Bellman by Diane Setterfield

Author:Diane Setterfield
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books

Chapter Five

First the land. No simple matter, that. Then lawyers to see off the small tradesmen scratching a living there. Meanwhile architects and draftsmen to work on designs.

“Five storeys,” Bellman told them, “and the essence of it should be light. The center of the roof to be an octagonal glass window to the sky, and the entire building to be pierced through the middle, so that light will fall through the center of the shop and not only through the windows.”

“Hmm,” the architect said and stroked his beard. “Alternatively—”

“An atrium,” said William. “Exactly as I have described. How else can my seamstresses see to stitch? How else can my customers see the black detail on a pair of black gloves at four o’clock on a November afternoon?”

The architect presented plans for the building: there was no atrium. “It is hardly practical,” he pleaded. “It will be too hot in summer. Think of the maintenance costs! And is it safe?”

William sketched out the atrium himself in his calfskin notebook, tore it out, and handed it to the man. “Go to Chance in Birmingham for the plate glass. You must get these men”—another scribble and torn-out page—“for the installation. They are familiar with the ridge-and-furrow system. There is a system that will raise the entire glazed ceiling to let the hot air escape in summer. And if you don’t know how to do it, I’ll subcontract the entire roof to one of Paxton’s men.”

The architect produced new plans in accordance with Bellman’s wishes.

A manager of works was needed. Bellman’s architect knew just the man.

“Come with me, I’ll take you to him now.”

The man’s office was as comfortable as any reception room. He was plump and jovial, the buttons of his waistcoat shone, and he shook Bellman’s hand with confidence. Bellman suppressed a grimace at the handshake: it was the man’s clean nails, the soaped and scented softness of his skin. He stayed ten minutes with him then took his leave.

“He’s not the one,” he said. “He has not the voice for speaking to laborers. If a thing is to be done well, it cannot be done from the fireside. You have to be there yourself.”

“With respect, sir,” the architect said, “Bensen has a very experienced team of intermediaries and he has vast experience. You need someone who is your equal in talent and experience, someone who can take the responsibility of the construction off your shoulders, leaving you free for the rest of the enterprise,”

Bellman shook his head. It was not his way.

Someone younger, he thought. Calloused. Closer to the men. Closer to the work. He asked around, and his enquiries led him to a man called Fox.

They met in a small park, round the corner from a noisy construction site. Fox wore heavy boots, had dirt under his nails, and when he spoke to his men, he sounded like one of them. Fox reminded him a little of himself when young: talented, hungry for a big project. Bellman set out his terms plainly.

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