conversations with hardyman
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Hardyman had come down to the vineyard. Pitt had made sure that it happened on a day when Daisy would be out, taking her mother to a friend in Somerset. He had had an hour in the kitchen with Ju; an hour of silence. The beautiful silence that had not yet started to become frustrating. Now Hardyman had arrived, to walk the vines and give Pitt the latest news on the position of the bank.
The bank had come to the idea that Pitt needed to be making more of an effort to attract income. He couldn’t possibly survive on the money he made from the sale of the wine alone. Hardyman did not know why the bank had suddenly started to think like that. Yet it made sense, he said. He could understand.
Pitt did not care what the bank thought.
Hardyman stood at the top of the hill, the best view of the vineyard, looking down across the vines. At the top of a long row of Dornfelder, a variety known for its colour and good acidity. Jenkins had pointed this out to Hardyman, who hadn’t been listening. Jenkins had uncomfortably moved the conversation on to that of dead birds.
A large swathe of flat England sloped gently away from them. Small hills stood out. The hazy distance seemed a long way away. A big sky, cloud beginning to gather.
Hardyman was squinting at the sky. Pitt had not wanted Jenkins to mention the birds, but had not said anything to him beforehand. Leaving it to chance. Had known that Hardyman ought to be told.
Hardyman was looking at them both curiously.
‘Is that a euphemism for something?’ he asked.
Jenkins laughed. Pitt caught Hardyman’s eye and looked away across the vines; Hardyman read the acknowledgement in the look.
‘Is that like the bees are disappearing, that kind of thing?’ he said, looking between the two men. Jenkins was laughing. ‘Do you mean that there are no more birds on planet earth, or the birds around here have disappeared?’
‘When was the last time you saw a bird?’ said Pitt.
‘I don’t know,’ retorted Hardyman. ‘This morning, probably.’
‘Exactly. Probably, in fact, about two minutes before you came on to our property.’
‘So, what’s that all about? Are you killing them? Is there some sort of disease around here? You wine people don’t like birds, do you? Jesus, John, what are you doing? You have to be bloody careful.’
The smile had already gone from Jenkins’s face, even before Pitt gave him a doleful look. This is what loose talk brings upon you. Jenkins muttered something incoherent.
‘We’re not doing anything,’ said Pitt calmly. Voice neither defensive nor offended. ‘We don’t hate birds. We manage the birds, same as we manage all other potential pests, and that’s the end of it. The birds are gone and I don’t know why. We’ve found a few dead ones; we’re having one looked at by a vet. Hopefully he’ll be able to give us an answer.’
Hardyman’s face furrowed as Pitt talked. He looked away, up to the sky, searching for avian life. Cocked his head to the side, looked curiously around them; turned and looked into the trees behind.
Jenkins stared at the ground, wondering if the boss would have words later. Pitt looked at Hardyman, waiting for the next part of the interrogation.
‘That’s remarkable, isn’t it?’ said Hardyman finally, after his own brief investigation had confirmed the facts. ‘I mean, it’s not normal.’
Pitt ran his hand across his face. Jenkins continued to stare at the ground, his toes digging at the dirt; wondering if he would defend himself, saying that Hardyman really had to be told. And not only Hardyman.
‘It’s not normal,’ repeated Pitt.
‘You have to do something about it,’ said Hardyman. ‘There could be, I don’t know... what could there be? Some sort of poison. Have any people been affected?’
‘No,’ said Pitt quickly, and this time his voice was a little more strained. ‘No one is affected by it. Maybe there’s not even an it. We’re looking into the matter,’ he said, his voice taking on the air of a politician’s finality. ‘If we find out something’s wrong, it’ll be dealt with and we’ll inform the proper authorities. Until we understand what’s happening, I’m not going to go opening us up to something that might not be necessary.’
Hardyman studied him for a short while, accepted his answer and turned away to look over the vineyard.
‘No birds,’ he muttered, and then in a slightly affected manner, removed a large white cotton handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it across his face. ‘Extraordinary.’
*
Jenkins waited for the words of reproach from Pitt, but they never came. Hardyman, at least, was a safe depository for the information, and Pitt had been curious to see his reaction.
Jenkins waited and Pitt never said anything. This, unlike the instance of the missing birds, was not unusual.