by Stan Mason
‘I already have,’ declared Don sagely, You’ve already told me all I wanted to know.’ You’ve ended up with nothing and your life’s like a train wreck. That’s good enough punishment as far as I’m concerned.’
He pushed Doyle away roughly feeling as though he had been repaid for all his earlier suffering, satisfied by the fact that the man’s life had been ruined. With an element of pleasure, he moved on to another ex-pupil and introduced himself.
‘Don Wise?’ stated the man staring at him closely in disbelief. ‘Are you sure? I wouldn’t have recognised you in a million years. How you’ve changed! . I remember you as a... well it doesn’t matter any more because you’ve grown up and you look so different. I’m Harry Broadstairs... the one who used to sit right in the front of the class. Surely you remember me.’
‘Oh I remember you all right!’ retorted the scientist sharply. ‘You used to push me over every time you saw me in the playground. You were the one who kept calling me Dumbo.’
Broadstairs looked at him more closely. ‘That’s right. What happened to your ears?’
Don disregarded the question and sought some information from his fellow colleague. ‘What are you doing now Broadstairs? What do you do for a living?’
The other man grimaced for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders before replying. ‘Do you want a quick run-down or do you have a couple of hours to spare?’ He paused but there was no response to his question so he continued the dialogue. ‘Well I started up in ladies fashions... dresses and coats mainly. Had my own business but it didn’t work out. I went bust. Then I became employed in a shoe factory but that didn’t work out either. After that I went from pillar to post scraping for a living. I’m currently looking for a job but my wife’s working as a waitress to help us out. We married three years ago. No children yet but we’re hoping.’
Don felt elated as he listened to the information then he pushed past the man as though he wasn’t there. At least there were two bullies who had amounted to nothing and it pleased him greatly with a strong element of shadenfreud.
He then came to the schoolgirl who had given him the nickname of Dumbo and had made fun of him regularly in the school playground.
‘Stella Hargreaves,’ he greeted amiably. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine,’ she replied, ‘but I don’t recognise you. Were you in our class.’
‘I should say so,’ he responded. ‘I’m Don Wise.’
She stared at him for quite some time, drawing on her memory of the man. ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘You’re not him at all.’
‘I assure you I am,’ he insisted with a smile on his face. ‘Dumbo you called me.’
‘I remember Dumbo but I don’t know you.’
‘Take it from me, I’m your old classmate Don Wise. What are you doing these days.’
She paused to assess the situation and then reconciled her mind. People did change as they grew up but surely not that much!
‘I’m having a rough time at the moment. My father died a year ago and my mother’s an invalid. I was studying to become a lawyer but I had to give it up to look after her. It’s not much fun.’
‘Married?’
‘No... haven’t got any time to be with anyone else. My mother’s quite demanding. So tell me, how is it you look so different?’
‘That’s for me to know and for you to guess,’ he told her rudely before moving on past her. As far as he was concerned, it was getting better the longer e stayed. They had made him suffer badly at school and now they were suffering themselves. It was as though he had placed a curse on them and it was working.
Inevitably it wasn’t long before he came face to face with Zelda... once the woman of his dreams.
‘Hi, Zelda,’ he greeted smoothly. ‘You’ve really worked hard to get this reunion together.’
She stared at him with a puzzled expression on her face as she failed to recognise him. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are?’ she ventured. ‘Were you in our class at Roseberry School?’
‘‘I’m the one who’s sorry,’ he told her easily. ‘I’m Don Wise. I arranged to meet you at a restaurant six months ago and I let you down.’
‘Who do you say you are?’ she enquired completely foxed.
‘Don Wise... the ugly obese idiot who kept stuttering and got tongue-tied. No one could ever forget me. We wrote to each other for the best part of a year.’
‘Is it really you,’ she uttered with surprise appearing on her face, ‘You’ve changed so much.’
‘You could say that,’ he told her smartly. ‘Do you know that you were once the woman of my dreams.’
‘I’m flattered,’ she responded amiably at the compliment. ‘What about now?’ She was clearly impressed by his looks, his attitude and his speech.
‘You’re still a beautiful woman but I don’t dream about you any more,’ he said brutally.
‘That’s a shame. I can’t get over you,’ she told him in awe. ‘I mean you’re so handsome and smart. I remember you as a fat little boy who was disliked by everyone.’
‘One who everyone laughed at and bullied. Well they’re not laughing at me any more.’
She hesitated for a short while her eyes not leaving his face and clothes, staring at him as though he was her knight in shining armour on a white horse. ‘Look,’ she went on. ‘Why don’t you come and have dinner with me one evening at my place. I don’t live far from here. Clearly we have a lot to talk about.’
‘Aren’t you in a relationship with someone,’ he ventured prying nosily into her personal life.
‘Relationship!’ she laughed bitterly. ‘Chance would be a fine thing! As you know, I went to a dating agency to find someone. They paired me up with five men, three of whom I wouldn’t be seen dead with. I never made it past square one with the other two. You see I have a problem. Most men will swallow getting involved with a divorced woman but very few are willing to take on a young child from a previous marriage. Ergo, I’m not in a relationship with anyone. How about you?’’
‘No,’ he told her frankly. ‘I’m not married or involved with anyone.’
Then why not come to dinner, Don? We can catch up on old times and maybe look to the future together.’
‘I’m sorry to hear of your situation,’ he told her less than sympathetically. ‘Perhaps we can take a rain-check on that dinner. You see I’m a scientist with a great deal on my plate at the moment. As soon as I can free up a date I’ll ring you.’
She shook her head angrily becoming very perceptive. ‘It’s never going to happen is it?’ she bleated sadly. ‘You’re doing it to me as well. You haven’t got the guts to tell me you don’t want to come!’ She turned away irately and went towards the table pretending to smooth out one of the creases in the tablecloth, and he knew that she was on the verge of tears at the rejection.
He could hardly believe the fact that he had rejected an invitation to ne with her for a whole evening... perhaps a whole night... with all the sexual ramifications that might follow. The world had turned on its axis. In the past he would have given his right arm to hear her words and immediate acceptance would not have been in question. However, although he still thought that she was beautiful, there was no longer any chemistry existing between them. In the current climate, she meant nothing to him. He was finally clear of his obsession with Zelda... he had found closure at last!
He continued to talk to some of his other classmates in the room. They were all employed in mundane jobs, bogged down by weighty mortgages and other heavy debts, mostly couples with their own domestic problems. With a few exceptions they were all married with children. It soon became obvious to the scientist that each one of them had turned out to be a loser in the game of life while he was as free as a bird with no serious financial problems and no emotional baggage. Life was looking good for him; it was
all there ready for him in the future and he revelled in the ideal.
He left a short while later feeling very satisfied at the sad plight of his former classmates. They were all struggling with their feet in clay while he floated on cloud nine. He had sought revenge on all of them but he was surprised to note how sweet it was... even in its passive sense!
***
Mr. G. came to his office early one morning. He had not slept well at all with a number of disturbing thoughts crossing his mind during the night to prevent him from waking up freshly the following day. It was more greed than troubles that affected his mind for, in his dreams, he kept multiplying the amount of money he would make from selling the Faberge Eggs.
As soon as he sat behind his desk, he lit a large Havana cigar and poured himself a glass of Jack Daniels. Shortly he picked up the telephone receiver and dialled a number to contact his subordinate in the field.
‘Jake!’ he muttered gruffly into the receiver. ‘Can you come to the office. There’s something I want to discuss with you.’
After the call, he settled down and was surprised when the door opened and Rose Harris walked in.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked bluntly.
That’s a fine way to say good morning, Colin,’ she reproached curtly.
‘You should be at the hospital,’ he went on wondering why she had visited him so early in the morning.
‘Since when have you any knowledge of hospital schedules?’ she challenged determined not to be brow-beaten. ‘I’ve come to tell you something about this evening,’
‘It’s Wednesday evening... our evening,’ he said quietly.
‘I know. That’s the problem. I’m seeing someone else tonight.’
He paused to reflect her comment, puffed on his cigar and then took a sip of his whisky. ‘Go on!’ he urged, waiting to hear what more she had to tell him.
‘It’s not the way you think,’ she continued informatively. ‘An estate agent is going to show me over a couple of houses after I finish my shift. I don’t want to live any longer in the place where I stayed with Robert. It haunts me.’
‘That makes sense,’ he returned slowly. ‘Okay, I’ll cancel the booking at the hotel. I’m sure they won’t mind.’
‘I hope that you won’t mind either,’ she told him a little uneasily. ‘I mean you can come too if you like.’ The lsst thing she wanted to do was to alienate the feelings of the man with whom she had established a relationship.
He looked directly into her eyes to check whether she was spinning him a yarn, then he puffed on his cigar and sipped his Jack Daniels again. He had no doubt that she was telling him the truth and he sympathised with her with regard to living in a house that she had shared with her husband who was now deceased. The memories they had gathered during their marriage would have been resurrected each time she went into one room or another.
Before they had a chance to continue their conversation, Jake arrived and sat in another chair facing the one-armed entrepreneur. He stared at Rose with some surprise but said nothing to her. Surely Mr. G. didn’t want to include her in any business discussion but she was there in person and it looked to be that way
‘Okay,’ he began in earnest. ‘What’s it all about?’
‘I’m concerned about Taffler,’ replied Mr. G. with concern. ‘This idea, which Rose brought to me, is far too important to keep at arms length.’
‘What do you intend to do?’ asked the ex-convict unable to outthink his master.
‘I’ve never seen the man. I want to take closer orders. You’d better bring him to me.’
‘Is that wise,’ countered Jake with equal concern. ‘I mean if this thing went belly-up, you could be connected with the operation. At the moment, no one knows your existence in this matter but the moment Taffler sees you, your cover’s broken.’
‘I’ve thought about that,’ came the reply, ‘As this scheme will operate at a very low level, I’m willing to take that risk.’
Jake shrugged his shoulders aimlessly. ‘Okay, if that’s the way you feel, I’ll bring him here.’
‘You do realise that this is the man who threatened to place my hand on a hot electric plate,’ explained Rose to the one-armed entrepreneur.
‘It was only a threat,’ returned the ex-convict. ‘We wouldn’t have done it. It was simply to frighten your husband into giving us what we wanted.’
‘You sounded very serious to me,’ accused Rose harshly.
‘You had nothing to worry about, I assure you,’ he told her although she was doubtful whether he was telling her the truth. He stood up ready to leave. ‘Is there anything more you want me to do?’
Mr. G. shook his head slowly. ‘No... just bring him here.’
‘By the way,’ added Jake. ‘I’ve installed a computer in his shop so that he can view the real Faberge egg from every angle. North, south, east, west, top and bottom. Its essential that he gets it done perfectly.’
‘Good,’ retorted Mr. G. ‘And get him to bring the costing for one egg. I’d like to know.’
‘I don’t like that man!’ stated Rose after he had left. ‘He’s mean and vicious. Tell me, is he the one who killed Robert because I’m sure he did.’
‘Let sleeping dogs lie, Rose,’ declared the entrepreneur sagely. ‘There’s no point in raking over old coals.’
Later that afternoon, Jake brought Taffler to the office. The metallurgist appeared to be very humble, dressed in clothing of a lesser quality and he sat opposite Mr. G. with the ex-convict standing by.
‘What do you want to know,’ he asked tamely.
‘First of all, I want you to tell me all about making a copy of the Faberge Eggs and then I need to know the costing. Next I want to know where you’ll get the materials to make them and the exact timing.’
‘You realise what a tremendous task it will be even to make one copy,’ stated the jeweller trying to put his case forward.
‘That’s not my problem it’s yours,’ came the response. ‘Let’s start with the costings.’
Taffler screwed up his face before replying. ‘You’re not going to like this but if I’m going to produce an item that looks like the real thing, each one is going to cost over fifteen thousand pounds.’
You’re wrong,’ returned the entrepreneur. ‘I do like it. You see if you’d told me it was going to cost a couple fo thousand I’d have thrown you out on your ear. I want these eggs to look absolutely authentic. I can’t stress it enough.’
‘Well that’s the worst thing out of the way. I understand you want four in a year.’
‘And only for one year. I want to wait another two years before we produce another four. There’s no sense in flooding the market and creating suspicion because too many of them are suddenly around.’
‘Well I think I can do four in one year,’ confirmed the jeweller somewhat relieved at not having to work day and night to produce a stream of eggs to satisfy the man. Jake has provided me with a computer so that I can examine the egg from every angle. It was only necessary for me to see it, it was essential.’
‘So he told me,’ returned Mr. G. readily. ‘Where are you going to get your materials?’
‘I have a number of sources but they will want payment by the order. I shall need gold and silver, some gems including rubies and emeralds. They do not have to be top quality but I shall get the best I an. And, of course, it will always be through the trade. If I bought the materials at retail value, the cost would come to about twenty thousand pounds for each egg.’
The one-armed entrepreneur nodded his head slowly, puffed at his Havana cigar and took a sip of his whisky. ‘Do you think you can pull it off?’ he asked finally.
‘I’m certain of it. I’m an expert in my field. Admittedly I’ve never done anything quite so exquisite before but it’s a challenge.’
‘It had better be more than that at twelve thousand pounds a time,’ retorted Mr. G quickly. ‘We’re talking of money here. Four eggs will cost me sixty thousand pounds!’
‘Always thinking about the money,’ thought Jake to himself although the words never emerged from his mouth.
‘Is there anything else you’d like to know because I have one question to ask you?’ advanced Taffler hoping that he could leave soon. He felt extremely uncomfortable being questioned by a stranger who was obviously going to make demands of him
‘Yes... when can I expect the first one?’
The jeweller moved his head from side to side as he weighed up the situation. ‘Give me two months and then ask me how I’m getting on. I need to note every detail of the original eggs before I can be absolutely certain of copying it to perfection. The second, third and fourth eggs will be much easier and I am sure I’ll be able to make them quickly.’
‘Okay,’ said Mr. G. satisfied with all the answers. ‘What do you want to ask me?’
‘To get down to the nitty-gritty,’ said the jeweller, squirming slightly as he asked his question. ‘What’s in it for me?’
‘At the production of each egg, I will give you twenty thousand pounds.’
The answer blew the wind out of the jeweller’s sails. He had believed that he would be paid a pittance, perhaps five or six thousand pounds for each one, but the sum of eighty thousand pounds in a year for copies of four Faberge Eggs was more than he could ever have imagined.
‘Fine!’ he gasped hardly believing his luck. He had been trying to balance his books at the shop for twenty years and suddenly it was boom time from someone he didn’t know and who didn’t know him.
‘How much will you need to start the process?’.’
Taffler pulled himself together and inhaled deeply focussing his mind. ‘You’d better let me have a couple of thousand. I’ll contact Jake when I need more. And make it in cash. The people I do business with prefer it that way. Less problems... no hassle.’
