by Amy Myers
A nice jolly-looking security guard wearing the by now familiar uniform of Shotsworth Security watched me take a time ticket from the machine. Then I got out and showed him my police pass and he became even more jolly, although I sensed a certain strain in the jolliness now. I parked the Alfa and as I got out I noticed that Mr Jolly had left his booth and advanced into the parking lot to check up on me. I waved to him, as I strolled around, but saw nothing of interest, so I went down to the next level in the bowels of the earth. There I found what I was looking for. Several cars tucked away – not together – and under a cover of some sort. I peered beneath one, and found a Jaguar XK150. Nice, but not the Auburn. Then I walked up to the next one, and tried that. Eureka!
I’d found it. The Auburn itself in all its glory.
I was conscious of a prickling feeling at the back of my neck and knew I was being watched. It was a sense I had valued ever since my oil business days, when it could mean the difference between life and sudden death. Maybe here too, but I was less worried when I saw it was only the jolly-looking chap from the security booth.
Only he wasn’t jolly any longer.
Especially when I told him the police would be coming to take the Auburn away. It wasn’t that he looked about to bash me – he was a lot shorter and flabbier than me anyway. But he did look extremely nervous.
SIX
For all my relief, recovering the Auburn seemed but a small victory in the context of Angie’s death and I felt it would do little to dispel the shadows cast over Dark Harvest. I waited patiently by the car for Dave’s team to arrive. Mr Jolly, whose real name I had forced out of him to be Nathan Wynn, had disclaimed all knowledge of Auburns or indeed of any other car in his domain. Guess what – he just worked here and the car must have come in on someone else’s watch. Was the car park manned by night? With great relief, he agreed it was not. Was there CCTV? There was, but before I got too hopeful, he added, ‘Doesn’t cover every corner of course.’
‘What about this one?’ I asked, pointing to the Auburn’s hiding place.
Guess again. ‘Not a chance.’ Happy grin.
To Dave’s team it was only one more stolen car and it was Sunday afternoon, as Dave had pointed out on the phone. The wait for his team was a long one, even though I knew he had been winding me up. Fair enough, I supposed. For me it presented a different scenario. One step had been accomplished, but the next foot forward was wavering around in mid-air. The Auburn was possible evidence in a murder case and so on Brandon’s plate as well as Dave’s, but without anything tangible to link the two Dave was in the driving seat for the moment. I was glad, because it helped me keep them separate, rather than trying to spot links where none might exist, for all Angie’s cryptic words to Bill.
‘When will you be able to release the Auburn?’ I’d asked Dave hopefully on the phone. ‘It has to be at Syndale Manor by six a.m. tomorrow.’
Brief pause. ‘Believe in miracles, do you? Think the entire Kent police force is going to turn out on a Sunday to check out the car overnight?’
‘I hoped—’
‘No way. Tuesday, Jack.’
‘Eight am. Monday,’ I bartered.
‘Three in the afternoon.’
‘Ten in the morning.’
‘Eleven,’ and Dave rang off.
It was his job to relay the news to Bill and for that I was duly grateful. Dave must have hidden powers of persuasion because no irate phone call from Bill followed. Nathan was still presumably in his booth, but I remained guarding the precious Auburn. I decided to leave the wraps as they were, save for the place where I had heaved them up earlier, though I longed to see the lady totally unclad with black tarpaulin.
The team arrived complete with a low loader an hour and a half later and watching them winch the Auburn aboard was nerve-racking. I felt personally responsible, and no doubt Bill saw it the same way. A 1935 Auburn Speedster was special.
The next morning an uncertain sun was doing its best to cheer me up as I drove the Auburn along the A20 towards Syndale Manor. Dave had told me I could have the honour of picking it up and returning it to the film set. On the whole, I’d have preferred them to do it on the low loader, but the word ‘budget’ floated around, and I would be facing Bill in person. I comforted myself that this way I could realize my dreams and actually drive the stunner. The darling just seemed to float along, although if I’d been eight inches shorter, I might have had trouble seeing out over the bonnet. For me, though, it was a glorious moment, even though the lanes to Syndale Manor, once one has left the A20, are not wide. In places meeting another car involves contact with scratchy hedges, ditches and mud, but I had little choice of route. There are two ways of approaching the Manor and both of them involve stretches of single-track lanes that set classic car owners’ hearts a-quiver. I took the Doddington road through Wichling, which is so small that you are past it before you recognize it as an independent village. Nevertheless it has an active church, which dignifies it by the name of village rather than hamlet. It is high up on the Downs and that whole area can be creepy, very creepy in rain or mist or low cloud. The Pilgrims Way, the ancient road from Winchester to Canterbury, runs along the Downs between Wichling and the A20 and its atmosphere suggests that the humble cars on the main road are a mere nothing compared with the ghosts of pilgrims past. Except, of course, for the Auburn, which is hardly a mere nothing. I was still savouring every minute of this drive, although the wipers were hardly efficient when I tried to remove some bird dirt that had blessed the windscreen.
With the weather still meditating on what mischief it might produce and my anxiety to avoid responsibility for the slightest mark on the Auburn, I was glad when, having turned down the even narrower lane to Syndale Manor, which boasted grass growing through the tarmac in places, I saw the Manor’s open gates on the right. It lies in the Syndale valley, the better known end of which emerges near Ospringe, on the A2 to Canterbury. Smugglers, pilgrims, Templars, prehistoric traders – they have all used this valley and add their own history to that of the travellers on the Pilgrims Way, which is a relatively recent name for a track going back to prehistory. Like Dad in the Glory Boot, their ghosts still hang around.
As I proceeded up the Manor drive, a sign pointed to the field where cars were to be parked, and I was about to go in when a horrified security guard (Shotsworth Security, naturally) leapt out of nowhere and frantically waved me onwards.
‘You’re production,’ he yelled at me, goggling at the car. ‘They’re waiting for you up there.’
Is there Heaven? I wondered, as I drove onwards. It was one form of it, I discovered. The guard had obviously rung the great news of my arrival through, because as I turned a corner I was greeted by an amazing spectacle. In the background against an unexpectedly blue sky was Syndale Manor. I’d seen pictures of it, but the real thing was stupendous. Georgian, mellowed yellow stone, dignified, huge, and with beautifully proportioned windows, it was a gracious sight to behold.
To my right in the shade of a line of trees I glimpsed the usual cluster of day caravans and trailers, and to my left was a field full of what looked like the catering vans and loos, together with an array of tables. All these I briefly registered, but what transfixed my astounded eyes was what lay ahead of me. It seemed the entire crew, cast and staff were lining the driveway for my triumphant arrival, or more probably the Auburn’s. They were waving madly, and there was even a modest cheer or two. Striding towards me in the middle of the drive like a sheriff in a Western was Bill Wade.
He and I both drew up with about six feet left between us. I got out of the Auburn and indicated he could take over the driving, but he didn’t move.
‘About time,’ he grunted. ‘Hurt, is she?’
‘Not a scratch.’
‘Inside damage?’
‘None that I or the police could see.’
We looked at her together, admiring the cream paintwork, the four chromed external exhaust headers and all the other glories of t
his wonderful car.
‘That’s bad news,’ was Bill’s remarkable conclusion, and not unnaturally it threw me off track. ‘It means someone had it in for Angie, not the car or film,’ he went on to explain.
‘But you both loved it.’
‘Sure. It’s part of my life.’ He stared at it some more and then nodded – to himself, it seemed, not to me. Then he snapped into gear. ‘We’re shooting arrivals,’ he told me.
I thought for a crazy instant that included me, but I realized this probably meant the arrivals at ‘Tranton Towers’ for the Jubilee ball weekend.
‘The Auburn’s called for two o’clock. Be there, Jack.’ He turned to go, and then stopped. ‘And thanks.’
‘Won’t you drive her in?’ I asked.
I thought for a moment he would refuse again, but if so he changed his mind. I left him to it, and walked behind as the Auburn, with its owner at the wheel, slowly made its way to play its part in what would surely become movie history, just as Running Tides had done.
The crew and a few cast closed around him and it was business as usual. Bill was surrounded by so many people that he was almost invisible. Not inaudible though, as his orders came over loud and clear. The professionals were at work. I waited for a while, watching technicians adjusting lighting angles on Syndale Manor’s front entrance and the two four-wheel drives with their rear-mounted cameras manoeuvring their way through the mass of people.
I saw the other three classics driven up one by one, joining the Auburn now parked to one side of the forecourt. The Fiat 508S Tipo, the Bentley Silent Sports and the Horch were so distinctive that I expected the whole crew to stop in their tracks to applaud. They didn’t of course. Nor did the various members of the cast I could see gathered in groups. I spotted Louise, dolled up in a slinky 1930s silver-grey suit. She’d told me that silver grey, highly fashionable in May 1935 because of the Silver Jubilee, was part of Bill’s colour strategy agreed with his cinematographer. He’d been angling for some kind of effect such as Jack Cardiff had used for the Other World in A Matter of Life and Death, but it hadn’t worked. Hence the use of the silver-grey theme, which was a compromise – not something that Bill was used to. Compromise or not, it suited Louise.
The Horch, bearing ‘von Ribbentrop’, was the first car to be shot ‘arriving’ at the Manor, and I saw Chris Frant setting off in it towards the gate, followed by the four-wheel drives carrying Bill and camera crews. A bevy of other crew members and a small group of extras rushed after them. Should I join them? It was a wrench but I stayed where I was. The one thing one can bank on with the film production is that there will be a lot of waiting around. It was only eleven thirty, and I had over two hours before the Auburn took the limelight. I preferred to use the time, not waste it.
I spotted Louise talking to a pleasant looking fair-haired man in modern jeans and leather blouson, who looked vaguely familiar.
‘Jack!’ Louise had spotted me and was waving, not I thought to her companion’s pleasure. So naturally I joined them. ‘You wanted to meet Nigel Biddington,’ she said. ‘Nigel, this is Jack Colby. He works for the police.’
‘The chap who found the Auburn?’ he asked.
Nigel was about thirty, and at first his expression was one that I tend to associate with Rob and his ilk, which usually translates for me as: ‘Do I wish to know you?’ Today it didn’t. His face lit up with pleasure.
‘The star of the show himself,’ he continued. ‘You saved my bacon, I can tell you. I thought I was going to have to produce a miracle at short notice.’
He seemed sincere and inoffensive, and I could believe Louise’s claim that he was a friend only. Still, first impressions aren’t always right.
‘I’ll have to leave you two car buffs,’ Louise said. ‘I’m on call shortly. As soon as the Horch reaches the forecourt my far from beloved husband and I have to rush out to greet von Ribbentrop. This is Chris’s big moment; he only has two words to speak in the film – “Guten Tag” – and this is the scene, so we have to make sure it goes well for his sake.’ She excused herself with a quick touch of my hand, which reassured me that our nights together had been no dream.
Nigel and I then talked serious cars, as he showed off the Bentley and the Fiat. He knew his stuff, I grudgingly granted. He even knew all about the famous ‘Bentley Boy’ Woolf Barnato, one of Dad’s childhood heroes. I realized that Nigel’s face had struck a chord with me as one I’d seen around at various car shows and gatherings.
‘Where did you hire the cars for the film?’ I asked. ‘From an agency?’
‘That or from people I know through my day job. I’m a car insurance broker.’
I could see him being rather good at his job. ‘I saw you at the Wheatsheaf, I think. Or Dering Arms at Pluckley.’ Both have regular classic car meets.
‘Probably. Good hunting ground for this job. Did you know we’re having thirty more classics here this Saturday? The whole day’s devoted to them.’
That sounded good to me. ‘Terrific. I’ll be here. Did you get the Horch from an agency?’
‘Difficult. I tracked it down from someone I know.’ He was so vague I wondered what the mystery was.
We were still deep into discussing the Car Day, as Nigel referred to it, when Roger Ford joined us and added his profuse thanks. ‘Might save the premiums going up next time, eh, Nigel? The insurers have been having some big payouts recently, Jack, and couldn’t believe their luck over the Auburn being recovered within the thirty days before they had to fork out.’
‘Where are you keeping these classics?’ I asked.
‘We’ve special security garages set up here for two weeks. I don’t think there’ll be more trouble.’
‘You think Bill’s right?’ I asked. ‘That it’s Angie that the thief was targeting, not the film?’
‘I darn well hope so,’ Roger said with feeling. ‘Oxley Productions can’t afford much more of this. He must have realized that this didn’t sound good, because he added, ‘Don’t get me wrong, Jack. Angie was a good friend, and what’s happened is a personal nightmare – both for Bill and me. But Bill’s chosen to push forward with this movie, and the only way it will work is to keep distance between the movie and Angie’s death. We don’t know where we are with the studios, but what’s going on here is safe ground. Understand?’
I did. ‘The known, not the nightmare.’
He shot me a keen look. ‘You’ve a foot in both camps, Jack. OK with that?’
‘Both camps?’ Nigel queried. ‘The Auburn’s back.’
Marshy ground. I didn’t want Angie’s comments to Bill spread around.
‘There’s still the paperwork to do,’ I said easily, ‘plus the need to find out who took the car in the first place, plus the possible threat to the other classics.’
‘Of course,’ Nigel murmured. ‘Better safe than sorry.’
But were they safe? I wondered. Even in these glorious surroundings it was not only the shadow of Angie’s death that hung over the company. I had a feeling that they were characters in a film of their own, caught up in a web in which they were totally unaware of the spider working amongst them.
It took over an hour – a remarkably brief time apparently – to get the Horch up the drive, and even then its final arrival displeased Bill. I could hear his voice ranting at the unfortunate Chris Frant – for pulling up the Horch too quickly. By that time lunch was in full flow and I had just provided myself with an interesting pasta and salad when Eleanor Richey, looking gorgeous in a powder-blue silk suit and matching hat, pounced on me.
‘You’re so–oo–oo clever,’ she cooed at me.
‘Luck,’ I said modestly.
‘Nonsense. You’re good.’ She tucked her arm in mine. ‘The police should be asking you to find out who killed poor Angie. Can’t you help them out? You’re so brilliant.’
‘Not my role,’ I said. ‘I’m still looking into the dirty tricks campaign. Did you suffer from it?’
‘I guess we all d
id.’ She pulled a face. ‘It was poor darling Louise who really suffered. Bill likes her so much.’
Ouch. That was delivered with such apparent sweetness that I mentally winced. I picked up the implication though. It wasn’t hard. ‘Is there any possibility that Angie could have been behind the dirty tricks?’ I played with the idea that someone had found that out, and used it against her by stealing the Auburn for real.
Eleanor did her best to look aghast. ‘Of course not. Although she did put people’s backs up. She was so possessive over Bill that anyone who looked at him twice was in trouble. I guess I shouldn’t say such nasty things about her, but it’s just unbelievable that she’s dead. And now the Auburn’s here, waiting for me to drive it alone. I was trying to pluck up courage for a practice drive. I suppose you wouldn’t come with me?’
‘Not without Bill’s permission,’ I said hastily. Honey traps I did not need.
‘Nigel’s will do. He’s in charge of the cars,’ she said coolly.
I gave in, duly found Nigel, and checking that the way was clear after the Horch filming, we drove down the drive and back in stately fashion. Hardly to my surprise she was a confident driver, showing no signs of the nervousness she had claimed, as she chattered on. On the way back we passed Louise, about to go into the catering area. She stood to one side and saluted as we sailed past. Perhaps it was my imagination but an eyebrow was raised, rather like Zoe’s trick. I gave Louise a wave and a friendly toot, and caught her in the mirror laughing.
By the time I managed to prise myself away to follow her, Louise was already established at a table with Justin Parr – they looked all too cosy together, but when Louise indicated that I should join them, he greeted me with genuine interest.
‘So you’re Bill’s flavour of the month,’ he said.
‘You could have fooled me,’ I said cheerfully. ‘I thought I was in the doghouse for being over five hours late.’
