by A B Morgan
‘No. This isn’t right.’
‘What … for fuck’s sake? Tell me.’
‘Kat would never write this to me.’ He took a juddering breath before repeating the words aloud. ‘I can’t wait for us to be together. We will be together soon, my love. Kiss, kiss, kiss.’
Gianni was ahead of him. ‘That wasn’t meant for you …’
Logan looked down into pitying eyes. He swung his head left and right several times. ‘I rest my case. She’s definitely seeing someone else. This proves it.’ He broke Gianni’s gaze and returned to stare at the screen on the phone. A cold hard knot formed inside him.
‘What a fucking bitch,’ Gianni said.
‘That’s one way of putting it.’
‘Beer?’
‘Might as well. I need something to take the edge off my hangover.’ A dismal sadness welled up from the depths of Logan’s stomach. ‘I’ve made a right bollocks of everything, Gee. A right fucking humungous bollocks.’ His legs felt heavy as he trudged after Gianni and joined him in a queue for beer.
❖
Three months previously it was alcohol that enabled Logan to share his fears about Kat’s fidelity, or rather lack of it. A couple of pints turned into a mammoth session at their local watering hole, where they could chat without fear of being interrupted. Gianni listened, as true friends do.
‘She spends all her time at work, and when she gets home, she does nothing but criticise. Small things, insignificant things. The atmosphere stinks. I can’t take the boys back to the house anymore. Mostly because it’s her place and I still feel like we’re gate-crashers, but also because it’s so cramped. I arrived with a couple of suitcases and after twelve months I still feel like I’m a visitor. I should’ve rented a flat.’
Gianni wafted his hands in the air, unable to resist saying, ‘I told you so.’
‘I know, you’re right. I had it coming.’
Flinging an arm around his mate’s neck, Logan breathed fumes in his face as they staggered through the door of the pub and onto the street. Gianni had allowed Logan to ramble and slur his way through the story of a dying affair and eventually poured him into a taxi at the end of the night, resigned to the fact that the big man was about to face up to his own shortcomings and it wasn’t going to be a pretty sight when he did.
❖
That was two months before the trip to France. Eight weeks during which Logan paid close attention to Kat’s behaviours. He wasn’t sure which one of her work colleagues she was determined to trap with her flirtations and her cleavage revelations, but some poor unsuspecting soul was getting the benefit. He wasn’t.
She’d turned off the supply of sex as if it were a bath tap while she engaged in a programme of belittling and fault finding.
Logan wanted out and began to make firm plans when, for some strange reason, Kat made this difficult. The week before his birthday, she started being civil. Nicer on a daily basis and on occasion ventured to touch him with affection.
What a mug. This was part of her scheming to make sure he went to France as planned. Get him out of the way for a week and make her final play for whoever she’d set her sights on next.
That’s when Zoe agreed to spy on her.
Logan was at the kitchen table chatting to Gianni when Zoe arrived home from work, laden with groceries. The three of them set about putting the shopping away and rustling up a simple supper. Kat had phoned to say she would be working late, so Logan knew where to go for company and tasty food.
Reconsidering her offer as she put tinned tomatoes in the correct cupboard Zoe said, ‘I didn’t really want to spend the day with Kat at that escape room thing in the first place, but now you’ve finally admitted to suspecting her … I’m not entirely sure I’ll be able to keep my hands from wrapping themselves around her slender neck. You’re asking a lot of me.’
Gianni skipped up behind her, his arms enveloped her as she reached up to place a packet of dried lentils into an overhead cupboard. He nuzzled into her hair. ‘Please. For me, Piccolina. For Peps. Look at his sad puppy-dog face. He needs us.’
She relented only when he stopped blowing raspberries into her neck making her howl with laughter. ‘Alright you pest. I’ll do it for Peps.’ She released her other arm from Gianni’s embrace, and raised it, conducting as she spoke to Logan. ‘Only because I completely hate the fact that you and Suze are not together. She’s my friend and the divided loyalty is eating away at me. I feel so guilty every time I talk to Kat. I’ll be glad to see the back of her.’ She inclined her head in a shy fashion. ‘Sorry, Pep. But you know how I feel. I’ve never made it a secret.’
‘You’ll see what you can find out?’
‘I’m not making any promises. Can’t you simply say goodbye? Leave her?’
‘Yes. But what if I’m wrong? What if it’s purely because I’m not up to the job? Maybe I need to try harder.’
Zoe lobbed a packet of dried pasta at him and it scudded across the work surface before crashing into the kettle. ‘For God’s sake, Pep. By “try harder” you mean buy her more expensive presents, more lavish meals out, sacrifice time with your own children because they get on her nerves? How can you try any harder without going bankrupt?’ There was despair in Zoe’s voice. ‘Why the hell would you want to try harder?’
It was those words that hit home. Logan sank onto a high stool at the breakfast bar, picked up a glass and said, ‘because if I don’t make it work with Kat, then I destroyed my marriage for nothing but lust. I can never undo what I’ve done.’ He looked up to see Gianni and Zoe exchanging worried glances. ‘Oh, don’t panic. I’m not about to top myself. I just have to know if she’s shagging someone else. Then...’
‘Then, what?’
‘That’s just it. I’ve no pissing idea.’
‘Let’s go to France and deal with it when we know the truth. What do you say?’
‘I say pour the wine and pass me the bread and olives.’
Gianni grinned as he pushed a shallow earthenware bowl towards his friend. ‘There’s always your friendly neighbourhood stalker. You could hook up with her if you’re desperate.’
Logan rolled his eyes. ‘Crazy. She’ll give up sooner or later. That reminds me, did you both get my new number this morning?’
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Things are hotting up
Mal, with his baseball cap pulled low over his brow, sauntered round the corner and ducked beneath the fishing net. Ella, startled, let out a shriek. ‘Bloody hell, you could’ve whistled.’
‘You should’ve been watching.’
‘You sneaked up on me. Well? Is it still there?’ Ella was referring to the Citroen they had seen draw up earlier that morning. There’d been no sign of either Betty or Oliver Renfrew since. ‘You’d think they’d need a breath of fresh air at least,’ she said.
Mal shook his head, a worried wrinkle crossed his brow as he removed the cap and rubbed at his hair. ‘No sign of life. I couldn’t get too close. There’s CCTV all over this place. I made it look as if I were searching for a lost dog, so if anyone asks, Fido has been found safe and well.’
‘Could you see inside?’
‘No. Shutters at the windows, fire doors all shut tight. Nothing. Hardly a sound. A bit of Vera Lynn and her bluebird came floating from somewhere but that was it. I did see the disabled ramp leading into the rear of the place and another one zigzagging down to a cellar entrance. However…’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you remember a few minutes ago when I said I’d heard a car, but we never saw it arrive in the yard?’
‘I do. Sounded like a big old lump of some sort.’
‘Well, I found it.’ His hesitant statement signalled to Ella that the next revelation was to be significant.
‘And?’
‘It must’ve come in the main entrance but diverted to one of the old barns. I came across a fine-looking Jag with the number plate NITH 2. So, it’s entirely likely that Guy is here as well, unless it’s one of
their staff team driving the thing. The engine was still warm.’
‘Bugger,’ Ella said, looking across the dusty farmyard to the entrance of Top Field Farmhouse. ‘He’s in there with her, Oliver and Betty Renfrew, and the two girls. What can they be doing all this time?’
Mal wasn’t listening to her. He pulled his mobile phone from the rear pocket of his jeans, pressed a button and placed it to his ear.
‘Lorna? We’re fine. Can I ask you about Guy Nithercott? When did Konrad say his flight back was?’
Ella listened and watched Mal’s lips carefully so as not to misinterpret anything being said. ‘I’ve seen his Jag here. Could it be someone else? MacDonald returning from wherever he disappeared to maybe? No, it’s not her, she’s driving a Willy’s jeep.’
Ella saw Mal’s grip tighten on his phone. ‘MacDonald really is officially missing. When was he last seen? Are the police going to search Nithercott Hall? ... No answer at all? Where are the other members of staff then? Peters. He’s the only one? I suppose so.’
Ella was getting impatient. She wanted to know what Lorna was saying, but she had to wait until Mal finished with a short request for Lorna to keep him informed.
‘Informed about what, precisely?’ Ella demanded to know.
‘MacDonald’s friends have reported him missing. He didn’t confirm arrangements for a reunion or something. They got suspicious. One’s a copper and put a trace on MacDonald’s personal mobile. He’s made no calls for days. No texts, no online searches, nothing.’
‘And who is Peters?’
‘He’s the other bodyguard-cum-butler man. He’s not answering the door or the phone at the hall.’ Mal looked up at the farmhouse that held so many unanswered questions. ‘Maybe he’s here too.’
‘Then perhaps the police should come here instead.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘On the grounds that Guy and Abigail are here and can answer their questions about a missing person.’
Mal stepped towards her, took her head in his hands and kissed her forehead. ‘You are a genius. I’ll run it past Konrad, but I think you could be on to something. If Al Capone was caught out by tax fraud, perhaps the Nithercotts can be brought to justice by a missing persons’ report.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
A clue to what?
‘Is that it? That’s the clue?’ Kat was shouting at the touch pad.
‘Read it out,’ Zoe said.
‘It says, “Only two cars, question mark”.’
‘Right then, we’d better turn the other handles and see what happens. Bagsy the Aston Martin and the other Jag.’ Zoe delighted in Kat’s sulky face as she ran back to the table. The pair of them made the whole table tremble and creak in their efforts to speed the model cars past Maison Blanche. As the last one crossed the line, a letterbox-sized flap dropped open.
‘Open sesame!’ Kat happened to be standing closest and she reached inside to find a cardboard tube. She lifted it up to her eye. ‘How much time have we got left?’
Zoe had stopped reacting to every request made of her, so no answer was forthcoming. If she wanted to Kat could take a look at the touch pad to see what time was left to solve the clues. Why ask someone else? These pathetic power-play games were beyond annoying.
‘What‘s in it?’ Zoe asked.
Kat slid out the contents. A rolled photograph, about A5 in size, sprang apart. She held it up and pulled the two ends wider. ‘It’s of someone’s grave.’
‘Whose?’
‘A soldier, I think. There are rows of headstones but this one is carved with a name.’
Zoe moved in for a closer inspection rising on tiptoe. ‘A. Watson. What does that say underneath?’
Kat raised her hands, making it deliberately difficult for Zoe to get a clear view.
‘He fell.’
‘No date?’
‘No. No date.’
‘“A Watson, he fell”. Is that an anagram?’
‘How should I know?’
Zoe was infuriated at Kat’s ability to be defensive at every turn. She knew that if “A. Watson” had been a real man, Kat would’ve flashed her tits and expected the clue to be handed over, but with a lack of intellectual ability and the IQ equivalent to that of a spiny lobster, all Kat could do was to be obstructive.
‘I could do with a pen and paper,’ Zoe said.
‘Well find a pen and some paper then.’
‘I will then. You just stand there looking pretty.’
It took Zoe several minutes to unravel the anagram, during which Kat huffed spasmodically as she walked the periphery of the room. She halted at a street map on the wall. ‘Le Mans again. They are fixated with Le Mans. What is the big deal? A few cars racing round for a day. I don’t see the attraction.’
Zoe wasn’t taking any notice. She made herself comfortable on the mayoral seat and with pencil in hand she finally looked up. ‘I think I’ve worked it out. There were a couple that don’t make much sense, “felons hate law” or “ewe shallot fan”. However, the most likely solution is “safe on the wall”.’ Zoe grinned. Pleased with herself.
Kat wasn’t impressed. ‘You took your bloody time, we’ve only got twenty-one minutes left.’
‘Suggest you start looking for a safe on the wall then. It’s not behind the mayor’s portrait, I can tell you that for nothing. I tried earlier.’
Kat flapped around underneath the Nazi flags hanging either side of Hitler. With nothing found, she pulled at one side of the framed photograph of the Chancellor of the German Reich to reveal a blank wall. Annoyed, she then headed towards the street map of Le Mans pinned to the space next to the entrance door, opposite the touch pad. No safe. Flummoxed, Kat requested a second clue without consulting Zoe, who was resting, watching, exasperated.
In a matter of seconds, the words “push Henri” appeared on the screen.
‘You stupid prat,’ Kat said rushing towards Zoe.
‘Me?’
‘Yes. You. The safe is behind the portrait of the fucking mayor.’
Zoe swivelled as best she could on the large seat and stared in fascination as Kat pushed against the portrait of Henri Lefeuvre, which then sprang outward on the right-hand side, and opening like a door, revealed a small safe with a dial mechanism.
‘And how the hell are we supposed to open this?’ Kat asked, expecting an answer from Zoe.
‘Do I have to solve every clue or are you going to make an effort? Look at the photograph again. There has to be something else.’
‘No.’
‘No, you won’t look properly, or no there’s nothing else?’
‘The other gravestones have an L or an R on them and some dots.’
‘For Christ’s sake, Kat, that is the code to crack the safe. Don’t you get it?’
‘No. I don’t get it.’
Zoe stood, moved Kat away from the safe and reached up for the dial. ‘Buggeration, it’s too high. Try to remember this for our feedback. If children are expected to join in the fun this safe is too high.’
‘I’ll do it. You tell me which way to turn the knob.’ Kat handed the curled photograph to Zoe, stepped towards the portrait again and waited for instructions, hand poised. At last, Zoe thought, teamwork seemed to be happening out of necessity.
‘Five right.’
The tumbler made a clunk as the last number was dialled, Kat let out a squeal of delight, holding the door open. ‘This is it. The plans. It says so on the top.’ She held a buff folder tightly in her right hand and, with the other, reached into the small open safe to retrieve a second item. A torch. There was a brown cardboard label attached to it by a short length of thin white string. Kat read this aloud. ‘Keep me.’ She switched on the torch and a blue light shone out in a thin beam. ‘Oooo. Very groovy.’
‘A blue light. UV. It shows up invisible writing. Don’t lose that whatever you do.’
With the plans clasped tightly in her hand Kat raced for the touchpad on the door and pressed it. She and Zoe
allowed themselves to smile at each other, expecting to be released and congratulated on finding the plans well within the time limit. Eight minutes to spare.
Sure enough “Well done” appeared on the screen and the door mechanism unlocked before the door swung inwards an inch or so. Kat launched herself through the door and made her way straight to a table outside the café. She plopped the plans down before taking a seat.
Pierre, the robotic French waiter, greeted them again. ‘Bonjour, welcome to the Café de La Republique.’
‘Bonjour again, Pierre. Comment allez vous?’ Zoe said. ‘Ou sont les toilettes, s’il vous plait?’ She wasn’t expecting an answer and jumped, clutching her chest when Abigail’s voice replied.
‘Please make your way back through the locker room and into the main entrance hall where you will find public conveniences.’
Kat was astounded. ‘You want the toilet again? What’s the matter? Some sort of infection?’
‘Charming.’ Zoe rolled her eyes. ‘Probably too much tea and excitement. I’ll be back in a minute.’ Her jeans felt tight, uncomfortable, and she released the top stud before she made it through the locker room. Her loose-fitting cotton blouse, ideal for the summer weather, also covered the very early signs of her pregnancy and she resolved to keep it hidden. She and Gianni were remaining quiet until at least three full months passed before they were prepared to make an announcement. They didn’t want to tempt fate, and Kat was not going to be the first person to find out. Zoe was adamant about that.
On her way back she paused at the lockers, fiddling with the key in her back pocket. She was undecided whether or not to phone Gianni. Maybe a quick text. She was about to place the key in the lock when a dismembered voice broke into her thoughts.
‘Please make your way back to the café. Your next challenge awaits you.’ It was Abi again. Spying on her. Perhaps she thinks I’m trying to cheat or something. She checked her watch. Surely it was time for lunch.
