by Mark Daydy
“Oh… yes, thank you. Please, carry on.”
“Yes, so… Grandad decided to build a copy of this horse in every detail. It took him over a year to get it right – as I said, he had other duties. It wasn’t easy, either. Early on, a German bomb destroyed the museum, so he had to work from his drawings. And then, halfway through, another bomb destroyed a cinema. Grandad’s sister was among a hundred people killed.”
Lucy shared a moment of silence before Virginia continued.
“Rocinante was originally called Edith, after Grandad’s sister, but that only lasted a week. He decided he wanted children to have fun on the horse, not be drawn back to tragedy. So, Edith became Rocinante.”
“What was your grandad’s name?”
Henry Stafford.
H. S.
Lucy gave up. Some antiques simply shouldn’t be separated from the people who made and loved them.
Her phone pinged. It was a text from Fast Frankie.
She ignored it.
“You were looking for Ned twenty years ago.”
“Yes, I knew where he went seventy years ago but I lost touch. My hope twenty years ago was that he might have come onto the market. My grandson’s seventh birthday, you see… He’s twenty-seven now and lives on the twentieth floor of an apartment block near Canary Wharf.”
“Ah, not likely to be interested in a rocking horse then.”
“No.”
“Was that the last you had to do with Sir George?”
“Not at all. When I was fourteen, I began working for him as a servant. Well, we were still living in a single room. He was still our landlord, you see. My brother worked for him too some years later as a gardener. My cousin too. He could fix anything.”
“I see.”
“I remember one of my first tasks… I was sent to Sir George’s son’s house to serve food and drinks at a lunch party. There was a little girl called Sylvia riding Rocinante. She told me his name was Ned. I cried my eyes out. Not just for the horse, but the life I once knew.”
Lucy felt a part of her soul shrinking. With each passing second, she despised her family more and more.
Virginia continued, “I went to see Sir George’s son…”
“Albert,” Lucy added.
“Yes, that’s right – Albert. I offered to work extra hours to buy the horse back. He refused. He said it was his daughter’s prized possession. Sylvia would have been six or seven, so I couldn’t blame her.”
Lucy felt ashamed. She never knew any of this. Albert, her grandfather, told her the horse had been in the family for generations.
She gazed on Virginia.
We were the great family. You were the servants.
“Lucy, did you love our horse as much as I did?” Virginia asked.
“I’m not so sure now, but yes. Ned and I… we had an arrangement. We used to go after the bad guys.”
“Oh, how lovely,” said Virginia, clapping her hands together. “Do tell me more.”
Lucy recounted how her grandad – on her father’s side! – loved stories about the Wild West, and how they seeped into young Lucy’s adventures with Ned. In turn, Lucy asked Virginia if she’d been one for adventures.
“Yes, we went on adventures too – through valleys, across rivers, into the mountains… I think though, I came to understand something more important. There’s a line in Don Quixote that goes something like, ‘as Rocinante went down, our gallant hero went over his head, and after he had struck the ground he rolled for some distance.’ Years later, I came to see that riding Rocinante was just like life – it could throw you, but you had to get back on the horse. And life did throw me, especially when my father never survived the Normandy landings.”
Lucy felt a lurch in her stomach.
“I can see the horse meant a lot to you.”
“To me, my brother and our cousin.”
“Virginia… I’d like to give Ned… Rocinante back to you.”
“You own him?”
No, but I should be able to buy him.
“He lives with my aunt.”
“Let me pour you some more tea.”
While Virginia did so, Lucy checked the text from Frankie.
‘Let’s get even with Billy.’
Lucy wondered. Would getting even with Billy be right or wrong?
Or perhaps both?
28. Frankie’s Way
Twenty minutes before Lucy was due to meet Frankie, she was sitting on a bench in the covered cloister walkway behind Chichester Cathedral. Chewing slowly on a cheese salad baguette, reading about Don Quixote on her phone, the years fell away. Her admin role of more than ten years back had been a decent enough job, but the time she got to sit here or in the adjoining garden had always filled her with calm.
And calm was exactly what she needed. She had yet to call Jane or Victoria. There was a distinct need to talk to both of them, but it seemed so much easier to put it off.
She closed her eyes. She wasn’t one for meditation, but this was close. An age seemed to pass. Maybe she would never be disturbed from this calming peace…
“Oi.”
Lucy opened her eyes. It was Frankie, standing over her, leering.
She checked her watch. He was bang on time.
“I have to see someone first,” he said. “It won’t take long.”
She nodded and rose from the bench to follow him, only stopping for a second at the waste bin to discard her half-eaten baguette.
Her opinion of Fast Frankie had not been high since first hearing of him. The more she got to know him, however, the more she came to understand that he wasn’t someone you either liked or didn’t. He was a facilitator – the gooey oil that kept the machinery of the semi-criminal world running. It wasn’t a matter of having an opinion of him. All you needed was a simple grasp of two factors:
1) was his information value for money?
2) would his advice land you in jail?
“By the way,” she said. “Billy said your version of events is a pile of lies.”
“Don’t tell me,” Frankie scoffed, “Billy was charming and lovely. Why don’t you have ‘gullible’ stamped on your forehead? The man’s a crook.”
“I’m having trouble telling who’s a crook and who isn’t.”
“I’m the only one you can trust. We’ll get justice by the back door, okay? That low-life owes Libby twenty grand, remember.”
To Lucy, listening to Frankie was like entering a darkened room. You couldn’t be certain of what you were letting yourself in for. He had a point though. The likelihood was that Eddie – for whatever reason – brought home what he thought was a genuine antique. Did he steal it? Lucy couldn’t be sure. But if he had earned it… what services did he provide for a man like Billy Brown?
At the end of it all though… in the absolute final analysis… she found it hard to overlook the fact that Billy was living a very nice life, whereas Libby had been denied a move to Selsey. It didn’t seem fair.
A few minutes later, they were out of the cathedral’s calming quarter and among the ambling ranks of Saturday shoppers. Lucy glanced at her reflection as they passed a baker’s. Seven days ago, Chichester’s glass reflected a possible future: herself and Nick together. Now it showed her associating with a man who was almost certainly a villain.
“This is an important meet,” said Frankie, as she followed him into an alley. “Top people.”
She sensed he was showing off. He was too insubstantial to know any top people. He seemed to believe in himself though and even took on a swagger as he pulled out his phone and made a call.
Up ahead, a door on the right near the end of the alley was guarded by two huge bald men in shiny suits. They reminded Lucy of the gorilla she and Jane had encountered in Brighton back at the start of the investigation.
“Yo, Big Arnie, how’s it going?” Frankie said into his phone. “Sweet… seventy grand for a Merc… like it.”
Lucy had the distinct impression he’d called the Speakin
g Clock.
“Yeah, I’ll try him,” Frankie continued, “see if he knows anyone.”
They reached the doormen, who looked quite vicious up close.
Frankie tried to walk past but found his way blocked by a meaty hand.
“Yeah, hang on,” he said into the phone, “I’m being held up by a couple of bald mugs.”
Oh crap, we’re not getting out alive.
One of the doormen took Frankie’s phone off him, listened, and reported back to him.
“Big Arnie says the time sponsored by 4U Media is 12:38 and ten seconds.” He returned the phone. “The street is back the way you came. Have a nice day.”
Lucy smiled and grabbed Frankie’s arm.
“Okay, okay,” he complained. “I don’t need the rubbish they’re auctioning anyway. Let’s go and see Billy. We might even get a cup of tea.”
On the way to her car, Lucy wondered if she should call Nick. Would he help her? No, he’d warn her that when things go wrong, people like Frankie will leave you high and dry.
*
In sunny Leygate, Lucy was wondering about a couple of things. Initially, why Frankie had insisted they park the car a fair way from Billy’s home. And then, approaching Billy’s house, why they made for the little gate at the side and not the front door.
Her phoned pinged.
“You can silence that,” Frankie instructed, donning a pair of lightweight gloves.
It was a text from Nick asking if everything was alright. She didn’t answer it.
“I scoped it out last night,” Frankie said, handing her the small bag he was carrying. “The gate’s padlock is twenty seconds.”
Lucy didn’t get it, but Frankie – amazingly for man of his years – climbed over.
Twenty seconds later, he opened the gate holding the padlock.
“Come on,” he advised taking the bag from her.
This was a dark turn. Lucy had never illegally entered anyone’s premises before. If it hadn’t been for the matter of twenty thousand pounds, she might have fled. Pushing her forward though was the idea that they might discover evidence of Billy’s insurance fraud – even though that seemed completely unlikely.
There was another power at work, of course. The need to return home to Barnet with a feeling that absolutely no stone had been left unturned and that the whole thing could be considered concluded for the rest of time.
At the back door, Frankie started on the lock.
“What about the security cameras?” Lucy asked.
“Not working,” said Frankie.
“How do you know?”
“I sprayed them with black paint last night.”
“Last night?”
“Yeah, I had to wait ages for him to pop to the loo. Then I was in. So, it’s a wireless system. That’s blocked now though. The interference kit’s in the bag.”
Frankie opened the door.
“Hang on,” Lucy gasped. “What about Billy?”
“He’s meeting someone in Arundel on urgent business. A face from his past tempted him there with the prospect of learning some very important information. He should be meeting him about now.”
“This man he’s meeting. Do I know him?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“You?”
“Obviously, I’m not actually there. But he is.”
“You planned this all along. You’re only here to steal his stuff.”
“I told you we’d get justice by the back door, didn’t I? This is the back door.”
“This… feels wrong.”
“Will you step inside before someone sees us?”
Despite the doubts, she followed him into the dining room.
“If you’re here to steal his silver, why are you involving me?”
“I need a second pair of eyes and hands… and an alibi. You work at a theological college. You’ll be able to vouch for me if the police poke their noses in. I’ll be able to say I was making love with you at your hotel.”
“You bloody well will not!”
“We’ll say we had a picnic on the Downs then. The main thing is they won’t suspect you, so I’ll be in the clear.”
“I won’t allow it. I’m only interested in finding a way to prove Billy Brown committed fraud. Then I’ll hand it over to the police.”
“No, you won’t. They’ll target Eddie and the chalice. Your Aunt Libby will have police boots marching through her house before you can say Hawaii Five-O.”
Lucy felt trapped. Logic and criminality were ganging up on her.
“Now listen,” said Frankie. “Billy Brown has a hoard of genuine silver antiques and we’re going to take the lot.”
She followed him into the lounge.
“I can’t believe it. Why didn’t you break in years ago? It would have saved you from a parasitic lifestyle.”
“I only recently found out the collection was genuine,” said Frankie, admiring the cabinet full of old silver.
Lucy swallowed.
“How recently?”
“Yesterday, when you told Terry. I was there with him. Thank you for being on my side, Lucy.”
“Yuck. For the record, Billy said he created the fake collection to use as collateral to raise a loan from a loan shark.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?”
“I’m seriously tempted to call the police. Libby would understand.”
“Oh yeah? You like prison food? You’re an accessory. You told me the silver was genuine and you told me you wanted to settle a score for your aunt. You even drove me here.”
Lucy was beginning to feel ill.
“This is all wrong.”
“You really are gullible. You know what he did with the insurance money? He bought real versions of the fakes. Clever man.”
He opened the cabinet and picked up the jug.
“I thought you said he started a crime wave with Pleasant Peter?”
“That too.”
“Next you’ll say he’s Jack the Ripper. Why do you hate him?”
Frankie turned to face her.
“He gave my name to the police. I did three years for handling stolen antiques. I tried to get back at him, but he found out and threatened me. It was you who gave me the thought to try again. He won’t be expecting it after all this time.”
“But he’s expecting to meet you in Arundel.”
“Yes, but I’m impersonating Ernie Bright.”
“Who’s Ernie Bright?”
“A face from the past.”
“But Ernie’s not there.”
“No, of course he’s not.”
“Does Ernie know he’s not there?”
“How could he? I never told him.”
She checked her phone again. The text from Nick. What would he think of her now? He wouldn’t be too impressed. Even so, she felt like calling him.
“Okay, so it’s a two-way split,” said Frankie, eyeing up the cabinet. “You can give Libby twenty grand out of your half.”
“No, put that jug back and let’s go.”
“Billy owes her. Eddie wasn’t a crook. He got paid for his work with an antique, except it was a fake. Billy stitched both Eddie and me up. He owes us.”
“No.”
“Come on – we’ll celebrate together. I’ll show you a good time.”
“How dare you. You don’t know me at all.”
“Yes, I do. You’re a pushover. Don’t deny it.”
“You’re seventy!”
“True… maybe I’m getting a little old for this kind of thing. Admit it, though – you’re tempted.”
“You must be deranged. I’d rather tear my right arm off and beat myself senseless with it.”
“I’ll take that as a possible.”
Lucy looked around. What had she got herself into?
He smiled at her.
“You never know when another opportunity might arise,” he said. “Your whole life could change right now by not acting like a numpty.”
�
�No, there has to be a better way. What if we take photos of all the silver and then try to match it to… er…?”
“Try to match it to a collection of fakes? …Last seen a million years ago by a bent valuer who’s dead, Eddie, who’s dead, and Pleasant Peter, who’s ninety but definitely worth avoiding?”
“Maybe there are papers…”
“Yeah, maybe he’s left a signed letter in a drawer. Whoever so finds this letter, I hereby declare my total guilt as a master criminal. Yours truly, Billy.”
“Well, what do you suggest then?”
“I suggest we get even.”
“No.”
“I’ll just take my share then.”
“You do and I’ll…”
“What? Tell the police?”
“No. I’ll tell Billy.”
Frankie took a moment then put the jug back.
29. And What Do You Believe?
That afternoon, Lucy went to see Nick at the shop. She needed help.
On arrival, she found him with a middle-aged male customer, so she began to while away the time studying an item described by the label as a Victorian walnut Canterbury in excellent condition. Circa 1860. £350.
It looked like a magazine rack, which she supposed it was.
She switched to something smaller. A Victorian mother-of-pearl card case. Circa 1850. £135. Ideal for storing modern business cards.
Hmmm.
Next to it was a pair of Victorian opera glasses made by J. H. Steward of Cornhill, London. Nick had them on sale for a hundred. They were lovely, even though the original black leather and red silk-lined case was a little worn. The initials of the original owner could be seen etched into the metal between the eyepieces.
R. R.
