In the Bleak Midwinter , livre ebook

Title Page
IN THE BLEAK MIDWINTER
by
Stan Mason



Publisher Information
Published in 2014 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
The right of Stan Mason to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998
Copyright © 2014 Stan Mason
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.



Chapter One
On the morning of the tenth of June 1784, Mr. James Maddern and his co-adventurers, a group of eighteenth century businessmen, took control of the Botallack tin mine at St. Just near Land’s End in Cornwall. The land, known as Roscommon Clift Bounds on the cliff and wastelands between Botallack and Wheal Cock cost fifteen dues to the lord and a tenth to the bounders. Fifty-one years later, in 1835, Stephen Harvey James rescued the derelict mine in the strong belief it would make him a fortune... a matter that was highly debatable at the time! On the sixteenth of May, 1964, almost one hundred-and-eighty years on , Ivan Obsiovitch, a highly intelligent fifth year engineering student, walked out of Minsk University for the last time in his bid for freedom although he had a further year of study before he could achieve his qualifications. He was destitute, hungry for adventure bored with totalitarian doctrine, and eager to find a means by which he could make his fortune. These incidents and desires, despite the span of time and the geographical distance, were closely linked with the Botallack mine.
It was not 1984... twenty more years had passed since Ivan visited the mine on a geographical survey relating to the rise and fall of tin. To all intents and purposes it had become a memory of the past. However the new information he had received opened a door to the future. It overtook his thoughts like a raging avalanche forcing his memory to recall past events which ostensibly were long forgotten The very essence of Botallack coursed through his veins as well as weighing heavily on his conscience. It had invaded his mind, possessed his thoughts, haunted his dreams, and plagued his life remorselessly until his subconscious mind suppressed the past. Now it had surfaced again. He walked to the window of his well-furnished office reflecting then past two decades with a sorrowful expression on his face, He was quite affluent now... a resident in the capital city... far from the poverty and viciously cold winters he had experienced in Minsk. Botallack was also hundreds of miles away... cold, wet, stark, partly resting innocuously under the Atlantic Oceans with strong waves battering it at its western edge.
The door opened and Baker entered, snapping his fingers at his reminiscent colleague. ‘Constantine!’ he barked harshly almost in the form of an order. ‘Try to focus your mind on priorities Ivan!’
The Russian turned slowly as though in a daydream, ‘What?’ he uttered laconically before offering the other man his full attention,
‘Constantine!’ came the rapid reply. ‘It’s going to take us five or six hours to get there in the dark. If we don’t start soon,’
‘You don’t have to remind me,!’ retorted Ivan sharply, interrupting the other man. ‘I’m ready... I’m ready!’
Baker stared at him directly for a few moments, ‘Look,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Why don’t you just forget it and let sleeping dogs lie?’
‘Because he’s my son, dammit,’ came the quick response. ‘;I owe it to him to let him know the identity of his father.’, He’s your son all right,’ stated Baker flatly. ‘But he’s eighteen years old and you’ve never seen him. He’s grown up. You missed all the fun years. What’s the point of meeting him now?’
The Russian inhaled deeply. ‘He’s still my son... my flesh and blood,’ he responded calmly. ‘It wasn’t possi le to do this before but now she’s dead... ‘ He tailed off, allowing the sentence to vanish into obscurity.
‘I suppose you want to visit Botallack at the same time.
‘What do you think?
Baker regretted having mentioned the tin mine but there was nothing that he could do to retract the words. ‘I’ll get the car,’ he said as he left the room. From his point of view, the quicker they started the journey, the faster it would be over. It couldn’t end swiftly enough!
***
It was an icy winter evening as the large black saloon car turned off the main road, affected by severe engine trouble., stopping g at the forecourt of an old garage in Cornwall. The two men inside the car eased themselves back in the comfortable seats to relax their aching muscles, Baker closed his eyes tightly before running a hand over his face and yawning tiredly,
‘Let’s see if there’s anyone about,’ he muttered. He started to open the door when he noticed that the other man was about to do the same. ‘No Ivan!’ he urged, pushing his companion back into the well-sprung leather. ‘ ‘You stay here in the warm,’
The Russian shrugged off the gesture stubbornly, and opened the car door. ‘I may as well stretch my legs,’ he responded tiredly. ‘Five hours in the dark is a long time,’
Baker smiled, his eyes half closing with fatigue. ‘The trouble with you, moi droog, is that you’re so used to sitting on your fat derriere in the office you’ve lost the art of travelling long distances,’
They alighted from the car, slamming the doors loudly behind them.
‘You’re right,’ admitted Obsiovitch. ‘I’m not used to travelling any more. There was a time when... ‘
He was interrupted as his companion pointed to a light in an office at the rear of the garage.
‘Maybe we’re in luck,’ suggested Baker hopefully. ‘Come on!’ He walked towards the light as Ivan pulled up the collar of his overcoat and clapped his hands together to keep warm,
‘You go on ahead,’ he told Baker tiredly. ‘I’ll wait here. But be quick about it, It’s cold... damned cold!
He watched Baker reach . office and then started to shadow boxing in the forecourt, weaving and ducking as if fighting an imaginary opponent. After a short while he grew weary and stamped his fee on the ground. His tired fat body move mechanically in an attempt to keep his blood circulating faster, however his obesity denied him the physical activity required so that his efforts were in vain. This was an awful place to suffer car engine problems. It was miles from the nearest town... miles from anywhere! His colleague was right! He had become too accustomed to a plush executive chair in his esteemed corporate office.
A shaft of light was cast before him as the door opened and Baker consorted with a man who continually rubbed his greasy hands on the thighs of his dirty blue denims, They walked over to the car where the mechanic opened the bonnet and shone a torch inside. Then he slid into the driving seat and tried to start the engine, tilting his head to one side as he sought to find the core to the problem,
‘I’ll need more time to do a proper job,’ he told them with a distinct Cornish accent. ‘E’d better come back to the office and ‘ave some tea while us works on a repair.’
There was a vestige of light as the winter moon showed itself between patches of clouds. The three men hurried to the office where the mechanic filled up the kettle with water and placed it on lighted gas ring.
‘Service and inscrutability,’ laughed Baker. ‘It’s nice to know that these people aren’t on the make. Not like most town people.’
Ivan pulled off his gloves to warm his hands on the old oil heater burning in a corner of the room, ‘How much further now.?’
‘About twenty miles or so,’ replied Baker. ‘I’m not really sure.’ Baker stared out of the window at the shroud of darkness. ‘I hope he can fix it quickly. I don’t want to spend the night in this misbegotten place. Not if I can help it!’
The Russian rubbed his hands together vigorously beginning to feel the circulation returning, ‘They’re usually good mechanics in these remote places. They’ve got to be.’
‘There’s still time to let sleeping dogs lie,’ countered Baker hardly of the impact of his words as his tired brain churned out thought which had nagged him all day. ‘We could go back... even now.’
Ivan fumbled in his pocket to produce a packet of cigarettes. He lit one and tossed the dead match carelessly on the fl.oor. There was silence before Baker continued.
‘You never ever told me what she was like.’
The Russian glared at him sullenly, ‘What’s any woman like?’ he returned acutely,
The cynical response forced his colleague to drop the matter. Funny how you can smell the countryside,’ he continued changing the subject. ‘There’s a sweet odour in the air... a kind of freshness,’ He emptied the dregs of his mug into the tiny sink in the3 corner of the room before glancing out of the window to observe the mechanic working under the large portable electric light. ‘I don’t like the look of those clouds,’ he grumbled as the moon disappeared behind them. ‘Looks like a storm’s brewing. That’s the last thing we want.’
The Russian finished his drink and held his gloves towards the oil heater. ‘We should have driven on regardless,’ he complained bitterly,
‘You can’t drive twenty miles with an engine making that kind of noise... ‘
He was interrupted rudely by an impatient wave of a hand. ‘All right, all right... I’m not in a mood for a lecture.’
They remain