.’
Clive shrugged. ‘Just keep your mouth shut and follow my lead, then.’
They were sitting in a corner of the same pub where they’d held the first meeting of their Conspiracy Theory Discussion Group. Clive was still wondering what to do about the group. He’d felt the initial meeting had been hijacked by Charlie and Rowan Wiseman, though that now seemed to have paid dividends of its own. He suspected that the other two attendees had mostly come along out of curiosity. He’d phoned them both after the meeting, and they’d been non-committal about whether they’d be returning. Greg thought it was worth giving it one more go and putting a bit more effort into the promotion, but Clive thought they should maybe cut their losses and move on. After all, if tonight was successful, he might have plenty of other work to be getting on with.
‘So where are we supposed to be going?’
‘Not sure exactly. Rowan said she’d meet up here and drive us over. Assuming you want to go.’
Greg nodded. ‘Okay, you’ve talked me into it. Do we have to wear blindfolds or what?’
‘What?’
‘When she drives us over to this secret location.’
‘It’s not a secret location. She just thought it would be better for her to be there to introduce us.’
‘I’m just pulling your leg.’ Greg pulled out his phone. ‘Hang on a sec. I just need to cancel a couple of things.’ He rose and wandered off towards the pub entrance.
Like Clive, Greg was single, but he tended to have a much more active social life. He played various sports and was a member of clubs and societies that largely remained a mystery to Clive. No doubt he was having to unscramble some commitment to a game of five-a-side football or badminton, or whatever it was he was supposed to be doing tonight.
‘Clive?’
He’d been watching Greg and had missed Rowan Wiseman entering the pub through the rear entrance from the car park. He found himself slightly disappointed to see that Charlie was also present. Clive pushed himself awkwardly to his feet. ‘Rowan. Good to see you. Charlie.’
‘We got time for a drink, Ro?’ Charlie asked. ‘I could murder a pint.’
Rowan looked at her watch. ‘Yes, why not? They’re not expecting us till six thirty.’
‘I’ll get these,’ Clive said. ‘It’s the least I can do.’
‘You owe us one from last time anyway,’ Charlie pointed out. ‘But thanks. I’ll have a pint of that stout.’
‘Just a tonic for me,’ Rowan said. ‘As I’m driving.’
By the time Clive returned from the bar with the tray of drinks, Greg had already rejoined the group. ‘All sorted,’ he said. ‘I’m yours for the evening. Assuming I’m welcome.’
Rowan nodded. ‘Of course. Clive had told us you might be coming. You work as his assistant, he tells us.’
Clive hadn’t quite expressed it like that, or at least he didn’t think he had. But he’d felt flustered when Rowan had called him, so he might have said almost anything. He could see Greg wasn’t pleased by the description.
‘I think of him more as the Watson to my Holmes,’ Clive said, though he wasn’t sure that was any better.
‘The Tom to his Jerry,’ Greg said, acidly. ‘I’m really there mainly to take notes.’
‘So where is it we’re going?’ Clive said, in an effort to move the conversation on.
‘They have a place near Bakewell,’ Wiseman said. ‘It’s a former farmhouse. They’ve converted it mostly themselves, and done an impressive job. They use it now as a kind of retreat and spiritual centre, if that’s the right phrase.’
‘They?’ Clive was beginning to think that this sounded suspiciously cultish.
‘The main guy you’ll be meeting is Robin Kennedy. They don’t have a hierarchy as such. It’s more a collection of largely autonomous groupings.’
‘Nexions?’ It was a term that Clive had picked up during his research, and he was keen to demonstrate his knowledge.
‘Exactly.’ Rowan spoke with the slightly exaggerated enthusiasm of a teacher praising a normally slow pupil. ‘That’s why I wanted you involved in this. Because you understand the background. Anyway, Robin is – well, I suppose I’d describe him as first among equals there. It’s a little hard to describe. He wouldn’t describe himself as the leader, but he gives spiritual direction to the group.’
‘How many are based there?’ Greg asked.
‘It’s very fluid,’ Rowan said. ‘There’s a small group living in the house, including Robin. And there are various people who come and go. Charlie and I stayed there for a while.’ She glanced across at Charlie. ‘It helped us out at a difficult time, didn’t it?’
Charlie nodded, clearly prepared to offer no other comment. Clive wondered again what exactly the nature of their relationship was.
‘On top of that,’ Rowan went on, ‘there are people who stay there on retreats. Some come for a weekend, some for a little longer. That’s partly how they fund the upkeep.’
‘I’m looking forward to hearing more about it,’ Clive said. ‘I want to understand the realities of it all, rather than just the stuff I’ve read.’
‘Robin’s definitely your man,’ Rowan said. ‘I should warn you that he’d likely to treat tonight as something of a test.’
Clive exchanged a glance with Greg. ‘A test?’
‘That’s partly why he invited you at such short notice. I should have said he sent his apologies for that.’
‘No, that’s fine. We entirely understand. Don’t we, Greg?’
Greg nodded. ‘My five-a-side team were very understanding. Remarkably few expletives, in the circumstances.’
Wiseman smiled. ‘Robin wanted to see you cold, as it were. He didn’t want you to be able to prepare for the meeting. He’s had that before. Tabloid-type reporters who’ve genned up on the most salacious stories about satanism, in the hope that Robin or one of the others will say something provocative or outrageous. Completely missing the point, obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ Clive agreed. ‘But you know that’s not how I work.’
‘I’ve told Robin that. He’s had a look at some of your work, and he likes what he’s seen.’
‘He doesn’t need to be worried,’ Clive said. ‘I’ll be mainly there to listen. I mean, I’ll want to question if I’m not following something or if I’m not convinced by what I’m being told. But my first objective will be to absorb information, to understand what this is all about.’
‘That sounds perfect,’ Rowan said. ‘I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. Robin isn’t an intimidating man—’
‘He scares the hell out of me,’ Charlie said over the top of his pint.
Wiseman glared at him. ‘Ignore Charlie. He and Robin have a bit of a fractious relationship, but they go way back.’
‘We go way back right enough,’ Charlie said. ‘That’s why I don’t take any bullshit from him. And neither should you. But Ro’s right. He talks a bit of bollocks sometimes, but he knows what he’s about and he’s nobody’s fool. Don’t underestimate him.’
‘I don’t intend to,’ Clive said. He was keen to ensure that Rowan didn’t have misgivings about the introduction.
Rowan had finished her drink, and rose to leave the table. ‘I think everyone can potentially benefit from this. But we’d better get moving. We don’t want to start off on the wrong foot by being late, do we?’