‘If this was one of your sixties films,’ I said finally, ‘right about now is when the ominous music would kick in.’
‘Let’s not throw common sense overboard just yet,’ said Penny. ‘We’re a long way off the beaten track. I’m amazed a town this small still has a station.’
‘Robert used to be my friend,’ I said. ‘Who knows what he is now? We’re only here because I owe the man he used to be.’
‘This sentimental nature of yours will be the death of you,’ said Penny.
‘Not if I can help it,’ I said. ‘Besides; it’ll be a nice surprise for him. Always assuming he is who he claims to be.’
‘How can you spend your whole life being so paranoid?’ said Penny. ‘Always thinking around corners, and expecting the worst?’
‘Practice.’
Penny headed for the only exit. I picked up the two suitcases and went after her. We had to pass through the main station building to get to the outside, but the narrow passageway had nothing to offer except shadows and silence. There was no one on duty, and the ticket office was closed. A handwritten sign announced it was only open in the mornings, from 9.00 a.m. to 1.00 p.m.
We emerged from the station to find absolutely nothing waiting for us. No taxis, no bus stop, and not a single vehicle in the small car park. There was no one about and nothing to look at but a single narrow road heading off through open countryside to a small country town some distance away. I dropped the two suitcases. Penny gave me a hard look.
‘Tell me you did think to contact your old friend Robert, and inform him we’d be arriving this afternoon?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘But all I got was a recorded voice; so I left him a message telling him what time the train would arrive. Circumstances and missed connections permitting.’
We looked at the empty road stretching away before us, without a single vehicle moving on it. They day was warm and pleasant and very quiet.
‘Maybe Robert had second thoughts about inviting you here,’ said Penny.
‘Not after all the trouble he went to, involving Black Heir and the Organization,’ I said.
‘Then where is he?’
‘I don’t know!’
‘It’s not that far,’ I said. ‘We could always walk.’
‘No we couldn’t, because yes it really is,’ Penny said firmly. ‘I did not travel all this way to trudge down a country road carrying two suitcases.’
I thought, but had the good sense not to say out loud, I don’t see why we had to bring this many clothes for such a short stay anyway. Learning when not to say things like that is at the heart of many a happy relationship. Perhaps fortunately, we were interrupted at that point by the sound of an approaching vehicle. We looked down the road, to where a car was heading our way at considerable speed. Soon enough it skidded to a halt right in front of us, and I looked the car over with mild disbelief. It was probably a pale blue, a long time ago, but now it was old and faded and battered; with a series of scrapes down one side from close encounters with something hard and unyielding. I looked at Penny.
‘You’re the expert on cars ancient and modern. Is this thing vintage?’
‘I think the proper technical term would probably be: a clunker,’ Penny said solemnly.
The front door opened with a distinctly aggrieved sound, and the driver got out. He stretched gracefully, and then greeted us with a cheerful smile.
‘Hi there! Would you be Ishmael Jones and Penny Belcourt?’
‘We would,’ I said. ‘And you are …?’
‘Ah! Sorry! I’m David Barnes. Robert sent me to come and get you, because he doesn’t drive any more.’
‘Why not?’ I said.
‘Too old,’ said David.
That thought honestly hadn’t occurred to me. I was still thinking of the Robert I used to know; far too many years ago. I gave David my full attention. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, tall and well-built, with floppy blond hair, a chiselled handsome face and cool blue eyes. He was wearing a tight black leather jacket over a blindingly white shirt, designer jeans and very expensive-looking shoes. He gestured invitingly at the car.
‘Climb aboard; and I’ll take you straight to see Robert. He’s expecting you.’
‘Oh good,’ said Penny. ‘We were beginning to wonder.’
David hurried round to open the back door for Penny, leaving me to take the suitcases round the back. I opened the boot and dumped them in, and by the time I’d finished that Penny was arranging herself in the back seat, and David had slipped behind the steering wheel again. I just had time to open my own door and get in beside Penny, realize there weren’t any seatbelts, and then David gunned the engine for all it was worth and went racing off down the long country road to Bradenford.
The road had no markings, but David still somehow contrived to hit every single pothole along the way. Penny and I had to brace our legs against the floor to hold ourselves in place as the car lurched back and forth across the road. David raised his voice, to address us over the strained roar of the engine.
‘So! Are you here for the wedding; or the murder?’
Penny and I looked at each other.
‘We weren’t aware of either of those,’ I said carefully.
‘Oh,’ said David. ‘I thought you knew … Robert’s daughter Gillian is getting married tomorrow, to my best friend, Tom. I’m the best man. Or at least, that was the plan before everything hit the fan.’
Penny let out a long-suffering sigh, and fixed me with a hard look. ‘Didn’t you just know there’d be a murder?’
‘Who’s been killed?’ I asked David.
He shrugged uncomfortably. ‘Ah … Robert was really very keen that I wasn’t supposed to talk about that. Just get you to him as quickly as possible. And I really don’t feel like upsetting him. He can be very stern.’
Penny looked at me. ‘Is that the Robert you remember?’
‘Pretty much,’ I said. ‘Is there anything you feel you can talk about, David?’
‘Oh sure!’ he said. ‘I’m an actor! Mostly stage, but a fair bit of television. No movies as yet, but my agent is working on it.’
‘Would we have seen you in anything?’ Penny said politely.
David brightened up immediately, like any actor with a chance to show off his credits. ‘The Wounded Cry? Heartless Manoeuvres? A Desperate Mourning? No? Can’t say I’m surprised. There’s just too many channels these days; and the good stuff gets lost. Heads up! Here comes Bradenford! A small country town in the middle of nowhere, with far too much past and not enough future, and more character than a bit-part player determined to make an impression.’
We finally entered the town and the road reluctantly improved. There wasn’t much traffic about, but the town turned out to be surprisingly pleasant to the eye. The various buildings presented an intriguing mix of architectural styles, covering any number of centuries. Old and new went side by side with no attempt to blend in, or even get along. A well-preserved Norman church stood between a pet shop and a small supermarket, and a long row of Victorian tenements gave way to a series of dull but worthy seventies semi-detacheds. Shops and businesses ranged from old family concerns to modern franchises, to twee little affairs clearly targeted at the tourist trade. The word Shoppe appeared frequently, and not in a good way. Penny pointed out an actual thatched cottage, and made excited noises.
‘Oh, look at that, Ishmael! Isn’t it just divine? I’ve always wanted to live in one of those!’
‘Trust me,’ I said. ‘You really wouldn’t. They’re cold, draughty, and the upkeep is crippling.’
‘You are not that old,’ said Penny.
‘I never said I was.’
‘It’s a lovely town though, isn’t it?’ said Penny, determined to find a bright side to look on.
‘It all seems very nice,’ I said. ‘But given that we’re currently right in the centre of town, doesn’t it seem odd to you that there aren’t more people about?’
She looked.
The streets were almost empty, and the few people out and about appeared to be in something of a hurry. Either because they were on their way to somewhere important, or because they didn’t like being out on the streets at this time of the evening.
‘It’s the country,’ David said loudly. ‘Probably not much to do here, once it gets dark. They probably roll up the pavements the moment the shops close, to keep the people from wearing them out.’
We passed through the middle of town and just kept going. Soon enough we reached the town outskirts and headed up a narrow lane that headed out into the countryside. David finally brought the old car skidding to a halt before a large and only slightly foreboding detached house, with far too much character for its own good. The nearest neighbours were back at the town, and there was nothing beyond the house but flat open land, stretching off into the distance for as far as the eye could follow, under a cloudless iron-grey sky. The house was a blocky old stone-walled structure, with two stories, diamond-paned windows, and a steeply slanting grey-tiled roof. The general effect was blunt and uncompromising, more like a fortress than a home. And I had to wonder; who or what did my old friend feel the need to defend himself from?
Penny and I got out of the car. It felt good to have solid ground under my feet again, and scenery that wasn’t jumping out at me at great speed. I went round to the boot to retrieve the suitcases, while Penny politely thanked David for the lift.
‘Sorry I can’t stay,’ he said quickly. ‘But I have to get back to the hotel, and join the bride and groom. I only borrowed this car from the hotel’s owner.’
‘Aren’t you coming in?’ said Penny.
‘I don’t think so,’ said David. ‘He’s really very stern.’
And he turned the car round in a tight arc and sped off back to town. I dropped the suitcases beside Penny.
‘He seemed like an amiable sort,’ she said.
‘He’s an actor,’ I said.
We stood outside the house with our suitcases, like two refugees or orphans of the storm. There was no one else around, and no reaction from inside the house. It was all very quiet.
‘Why aren’t there any birds singing?’ said Penny, after a while. ‘I mean, we’re out in the countryside …’
‘That’s moorland,’ I said.
‘Don’t they have birds on the moors?’
I thought about it. ‘I don’t know.’
We looked around us some more. There was just the one lane, bounded on both sides by open fields, and no one else in sight. No sign of a trap, or an ambush, or any interest in us at all. I looked at the house’s front door, and it looked solidly back at me. Penny dug an elbow into my ribs.
‘Well?’ she said pointedly.
‘Well what?’
‘Aren’t you at least going to ring the bell? Let your old friend know that we’ve arrived?’
‘I’m thinking about it.’
‘What’s there to think about? Are you worried Robert won’t be pleased to see you? He invited you here. Or are you worried that he might be a bit upset, because he got old and you’re still young?’
‘Those are important things to worry about,’ I said, not moving.
‘Do you want me to go ring the bell?’
‘Not as such …’
‘Well we can’t just stand around here!’
‘I’m thinking!’ I said.
‘Think faster!’
And then we both broke off as the front door opened abruptly, and an old man stared out at us. We stared back at him, and for a long moment no one said anything. The old man might have been tall once, but a stooped back had bent him right over. His hair was grey, what there was of it, and his face was heavily lined, suggesting a lifetime of experience, most of it hard. But his eyes were clear, and his mouth was firm. He was wearing a sleeveless grey cardigan over a plaid shirt, with rough work trousers and brightly-shined black shoes. I didn’t recognize him at all. I actually wondered for a moment whether David had brought us to the right house. And then the old man nodded slowly, and addressed me in a voice that was instantly familiar.
‘About time you got here, Ishmael. Well, don’t stand on ceremony; come on in, the pair of you.’
And just like that I saw something in his face of the man I used to know. Robert Bergin; my old partner in the field, when I worked for Black Heir. Under another name and another identity, all those years ago. I picked up the suitcases and started forward, with Penny sticking close at my side. Robert waited until the last moment to step back out of our way, and invite us into his home with a brusque gesture.
The moment we were all inside, Robert closed the door and locked it. The hall was gloomy and characterless with the outside light cut off. I studied Robert openly. He had to be in his late seventies now, and looked nothing like the dashing field operative I remembered. He looked like his own father, or maybe even grandfather. He didn’t spare me or Penny a glance as he headed down the corridor, just growled over his shoulder for me to leave the suitcases in the hall. I placed them carefully to one side, and then Penny and I followed Robert into what turned out to be a perfectly agreeable parlour.
The furniture was generic and well-used, and the carpet’s pattern had been all but trodden away, but it all seemed pleasant enough. A few prints of undistinguished landscapes on the walls, and lots of fresh flowers in vases. A presentation clock ticked loudly on the mantelpiece. Evening light streamed in through the window, bathing the room in a friendly glow. It was all very comfortable and cosy. An old man’s room. Robert looked at me for a long moment, and I let him. Penny looked quickly from me to him and back again, not sure what to say. Robert studied my face unblinkingly, as though trying to take in every detail, and I couldn’t read the expression on his face at all.
‘Hello, Robert,’ I said finally, because one of us had to start the ball rolling. ‘Good to see you again. It’s been a while.’
‘Thirty years, and change,’ said Robert, his voice harsh and dry. ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Unlike me. I’m amazed you can still recognize me. Thanks for coming, Ishmael.’
‘Thanks for using my current name,’ I said.
‘Only polite,’ said Robert. ‘And it helps to distance me from the man you used to be, all those years ago. But I have to ask; why Ishmael?’
‘I like it,’ I said. ‘It’s dashing, it’s winsome, it’s me. I chose it out of thousands. I didn’t like the others. They were all too samey.’
Robert shook his head. ‘After all these years, you still think you’re funny.’ He looked at Penny.
‘This is my professional partner and the love of my life,’ I said. ‘Penny Belcourt. She knows all about me, so you can speak openly in front of her. Trust her with anything. I do.’
‘Well,’ said Robert. ‘That’s good to know.’ He extended a steady hand for her to shake, and her smaller hand disappeared inside his. The handshake was more brisk than polite, but there was a definite twinkle in his eye as he smiled at her. ‘Ishmael always did have an eye for a pretty face; and a sense for people he could depend on. I’m glad he’s found someone, at last. Sorry to drag you halfway across the country … Where are my manners? Sit yourselves down, the pair of you. Would you like some tea? I can put the kettle on …’
‘We’re fine,’ I said. ‘Let’s get down to business.’
‘Suit yourself,’ said Robert. ‘But we’ve got a lot of talking to do; so sit down and settle yourselves. This is going to take a while.’
He waved us to a heavy sofa with a faded flower pattern, and then lowered himself carefully into the padded and over-sized chair facing it. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, even as Penny and I sat down. I was stunned by how diminished Robert seemed, compared to the large and powerful man I remembered. The broad shoulders were still there, if somewhat bowed, but the great chest and arm muscles were gone, and there was a definite paunch under the cardigan. The bony hands were speckled with liver spots, and his throat had sunken into a wattle. I reali
zed with a sudden shock that the perfect teeth I saw in his brief smiles were actually dentures. I didn’t know why that came as such a shock, but it did.
I had no idea what to say to him. Penny sensed that, and jumped in.
‘You have a very nice house, Robert,’ she said quickly. ‘Quite charming.’
‘Don’t know as I’d go that far,’ said Robert. ‘But I like it. Been in the family for generations. Most of what’s good about it is down to my wife. Helen always had a gift for nest-building. I never much cared about colours and patterns, fashions and styles and that, but she had enough opinions for both of us. Since she died … I don’t feel like changing anything. I keep the place tidy, mind. Can’t abide a mess. Never could.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘You always kept your files arranged so neatly. Every pile of papers carefully squared off on your desk. But I don’t remember Helen …’
‘She was after your time,’ said Robert.
‘You don’t seem all that surprised,’ Penny said carefully. ‘That Ishmael hasn’t aged, like you.’
‘He looks exactly the way I remember him,’ said Robert, looking me square in the face. ‘Not a mark on him, not a day older. Like time stood still, just for him.’
He gestured at a framed photo on an occasional table next to Penny. She picked it up and showed it to me. A man in his forties and a man in his twenties, with eighties’ razor-cut hairstyles and Men In Black suits, standing shoulder to shoulder and smiling easily at the camera; ready to take on the world. The younger man was me, the older was Robert.
‘I fished that old thing out of the attic the other day,’ said Robert, ‘Once I decided I needed help. Someone I could depend on.’
Penny offered me the photo. I shook my head, and she put it back on the table.
‘I always knew there was something rum about you, Ishmael,’ said Robert. ‘Never sure what exactly, though I had my suspicions. But I did notice that you never aged a day in all the years we spent together. Which is why I tipped you off, when I realized our superiors at Black Heir were taking an unhealthy interest in your background.’
Till Sudden Death Do Us Part Page 3
