‘That’s right Dad. If I could just take it into the British Museum and leave it there I would but it’s not open at this time of the morning!’
They all laughed and relaxed. ‘More coffee,’ demanded Andreé, ‘we need to resolve this problem before daybreak.’ It wasn’t long into their deliberations before they abandoned the idea of burying it in some field even if that field belonged to the Crown or was government property. Andreé had nearly spilt her fresh coffee chortling away at the image of John in his gardening gloves digging a small hole with his trowel in some public area whilst she and Daniel kept watch that nobody was looking at what they were doing! No, they all agreed, it just wasn’t feasible or credible. But John came up with the solution and it wasn’t far off what Daniel had said he couldn’t possibly do.
The “breaking news” strap running along the bottom of the TV picture on the twenty-four-hours news programme highlighted the usual succession of depressing stories about terrorism, accidents and despots. Good news stories were rare but often incorporated by the broadcaster as a titbit to assuage the feelings of its audience. Shortened on the strap to “Long lost treasure – man hands in priceless brooch to museum”, the announcer’s facial expression turned from serious to lighthearted as she changed camera angles to tell the viewers about the happy item. Looking engagingly into the camera, she related the story of a man who’d bought some cosmetic jewellery from a charity shop for Mother’s Day. “Several pieces had been clumped together into a group and he had doubled the asking price of five pound and paid ten pound instead as it was for a charity for the partially sighted and his mother had been visually handicapped since infancy. He recounted the story of how he had cleaned the two necklaces, the bracelets and several brooches which were dusty and grubby when he bought them. He had put each item into a different sock, secured the top with a Velcro tie and thrown all the socks in the washing machine with his dirty bed linen. Thirty minutes or so later when the cycle had finished and he’d removed the pieces from the socks they were clean and gleaming but one brooch in particular was outstanding. It dazzled in a way that alerted him to its fine quality. He supposed that the gold-coloured areas were in fact real gold and very probably pure gold and that the large central coloured glass stones were in reality precious gems. It looked old, from a very bygone age, and had an air of haughtiness. As his search of the internet had failed to enlighten him any further he decided to seek expert advice which led him eventually to the British Museum. And the rest is history,” the suave young man told the interviewer. The picture then cut back to the studio where the programme’s anchor woman introduced an expert from the museum who explained the significance of the find. With an impeccable pedigree of knowledge of Eastern European antiquities the expert gave an abbreviated insight into life and culture two millennia ago and how he believed the brooch to be part of the treasures of the fabulously wealthy King Croesus who lived in those times. He would be assisted over the coming months by other experts from around the world in its authentication and if the consensus was that the brooch was indeed genuine and its provenance as stated then the brooch, which would be put on permanent display in the British Museum, would have the ultimate price tag of priceless. “It was the discovery of the century and all for ten pound,” he said, smiling at the camera with the red light.
Three highly focused Walkers sat in their living room that evening watching the news programme. All had gone to John’s plan so far. All that remained was to vet Daniel’s interview for any slip-ups and the clip in general for plausibility. They recorded the clip when it was shown live and reviewed it three times. No blunders by Daniel, story deemed believable, planned outcome achieved. It was high-fives all round. Later, after several toasts of champagne to King Croesus and amid lots of animated chatter, John enquired if Daniel had actually contacted the person he had suggested as a source of knowledge about King Croesus and Daniel had replied that when he rang the number a woman had answered. He had left his contact number with her but Arthur Meares had never replied.
‘By the way,’ said Daniel, ‘did you know that Tommy owned two greyhounds? The solicitor dealing with his estate received a phone call recently from Tommy’s former partner Jack Dawes. The dogs are in training kennels and the trainer was demanding payment or he’d take the dogs to Battersea Dogs Home. Jack gave him the solicitor’s number and the solicitor rang me for guidance. With all the complications it may take years before the estate is sorted out and the welfare of live animals is yet another hurdle needing to be straddled. So for a nominal price I offered to buy the dogs off the estate and pay the future kennel and trainer fees. The dogs are named Miss Little and Sunny Side and one of them is running in a meet near Bristol in a fortnight’s time. I’m going there to watch it run and I’m taking a girlfriend.’
***
A little time passed before the Ruby Reds hit the headlines. This had been a deliberate ploy by the authorities to give time for the former Sir Brian Day, now to be known by his birth name of Bernard Evans, to be transported to a new life on the west coast of Canada from where, should he wish, said the chief constable of the section in charge of such matters, there would be ample opportunities for him to slip across the border into the USA and not trouble the British taxpayer any further. At a moment judged to be judicious information was released to the media that the Ruby Reds had turned up at the museum in New York where they had been bequeathed more than three decades before. They had been posted in a padded postal bag from one of the densely populated arrondissements of Paris and addressed, by name, to the head of the museum. Much was made in the media of their checkered past and when they were put on display under very tight security arrangements thousands of visitors queued for several hours round the Manhattan street blocks to become a tiny fragment of their illustrious history.
***
Ruth suppressed a giggle at the mention of the padded postal bag. It had proved effective for her too under the pleasing name of Jiffy. It was a name that made her smile and that afternoon, as she harvested her ripe tomatoes and courgettes, she felt she had a great deal about which to smile. The Ruby Reds were back where they belonged, the exposing of a drug baron had been achieved, Doug had already started an action against the council to get adequate compensation for the injuries and loss of earnings Rosemary had sustained in the branch fall, Marian Bowden had formally suggested that Ruth be invited to replace the rapidly departed non-exec on the WareWork board and she, Ruth, had a guy in her life, someone she cared about. Most people just didn’t understand. They thought living alone was lonely and unfulfilled but that was far from the truth. With no close relatives save her brother and delinquent niece she had grown accustomed to not being the number one person in anyone’s life. It mattered to her but, surprisingly, not that much. Since meeting Doug she had come to realise how much she had missed having someone to love. That’s what mattered, loving someone, caring for someone and every other feeling was subservient to that. Her heart glowed not because he appeared to love her; it glowed because she loved him. But because she cared she was now vulnerable. What will happen after we have resolved the problem of the remaining gemstones, she asked herself? Will he just disappear out of my life? She worried that he would. She agonised that their shared purpose might be the only glue holding them together and once that was gone he would also go. A bee buzzing near her chin snapped her out of her introspection. Enjoy the moment Ruth, she told herself, enjoy the moment.
Buoyed by the success of Ruth’s ingenious plan to dump Sir Brian in the shit he so richly deserved and by Ruth’s acceptance of a place on the WareWork board, Doug decided it was now his turn to be creative with a solution for the disposal of the other gemstones. The office was still in a state of disarray following the fire but somehow everyone was coping manfully with the disrupted working conditions. Despite his intense workload Doug’s thoughts strayed frequently to what he should do with the diamonds, emeralds and sapphires, twenty-three in t
otal. For all the help Paul had given them Doug would have liked to be able to simply hand them to him with the instruction to claim the insurance reward but Ruth’s plan had highlighted the difficulty of disposing of stolen goods without becoming implicated in the actual crime and Doug had had to regretfully discard that idea. His thoughts turned to Zhang Wei, known to all his western friends and acquaintances as Lee, a Hong Kong-based client for whom he had completed several property transactions in London and Zürich. A small, lively man with impeccable business credentials and superb social skills, he not only knew Hong Kong like the back of his hand but also seemed to know everyone there on given name terms. His European purchases represented sound investments and sensible diversifications in the scheme of global business life but Hong Kong was his love and, together with his large family, at the very heart of his life. Doug liked Lee. Lee was the acceptable face of his clientele. Doug looked at the clock on his newly papered office wall. It showed eleven a.m. British Summer Time. It would be six in the early evening in Hong Kong and workaholic Lee would almost certainly still be at his desk. Doug dialled the number and within seconds he heard Lee’s voice answer the call.
‘Hallo Lee, this is Doug Watson from London speaking.’
‘Hallo my friend,’ replied Lee in his impeccable public-school-modulated English. ‘I don’t want to buy any property at the moment if that’s what you’re after,’ followed by hearty laughter, ‘so to what can I attribute the pleasure of this call?’
Doug spoke for several minutes. Lee interposed “okay” and “right” numerous times and finally said he would be delighted to arrange matters as Doug wished.
‘I will send someone to collect you from the airport. You will be very welcome in Hong Kong.’
‘Thanks Lee. Thanks a lot.’
The senior partner’s door was ajar when Doug went to speak to him.
‘Have you a moment SP?’ he enquired, calling through the gap.
‘Of course Doug, come in, is it business or pleasure? Funny, but I have a feeling its pleasure!’
‘I know we’re up to our eyeballs with work but…’ said Doug, his sentence being cut short by a jubilant SP.
‘It is pleasure,’ interrupted SP and, carrying on, ‘now let me take a guess, it’s about Ruth.’
‘Am I that transparent?’ asked Doug, astonished at SP’s perspicacity.
‘Not normally but on the subject of Ruth you definitely are!’
‘I need a few days off to go to Hong Kong. I wouldn’t ask normally, especially right now when we’re snowed under but I’m desperate to go,’ said Doug, somewhat plaintively.
‘I don’t know how we’ll cope,’ replied SP, dropping his flippancy, ‘but we will cope if it’s something really important to you. Will you see Lee when you’re there?’
‘Yes, but I’ll hurry back as soon as I’ve done what I need to do.’
“Mr Doug” was written in large, blue felt-tip letters on the placard held by a young man in an open-neck white shirt at the arrivals exit of Chek Lap Kok International airport. He was Lee’s house manager and general assistant whose duties included chauffeuring special visitors. The road network was, as ever, dense with traffic as they made their way along the airport road to the Kowloon peninsula.
‘I will take you first to your hotel in Kowloon,’ said the young man in an American-accented English. ‘I will leave you there for three hours to recover from your flight and to freshen up and then I will return and take you to meet Lee in his office on Hong Kong Island. Sit back and relax, our journey to the hotel may take some time.’
Doug was very glad to hear the word “relax”. He was still feeling fraught. The long flight had taken its toll but ultimately it was the worry of passing through the customs unhindered that had drained him. Now he could sink deep into the leather upholstery of the Rolls Royce Silver Cloud in the knowledge that the first hurdle had been successfully negotiated.
On the occasions Lee had been in Doug’s office in Ironmonger Lane, Lee had always expressed his love of the City of London with its old buildings, juxtaposition of different architectures, its higgledy-piggledy lanes and a skyline dominated by the magnificent dome of St. Paul’s. With roles reversed it was now Doug’s turn to return the compliment. Leaning against the iron railings of the large balcony which gave off directly from Lee’s spacious office on the seventeenth floor of the ultra-modern office block, they gazed down on Victoria harbour watching the Star ferries plying endlessly across the water with queues of passengers constantly forming and discharging as the ferries filled and emptied and the passengers scattered in different directions going about their business. The glint of the sun on the water was magical and it was hard to tear away from the bustling scene below.
‘I could look at this view all day and never become bored,’ pronounced Doug.
Lee clapped his hand on Doug’s shoulder in recognition of the compliment he had just bestowed and led him back inside to the glass-topped oval table that dominated the centre of his office. Like the ultra-modern building it was an ultra-modern office with minimal clutter, just a few hi-tech gadgets placed unobtrusively yet ergonomically at the user’s fingertips.
‘Everything is arranged as you specified my friend,’ said Lee. ‘Over there on the peninsula in the artisan’s quarter,’ he continued, nodding his head in the direction of Kowloon, ‘we have fine craftsmen with skills of the highest order who produce articles of the finest quality. The one I have chosen for you is also very discreet. When my assistant has taken you back to your hotel he will inform the craftsman who will send a runner to your hotel to guide you to the craftsman’s workshop. There, he will show you samples of his work so that you can choose the style which you most prefer. You will agree a price and a time for completion of the job. When finished he will send his runner to the hotel to take you back to the workshop where you will be able to inspect your order and, if satisfied, pay for it in full. The artisan has sufficient vocabulary for you to converse on the topics you need to discuss but the runner does not speak any English so please be in the hotel lobby near the main door wearing this pin badge on your shirt promptly when you know he is coming to collect you.’
He handed over a round badge with a photo of a dog on it.
‘Regarding the other matter,’ said Lee, ‘these are the preparations I have made.’
Ruth’s birthday loomed. Often spent with her sister-in-law in the West Country during one of her brother’s respite weeks when Ruth took over the care of his wife while her brother had a week or so of complete physical and mental relaxation from the daily grinding demands on him, this year was different. One of her sister-in-law’s cousins had been recently widowed. She was nervous and uncomfortable about living alone and lonely too. The cousins talked over the options and came up with their version of a “ménage à trois”. She would move in and live with them and share the responsibilities of care. As Ruth’s brother had said, it was a win-win situation and all parties were satisfied. Freed from the need to travel there, Ruth found herself unexpectedly at home at a loose end on the eve of her fifty-fourth birthday. She hadn’t told Doug that she’d be around but feminine intuition told her that he knew and she was not mistaken as early next morning, a Saturday, he arrived on her front door mat in full cycling regalia: padded shorts, zipped lycra top, padded gloves, clip-in shoes and holding his helmet clamped to his chest.
‘Good morning Ruth and happy birthday,’ he said immediately when she opened the front door. They kissed tenderly despite the intervening helmet bashing Ruth in the shoulder. ‘It’s a beautiful autumn day and I thought we could go for a bike ride along the cycleway that skirts round the country park and leads to Tudor House where we could have lunch. I know you can ride a bike because you sometimes go to your allotment on one. Do say yes you’ll come.’
‘It would be lovely but like me today,’ replied Ruth jokingly, ‘my old bike
is ancient and only good for the odd mile or so!’
‘Stay there,’ he instructed, laying down his helmet on her front door step. He went back down her short drive, turned right and disappeared for a few seconds behind next door’s hedge only to reappear holding one end of an enormous parcel covered in light blue birthday wrapping paper and a bright pink bow which was supported at the other end by Ruth’s next-door neighbour.
‘Try this for size,’ said Doug, beaming with pleasure.
She pulled the ends of the bow slowly, relishing the moment. The ribbon dropped to the ground soundlessly. The wrapping paper covered an oversized but narrow cardboard box. She levered the ends apart and pulled on the front wheel of the brand new hybrid bike which rolled out of its box gracefully. It had a deep blue step-through frame, black comfort saddle and a pannier rack.
‘Whoa!’ she emitted loudly, ‘it’s wonderful but I haven’t got the clothes to match.’
‘One more moment,’ said Doug who again disappeared next door to re-emerge this time holding another parcel wrapped in the same birthday paper. ‘Try these for size too.’
Amazingly they all fitted: the helmet, the gloves, the lycra shirt and, crucially, the padded shorts, and she looked good in them.
‘You’ll have to wear trainers until you get confident on the new bike and then you can invest in clip-in shoes,’ said Doug, standing back admiring Ruth’s trim figure.
After Doug had adjusted the handlebars and saddle height they set off slowly mid-morning, sticking to quiet roads to give Ruth time to adapt to her new bike. She clicked through the gears with increasing confidence and by the time they reached the dedicated cycle paths surrounding the country park she was marvelling at the ease of cycling on a modern bike with the latest helpful gizmos. On a day made for cycling lots of bikers were out enjoying the weather and freedom from traffic that the broad, level and mostly metalled surfaces afforded. They circled round a large circumference of the park but with Tudor House in sight where they would stop for lunch Doug called a halt. He knew from previous trips with his cycle club that at this point on the gently curving bend there was a small clearing with a wooden bench affording an outstanding view over one of the country park’s many lakes. Teeming with wildlife flying in and sliding elegantly along the flat water creating a spray with their feet as if they were stopping a ball in football it would be the ideal setting, he thought, for the next part of his plan providing that it was not overrun by fast club cyclists stopping for a swig of water while waiting for their slower counterparts to catch up.
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