most probably be at university by now, unless of course they had joined the 80,000 in the sex trade. An unsettling, but unlikely, thought.
‘So, what about our royal decree?’
Duggie saw a sparkle in the other’s eye. He waited expectantly.
‘Yes, indeed, the royal decree.’ Mr Cardew cleared his throat and beamed across his desk. ‘Well, Mr Scott, to my considerable surprise, upon investigating more deeply, it would appear that this piece of parchment may well still be valid. It may indeed from your point of view be, if you’ll pardon me mixing my metaphors, the answer to a maiden’s prayer, the…’
Duggie supplied the missing words. ‘The dog’s bollocks.’
‘Quite. Quite right, Mr Scott, the proverbial dog’s indeed.’ Mr Cardew shuffled the papers in front of him, read out a few relevant points, legal precedents and judgements and summarised. ‘Currently, as I said, it is not the act of prostitution itself which is illegal. It is those who seek to profit from it, by acting as pimps or,’ he coughed delicately, ‘running brothels, who are committing an illegal act. All of them, that is, except… except, it would appear, those operating out of Toplingham Manor. And that would be you, Mr Scott.’
Duggie beamed. This was exactly what he had wanted to hear.
‘To the best of my knowledge, you would only need to obtain clearance from the Health and Safety Executive for the use of the rooms for paying accommodation. Get that, and you can open the doors to your public.’ He squared up the sheets of paper and replaced them neatly in the buff folder. ‘Yes, pretty soon you could be up and running.’ He allowed himself a salacious smile. ‘Or at least up, anyway.’
Duggie sat back and digested the news. To be honest, in spite of the enthusiasm he had shown initially, he had never really believed that a thousand-year-old decree could still hold water. A piece of dog skin, issued by a long-lost king, in a long-dead language, probably only of interest to a handful of crusty academics, and, yet, it still had legal status in the twenty-first century. This sudden thought of crusty academics had an instantly sobering effect upon his burgeoning optimism. Roger would never hear of it. He knew that all too well. Let alone Linda…
So could he arrange things so that his new employer never did hear of it, he wondered? Here, at least, his friend’s obsession with Saint Bernard and the twelfth century offered some chance of success. Linda, on the other hand, would be trickier. However, he thought to himself, relations between Roger and Linda had evidently cooled dramatically in the last few days. The other evening’s dinner party at her house had pretty obviously been a disaster. So maybe she might not be around for much longer. Not for the first time that day, he wondered just what had, or had not, happened that night in Linda’s apartment.
‘Just one thing, Mr Scott.’ The solicitor’s voice held a note of caution. ‘I would advise against publicly advertising this new departure. Although it would appear that you would not be breaking any laws, I would suggest that such a story, were it to get to the ears of the media, might spark off a lot of very negative publicity. It might even prompt the government to rush through legislation that could close you down.’
Duggie had been thinking very much the same thing himself. His fear hadn’t been so much the tabloids getting to hear about it, as his employer. But, if he couldn’t advertise the fact, how would he get clients?
Mr Cardew’s mind was running along similar lines.
‘Word of mouth, Mr Scott. I am sure a man with your contacts would have no trouble ensuring that this gets to the ears of a few discreet men. I imagine you envisage creating a high-class establishment that would appeal to a privileged clientele. Were you not until recently involved with the professions yourself?’ He cleared his throat. ‘Indeed, I would be happy to mention it to
‘So, what about our royal decree?’
Duggie saw a sparkle in the other’s eye. He waited expectantly.
‘Yes, indeed, the royal decree.’ Mr Cardew cleared his throat and beamed across his desk. ‘Well, Mr Scott, to my considerable surprise, upon investigating more deeply, it would appear that this piece of parchment may well still be valid. It may indeed from your point of view be, if you’ll pardon me mixing my metaphors, the answer to a maiden’s prayer, the…’
Duggie supplied the missing words. ‘The dog’s bollocks.’
‘Quite. Quite right, Mr Scott, the proverbial dog’s indeed.’ Mr Cardew shuffled the papers in front of him, read out a few relevant points, legal precedents and judgements and summarised. ‘Currently, as I said, it is not the act of prostitution itself which is illegal. It is those who seek to profit from it, by acting as pimps or,’ he coughed delicately, ‘running brothels, who are committing an illegal act. All of them, that is, except… except, it would appear, those operating out of Toplingham Manor. And that would be you, Mr Scott.’
Duggie beamed. This was exactly what he had wanted to hear.
‘To the best of my knowledge, you would only need to obtain clearance from the Health and Safety Executive for the use of the rooms for paying accommodation. Get that, and you can open the doors to your public.’ He squared up the sheets of paper and replaced them neatly in the buff folder. ‘Yes, pretty soon you could be up and running.’ He allowed himself a salacious smile. ‘Or at least up, anyway.’
Duggie sat back and digested the news. To be honest, in spite of the enthusiasm he had shown initially, he had never really believed that a thousand-year-old decree could still hold water. A piece of dog skin, issued by a long-lost king, in a long-dead language, probably only of interest to a handful of crusty academics, and, yet, it still had legal status in the twenty-first century. This sudden thought of crusty academics had an instantly sobering effect upon his burgeoning optimism. Roger would never hear of it. He knew that all too well. Let alone Linda…
So could he arrange things so that his new employer never did hear of it, he wondered? Here, at least, his friend’s obsession with Saint Bernard and the twelfth century offered some chance of success. Linda, on the other hand, would be trickier. However, he thought to himself, relations between Roger and Linda had evidently cooled dramatically in the last few days. The other evening’s dinner party at her house had pretty obviously been a disaster. So maybe she might not be around for much longer. Not for the first time that day, he wondered just what had, or had not, happened that night in Linda’s apartment.
‘Just one thing, Mr Scott.’ The solicitor’s voice held a note of caution. ‘I would advise against publicly advertising this new departure. Although it would appear that you would not be breaking any laws, I would suggest that such a story, were it to get to the ears of the media, might spark off a lot of very negative publicity. It might even prompt the government to rush through legislation that could close you down.’
Duggie had been thinking very much the same thing himself. His fear hadn’t been so much the tabloids getting to hear about it, as his employer. But, if he couldn’t advertise the fact, how would he get clients?
Mr Cardew’s mind was running along similar lines.
‘Word of mouth, Mr Scott. I am sure a man with your contacts would have no trouble ensuring that this gets to the ears of a few discreet men. I imagine you envisage creating a high-class establishment that would appeal to a privileged clientele. Were you not until recently involved with the professions yourself?’ He cleared his throat. ‘Indeed, I would be happy to mention it to
Similar Books
