Cherringham--Too Many Lies

by Matthew Costello

  “Think she keeps well away from the hotel, you know, but it might be worth a chat with her grandson. Yes?”

  Sarah nodded. “Good idea.”

  Over the last few years, Simon Repton had transformed the old country house into a slick hotel and spa.

  “I’ll drive out there this afternoon,” said Jack, watching Riley head down into the saloon for his routine post-walk snooze. “Do it in person.”

  “Great,” said Sarah. “I’ll carry on searching online. Maybe between us we can figure out just who’s bankrolling Syms’s campaign.”

  “Sure,” said Jack. “Let me know if you find anything.”

  *

  Jack turned off the main road, slipped the MG through the imposing white gateposts leading to Repton Hall, and headed down the sweeping tarmac lane through manicured lawns, and past the lake towards the big house.

  One of the earliest cases he’d ever worked with Sarah had been up here. In those days, the great house stood alone, grand but slightly ramshackle and tired.

  Now he could see that the conference centre had been extended even further — a glass house with indoor pool and gym now flanked the state-of-the-art conference venue. The massive pool overlooked the newly landscaped gardens.

  He followed the drive around the side of the building to a large car park filled with slick sedans (Audi and Lexus grilles locked in battle) and four-wheel drives (the classic well-heeled Cotswolds line up of expensive car brands).

  Sarah’s Rav-4 would definitely stand out here, he thought.

  As he pulled in and parked between a couple of massive Range Rovers; he noticed a group of men standing and chatting by a line of cars, trunks open.

  Some of the men with leather and canvas bags over their shoulders.

  Gun bags.

  Other men next to them with steel gun-safes visibly open in the car trunks. One of the cars a familiar Tesla, and just lifting a shotgun from the trunk, a familiar figure.

  Carl Coleman.

  Jack didn’t get out of the car, but stayed a moment, watching. A year or two back, Jack had been on a shoot on the Repton estate.

  But he could see these men clearly weren’t dressed for a shoot.

  There must be a clay pigeon range — also new — somewhere out back, maybe part of the hall’s fast-growing entertainment.

  Sure enough, after a couple of minutes, the men shouldered their weapons and headed off in a group towards the woods by the lake.

  Jack remembered Coleman mentioned a spa appointment. Looked like he was a member of the club here.

  Okay, Jack thought.

  Was it a coincidence that this was where Syms had stayed?

  Could Coleman really be funding Syms? But why? Coleman supported the development — he was a major backer of investment in Cherringham. What possible motive could he have for making an ally of an environmental activist?

  Jack got out of the MG, locked the car, and headed for the hotel entrance, hoping that Simon Repton would help him with answers about Syms.

  The row … and the unpaid bill …

  *

  Sarah sat at her desk trying to make sense of a new client’s website plans.

  A kitchen interiors outfit (as if there weren’t already too many of those in the area!) specialising in imported French designs. They’d just dumped all the product photos in one folder, expecting her to somehow figure out the French.

  I’m good, Sarah thought. But all the photos, information, prices … a jumbled mess.

  She and Grace had spent an hour with a dictionary and between them had hardly begun to sort the images.

  Sarah knew she had to dig into Syms online — and fast. Time was beginning to run out.

  Then — a voice at the office door.

  “Mum?”

  Sarah looked up to see Chloe, carrying a stack of papers.

  And looking sheepish.

  Sarah took a breath.

  The feeling: relief.

  “Hey love — what are you doing here?”

  “Mum,” said Chloe, walking over and giving Sarah a kiss. Sarah gave her a mock suspicious look.

  “Or should I say, ‘Hi Chloe, what do you want?’”

  Chloe laughed. “Yeah, you probably should say that.”

  “Okay then. Out with it,” said Sarah, laughing too.

  “Thing is — our copier’s finally given up. And we need, um, five hundred of these by the end of today. And fifty of them laminated.”

  “And you thought ‘hey, Mum’s just across the street — she’ll say yes.’ That about it?”

  Careful, Sarah thought. Don’t let another conversation between the two of us …

  … go south.

  “Um, yeah, pretty much that,” said Chloe, grinning at Sarah, just like she used to when she was a teenager.

  In response, Sarah laughed again.

  Amazingly, an idea occurred to her. Chloe not only did French at A-level, but she was also not long back from six months in France and Switzerland.

  “Tell you what. Here’s a deal …”

  She nodded at Grace’s computer. “You help Grace translate all these French file names — and I’ll not only let you use the copier, I’ll even throw in the laminator work for free. How about that?”

  “Really? Mum, you’re amazing. Deal!”

  “Terrific,” said Sarah. “And while you’re at it — maybe two teas as well? And — oh, perhaps an update on how the revolution is faring across the street?”

  “I’ll definitely do the teas,” said Chloe. “But the revolution’s under wraps, I’m afraid. Even to mums. In fact, especially to mums who want to know too much.”

  “Shame. Still — it was worth a try.”

  Sometimes the right word, the right idea … just comes.

  As Chloe put down her papers and headed to the kitchen and the copier, Sarah walked over to the corner desk, opened her laptop and started searching Ralph Syms’s history.

  Or should that be — Chloe’s boyfriend’s history? she thought, making sure her screen was angled away from her daughter.

  *

  Jack sat in a deep leather armchair outside Simon Repton’s office, waiting for the hotel and spa’s boss to see him, sipping coffee.

  He’d been warned by Repton’s secretary that it might be quite a wait, but having come all the way out here, Jack wasn’t going to go back to Cherringham empty handed.

  Not the first time Jack had waited, when he wanted a crucial little chat so badly.

  He put down his coffee and stood up, inspected the old photos of the hall that lined the reception area.

  After a few minutes — at last — he heard Repton’s door open, a woman’s voice, the tail-end of a conversation. He turned, to see …

  Natalie Coleman, coming out of Repton’s office.

  “Jack Brennan,” she said, looking at him curiously. “Now there’s a coincidence.”

  “Isn’t it?” said Jack, walking over, shaking her hand.

  She looked smart in a tailored business suit, dark skirt, perfect hair. Eyebrows slightly raised, as if making judgement.

  Jack found himself wanting to pass that judgement …

  “Are you here on business or pleasure?” she said.

  The woman’s words … playful.

  Even … teasing.

  Jack saw Simon Repton come and stand in the open doorway behind her.

  “Oh, business, I’m afraid,” said Jack.

  “Shame,” said Natalie. “Otherwise I’d offer you a coffee in my office.”

  He saw her turn and wink at Simon: “My coffee is far superior to Simon’s,” she said.

  Yeah … definitely teasing.

  “I’ll just have to take you up on that invite — one day,” said Jack. “But I mustn’t keep Simon here waiting.”

  He watched her smile and walk away through a door that must lead into the administrative offices of the hotel … then he turned and followed Simon into his office.

  “Old friend?” said Simo
n, after shaking Jack’s hand.

  “Um, recent acquaintance,” said Jack. “But I didn’t know she worked here.”

  “Natalie’s been running our spa operation since it opened,” said Simon, offering Jack a seat. “Now, how can I help you, Jack? You know — always in your debt, for how you helped Lady Repton.”

  Jack explained the delicate enquiries he was conducting, and how it would be “very helpful” to know just who had paid Ralph Syms’s bill a couple of weeks back. He watched Repton sit back at his desk, hands together as if praying.

  “Jack, you realise this is a really serious request?”

  “Wouldn’t ask you, Simon, if it wasn’t important.”

  “I’d be breaking the law divulging this information. Confidentiality, you know.”

  “Understand that,” said Jack. “But this is about more than just the Village Hall development.”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s been a death threat. And even Sarah’s daughter, Chloe, is at risk. In the middle of the whole thing.”

  Jack watched Simon take this in. Then the young hotel manager leaned forward to his computer, hit the keys a few times — and got up.

  A ploy … or something real? Jack wondered.

  “Jack — sorry. I just remembered, I have to go and get a file from the main reception. I’ll be a couple of minutes. Okay?”

  And with that, Repton tilted the computer screen slightly — almost as an invitation — towards Jack, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Clever, thought Jack.

  Repton: sharing all, but saying nada.

  Jack stood up quickly, slipped behind the desk. Although Sarah was the real tech genius in the partnership, he knew enough to operate Macs and PCs.

  But he didn’t have to do anything complicated here. No. Simon had left Syms’s bill and details open in a spreadsheet on the screen.

  Jack took out his phone — took a fast photo of the screen. Then he quickly scrolled through, taking in the data himself.

  At the bottom of the spreadsheet, he could see the details of the payment, and the account it came from.

  Phoenix Leisure, Jersey — and an account number.

  Phoenix Leisure? It didn’t mean anything to Jack, but he guessed Sarah would have enough information here to decipher who had really made the payment.

  Who was really bankrolling Ralph Syms?

  He tilted the screen round, sat down again, and sent the photo to Sarah with a brief note.

  Then, as he waited for Simon to return, he thought about Natalie Coleman.

  So, this had to be how she and Syms had met. At the hotel.

  He wondered whether Natalie’s husband knew what was going on? He imagined Coleman must be used to her getting attention.

  But was it more than that?

  Was Natalie conducting an affair right behind Coleman’s back?

  Or were all three of them in some kind of conspiracy together?

  Jack knew he’d best get back to Cherringham to see what Sarah had found. And discuss this information with her. Maybe look into Coleman’s finances.

  And suddenly — though there was still confusion — for the first time, with all their digging and interviews and speculation, he felt they were getting closer to the truth.

  13. An Act of Desperation

  Sarah looked up as Jack walked into her office.

  “Hi Jack,” said Chloe, not looking up from the photocopier.

  “Hey Chloe,” he said. “Helping out your mom?”

  “Not exactly. Flyers,” said Chloe. “For the Village Hall.”

  Sarah caught Jack’s eye and he smiled as he walked over to her.

  “And you? Busy too?” he said.

  “You bet. Pull up that chair, and let me show you some very interesting things.”

  Jack grabbed a metal office chair on wheels and brought it close.

  She turned to him.

  “Jack … what we’ve been hearing these past few days? Bunch of lies.”

  She tapped the centre monitor attached to her laptop.

  “On here, you’re now about to see those lies. First of all, a little more detail on the wonderful world of Ross Leisure.”

  *

  Jack nodded, not really sure he grasped everything Sarah had showed him.

  But he knew enough about looking at financial records to see that Ross Leisure had been having some tough times.

  Whether it was an activist Green movement or locals fighting against generous tax deals for new projects. Ross and his company — after a lot of defeats — needed this Village Hall project to succeed.

  “Ready for more?” Sarah said.

  “Oh yes. It’s always quite amazing what you can do here.”

  He watched as her fingers literally flew over the keyboard.

  Sarah had tracked down Annual Reports and Executive Summaries from Ross Leisure Holdings. And she had highlighted the relevant parts.

  Jack read:

  “‘The Board voted, in an 11 to 9 decision, to continue to support Mr Ted Ross as Chairman. At this point no decision has been made as to the future role of Callum Ross.’”

  “That mean what I think it means?”

  Sarah nodded. “A coup, Jack. Callum tried to take over, push his dad aside …”

  “And failed. But — I guess — not banished?”

  “No, but I imagine when his father says ‘jump’ these days, Callum says ’how high’.”

  “Bad blood,” Jack said. “Still — not sure how it all fits.”

  At that Sarah laughed. “Oh, I didn’t say it ‘fitted’.”

  “What about Syms’s hotel bill?” said Jack. “You find out who paid it?”

  “I did indeed. Phoenix turns out to be another front company — but not for Ross Leisure. Just for Ross Junior — our friend Callum.”

  Jack shook his head, not at all sure where this was going. “Wait a second. You mean Callum Ross … he paid for Syms?”

  “Yep.”

  “But they’re on opposite sides?”

  “So you would think, hmm? But hang on, I’ve got more. Look at this …”

  The screen was filled with a page from a newspaper — The Herald. The protest against the Ross Leisure development, Jack could see.

  “Remember how Syms and the Rosses lied about this project? I thought I’d dig around, see what other coverage there was. Look at the photo.”

  “Well, well. There’s Syms. Looks like his type of fight, and—”

  Jack leaned in close.

  Behind Syms, people holding signs. Young people, not unlike Sarah’s Chloe and her friends. But also, tight at his side, lackadaisically holding signs, two or three older men …

  In dark hoodies.

  Jack pointed to them.

  “Those guys there? Not exactly idealistic environmentalists, hmm?”

  “Exactly. I mean, can’t really make them out, but clearly part of Syms’s crew.”

  “More like hoods. Mercenaries. Tough-looking group.”

  He paused.

  Sarah said: “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  He nodded. “The guy who stabbed Syms … about as anonymous—”

  “And ominous.”

  “—as one of those guys. Still, how does that fit? What does it mean?”

  Jack thought that they had to be looking at answers right in front of them. But now, so close to the council’s vote, to the eleventh hour, the puzzle not coming together.

  “But wait — as they say in the ads — there’s more.”

  *

  “Right. But what?”

  “Okay,” said Sarah. “One more curious thing to show you.”

  She looked across at Chloe to see if her daughter could hear. But the copier was rattling away and Chloe seemed too involved in counting sheets of paper.

  “After our little discovery about Natalie this morning? I thought I’d do a quick check on her husband. His various dealings, just so we knew where he stood in all this. Did
he give his wife any large sums of money? And guess what?”

  She saw Jack waiting.

  “Completely firewalled.”

  “Hmm. What do you mean?”

  “Coleman’s finances, his business holdings, anything that would show his business dealings, or where he stood to gain or lose with this vote … nothing.”

  “That usual?”

  She shook her head.

  “Look, Jack. You know me. I can do a lot using special tricks courtesy of my cyber friends based in London. But this? Coleman went the extra mile to make sure that his financial life, his holdings, are hidden.”

  “So, no way we could find out?”

  She shook her head again. “Sorry. No.”

  “Mum?” came Chloe’s voice, from the copier.

  *

  Chloe came over to them, her arms cradling a box of leaflets and flyers.

  “You two? Doing your usual?”

  Sarah smiled at her daughter. Jack well knew the tension that could build between parent and child, the missteps for each, so easy.

  “That we are, Chloe. Though I can’t say we’re getting very far.”

  Chloe nodded. And from her tone, she had something to say. Jack wondered whether he should step out and leave the two of them to talk in private.

  But Chloe hurried on. “Mum, just wanted to say … you know … sorry about dinner last night. And thank you. I mean big thanks … for this. For the copying — the laminating. It’ll help us get the word out.”

  “Happy to help the cause,” Sarah said, and to Jack’s ear it sounded as if she meant it.

  Sarah shot him a look. Maybe she was thinking about saying something.

  Jack could guess what it was.

  Something a mother had to do.

  “Chloe, um, Jack and I saw something today.”

  “Yeah?”

  Jack guessed: Chloe curious, a bit guarded. But also, maybe not knowing what her mother was about to say.

  On a hunch, Jack decided to pick up the ball.

  “Chloe, today when we drove past Ralph Syms’s place, that room above the headquarters that he rents? Um, we saw someone coming out. Early morning. And well—”

  And then — completely unexpected — Chloe laughed.

  “You saw … that woman?”