Classic Cashes In

by Amy Myers

  She glared at me. I thought at first she was going to ignore the question, but unwillingly she gave way. ‘It’s a long story. Gavin had bought the Packard from old Randolph and said jokingly that he’d only sell it to Donald for a share of the loot – which at that time was invested in the bank and would be worth very little. Donald took umbrage and said stuffily that he would leave a few shares in the bank to Gavin in his will. Gavin hadn’t been serious about it, but he was pretty annoyed at Donald’s snootiness so he said he’d keep the car and Donald could do what he liked over the shares. Donald must have realized that if Gavin kept the car it would be a permanent reminder that Gavin had the whiphand over the robbery issue. Donald didn’t like that idea and told Gavin he was still going to leave the shares to him in his will as payment for his share of the loot. Gavin agreed, more to get rid of Donald from his life than anything else, but said he was going to keep the Packard. There,’ she said, with relief, ‘does that satisfy you?’

  ‘Getting there. He didn’t get rid of Donald, did he?’

  ‘No. It went on which is why, as we told you, their children agreed at university that when both Gavin and Donald died, they would split the money equally, sell the Packard and call it quits. Unfortunately when Donald died in 1994 Philip told them he wouldn’t honour that. Instead he would leave it all to Barney and he could do what he liked with it. Tom and Gwen were furious but what could they do? Nothing except have an understanding with Barney. Then we heard about this stupid foundation from Timothy and it all got worse. That was the last straw. We’d been counting on that money.’

  The last straw? ‘Did one of you take drastic steps to ensure the will wouldn’t be signed?’

  ‘Not by murder,’ she yelled at me. ‘We just tried to persuade him.’

  I tried a new bait. ‘Presumably Philip would still have left the house and gardens to Joan in the new will, so she wouldn’t have been affected?’

  ‘She didn’t know that until after he was dead,’ Moira said sullenly. ‘Philip was entirely unreasonable.’

  ‘Perhaps not from his point of view,’ I said drily. ‘Unless there was a blackmail element why did the four involved in that university agreement think that any money should come to them at all?’

  ‘The game,’ she said dejectedly. ‘They had all suffered, and so have I.’

  ‘In other words, the Packard. But why did that go on being an issue? That meant the game wasn’t over.’

  ‘Don’t you believe me?’ she asked, past fury now.

  ‘Not yet. You tell me that Nancy played no part in the game and the Packard was merely a symbol of it. So how did a few shares evolve into a legacy of a multimillion fortune?’

  ‘It just did. It grew.’

  I wouldn’t get further on that – yet. So now for my joker card, in my hand courtesy of Brandon’s email. ‘You told me Gavin bought the Packard from Alfred Randolph in 1948. Can you tell me then why the Packard’s official registration details show that it was Donald, not Gavin, who bought it from him?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she yelled at me.

  ‘The Game Book might reveal that,’ I said reflectively. ‘The one Philip must have held.’

  ‘I don’t know about that either. I only know what I’ve told you.’

  Plus, I thought, what she hadn’t told me. Wendy had referred to a question I should ask. I had assumed that she had meant asked of her, but perhaps I was wrong.

  FIFTEEN

  ‘What are you prowling around for, Jack?’ Zoe demanded, as I hobbled round the Pits on Monday morning. ‘You’re supposed to be resting.’

  I knew I was driving both Len and Zoe mad. They wanted to be alone with their new assignment, a 1960 Fairthorpe Zeta.

  ‘Only until tomorrow,’ I retorted. ‘I can get behind the wheel again then. Meanwhile, you might take a look at the Packard because—’

  ‘Don’t,’ she said dangerously, ‘even think of keeping that monster around.’

  ‘What have you got against it?’ I demanded. The Packard needed some tender loving care before I could even consider what I would do with it. The wheel bearings needed greasing, upholstery cleaning and the exhaust clamps tightening. That was just for starters, although there was no way I was going to paint it its original black. I noted uneasily that I was thinking in terms of what I was going to do rather than what I might do if … Scary!

  ‘It’s more what that car’s got against you,’ Zoe retorted. ‘I love Packards, but since this one entered your life you’ve had nothing but trouble. It’s caused trouble for seventy-odd years, but you’re wandering around as deferentially as though it were a 1930s’ Bugatti.’

  ‘It’s history,’ I said mulishly.

  ‘I wish it was,’ Zoe whipped back. ‘At present it’s a cross between an albatross and a dinosaur.’

  ‘Look at its styling.’

  ‘Look at its steering,’ she countered.

  ‘What do you suggest I do with it? Sell it now? That would be treason.’

  ‘Treason to who?’ She stood there, hands on hips, an aggressive and unmovable figure. I had to come up with some kind of answer.

  ‘The game, I suppose.’

  I can’t have been in my right mind because Zoe fell about laughing. ‘The game, Jack?’ she spluttered. ‘You’re playing it all right. Fallen for it hook, line and sinker.’

  ‘Laugh away,’ I said, irritated. ‘Anyway, I can’t sell it yet. Not till the story’s over.’

  She didn’t give up ‘What story? This game or the murders?’

  ‘Both. They’re linked.’

  ‘Not yet from what you’ve deigned to tell us about it. So give me one other reason that Len and I should spend our valuable time on this when I could be working on something constructive.’ Her eyes strayed longingly to the Fairthorpe.

  I tried hard to sound confident. ‘With the Packard here, I feel I’m on the same wavelength as the Moxton case.’

  Zoe gave me a look of pity and told me she had something better to do than play games with a nitwit. I retaliated by asking her what was so special about putting a stud in a Zeta.

  She replied, ‘Because the stud is the nail in the horseshoe that carries the rider who saves the kingdom. Weren’t you taught that nursery rhyme as a kid?’

  She won. She acknowledged this by condescending to say she’d take another look at my beautiful dinosaur later. I retreated to the barn where the Packard at least seemed glad to see me. The more I stared at it, however, the more its relevance in the case defied me. Seventy-odd years ago when that robbery had taken place the world had not yet plunged into another war, bank managers like Alfred Randolph were pillars of the community and two junior clerks could accompany the bank’s owner in his personal car round to the local post office to pick up bundles of cash accompanied by one man armed with a wooden truncheon. Judging by today’s standards the robbery in Hatchwell had been more like a civilized, if illegal, change of cash ownership.

  Had any robbery really been as simple as history appeared? Even if violence-free, the Hatchwell robbery had resulted in the ruin of Randolph’s life and business, and had had lasting effects on both the Moxton and Herrick families. For me at least and surely for them the Packard symbolized that event, and while the game and its players still awaited that final link to one, probably two, murders, the Packard was here to stay. Whatever Len and Zoe thought!

  That at least was a decision made, so partially satisfied I wandered back towards the Pits.

  ‘Morning, Jack.’

  A red Fiesta drew up in a swoosh of gravel and Emma yelled over to me as she exited gracefully from it. From the passenger side, so – to my amazement – did Louise.

  Louise? I was indeed losing my grip. ‘I thought you were on set,’ I called out as I walked over to them.

  ‘Not today. Tomorrow and then the day after it is the wrap. We hope.’

  I decided not to think about what would happen then. Today was already difficult enough.

  ‘We thought you’d
like a day out with the girls,’ Emma informed me, somewhat smugly.

  I was instantly suspicious. ‘Why the honour?’

  ‘We like your company,’ Louise said demurely.

  They were both looking at me expectantly, so there was more to this than their merely taking pity on a man who couldn’t drive and hobbled like a Victorian chimney sweep. Why this ambush? More thugs on the way? Pen Roxton hiding round the corner of the lane?

  ‘Get in,’ Louise ordered me, holding the rear door open. So I did, after ensuring that Zoe and Len could do without my company. They said they thought they’d be able to cope.

  So I climbed aboard. ‘Where are we going?’ I asked, still suspicious.

  ‘You’ll see,’ Emma told me blithely.

  ‘This is something to do with the game, isn’t it?’ I persisted.

  ‘Dear Jack,’ Louise said soothingly. ‘It’s not just something. It’s the end of the game.’

  ‘I wish I had a tenner for every time I’ve heard that,’ I muttered crossly. ‘Is this yet another version?’

  ‘We’ve packed a picnic,’ Louise continued as if I hadn’t spoken.

  ‘A picnic? It’s mid-October,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Don’t be such a softie. It’s warm enough.’

  ‘For October, maybe. Are we going to the seaside?’ This sarcasm wasn’t ideal because it made me think of Wendy and her beach hut which she and Geoffrey would never visit again.

  ‘No.’

  I took the hint and thereafter left them to it. It was clear I wasn’t going to be told anything until such time as they chose. In fact the signposts indicated we were heading for Sevenoaks and the word picnic therefore suggested the ancestral home of the Sackville family, Knole Park. It has a huge estate, ideal for picnics and watching its flocks of deer stroll by.

  I was right. ‘Very nice,’ I said cautiously after we had driven in stately fashion along the long approach to the car park and lugged baskets and rugs to a suitable grassy patch from which we could observe nature. Curiously, we bypassed a great many suitable grassy patches before my companions appeared satisfied, and I grew impatient.

  ‘Don’t be a crosspatch,’ Louise scolded me, as I helped lay down rugs and unpack baskets. I hoped we’d be making this picnic a short one, as clouds were gathering, it was only warm while we were on the move and here we were stranded in the middle of nature’s best with no shelter. Usually I’d have thought it fun; today I was still too full of aches and pains to do so. Nevertheless I made a supreme effort, once the banquet was laid out in splendour and I had been ignominiously assisted to ground level to collapse on to the rug.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Tell me.’

  Emma glanced at Louise. ‘Work first?’ she queried.

  ‘Go ahead,’ my true love replied.

  ‘This,’ Emma declared grandly, ‘is where the game began.’

  Somewhat of an anticlimax. ‘I thought it began with a bank robbery,’ I said.

  ‘In one respect, yes,’ Emma replied. ‘In another, no. I’ve been deputed to tell you about it because I wasn’t involved. This is what really happened. And don’t think I’m enjoying this,’ she added warningly.

  In other words, don’t make waves, however much I felt like splashing around and even if it was the umpteenth real story that I been fed.

  ‘The game itself began here,’ Emma continued, ‘on a day in 1948 when Donald Moxton and Gavin Herrick met by chance for the first time since Donald had been called up for military service in the Second World War.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ I murmured, trying to sound amiable, but failing dismally. How could this be leading anywhere except round the mulberry bush one more time?

  Louise scowled at me as Emma took a deep breath which suggested that I wouldn’t be sharing this picnic lunch if I didn’t behave myself. ‘Donald was having a picnic here with his girlfriend when Gavin suddenly popped up. He was a struggling actor at that time, and was here to do some research for a role. He recognized the Packard in the car park, and tracked Donald down.’

  First stumbling block: ‘Your mother said Gavin bought it from Randolph. The registration details show that Donald did. Which is right?’

  Emma looked uncertain. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘My money’s on Donald,’ I told her firmly. ‘It must have appealed to his father’s warped sense of humour when he bought the bank for Donald.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said uneasily.

  ‘Whichever of them it was, pinching his car too was a bit tough on old man Randolph, wasn’t it?’

  ‘You say it was Donald.’ Emma regained her confidence. ‘The Moxtons are tough.’

  ‘Tell me what happened at this picnic,’ I asked.

  ‘After the bank raid, Gavin had gradually worked out what might have happened. He said it was something about the way Donald had behaved afterwards, although he had no proof. So having bumped into him by chance at the picnic he joined them and started teasing Donald about it when Donald’s girlfriend went to the loo.’

  ‘Foolish of Gavin perhaps.’ So far this more-or-less tallied with Moira’s version.

  ‘No perhaps about it. Donald went bananas and wanted to know how much cash Gavin wanted not to spread the story around. Then it was Gavin’s turn to go bananas. He said he wasn’t a blackmailer, however much he disapproved of how they’d treated Randolph. Donald couldn’t believe this, so Gavin made a half-jokey, half-serious offer to get out of the situation. His price was the Packard.’

  Groan from me, reproving look from Louise. This was not Moira’s story. Whichever of the two versions was the truth, they both had weak points. The element of blackmail and the relatively unimportant switch of ownership of the Packard. I looked at Louise imagining that day in 1948 when Donald had set out for a picnic with his girlfriend. Then I thought of Wendy and the question she said I hadn’t asked. I knew now what that question should have been.

  The price of silence had been far above Packards, far above rubies.

  ‘Gavin’s price was more than the Packard,’ I said. ‘He wanted the Packard and Donald’s girlfriend.’

  ‘Yes,’ Emma continued resolutely, ‘if Gavin succeeded in wooing her for himself. Donald, being the gentleman he wasn’t, agreed albeit with reluctance, perhaps arrogantly assuming she would prefer to stay with him and Gavin’s bid would come to nothing.’

  ‘And the girlfriend was Nancy, later Nancy Herrick.’ Of course it was, of course.

  ‘It was. My grandmother.’

  ‘A high price.’

  ‘I think it must have been,’ Emma said seriously. ‘Especially for Donald because Gavin did win her and then—’

  ‘Then?’ I picked up gently when she broke off.

  ‘There was something more,’ Emma added awkwardly. ‘Donald refused to hand over the Packard. Gavin saw red and said he’d take the shares in the bank instead. They weren’t worth much then, you see. Donald refused and said he’d leave him their worth in his will. I doubt if he meant it and Gavin didn’t believe him anyway. He didn’t much care about it at the time because he was set on having the Packard. Which Donald still refused.’

  I began to see light in these murky waters. ‘That developed into the argy bargy over Philip’s will? Pretty tough on Philip, having to deal with his dad’s misdeeds.’

  Emma reddened, and Louise leapt furiously to her defence. ‘Jack, don’t take sides.’

  I apologized, genuinely. I think it was a sign of how much the game was getting to me that I was finding this hard to take. However much I sympathized with Philip Moxton, it was too soon to make judgements.

  ‘Gavin did marry Nancy,’ Emma continued. ‘Donald married not long afterwards, and as you know both couples duly produced four offspring between them. But then something awful happened …’ Emma looked at Louise in appeal.

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ Louise said awkwardly.

  I felt a real heel – perhaps somewhat unreasonably since this picnic had been their idea, but neverthel
ess my churlishness hadn’t helped.

  ‘In the late fifties,’ Louise said steadily, ‘Donald Moxton began an affair with Nancy. Gavin can’t have been an easy person to live with; I gather he played around even though he adored Nancy.’ Louise was clearly finding the going tough too for she glanced at Emma, who bravely nodded.

  ‘Then Gavin found out,’ Louise continued, ‘and there was an almighty bust up. Nancy and Donald called it off and Nancy devoted herself to her family. Gavin demanded the Packard and Donald had no choice. He had to hand it over or run the risk of rumours circulating round the City about the bank being purchased with dirty money. The game – though Emma doesn’t think it hadn’t acquired that name by then – was over, or so Gavin thought and he put the Packard up for sale. Donald promptly bought it anonymously and then displayed it with great ostentation outside his home.’

  Just as Philip did when he bought it through me, I thought. ‘What happened next?’

  ‘Gavin demanded it back. Or else.’

  ‘The “or else” being?’ I enquired.

  ‘He’d spill the beans about the bank robbery.’ Emma had got her second wind. ‘This was about 1960, and Donald was on the brink of taking over a London bank and turning his chain of private banks in the south-east into an unlimited company.’

  ‘So he gave the car back to Gavin?’

  ‘Sold it actually.’ Emma grimaced. ‘A fair price though, so my grandfather accepted. Only for Nancy’s sake though, and that also meant Donald had to honour his pledge to leave those shares in Moxtons in his will.’

  ‘And that was the end of the game until recently?’ I asked as neither woman seemed to be meeting my eyes.

  ‘Far from it.’ Emma bit the bullet. ‘A year or two later Donald and Nancy started their affair again.’

  I tried not to sound too grim. ‘We seem to be lacking a few emotions in this story. Was this true love or mutual point-scoring?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Emma confessed. ‘My grandmother was an amazing woman according to my father and I suppose both men must have had something that drew her to them. She wouldn’t just have been a cushion being tossed between the two of them. Perhaps they were all three devil-may-care adventurers in their own way. After all, I didn’t know them,’ she added desperately, ‘and nor really could my father and Gwen have known them. Who does know their parents except in how they relate as parents?’