by Ray Saunders
As soon as I arrived, I was ushered into his office, and he was seated behind his desk.
“Where the hell have you been!” he greeted me. “You should have been here yesterday.”
I walked over and dumped the briefcase on his desk.
“I was delayed,” I said.
He looked at me. “When you didn’t show up, I rang the Paris Embassy, and they told me you’d left in good time, so where were you?”
“I was preventing this bloody briefcase from falling into the wrong hands,” I replied. “I risked my life bringing it here.”
He stood up. “Well, that was commendable, but you needn’t have bothered.”
“What?” I asked angrily.
He didn’t answer as he picked up the briefcase. Breaking the seal, he opened it and tipped out the contents onto the desk. Picking them up, he handed me a copy of the French newspaper Le Figaro.
“Have this as a souvenir,” he said, smiling at me.
I looked at him in surprise.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “It should have contained secret documents.”
“The important documents that we wanted are already here,” he told me.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“They arrived by courier, and our security people have them now,” he said.
“I was told that I’d been chosen because the usual courier was only carrying fake documents. They thought that he’d be waylaid,” I told him.
He smiled. “In Paris they knew that the embassy was being watched, so they thought up this plan. When you left, they knew that you would be followed, then when it was all clear for our regular courier to leave, he drove to Calais, and caught the car ferry. He landed before you then came straight here.”
I stared at him across the table. “So, you cooked up this scheme, and made me the fall guy.”
He put down the newspaper. “Well, you could say that I suppose.”
“So, I was just the bloody decoy! I risked my life defending that fucking briefcase, it’s the last time I’ll do anything for you or the soddin’ government,” I told him venomously.
“Don’t get upset, Matt, we knew you could handle it. Besides, you were being paid.”
I calmed down but was not pleased. “Well, what about the deal we had. When do I get to see that property that you promised me?”
“There’s more bad news I’m afraid,” he said.
“What do you mean, bad news?”
“I’m afraid it’s been sold.”
“But you said it would be offered to me.”
“I know that was our deal, but it was a Ministry of Defence property, and they were selling off several others that came up for auction. It was out of my hands.”
“When was the sale?”
“A day or so ago,” he said.
I felt like reaching across and hitting him.
“So, because of this bloody fiasco that delayed me, I finished up missing the auction.”
He nodded. “I’m afraid so, I’m sorry, Matt.”
“Well thanks for nothing,” I said.
I turned to leave. “Did our attaché in Paris know that I was to be the decoy?” I asked him.
“It was her idea,” he said.
***
I caught the train home, and Flo greeted me.
“You’ve taken your time,” she said. “I suppose you enjoyed yourself.”
“You’d never guess, Flo. I’ve had the time of my life.”
“Well, now you’re back perhaps my life can get back to normal. It’s been over two weeks since I’ve ’ad a bet. I couldn’t get the Sporting Life, and although I ordered it, they said there was a problem with their distributors. When you go down there, perhaps you’ll sort it out for me.”
“I’m sure I can do that, Flo,” I told her. “I expect your bookie will be pleased you haven’t been betting with him. I know you back a lot of long priced winners.”
She shrugged. “’E’s got plenty. ’E don’t look happy when ’e ’as to pay me out, but ’e ain’t so bad really.”
It was good to be back in familiar surroundings, and Flo was always able to cheer me up with her zest for life. Now I had to knuckle down to business, but it would take some effort to forget the excitement that I had enjoyed and settle down again.
***
The following morning, I turned up at the office, and was greeted by Robert.
“I’m glad that you’re back, Matt. Things have been pretty busy in the last few days.”
“Yes, I’m sorry about the delay, Robert but don’t worry, I’ll take over now and you can have some time off to go sailing.”
“That won’t be necessary yet,” he said. “The boat I’m sailing with is in dock for repairs and won’t be ready for a couple of weeks.”
“Anything new that I should know about?” I asked him.
“Well, you know that big house we’ve had on the books a long time.”
“The one I tried to sell before I left?” I enquired.
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“What about it?”
“You won’t believe this, but I sold it last week.”
“Good for you,” I said. “I hope you celebrated. I was beginning to think that we’d never move it. Did they drop the price much?”
“No, surprisingly. It went for just under the asking price.”
“Well, that is good news. Anything else much happen?”
“I’ve had a rather strange phone call from a Mr. Philips.”
“Who’s he?”
“He’s an auctioneer from a firm called Philips and Thomas down in Taunton.”
“Oh, what did he want?”
“He said that he’d just sold a property on Exmoor that was one of several that were being disposed of by the Ministry of Defence.”
For a moment I was taken aback. “What does he want with us?”
“He told me that he thought the new owner had a change of mind, and wanted to sell, and make a quick profit.”
“So why should he contact us.?”
“He said that he’d been informed that you might be interested.”
I was trying to think how he knew. I wondered whether Mr Smith had contacted him. If he had, then he was not so bad after all.
“What did you tell him, Robert?”
“Well, I knew you that you’d been looking for a suitable place down there, so I told him that as soon as you got back, I’d let you know.”
I began taking it in. This might be the chance I had been waiting for, but it meant there would be a price hike, and would I be able to afford it, I thought.
“What’s the asking price?” I asked.
“He didn’t say, but I expect it’s negotiable. You’re pretty shrewd when it comes to bargaining, so why not give it a try.”
“Where is it exactly?”
He shuffled through the papers on his desk.
“Are, here it is,” he said. “It’s a village called Colworthy near Exford in Somerset.
I looked across to our typist. “Can you find me a map of the West Country, Sally. I think there’s one somewhere.”
She searched along the shelves and finding it, she brought it to me.
“What’s the address, Robert?”
“It’s Old Barton Farm, and it’s in Hunter’s Lane.”
“Okay. Well, would you mind if I drove down tomorrow.”
“No, you go ahead. It might mean we could pick up some more business down there,” he said.
I folded the map and set about catching up with the other business on my desk.
When it was time to leave, I went home to Flo.
“I’m going to pop down to Somerset tomorrow,” I told her.
“Blimey you’ve only just got back. ’Ow long for this time?”
“Oh, I expect to be back tomorrow night. I’ll ring you and let you know about dinner.”
Flo was at the sink. “Well. you’ll ’ave to make do with whatever I can find.”
/> “That’ll be fine, Flo,” I told her.
***
It was cloudy and the forecast was for thundery showers when I left home. The traffic was light, and I made good time. When I reached Exford, I went into the White Horse and asked if they could direct me to the address.
They knew the place, and I thanked them, and drove off to find it.
Hunter’s Lane was a cul de sac, quite narrow and twisting, and as I came towards the end the rain that had persisted throughout the morning eased up, and the clearing sky produced a large rainbow.
Perhaps it’s an omen, I thought.
Reaching the farm, I drove in and stopped at the stables. An old boy was sweeping the cobbled apron.
“Is the owner about? I asked him.
He pointed towards the farmhouse. “Inside,” he said.
I walked across to the creeper covered porch and came to the old oak door.
I was about to knock when I noticed that tied to the knocker was a pink ribbon.
Then the door opened.
“Hello, Matt,” she said. “Welcome home.”
END
