She parked in her parents’ driveway but remained in the car waiting for her mother to return from taking Arthur to the station. She played over in her mind how she would start the conversation, nothing rude, nothing cryptic, just plain words. She greeted her mother in as casual a style as she could muster and they went indoors. Standing in the kitchen cradling a mug of coffee in her hands with her mother’s back to her as she filled the dishwasher Angela knew that this was the right moment.
‘Are you having an affair, Mother?’ she asked in a neutral tone.
Jane stopped instantly but did not turn around.
‘What makes you think I am?’ she muttered eventually.
‘I saw you holding hands with a short tubby man with spectacles,’ Angela said evenly, ‘and you have two mobiles.’
‘It’s no business of yours,’ replied Jane tartly.
‘Oh, but it is!’ snapped back Angela. ‘I don’t want to see my father hurt.’
‘And who the hell are you to stand in moral judgement over me,’ yelled back Jane. ‘Miss Goody Two Shoes!’
Angela snapped. She hurled the empty coffee mug across the room at her mother.
Jane ducked and twisted, trying to get out of the path of the missile but it caught her high up on her forehead, causing a long, diagonal gash that started in the hairline and ran towards her left ear. In seconds, blood was running copiously down her cheek and dripping onto the tiled floor below. Both women stopped dead in their tracks, neither believing such a scene could unfold in their own home.
‘Oh my God,’ cried out Angela, ‘what have I done?’
Jane had slumped to the floor and was on her knees. Angela was soon by her side with kitchen roll sheets to mop up the blood and applying pressure on the gash to try to staunch the flow.
‘Mummy, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ she sobbed.
Harsh words were said by Jane during their drive to the nearest A & E department. Angela, driving, was still sobbing most of the way but by the time they had parked and found the correct entrance mother and daughter had begun to comfort one another and the anger of the minutes before was fading fast.
Several stitches were required according to the triage nurse and as her condition was minor Jane was in for a long wait. It was a heaven-sent wait, they later agreed as Jane was able to explain to her daughter what drove her into the arms of another man.
‘I would never wish to hurt your father. He has been a good husband. He has been kind and considerate. We’ve been friends all these years but friends without any real warmth. I don’t love him. I wish I did but I don’t.’
With her arm about Jane’s shoulder Angela reflected on her mother’s words.
‘The chance came for love. I didn’t seek it out. I didn’t go looking to be deceitful to your father. The opportunity for love just arose,’ said Jane, shrugging her shoulders as if bewildered that the prospect of love should come her way. ‘It was a chance encounter but I knew from the start that I liked Tommy. And now I need the warmth he brings to my heart. Can you understand?’
‘I think I can, Mummy,’ whispered Angela. ‘I feel so ashamed.’
It took seven strategically placed stitches to hold the gash together. The doctor had said a thin scar would result but it would be mostly hidden by hair falling across her forehead from a right-hand parting. After a tetanus jab and queuing at the hospital’s pharmacy counter for antibiotics, they made their way to the car and back home. Jane had slipped in the kitchen and caught her head on the worktop, Angela would tell Arthur when she picked him up at the station. Lucky I was there, she would add. The shame of her behaviour towards her mother was one thing, the shame of deceiving her father another.
***
Daniel’s man-management skills were very much to the fore when he chaired his first meeting of the WareWork board as CEO. Gone was the near-autocratic manner adopted by Rolf and Andreé which prevented some board members from speaking their minds for fear of their opinion being considered inappropriate at best or ridiculed at worst. His style was altogether more inclusive, thanking members for their input rather than treating them as time-wasters. Even the other Alan contributed more than his standard financial report. True to their words Tommy and Adam had been supportive and chipped in with considered advice and Marian Bowden in her new role of deputy CEO was impressive. The board had a younger and more flexible outlook which put everyone except Andreé in a positive mood. Andreé wasn’t yet ready to cede her previously wide-ranging influence to newcomers or to be restricted to a narrow area of control. It felt like the company was slipping through her fingers but she wasn’t ready yet to throw in the towel. When the session drew to a close in the late afternoon a small glass of wine was served with some finger food as accompaniment, giving the opportunity for socialising. Amid the friendly chit-chat Tommy arranged to see Daniel on private business later that evening.
In the living room of Daniel’s end-of-terrace cottage they had the privacy Tommy sought. The front door bell rang and Daniel took delivery of two pizzas which they ate while discussing the latest football results and the transfer market. After draining his latte, made by a new and expensive-looking coffee maker, Daniel’s pride and joy apparently, Tommy got down to the task in hand.
‘You know that your uncle and I were the very best of friends,’ he started. ‘That friendship began at school and endured up until his recent death,’ he continued. ‘We were a team, the best team ever.’
Tommy’s eyes moistened as the emotion of the lost friendship took control of him. Daniel diverted his eyes, unwilling to encroach on such a private moment, one that showed so very evidently the degree of love that had existed between the two men.
‘I wasn’t blind to his darker side,’ Tommy went on when he had got his emotions back in check. ‘Machiavelli would have been proud of him sometimes!’
‘I know how much you cared,’ said Daniel reassuringly, ‘you were like brothers.’
‘But there was one thing he didn’t tell me everything about, something about the Berghoffs that was of paramount importance to him. He only told me on his death bed, or should I say, he tried to tell me.’
‘Do you mean when he was in hospital?’ said a surprised Daniel.
‘Yes. I was sitting in with your mother. Rolf’s wife and daughters had gone home exhausted. Your mother disappeared to the toilet. She was only away a few minutes. But something happened while she was away and I haven’t told her.’
Daniel waited for Tommy to continue.
‘Your uncle was seemingly in a coma but shortly after your mother left the room I heard him murmuring, trying to say words. I bent down over him with my ear as close to his mouth as possible. I urged him to try again. I said I was listening. He seemed to rally for a final attempt and I made out several words. I held them in my head for quite some time but finally wrote them down for fear of forgetting.’
Tommy fished inside his jacket pocket for the strip of paper and read: “tube, safe deposit, give Daniel, promise tell no one.”
‘But what does it mean?’ asked Daniel, amazed.
‘Well I know about the tube and I know about the safe deposit and I’ve got something to give you.’
Tommy opened the briefcase that he had bought specially for the main board meetings. It had nothing in it except photocopies of the five photos he had taken with his mobile and scanned into his computer. He handed them to Daniel who glanced at them uncomprehendingly.
‘Let me explain as much as I know,’ he said.
Skirting round the dubious illegal areas as best he could, Tommy related the history of the white tube and safe deposit as he knew it.
‘For your protection I have told you what you need to know. Certain things happened a long time ago and are unnecessary for you to know about. You now know all that’s relevant.’
‘I understand,’ sa
id Daniel. ‘Don’t open a can of worms if you don’t need to.’
‘That’s about it,’ agreed Tommy.
‘I don’t have the “physical” tube but I have a list of its contents. Again, don’t ask why or how. What’s on the photocopies means nothing to me but I assume it does to you otherwise Rolf wouldn’t have been so desperate for you to have it.’
Daniel looked closely at the five sheets. The first and second had the images of the front and back of two banknotes. The image of a handkerchief was on the third. The fourth had a short list of a few alphabetical letters from which the name or word Croesus had been formed. The fifth listed the information that had been taken from the handkerchief. In a bold, round handwriting and using a bullet-point format it noted: Rectangles (do they represent new buildings constructed in 1976?), graph coordinates (x and y, need to find the correct scale), banknotes (they are Swiss, are their numbers the key to the scale?), watchword (what is its meaning?), handkerchief (was it manufactured in Switzerland?), Croesus (a fabulously wealthy king who lived two thousand years ago, he had a large treasure). Lower down the page was a sort of summation. It read “the WareWork factory in western Switzerland used to manufacture handkerchiefs in the style of the one tucked in the tube. The factory had two new wings built in 1976. Need to find out the dimensions of the new wings, length and breadth, to help find the x and y scale. Is there a piece or pieces of King Croesus’s treasure hidden or buried in or near the factory?”
‘Well,’ said Daniel, looking up eventually. ‘The summation is spot on about the factory. I don’t know anything about Croesus but I can look that up on the internet. If it is as suggested then how would Uncle Rolf have been involved in the treasure of a long dead king?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ replied Tommy, ‘but don’t forget that your grandfather came from central Europe and the scope for the movement of antiquities amongst different races may have been far greater than on an island like Great Britain.’
Daniel punched a few characters into the search engine on his laptop and was soon reading the profile of King Croesus and learning about his purported extraordinary treasure.
‘Well,’ said Daniel again, ‘whoever has the actual tube and contents has gone a long way to deciphering the puzzle and their conclusion seems to be the only logical one, it’s hidden somewhere in the factory in Yverdon.’
‘Their deduction makes sound sense to you then!’
‘Yes,’ replied Daniel, ‘I would have deduced the same but presumably much quicker than them. Uncle Rolf had shown me round the factory when he was still in charge of it and made sure I knew its history. Some of the original handkerchiefs they manufactured there when the business started during the Second World War are displayed in the reception area. They are finely stitched and very feminine with lace borders or corners of distinctive and delicate design. He told me that when production ceased he took home a few leftovers for his wife and girls. He must have been confident that if I ever saw one I would know instantly where it was made and even from the photocopy I know it’s one of ours. He must have done that deliberately.’
‘That’s my feeling too,’ said Tommy. ‘Your uncle always did things for a purpose.’
‘What rather bothers me is how someone without my specific knowledge about the factory could unravel so much of the riddle.’
‘And it doesn’t strike as a lucky guess either,’ said Tommy as they both lapsed into a period of reflection.
‘But Uncle Rolf did make it bombproof,’ continued Daniel pensively, ‘as there is no way they could ever have found out the watchword.’
‘But you know it. Yes?’ anticipated Tommy.
‘It’s the word engraved on the back of the watch he left to me,’ said Daniel simply. ‘Watch word, two words. Not watchword one word, meaning motto but two separate words meaning the word on the watch. And the word is Prussia. Neat. Very neat.’
He slid the watch off his wrist and handed it to Tommy.
‘Prussia,’ said Tommy softly, ‘your grandfather’s homeland. I guess he chose that word to remind himself of his ancestry. I never actually saw the engraving.’
‘Uncle Rolf always used to say to me whenever he was talking about doing well in business,’ said Daniel in a much brisker tone, ‘P is for prize Daniel remember that, P is for prize. It must have been another pointer.’
‘P is the sixteenth letter in the alphabet,’ said Tommy, having used his fingers for the countdown. ‘But how or if that helps I don’t know.’
‘I don’t know either right now but I’m guessing that I have to somehow relate the serial numbers on the notes to the number sixteen in order to get the correct x and y values. I’ll have to play around with the numbers until I find values that will intersect within the factory boundaries. It may take some time.’
‘Have you got the dimensions of the new wings?’ asked Tommy.
‘No’, replied Daniel, ‘but I’ll email the factory manager and ask him to send me a copy of the building plans. Then it will be trial and error with my calculator. By the way I was in Switzerland recently. I’ve been put in charge of the Swiss branch of WareWork and I went there to get to know the staff and review the working practices to see if the business was still viable. On staffing costs alone it was a big thumbs-down when compared with emerging market countries but the workers in Yverdon are so fantastically efficient that they make it practical to continue manufacturing there. No absenteeism, little sickness and flexible working practices.’
‘What’s your point?’ enquired Tommy.
‘When I was there they needed some help with translation when an English couple came into reception. They had got lost apparently and came in hoping that somebody could ring for a taxi. We called a taxi and whilst waiting for it to arrive the couple asked lots of questions about the handkerchief display in the reception area and the history of the factory. I told them about the new wings added in 1976 to the original building. They were very interested. They left and I took the story at face value but now I’m beginning to wonder if the situation was genuine or contrived. And even then there was something that was odd. I saw them later in the airport departure lounge. The wife had blonde hair but at the factory it was auburn!’
‘Was he, by chance, tall and slim and she on the short side but a good looker and did she do most of the talking?’ asked Tommy.
‘Correct.’
‘Then that was no accident. They were there on a fact-finding mission and any story they spun was a pack of lies. They’re crooks and on the trail of whatever it is Rolf has concealed.’
‘So what do we do now?’ asked a bemused Daniel.
‘I don’t want you to have anything to do with the underworld Daniel. Your uncle could never have anticipated criminals becoming involved. He would never have put you in a position which could compromise your career. The only acceptable solution is for me to look for “it”.’
‘You think it’s that serious!’
‘I know it is,’ said Tommy, ‘we need to act fast.’
***
At the weekend Andreé mooched about the house in a manner she had never done before. She was at a loose end and couldn’t settle down to doing anything. This restlessness had become an increasing trend but was especially marked on this particular day, John observed.
‘Shall we go out and do something,’ he asked.
‘Like what?’ was Andreé’s disinterested reply.
‘We could go for a drive, or go shopping or maybe go to the garden centre or I could try and get tickets for a football match this afternoon.’
‘If you want,’ replied Andreé, shrugging her shoulders.
‘No, it’s not if I want it’s if you want,’ said John, raising his voice slightly. ‘What do you want to do?’
‘I don’t want to do anything. I’m fine as I am!’
‘Clearly
you are not fine as you are,’ said John, exasperated. ‘You seem to be in a very low mood love and I’m just trying to help.’
‘Well stop trying to help because it’s no bloody good,’ retorted Andreé, ‘you’re hindering not helping.’
‘Have it your way! I’m going to get on with some cleaning in the greenhouse. Your black temper is depressing me. If you want to talk you’ll find me there,’ he added.
The greenhouse was badly in need of some care and attention. In times past John had unwound from the stresses of his own work by pottering in it regularly for an hour or so. It was his bolt hole. He wasn’t a serious gardener but enjoyed his little escape pad where he sewed seeds from time to time, grew tomatoes and fussed over his collection of cacti. It was his little sanctum where he could totally switch off. Despite focusing as much as he could on his usual jobs in the greenhouse John too was unsettled. His mind kept harking back to Andreé. He knew the cause of her depression because that was what it was, depression or maybe even bereavement. She had lost WareWork. It had been her baby for so long but it was hers no longer. She had been at its fulcrum but now she was peripheral to its future. He knew it and she knew it. It was the end of an era. Daniel and his younger colleagues would move WareWork on and Andreé’s influence in this process would become marginal. She would hate that. Her dark mood was a form of unhappiness borne out of divorce from what she loved, being the boss at her work and being in control. John would have to find a substitute, but what?
Finally he got to grips with immersing himself in tending his sixty or so miniature cacti. Some were in flower with rosettes of brilliant colour. Others had already entered their winter dormancy period. A few had never flowered but he still harboured hope that they would one day. He topped up their gritty compost, nipped away dead flower heads and gave them a good watering. John looked up from the workbench when a bird flew high and squawked loudly, startled by Andreé as she made her way along the narrow path to the greenhouse. John could see she had been crying. He slid back the door and put an arm around her shoulders. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks as she turned to nestle her head in his chest.
Unsafe Deposit Page 23
