Hidden Treasures

by Fern Britton

  ‘Hello, Mrs Merrifield.’ He gave her a kiss.

  ‘Hi, Mack. I’ll put the kettle on, shall I? Chloe’s on her way.’ She put the kettle on the stove and then set out a couple of mugs. ‘So how are the preparations coming along for Sri Lanka?’

  ‘Yeah, good. Can’t wait.’ He fiddled with his car keys, then blurted, ‘I will look after her, Mrs M.’

  She set down the tea caddy and looked at him carefully. ‘You’d better!’

  *

  Once the lovers had gone, and Helen was washing up the umpteenth mug that morning, she heard Tony laughing in the garden.

  ‘Mrs M., come quick like. Mr Ambrose’s car looks all funny.’

  Oh my God, had he had an accident? She looked out of the kitchen window and started laughing too.

  She was still laughing when she met Piran, with a face like thunder, midway down the front path.

  ‘Bloody woman! She’s a frigging nutcase. Look what she’s done to my car.’

  Piran’s Toyota truck was unrecognisable. It had a lot of Barbie pink paint thrown all over it. The windscreen wipers were bent at right angles to the bonnet and the radio aerial had been twisted to look like a two-fingered salute.

  ‘Look at the back!’ He grabbed Helen’s hand and showed her: TOOT IF YOU THINK I’M A TWAT had been painted on the tailgate.

  Helen put her hand to her mouth to keep her laughter in. ‘Oh dear. Did anyone toot?’

  ‘Only all the way here.’

  ‘So, Dawn took the news well then?’

  Piran gave Helen a chilling look. ‘Sorry, Piran. It was just a joke.’

  ‘I know. It just pisses me off that that woman should be so petty.’

  ‘It is funny, though.’

  ‘It might be later.’ A wry smile threatened to break through his thundery expression.

  She put her arm round his waist and led him back into the cottage.

  Tony, who had been standing there taking it all in, called out, ‘Would you like me to wash it for you?’

  Piran stopped at the front door and smiled gratefully. ‘That would be a very kind thing. Yes please, young Tony. I’ll pay you for your time.’

  *

  They were back in Helen’s big comfy bed, the afternoon sun slanting through the gap in her curtains and warming the room.

  ‘So what happened?’ Helen asked Piran.

  ‘The earth moved.’

  She dug him in the ribs. ‘Not that! When you saw Dawn.’

  ‘She bashed me with a tea tray, and set about my car. That’s about it.’

  ‘What did you see in her in the first place?’

  Piran took a deep breath then blew it out through puffed cheeks. ‘She was a client. I sometimes do people’s family trees. It’s a pain in the arse and takes ages, but she was paying me well and I had decided it would be the last one I’d do. When I saw you and Penny at the Starfish that night, it was the first time I’d gone out with her. She invited me over to talk about the research I had, and what she could tell me, and before I knew it she was … there. All the time.’

  ‘But you proposed to her?’

  He fidgeted uncomfortably and held her a bit tighter.

  ‘We went down to Truro, to have a look at some parish records, and while we were in town she dived into a jeweller’s. Before I could open my mouth, she’d chosen a ring – the one she threw at me the other night – a fake diamond. She was all over me in the shop, smiling and joking with the salesgirl and then, when we left, she took me to lunch and made a toast. “To us,” she said. And the next thing I know, everyone’s congratulating me and I don’t know what for.’

  ‘You must have given her some encouragement?’

  ‘Nothing. She came to “Pendruggan’s Got Talent” without telling me. She was waiting for me outside in the car park. I couldn’t really tell her not to come in. When she was so rude to Tony, I gave her a right talking to.’

  The angrier Piran got, the more his Cornish accent came out. ‘I’m sorry I left you in the church that night, but I was embarrassed at her behaviour and just wanted to get out of there. It was the same on Christmas night. I wanted to come and have a drink with you, but …’

  ‘But … well, that was then.’

  ‘Yes, that was the past.’ Piran kissed her nose. ‘Which reminds me, I think I have found something interesting that may solve some of the mysteries in that old tin box you found.’

  ‘Really! Oh, Piran, how exciting! Let’s go down to the kitchen so we can have a look at it.’

  In minutes they were sitting beside each other at Helen’s kitchen table over steaming mugs of tea, Helen in her dressing gown and Piran in his boxers. In front of them was the open tin box, revealing its contents.

  ‘Right. Tell me what you think you’ve found?’ Helen was all ears.

  Piran started: ‘There are nine graves in the churchyard that I could not identify. The headstones had disappeared – most likely they’d have been wooden crosses that rotted away over time. Three of the coffins I came across had brass nameplates on them, and they are being cleaned up now to see if we can make out who they belong to. I also found an old urn, which I am assuming contains ashes, though I haven’t looked. And it had a brass nameplate on it too, which I got the restorer to have a go at first.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘This is where it gets interesting. When the results came back, it had two names on it. H.A. Wingham and B.G. Wingham with the date fifteenth April 1912. What does that tell you?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Think, woman! What did they teach you at school?’

  ‘I don’t know! You’ll have to tell me.’

  ‘It’s the date that the Titanic sank, with the loss of around fifteen hundred lives.’

  Helen looked at him, totally lost. ‘And what? The shock of hearing about it caused these two people to die in Pendruggan?’

  She could tell Piran was irritated. He banged his fist on the table, causing the teapot to jump.

  ‘For Heaven’s sake, Helen! It wasn’t as common in those days for bodies to be cremated. So, perhaps these two poor souls perished at sea and their bodies were taken by rescue ships to Halifax in Nova Scotia, where they’d have been put in a makeshift mortuary to be identified. Maybe the relatives back in Pendruggan couldn’t afford to have two bodies repatriated, so they had them cremated and the urn sent back instead. Much less space to take up in a ship’s hold, and lighter too. Then their relatives had them interred here in the churchyard.’

  Helen was agog. ‘And what does this tin box have to do with it?’

  ‘Do I have to spell it out for you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Their surname is Wingham … Ring any bells?’

  ‘The old lady who used to live here was called Wingham. Violet Wingham. A relative, you think?’

  ‘Yes. All I’ve got to do is find the proof and discover exactly how she’s related to them. Look at this old photo.’

  Together, they examined the old photograph with its slightly orange spots of age.

  ‘Do you think,’ asked Helen cautiously, ‘that Violet Wingham is the baby girl in this photo and that maybe she survived the sinking of the Titanic while her parents died? And perhaps the little boy in the photograph could be Violet’s brother – who also perished?’

  ‘At last, she’s bloody got it!’

  ‘So, where do we go from here?’ Helen asked.

  ‘I’ll need to do a little more digging, find out some more. But right now …’ He drew a trail lightly up her arm with his finger. ‘… I’d like to discover a bit more about you.’

  *

  Chloe phoned a little later to tell Helen she wasn’t coming home that night. Apparently Mack wanted her to meet his parents, who’d come down for a few days.

  Suddenly a free agent, Helen boldly asked Piran to stay.

  ‘My truck’s outside. Everyone will start talking. Besides, I’ve got to feed my cats and let Jack out.’

  ‘Well, suppose you go hom
e, feed the cats, and then I come and pick you up and bring you and Jack home for supper?’

  He looked at her and smiled. ‘You’ll wear me out, woman.’

  *

  Helen had forgotten how wonderful it was to spend a whole illicit night with a man she barely knew. The way he ran his hands over her imperfect body, with such tenderness and wonder, made her feel like a goddess. When she woke, it was to the gentle sound of him creeping downstairs and putting the kettle on.

  They lay in bed drinking tea and chatting till they heard the soft plop of the Sunday papers on the mat.

  ‘I’ll get them.’ He kissed her hand and went downstairs.

  When he came back, he was clutching a copy of the day’s paper and his face had turned almost white.

  ‘That bloody witch!’

  ‘What. Show me?’

  He gave her the paper and on the front page there was the headline: DRUG AND SEX SCANDAL OF MAVIS CREWE ACTORS.

  It was accompanied by a photo of David Cunningham and Dahlia Dahling, looking tired and seedy, getting into a location car. And a photo of Dawn, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. The caption was: Jilted lover shocked by sex party. See pages 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8.

  Ice gripped at Helen’s heart as she turned the first page and read aloud to a shaking Piran.

  I LOST MY LOVER TO SEX-STARVED DAHLIA DAHLING WHILE DRUGGY DAVID CUNNINGHAM LOOKED ON

  by Mandy Pratell

  Beautiful Dawn Winterbottom told yesterday of the sleazy goings-on behind the scenes of TV7’s long-awaited dramatisation of the Mavis Crewe novel, Mr Tibbs and the Hidden Treasure. Last Thursday, David Cunningham, the star of the drama, held a birthday party at the five-star Starfish Hotel in trendy Trevay, Cornwall. Miss Winterbottom, thirty-two, witnessed him and his co-star, Dahlia Dahling, forty-eight, go into the gents’ toilet with what appeared to be a paper-wrapped bag of drugs. Shortly after, they returned to the party, giggling and glassy-eyed.

  Miss Dahling, famous as Bond girl Candy Floss, then proceeded to sing a highly charged version of ‘Big Spender’ while Cunningham egged her on. At one stage Dahling dragged local historian Piran Ambrose into a hot tub, where they appeared to be having sex.

  ‘I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t challenged them both. Piran is, or was, my fiancée,’ a tearful Dawn told this newspaper.

  Love-rat Ambrose was later seen leaving the party with TV producer Helen Merrifield, fifty-six.

  ‘Oh, my God. Piran, she’s poison!’

  Helen scrabbled for the phone.

  ‘Penny? It’s Helen, have you seen the—’

  Penny spoke very quickly: ‘Yes, I’ve got the lawyers on it already and TV7’s press department are on the case too. Not that they care too much. It’s all good publicity for the show.’

  ‘Can I do anything?’

  ‘No, darling. I’ll call you if there is. At the moment, I have Dahlia and David confined to the hotel with security all over the place. There are plenty of paparazzi outside and I wouldn’t put it past them, or some shit of a journo, to try and get in by pretending to be a guest or new waiter or something. Remember Louise, the owner here?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘She’s playing a blinder. We’re in lock-down.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Quite. Where’s Piran? Only you’d better warn him that the press pack will be looking for him.’

  ‘I’ll tell him. Actually, he’s right next to me.’

  ‘Oh good … Hang on, where are you?’

  ‘At home. In my bed.’

  ‘You lucky cow! No wonder Dawn added ten years to your age! We’ll talk about you and Piran later. Got to go now. Love you.’

  Immediately, there was a knock at the front door. ‘I’ll go,’ said Piran. Helen stopped him. ‘No, look out of the window first.

  He crossed the room and shifted the curtain a bit.

  ‘Holy shit, there’s a crowd of them out there.’

  Helen padded over to Piran and took a peek.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ She counted them. There were four photographers standing by the gate and a young man and woman knocking at the front door, who, Helen surmised, were probably journalists from one of the red-tops.

  ‘Are the curtains in the sitting room and kitchen still drawn shut?’ she asked Piran.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Right, we’ll sellotape a newspaper over the porthole in the front door and cook some bacon and eggs to tantalise them with the smell. We have the loo, the telly and each other, so we can stay in all day.’

  He kissed her. ‘I like your style, maid.’

  Helen phoned Chloe to tell her to keep away for another evening, which was no hardship for the loved-up Chloe, and Piran rang Simon to ask him to feed his cats.

  ‘Of course, Piran. This is a terrible business. Where are you now?’

  Piran coughed delicately. ‘At Helen’s.’

  ‘Oh good, I’m glad you’re there to look after her. I am worried about poor Penny. May I speak to Helen?’

  Piran handed the phone to Helen. ‘Hi, Simon! How was last night’s date?’

  ‘I told Penny about … Mrs Bening.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She listened and asked me questions. No embarrassment. No shock.’

  ‘Told you.’

  ‘I felt so much better – until all of this stuff with the press happened this morning. After I’ve fed Bosun and Sprat, I’ll go down to the Starfish. They’ve given me the secret codeword to get in, and I shall defend our dear Penny.’

  ‘She’s lucky to have you.’

  ‘And I’m glad Piran happened to be in Pendruggan to look after you! When did he drop in?’

  ‘Umm. Last night.’

  There was a short silence. Then, ‘Oh! My goodness. Well. Jolly good. Speak later, bye.’

  42

  By the time the sun had gone down and the temperature had dropped, the last of the snappers and journos had left Pendruggan. Penny phoned to say that the police had cleared the majority of the press pack from outside the Starfish too. The show’s lawyers had released statements denying all reports of indecency and lewd behaviour, while being careful not to mention the cocaine element.

  Helen and Piran turned on the six o’clock local news to find a lone reporter, looking cold and fed up, outside the Starfish. His filmed report contained two interviews, both with holidaymakers, who had nothing to say other than it had added a bit of a thrill to their stay. Finally the hapless hack threw back to the studio, where the presenter had some breaking news.

  ‘Thank you, Rory. News just in, the author of the Mr Tibbs novels, Mavis Crewe, has called a press conference for tomorrow morning at the Starfish Hotel in Trevay. Miss Crewe, a virtual recluse for the past four decades, is understood to have cut short her world cruise in order to save this new and career-reviving television production from scandal.

  ‘And now, the weather.’

  *

  The following morning, filming was postponed until after the press conference. Helen, Piran and Jack climbed over Helen’s back garden wall and slunk through the churchyard before getting to the lane and Simon’s waiting car.

  He told them, ‘I think the coast is clear here in the village, but the hotel will be surrounded. Penny and Louise have arranged for us to drive into the delivery entrance and through the kitchens.’

  The plan worked well and all three of them got up to Penny’s room without being spotted. Penny was at her most fearsome. She wore black Louboutin heels with skin-tight leather trousers and a white ruffled blouse. With all her make-up on she looked a bit like Adam Ant in his Prince Charming phase.

  She was looking calm, but her rapid speech gave away her nerves.

  ‘Mavis isn’t here yet. She’s being helicoptered in at ten a.m. The press call is for ten-thirty so she, Dahlia, David and I will have a chance to get our story straight. She phoned me last night. Formidable doesn’t touch it. She’s a powerhouse.’

  ‘Have you e
ver met her?’ asked Helen.

  ‘No, all of our negotiations were done by the lawyers. This is no sweet little old lady we’re dealing with. She drove a hard price for the TV rights while still retaining control over international sales, merchandise, you name it.’

  ‘So that’s how she can afford a world cruise? Is she married?’

  ‘Widowed ages ago. She was left with three children to bring up. The writing did a lot for her and the children’s security, but since then she has been living a quiet life in Eastbourne.’

  ‘So who’s paying for the helicopter?’

  ‘As long as it’s not me, I don’t care.’

  As they spoke, they heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter overhead.

  ‘Here she comes!’

  Penny opened the curtain just a fraction, ‘so that’s who paid for it!’

  On the side of the helicopter, in gilt letters on a royal blue background was written The Intruder Magazine: we get to the inside.

  ‘Uh-oh. TV7 and the press office have done a deal with the devil.’ Penny looked upset.

  ‘It’s good, isn’t it? Everybody reads The Intruder,’ Helen managed to shout above the noise and gust of the downforce.

  ‘It means someone has sold our soul. The Intruder will have secured inside stories, exclusive photo shoots, David’s drug confession … you name it.’

  As the helicopter landed on the hotel’s small lawn, two uniformed security men ran forward, ducking under the rotors and signing to the pilot. As the rotors stopped, the door was opened and the security men helped out a tiny, immaculately turned out woman in her seventies, with severely coiffed platinum blonde hair. She shook hands with her helpers, gave a jaunty wave to the pilot and stepped forward to greet Louise Lonsdale, who almost curtseyed to her.

  ‘I’d better get down there and start fawning. She’s the ace in our hand at the moment.’ Penny closed the curtains again.

  ‘Do I look all right?’

  Her three friends all made approving noises and with a flourish of her ruffled sleeves, Penny was gone.

  *

  Mavis Crewe stood in the private dining room, the Intruder team, ranged behind her. She looked round the seated faces of David, Dahlia and the TV7 publicity assistant Ben, who looked on in awe.