Page 100 of The Gathering Storm

‘I don’t know what your father would say,’ Richard began.

‘Leave Daddy to me,’ she said, surprisingly firmly. ‘If you say I can …’

‘Of course you can, if that’s what you want,’ Richard said. ‘We could certainly do with someone experienced and efficient.’

She looked pleased. ‘Is that what you think of me?’

‘Not think – it’s a matter of plain fact,’ he said, and her smile was his reward.

January was a quiet time in the office, since few people wanted holidays or to hire a car at that time of year. So when Richard arrived at the open door and looked into Samuel’s office, he was not surprised to see his father-in-law dozing in his chair behind his desk. In respect for his dignity, Richard withdrew, coughed loudly, and rapped sharply on the door frame before inserting himself into view again, by which time Samuel was sitting upright with his eyes open.

‘Can I come and talk to you?’ Richard asked.

‘Of course. Anything wrong?’

‘No, it’s a new idea I’ve had. Something in the business line that I think could make us a fortune.’

Samuel waved him to a seat. ‘More holidays, is it?’

‘Yes,’ said Richard, ‘but not for wealthy people. I’ve been thinking for a long time about what a wretched time the working classes have of it.’ He explained what he had seen in Dover that day, the couple huddling out of the rain. ‘They only have a week away from their toil, and what with unkind landladies and unreliable weather, it must be a struggle for them to squeeze out a little enjoyment before they have to go back to the daily grind.’

Samuel was not yet impressed. ‘And why is that your problem? Or mine, since I’m guessing you want to involve me in your charity scheme.’

‘Not charity, sir. A business proposition.’

‘You can’t charge the working classes the same rates as you charge the rich, so where’s the profit to come from?’

‘From economies of scale,’ said Richard. ‘There are a lot more of them than there are of the rich – and I’m including the lower-middle classes too. And don’t they deserve a little comfort and fun just as much as anyone?’

‘Deserving is not my business. I leave that to God. Tell me your proposal.’

Richard made a signboard in the air with his hand. ‘Nevinson’s Holiday Camps.’

‘Camps?’

‘Or Resorts, perhaps. My idea is that we buy a plot of land, ideally somewhere next to the sea with its own access to the beach. We build a village of wooden cabins: they can be very simple, and with prefabrication they can be run up quickly and cheaply. There will be sanitation huts, with bath cubicles, showers, lavatories – one hut to so many cabins. A dining hall, where three meals a day will be served, of good, tasty food, and perhaps a late-night supper in addition.’ Samuel’s eyebrows rose at this largesse, and Richard said quickly, ‘They manage that even in the third class on the White Star liners, so there’s no reason we shouldn’t too.’

‘Hm. Go on.’

‘There must be a comfortable sort of lounge where they can go and sit when it rains, and read the paper or play cards or board games. Perhaps with a piano – there’s always someone who can play. A billiard room. A cinema. And there will be entertainments laid on – little competitions and quizzes, dances, organised games, races for the children, perhaps music-hall performances or something of the sort. And,’ he finished with emphasis before Samuel could say anything, ‘my principal idea is that there is one flat charge per person per week. Once they get there on the train or motorbus and enter the camp, everything is covered. Food, entertainments – they don’t have to pay for anything more. No need to carry money with them. Think how comfortable that would be after the struggle of their everyday life.’

‘What’s to stop everyone for miles around coming in without paying?’

‘Oh, that’s easily arranged. There’ll be a fence around the perimeter and a gate, and our visitors will be issued with an identification of some kind – a token or badge they have to show.’ He stopped talking to let it sink in.

Samuel pondered. ‘You think there’s land to be had at the right price, do you?’ was his first question.

‘I know there is. Agriculture is so depressed at the moment that farmers will be glad to sell their land. And local authorities will welcome us for bringing business and employment to the area – builders in the initial stages, then cooks, cleaners, laundresses, suppliers of all sorts once we’re up and running. Everyone will love this idea, sir. You’ll be a popular hero!’

Samuel stared into the fire. ‘Nevinson’s Holiday Camp?’ he mused. ‘I don’t like the sound of Camp. Makes me think of soldiers. Tents. Latrines with buckets.’

‘Resort?’

He shook his head. ‘Village,’ he decided at length. ‘Nevinson’s Holiday Village.’

Richard smiled with relief. ‘You like the idea, then?’

‘It will take some thinking out. And, by God, a lot of money to set up.’