EG02 - The Lost Gardens

by Anthony Eglin

  ‘Sorry we never got the chance to meet, doctor,’ Fox said through the narrow gap. His voice was calm, as though he really meant what he was saying. ‘We would have had a lot to talk about—more than you would ever imagine.’

  Before Kingston had a chance to say anything, he saw the gap vanish as the cover slammed shut and Fox’s parting words echoed down. ‘Get comfortable, won’t you, because you could be down there for a long time. A very long time.’

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The minute Fox locked the trapdoor Kingston was at the top of the ladder examining the underside, thumping it in different places with his fist. He remembered the two black rotating metal brackets that locked the door in place and knew that it would take extreme leverage and force to break them. Soon, he backed down the ladder and joined Jamie who had been unsuccessfully trying to call out on her mobile. Though her face was noticeably pale, he was relieved to see that she appeared reasonably calm.

  ‘No signal, I’m afraid,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not surprised. These walls are probably two feet thick and then there are the walls up above, too.’

  ‘How much longer do you think the lamp will last, Lawrence? Perhaps we should turn it off for a while.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry. We should be good for at least another six hours or so but I don’t think we’re going to need anywhere near that long.’

  ‘I know you’re trying to make me feel better but I don’t mind telling you, I’m scared. Really scared. To hell with the paintings now, Fox can have them. We’re in serious …’ Her voice trailed off and she lowered her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, looking up at him again. ‘Forget what I just said.’

  Kingston took her arm and steered her to the trunk. ‘Here, come and sit down,’he said softly.

  She sat looking up at him, her eyes unflinching, no longer showing any visible signs of distress. Kingston wondered how many other young women would be able to exercise such self-control given the same terrifying circumstances.

  ‘Fox doesn’t have the paintings,’he said calmly.

  ‘What do you mean? I handed them over to him.’

  ‘No you didn’t. I gave you the canvases that covered the real ones.’ His face broke into an impish smile. ‘Fox has the Paris street scene and the other two losers. The real ones I slipped behind the crate.’

  ‘Brilliant. You sure had me fooled.’ She looked at him for a long moment, obviously weighing the implications. ‘So, sooner or later, once Fox finds out he’s been tricked, he’s going to come back, right?’

  Kingston nodded. ‘Hopefully sooner rather than later. Thing is, when he does, we must be ready for him. He’ll be furious—my guess is that he won’t hesitate to use that gun if he has to. But that could all be in our favour.’

  Her brief moment of elation over, Jamie’s expression was sombre again. ‘In our favour! What will he do when he comes back, then? We’re sitting ducks down here.’

  ‘First we have to find a place to hide the canvases.’ He reached behind the crate and took out the three loose canvases. ‘Hold these for a moment, would you?’ he said, handing them to her. He took off his jacket, laying it across the wooden crate, the inside lining facing up. ‘This should work for the time being,’ he said.

  Jamie watched as he smoothed out the back section of the nylon lining. Neatly hidden by pleats was a long zipper that extended all the way across the back lining. ‘It’s called a “poacher’s pocket”,’ he said, taking the canvases from Jamie and carefully folding them loosely in two so as not to risk cracking any of the paint. He winked. ‘Big enough to hide a brace of partridges.’ He slid the paintings into the pocket and closed the zipper, folding the pleats back in place. ‘There,’ he said, looking up, satisfied. ‘That should out-fox Fox.’

  ‘Clever,’ said Jamie. ‘So what are we going to do when he gets back?’

  ‘I’ll tell you in a minute,’he said, going to the ladder and climbing to the top.

  She watched as he took the Swiss Army knife out of his pocket and started to lever the screwdriver blade under one of the metal straps that secured the ladder to the ledge of the trapdoor. In thirty seconds the strap was swinging free. ‘Don’t know what I’d do without this little baby,’ he said, moving over to the second strap. ‘Glad they used nails and not bolts,’ he mumbled. Soon, the second strap was loose. Slowly he descended the ladder that was now movable. At the bottom, he gripped the rung level with his knees with both hands and suddenly jerked the ladder upwards. Sliding on the edge of the ledge surrounding the trapdoor, it struck the underside of the door with considerable force making a loud thump. He put the ladder back in position, looked at it for a second, then said, ‘Next time Fox pokes his nasty face down here, he’s going to regret it.’

  ‘I’m starting to get the idea,’said Jamie.

  ‘It’s not the greatest,’ said Kingston, ‘but given the vast number of choices, it’s the best I can come up with on the spur of the moment. It’ll depend mostly on timing and a simple cue from you which we can work out.’

  For the next couple of minutes, Kingston demonstrated how they would deal with Fox. He went over it twice to make sure each of them knew exactly what had to be done, then they settled in for the wait.

  Kingston sat on the wooden crate, Jamie on the trunk, ready to get into their positions the minute they heard the slightest sounds overhead.

  ‘I’m sorry that I got you into this damnable situation, Jamie.’ Kingston said, shaking his head.

  ‘Look, Lawrence, neither of us had the faintest idea that there could be any real danger in coming down here—nothing like this—so don’t blame yourself. In a way, I should carry the blame for not having seen through Fox, not believing that the paintings could be here.’

  Kingston shrugged. ‘Under different circumstances we might have been able to make a deal with Fox. Let him have the paintings if he would agree to walk away. Somehow I don’t think that’s an option any more. The man’s a psychopath and he knows damned well that, given the chance, the first thing we’d do now is to call the police.’

  ‘I know it’s too late now, Lawrence, but perhaps it would have been a good idea to let someone know we were coming down here. Not a soul knows we’re here.’

  ‘There are quite a few things I wish I’d done differently, Jamie. I regret not having been more forthright with you and keeping stuff to myself. In all fairness, Ferguson should have been in on our discovery, too. He helped us find all of this.’ He paused, looking up the ladder, thinking. ‘I did try to call him by the way,’ he said, turning back to her.

  A minute or so passed as they were left to their own thoughts. Kingston was tempted to test the waters and tell her how much he had come to value and enjoy her companionship, how his feelings had changed towards her over the last weeks, just to see how she would respond, curious as to whether his feelings might be reciprocated. Springing it on her suddenly seemed inappropriate. Perhaps he could segue into it once he’d broached the question of their eventual parting, which he thought about constantly now.

  Would she would ask him to stay on after the gardens were opened, to help with the vineyard and the winery? Now he’d had time to think it over, that prospect was both appealing and challenging. He prided himself on knowing a lot about the noble grape but to actually plant a vineyard and work alongside a professional winemaker would be an experience and an education that would never come his way again. While he pondered these questions his ears were alert for any sounds from above. Quickly he abandoned the idea of bringing any of it up. It was foolish of him to have thought of it in the first place. The only thing that mattered now was getting out of the damned tomb that they were in.

  Kingston looked at his watch. Twenty-five minutes had passed since Fox had left. By this time he could be miles away. Maybe he hadn’t bothered to look at the canvases after all. Unlikely, but it was possible. He’d undoubtedly seen them lying on the top of the crate, with the Pissarro on top, and would have no idea that a
switch had taken place.

  ‘Hell,’ he muttered under his breath.

  Jamie, whose chin was resting on her cupped hands, her eyes fixed on the floor, looked up at him. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. I just hope to God that he’s not driving to London or somewhere bloody miles away before he looks at those paintings.’

  ‘If he was telling the truth when I met with him, he could be taking them back to France. To the dealer.’

  ‘Girard,’ Kingston muttered instinctively.

  Jamie sat up and lightly massaged her forehead. ‘If he is, that would be catastrophic.’

  ‘No, don’t you worry, Jamie, he’ll look at them. He has to—thirty million pounds’worth of art? He won’t be able to resist it.’

  ‘Sounds like you may be right, Lawrence.’

  ‘What?’As he looked up at her the saffron light from the lamp glinted Vermeer-like on the whites of her eyes. She was looking up unblinking at the trapdoor. He heard it, too, now—a faint shuffle.

  There it was again. No doubt about it. Someone was up there.

  Kingston looked at Jamie, put his index finger to his lips and quickly moved up against the wall behind the ladder where he would be out of Fox’s line of sight when he looked through the trapdoor opening. Jamie remained sitting on the trunk that they’d positioned about eight feet in front of the ladder. When Fox removed the trapdoor he couldn’t miss seeing her.

  A few more seconds of silence—and then the unexpected.

  A knocking on the trapdoor.

  Jamie, biting her lip, looked across at Kingston. He frowned and motioned for her to be quiet and still.

  More knocking, this time harder.

  Then the barely audible grind of the brackets being slid aside.

  Kingston watched as the trapdoor was lifted and a shadowy head leaned over the opening right above him.

  ‘Jamie?’

  It wasn’t Fox’s voice.

  Kingston stepped around to the front of the ladder. It was only one word but the voice sounded familiar. Ferguson? He looked up. Hell’s bells. It was Roger Ferguson.

  Jamie was on her feet, clasping her hands to her head. ‘Thank God,’ she said.

  ‘You’re both damned lucky I found you,’ he replied. ‘Who on earth locked you in this place?’

  ‘Let’s get the hell out of here first and then we’ll tell you everything,’said Kingston.

  Jamie was already at the top of the ladder, Roger helping her up into the room. Carrying his jacket and the lamp, Kingston was right behind her.

  ‘How in the world did you find us?’ Kingston asked.

  ‘It was the tool bag.’

  ‘Of course, no reason for him to take it,’ said Kingston. ‘You got my message?’

  ‘I did. I called back but your answering machine’s not working. After a message like yours, you didn’t think I was going to sit on my hands and wait for an engraved invitation, did you? So I drove over. Neither you nor Jamie was around and China didn’t know where you were, so I thought—well, it struck me that if your discovery was so “awesome” as you put it, you would be at the chapel, so that’s where I went. When I saw that vertical pew and the stairway … well, I don’t mind telling you, it was one hell of a surprise.’

  Jamie tugged Roger’s sleeve. ‘We have to go, quickly,’ she said.

  ‘All right. Anyway, it was bloody dark looking down those steps, so I went and borrowed this flashlight from China. If it hadn’t been for the tool bag sitting in the middle of the room, I might have missed the trapdoor altogether. One hardly expects to find a Bosch drill in the middle of a subterranean medieval chamber. If it weren’t for that—’

  ‘Look,’ said Jamie, ‘we don’t have time to stand around and chat about it. Fox could come back any minute—he’s got a gun—and then there’ll be three of us down there,’ she said, nodding at the trapdoor hole.

  ‘Fox?’ Roger asked.

  ‘Never mind, we’ll tell you later,’ Jamie replied, testily.

  ‘We’d better not leave that trunk,’ said Kingston, putting on his coat, making sure the canvases were flat in the poacher’s pocket. ‘Give me a hand with it, will you, Roger?’

  Kingston went back down into the room and dragged the small trunk across the floor to the foot of the ladder. What was inside, he wondered? What could possibly be so important to Ryder? With a grunt he hoisted it up on to his shoulder and started up the ladder. At the top Roger gripped the handle and the two of them manoeuvred the trunk over the trapdoor ledge and on to the floor.

  With Kingston and Ferguson carrying the trunk between them and Jamie a few paces ahead holding the lamp and carrying the tool bag, they started back to the chapel.

  Nothing was said as they hurried along the corridors, Jamie looking over her shoulder now and then, careful not to get too far ahead.

  Kingston’s mind was on the trunk. What on earth could it contain? More paintings, possibly, but from the painstaking manner in which the other three had been sealed and crated, it seemed unlikely. Whatever it was must be valuable. He started to imagine possibilities when he realized that Roger had suddenly stopped. So had Jamie. She was standing motionless a dozen paces ahead of them one hand held up, palm facing them. She looked over her shoulder. ‘Someone’s coming,’ she whispered, just loudly enough for them to hear. ‘It has to be Fox.’

  Now they could all hear the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.

  ‘Come back, Jamie—here,’ Kingston whispered. ‘There’s a room just behind us on the right.’

  The three retraced their steps and stumbled into the empty room.

  ‘Quick, put the lamp out,’ Kingston said in a stage whisper.

  The three stood like statues in the pitch-black stillness behind the half-open door, the trunk beside them. The footsteps, part running, were now very close. In seconds, a faint glimmer of bouncing light illuminated the rectangular gap of the door. It grew brighter to where they could read each other’s expressions, all tense, fearful. Rooted to the spot, they heard the footsteps pass and the glow from Fox’s flashlight gradually diminished.

  ‘Let’s get out of here fast,’said Kingston, gripping one of the trunk handles. ‘It’s only a matter of minutes before he discovers we’ve gone and comes charging back.’

  Jamie bent down to pick up the lamp.

  ‘Forget it, Jamie. Just use your flashlight.’

  They darted from the room half running, half stumbling and made their way along the last stretch of corridor. Up ahead, at last, they could see daylight coming through the trapezium-shaped opening of the pew.

  Jamie was first to the top of the steps. She shone the flashlight down so that Kingston and Roger could have as much light as possible as they heaved the trunk up. Roger helped lift the trunk up on to Kingston’s shoulder where Kingston steadied and adjusted it for a second, then started up the narrow steps. On the fifth step he faltered. The trunk was slipping off his shoulder. He leaned forward trying to correct it but knew he could not prevent it from falling. ‘Quick, grab the trunk, Roger,’he said. ‘I’m going to drop it.’

  As the trunk slid unchecked off his arched back, Kingston turned to see Roger caught off balance on the step immediately behind him, grappling with it. For a brief moment he had a grasp of the trunk but couldn’t hold on, more because of its bulk than its weight. Falling backwards, he let go of the trunk, pushing it away from him, and fell hard on the stone floor. Kingston cringed as the trunk crashed down inches from Roger’s head and did a cartwheel before coming to rest, upright and undamaged.

  Kingston rushed to his side, Jamie right behind.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Kingston asked, kneeling by Roger’s side.

  Roger had slowly raised himself and was half sitting supported by an outstretched arm with one leg tucked awkwardly under the other. For a horrible moment Kingston thought his leg might be broken.

  ‘I think so,’ he replied, rubbing the back of his head. He shifted his position slightly and winced. ‘Bloody h
ell. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Let’s get you up and out of here,’ said Kingston. ‘Put your arm round my neck.’

  With Jamie supporting him on one side and Kingston on the other, they got Roger to a standing position.

  ‘I think I’m fine,’ said Roger taking a couple of tentative steps.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ said Jamie. ‘That trunk came awfully close.’

  Kingston had a grip on one of the trunk’s leather handles and was starting to drag it toward the steps. Jamie and Roger watched and waited silently as Kingston reached the bottom step.

  ‘That’ll be far enough. All of you, stay right where you are.’ The hollow voice came from behind, echoing off the walls.

  Fox stepped out of the darkness of the corridor. In one hand he held a flashlight, in the other his gun levelled at Kingston.

  ‘Quite a trick, doctor. I have to give you credit.’ He came closer, motioning to Jamie and Roger to move away from the trunk. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like the real paintings. I take it they’re in there,’ he said, his eyes glancing to the trunk.

  ‘We don’t know,’ Kingston replied.

  Fox laughed. ‘You don’t know? Don’t patronize me. You’d hardly be dragging that thing with you if it didn’t contain something valuable, now would you?’

  ‘I told you, Fox. We have no idea what’s in there. We haven’t opened it.’

  Fox’s eyes darted back to the trunk and the padlock.

  ‘Why don’t you just do that now, then? You seem to be adept at drilling locks. Or do you have the key?’

  ‘There is no key,’ said Kingston.

  ‘Liar!’

  ‘There is no damned key,’ Kingston shouted.

  For a moment, Fox looked flummoxed. He looked at Jamie. ‘Where’s the drill?’he snapped.

  ‘Up there,’ Jamie replied, pointing to the top of the steps.

  ‘Then get it.’

  Jamie turned and started up the steps.

  ‘Wait!’ Fox said. ‘Don’t be stupid and try to make a run for it, woman. If you do, you may never see these two alive again.’