Chapter 21
As the Elite circled above El Campo I looked down at it from my own personal window, and wondered if the Pilot had got lost, it looked so totally different. First off all the runways, taxi-tracks, and new roads were all finished, including the new section of taxi-track in front of the house, and the house, well that looked finished as well. I knew that the interior wouldn’t be completed yet, but the outside looked just like one of Pauls drawings. The upgraded perimeter fencing surrounding El Campo was complete, as was the new guard room building, although the new indoor range opposite it was still just a large hole in the ground, after all it was a late stage add-on. The bomb dump no longer existed, and there were hectic signs of activity down at the Marina, although one thing that I hadn’t expected to see was the very large hole beside my temporary quarters, and as we taxied in I was half expecting a long line of angry Managers, but all that was waiting for me at the bottom of the steps was a small line of Edwardian servants, and when I was finally reunited with my favourite armchair the only person to enter my domain was Hyacinth.
‘Are you comfortable, would you care for a drink? and I am so terribly sorry about my comments, they were totally out of order’, she was all of a fluster.
Royalty standing, and apologising to me whilst I was seated, I must be getting important, so I stood up and gave her a hug (and a kiss on the cheeks Spanish style), that stopped her in mid flow, but I was the one that really needed the hug, I hadn’t had one since Alice had left. After a long chat with her about the cruise, the stars, and her observations on my marital status, we had another hug, but no kisses this time, her husband might get jealous, and then we got down to business; hadn’t the woman ever heard of ‘jet lag’? As promised she had gone through the place like the proverbial dose of salts, but surprisingly there had only been one major problem - and I had already seen that at the bottom of the disembarkation steps, Nigel had progressed from the Boer War, but only into the Edwardian era. The maids were up in arms, and his wife was in despair, but he had dug his heals in; ‘he just knew that it was just what his Lordship wanted’, another name to be added to the list of what I would answer to. There had also been a few minor problems with the layout of the kitchen, serving areas and restaurant, but Paul had readily agreed to her suggestions after she had taken him and his wife out to dinner at mine and Vicente’s favourite watering hole (on my tab of course), and ‘oh what a delightful new Director of your own private Navy’, god almighty, not another one. Most other departments had suffered to varying degrees, but fortunately their problems had been resolved without recourse to my restaurant tab, but what to do about Nigel? Never fear, Hyacinth knew a man, he was a Toastmaster who ran courses for budding Butlers twice a year, perhaps he could help! Hyacinth then instructed Maria, who hadn’t even had a chance to say hello to Carol, to find the number, and fifteen minutes later Nigel’s name was on the next refresher course for professional Butlers. It just happened to be starting in three days’ time, and would last for ‘approximately’ one month, how ‘approximate’ was dependent on course members’ progress. At the moment Nigel was the only course member. I broke the news to Nigel a little while later, under the guise of retraining him as a Major-domo, as I had of course taken Lady Handsworthy’s advice (passed the buck). A Butler was really too old fashioned a position to have in a modern household. He graciously accepted my offer, and looked forward to meeting Ivor again (the owner of the school); neither of us mentioned the fact that Major-domo was just a fancy name for Butler. The only other person that I wanted to see before I had a very early night was Paul; I was very intrigued by the hole that had appeared in the middle of my front garden, and after he poured us both a large Scotch (I explained to him as he entered that ‘the sun was well and truly over the yard arm’ as I was still on ships time) he collapsed into my second favourite chair, and swore to do that ‘Lady’ serious harm if she ever came within theodolite throwing distance of him, but then he quickly calmed down. Her ‘suggestions’ had only set him back about three days in the overall scheme of things, and his wife thought she was amazing for her age (meow), then he settled down to explain to me the reason for my new hole. It wasn’t just any old hole he informed me; it was related to the mysterious ‘Phase IV’, but he would come to that in a moment.
‘But’, I asked him, ‘where had everything from inside my new hole gone?’
‘It had been re-located’, he informed me. During the replacement of the fencing surrounding El Campo several of the long runs ‘undulated’, and had kinks in them. When the fence had originally been constructed, that had been perfectly acceptable, wire can go up and down, and around corners - but beams of light can’t. As with many things at El Campo, security was going high tech, so the new fencing had to be straight and level. Laser beams and the like preferred straight lines, so some areas of the perimeter had to be raised up, in fact quite a lot of it had to be, to bring the new fencing up to the right level, and there was also the matter of my missing ground floor. The earth required to gradually build up the surrounding area to the first floor level had to come from somewhere, and I guessed correctly, it had come from my new hole. I am not stupid by any means, ‘but surly when all the works requiring fresh earth are completed, won’t he have to fill the new hole in; it sort of defeated the object of the exercise?’
‘No, I need the hole for Phase IV’, or at least part of it. ‘Just imagine Andrew - your very own eighteen hole golf course, with a mix of par-three, four, and five holes, and all beautifully landscaped around your very own lake, that has an island in the middle’. ‘It would be absolutely perfect for one of the holes, along the lines of the ‘seventeenth’ at Sawgrass’.
I was starting to drool at his description - until he got to the bit about the island.
He saw my face drop and quickly went on, ‘think of all the balls that you will be able to salvage from the waters around it’. Once he’d had a few minutes to spare, after the initial contracts were all up and running, Paul had commissioned a geological survey of the triangular area of land that was surrounded by the three runways (and where my temporary home is situated). The Geologists had used their feet and walked the site, drilled boreholes, and obtained aerial photography and satellite imagery to give them a very comprehensive three dimensional picture of what lay under the dusty surface, and what they found was a large area that was relatively free of bedrock, and which was ideally suited for excavating, and then turning into a man-made lake. There were only two problems; one was a rock pinnacle that terminated just below the soil surface, near to one end of the soon to be ‘very much larger hole’. It had at one time been higher, but when the airfield had been constructed engineers had ‘reduced’ it, but that problem could be overcome by the creation of my very own island. The second problem was more serious. Paul couldn’t convert the finished hole into a lake, in other words he couldn’t find the water to fill it. The local water authority had a strict policy of not supplying water on this scale for non-domestic (recreational) use, or for even watering the greens after completion. Sea water obviously couldn’t be used, and although the survey had shown water deposits below the surface, they were really only suitably for El Campo’s fresh water needs, plus watering of the greens and ‘topping up’ the lake, if the deposits were to remain at sustainable levels (not sucked dry). Paul had then remembered a small article that he had read whilst bringing himself up to date on the latest construction techniques in one of his professional magazines (when he was bored to tears at Monastery H.A., just before I had rung him that first time). A company had recently been formed by a group of entrepreneurs to lasso any passing icebergs and turn them into fresh water, or something along those lines. Paul had then gone into their web site and according to the blurb it would seem that I would make the perfect client. He estimated that I would need about seven tanker loads of water to fill the lake, their ships weren’t very big, and they were just about at the production stage, that was the other problem solved. I know that you can’t j
ust dig eighteen small holes around a lake, put flags in them, and call it a golf course, you needed a Golf Course Architect, so Paul had three of them visiting me after the weekend – lucky old me.
After a good night’s sleep I decided to come up to speed (why do I use these phrases if I dislike them so much?) on what had been happening around the homestead whilst I had been away enjoying myself, and although Maria was half asleep, she must be suffering from jet lag (or something), she quickly sorted out an itinerary for me. Paul would accompany me around all the different areas, but only the pertinent Managers would meet me at their particular areas of responsibility, I wasn’t into large entourages, and so an hour later we were off; first stop, the new main gate
We were met by David, Charlie and Carlos, and I first looked down the freshly surfaced road that wound its way up to the new car park outside the gates, very grand, and then I looked into the hole that was not only going to become the new indoor shooting range, but was also going to have bachelor accommodation built above it - that had been Carlos’s idea, as apparently there was a dearth of suitable accommodation for the bachelors in San Miguel; I hope that the floors are going to be well bullet proofed. We then went through the shell of the Main Guard Room, and it had an awful lot of wires protruding from its walls, I hoped that someone knew where they all went to. Apparently there was going to be a tremendous amount of hi-tec gadgetry in this building but I was assured that Agnetha was well on top of it, with Charlie’s help. I then walked over and had a look at the new roundabout, that sent the traffic either onto the airfield or over to my new home. It was complete apart from the obligatory palm trees, bushes and flowers which would be arriving in a few days.
Into Paul’s Jeep again, and off we went to the main house (via the new ramp) and disembarked in front of a set of horrible metal doors, although Paul quickly assured me that the new hand carved wooden ones would be in place before I moved in. After donning my own personal white plastic ‘hard hat’ (with BOSS in gold letters on the front of it) we walked through the partially completed entrance hall, and into a breath-taking view. The Atrium was by no means complete, but with very little imagination I could visualise what the finished product would be like. The makings of the pool were there, and the Jacuzzi was actually in place, although it still had its protective covering over it. The steps leading down to poolside were formed, but as yet were not finished in marble, as were the passageways that led around the sides of the Atrium. High above my head was a sloping glass roof, and in front of me a huge glass wall. Apparently they hadn’t been too difficult to design, manufacture and install, as they were of a fairly proven design, but unfortunately the thing that was taking the time was the hand formed glass and steel walkway which was to encircle the Atrium at first floor level, but yet again it would be installed before I moved in. I hope so, either that or I would have to make sure that I had an extra-large lock on my glass bubble (lift); it was now opening into open space. We walked down one of the almost complete corridors, and into another beautiful new lift, which rose almost imperceptibly up to the top floor. I was shocked; the whole floor was complete, including the furniture. Paul’s simplistic explanation was ‘throw enough money at a job and it won’t take long’; after all it was basically a fairly straight forward conversion scheme, the likes of which he did for Monastery all the time. As we walked along the long corridor that stretched the entire length of the building, we came upon a tee junction, now that was new. Where had that come from? Then I remembered; the roof over the new taxi-track. It was a triangular shaped passageway, lit by velux skylights and traditional strip lighting, but when we came to the end of the passageway we were greeted by yet another temporary door; Paul opened it up, but held firmly onto me, my new control tower wasn’t being installed until next week. We then descended one floor into mine and my guest’s new suites. All the rooms were formed, all the marble floors were laid, and most of the fittings were installed, and I guessed that it wouldn’t be long before they were habitable. My rooms were going to be the ‘bee’s knees’ (I was going to say the ‘dog’s spherical’s’ but it might have upset Paul), even in their unfinished state they were something. Up until this moment I hadn’t really ‘clicked’ with my new home, but now I just couldn’t wait to move in. We couldn’t get over to the other wing at this level, the walkway was missing, but not so my ‘bubble’, my own personal lift. As we both squeezed in I looked around for the button, nada, nunca, nothing. How did I make the damn thing go down, jump up and down? Paul pointed to a small silver panel just above the floor, it was apparently a touch sensitive pad, and all I had to do was touch it with my toe. ‘Is this the latest ‘must have’ feature?’ I asked Paul.
‘Only if you have a brace of Yorkies’ he replied, it wasn’t so much at ‘toe’ height as ‘nose’ height. Their own lift, how decadent; I hope they would let me use it occasionally. A quick trip around the ground floor offices and the ball room, which were all well on the way to completion, and then it was into the lift again and down to ‘below stairs’. The new basement was neatly divided into two sections by the swimming pool coming down from above, but they were joined by a corridor which ran under the entrance hall above. Under my wing was the laundry, ironing rooms and other things related to the management of the house, as well as all the ‘household’ offices, and under the other wing was the kitchen, well I call it a kitchen, it seemed ready to feed the five thousand, without the aid of any fish; and the food preparation and serving areas were all ‘cooking on gas’. Food, once prepared either went up dumb waiters situated in the ‘household’ section, and then up into my personal dining room, or the grand dining room, or went by a conveyor belt up into the restaurant/cafeteria. I was fascinated, it all looked complete, and Marcel (my Head Chef) was beside himself with glee; and he took great pleasure in showing me his new collection of meat cleavers. The conveyor belt was more like an escalator, as it had a system of large rectangular trays which rose automatically when the belt was on an incline, to keep the food containers level; and Paul asked me if I felt like behaving like a tray of beans.
I was intrigued, so I foolishly said yes. I didn’t realise that this actually meant climbing up onto the belt, but still I apprehensively clambered aboard; after all if it was safe enough for a tray of beans then it must be safe enough for me, and with a quick nod to Marcel, and the press of a button we rose serenely up into the restaurant/cafeteria, or as I will from now on be referring to it as, ‘the greenhouse’. The serving areas were compete, down to a coffee pot bubbling away on the counter, and the mezzanine floor restaurant was also finished, as was the one underneath it - the one underneath it? That was definitely not on any plans that I had ever seen. This was one of Lady Hyacinth’s ideas; she reckoned that Marcel would soon get very bored serving up a banquet-for-one every day just for me, plus Menu-del-Dia for everyone else, so what she had come up with was that I (and I use the word ‘I’ very loosely) could instigate a system that involved my friends and neighbours. Perhaps every now and then they could come over for a ‘free lunch’. They would have to specify what they would like to eat beforehand, challenging Marcel to produce their favourite dishes. Throw in a conducted tour around the place and she reckoned that we would have a queue stretching twice around the block. Looking at the area it looked very plush; it could seat eight people in surroundings comparable to any Five Star Restaurant. There would have to be strict guidelines to stop the system being abused but I thought it was an excellent idea, and it would also keep the remainder of the catering staff on their toes as well.
After the house it was back into Paul’s Jeep - next stop were the hangars. The nearest one to the house, ‘A’ hangar was for aircraft (how surprising), and at the moment it held George’s Tiger Moth and the Harvard, which were tucked away under covers in a corner. In a lined off section there was a ground equipment area with everything from tools to the mobile steps that I had descended when vacating the Elite, but there was still ample room for visiting corpora
te jets – whoopee.
‘B’ hangar at the moment held all the vehicles. It was our temporary car park but most of them would be moved into the underground car park, in the sub-basement when it was finished. I hadn’t visited the sub-basement on my tour as ‘it’s just full of builders stuff’ Paul had informed me, and I had definitely had enough of ‘builders stuff’. When the vehicles were finally relocated, this hangar would be home to my two new Airfield fire engines, and the crash and salvage equipment (I don’t like the sound of them), plus it would also be the overflow hangar for any visiting aircraft, oh to be so popular. Marcus, at my instigation had contacted a specialist Agency which had quickly provided, under contract, a specialist, trained in airfield safety. That someone had turned out to be an ex-Fleet Air Arm Chief Aircraft Handler named ‘Chalky’ White, apparently in the Navy that was what all Whites were nicknamed, although I doubted if Vicente would be very happy, ‘Chalky’ was of Nigerian decent. He was also a very experienced aircraft handling, fire fighting, Air Traffic Controller, and he had already started to train up volunteer firemen (and firewomen) from David’s security staff; they would receive extra pay for their extracurricular activities, and he would man my control tower personally when it was completed. Among his many and varied duties he would be controlling all airfield movements when aircraft were about, via a mass of traffic lights situated on the ground at strategic points around the taxi-way, but at the moment, when a large aircraft visited, I had to borrow fire fighting tenders from the nearby International Airport, but when Chalky had finished his training programme, with the exception for the very very large aircraft, I would be self-sufficient.
‘C’ hangar, I had apparently agreed, could be used by any of my staff for their own personal projects, at the moment there was a half completed steam engine in it, a stripped down motor boat and half a dozen caravans - including George’s repaired one. It was the first time that I had seen it since the accident and I definitely wasn’t happy about it, it would have to go, and quickly. I also glanced around for Winnie, but then I remembered that I had left it with Roger and spotty Jean as a thank you for looking after Bonnie and Clyde. There was also a smaller hangar (perhaps I would call it little c, or C and a half) on the end of the line. It was being used for outside mobile machinery at the moment, anything from a JCB to a dust cart; I was certainly collecting the gear.
These weren’t the only hangars that I had decided to keep, on the other side of the airfield, between what was the old bomb dump, and the Marina were three quite large ones (now named X,Y & Z), along with their own capacious hard standing. In their previous lives one had been used for long term maintenance projects on aircraft, and the other two for aircraft storage. They were in surprisingly good condition so on the spur of the moment I had decided to have them renovated, along with the shells of two offices/workshops/crew room complexes situated between them – why – I hadn’t the faintest idea; it just seemed like a good idea at the time. They were definitely work in progress (lowest priority), but who knows perhaps one day I would find a use for them.
Finally, it was a smooth drive down a freshly tarmac’d road and into to the Marina for a chat with Carol, and she was resplendent in a designer power suit, and yellow wellies, very fetching, and between them Paul and Carol pointed out what I had yet again apparently agreed to. First the jetty and the sea wall would be renovated and security barriers installed on the top of them. On the landward side of the sea wall the narrow walkway would be extended into a full blown jetty; capable of taking Lorries or cranes, and that was where YN 246, or whatever I ended up with, would lay alongside, after a dredger had first cleared away years of silt. As I looked on, there were a series of large wooden piles being driven into the seabed close to the shore, but when finished, they would extend out towards the seawall. Pontoons would then be shackled to them and they would become home to the smaller boats, harbour craft, and possibly some dinghies. The existing slipway would be smartened up, and then used for launching or hauling boats in or out of the water, and up into the new workshop at the end of it. On the level ground, beside the new workshop would be the new Maritime Services main building. It would house the offices, store rooms and restrooms, along with a sail loft, rigging shop for the dinghies, classroom/conference room and the duty boatman’s office and bedroom. I liked the idea of a classroom; I was all in favour of any of my family, friends or staff learning to sail. To one side of the slipway would go my new boat house, in which the Riva Aquarama runabout, that I had just ‘had to have’ on arrival in the Caribbean, would reside, out of the rain; when I wasn’t tearing about the Mediterranean in her. Carol raised the point that she would soon need a good Bosun to look after the place. ‘That’, I explained, ‘was why I was paying her so many Euros, it was definitely her problem’. All the hirings and firings were her ‘part of ship’ now, just keep me updated regularly, and then I asked her when she was visiting YN 246.
‘Alice was paying me a quick visit tomorrow (which was news to me) so she would be using the same aircraft to fly on to Germany’.
She would soon get the hang of it and hire her own, instead of borrowing someone else’s.
As Paul and I drove back to my air-side quarters I asked him when I could expect to move into my new home?
The basement, with its household and kitchen areas could be fully functioning in as little as three weeks, along with the greenhouse; and the training of the staff had already begun. I could be eating over there from then on, if I wished, but the living accommodation would take about a further three weeks to complete, with the landscaping, depending on the weather taking a further month, but what Mrs Blake (the House Keeper) had hinted at was that it would be very convenient if I were to be away for about three weeks following the completion of the works, it would give her time to get things cleaned properly and have everything up and running smoothly before I moved in. That sounded like a very good idea to me; I needed some quality time with my children; not just flying visits.
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