The Freiburg Cabinet

by Thomas Charrington

  Stooping to pick up a substantial pile of post, he spotted an envelope which changed his mood in the crack of a whip. It had a horribly familiar look. Again that ominous name “Oliver.”

  Suddenly scared all over again, he dropped the vegetables and felt a cold shiver sweep through his body. Panicking, he fumbled for the paper knife in the silver tray, whilst looking furtively out onto the street. He hesitated, then inserted the knife under the flap and sliced it open. Shaking violently and feeling a sense of intense pressure, he pulled the contents out …

  Oliver,

  I am very disappointed.

  You are not the sensible man you used to be. You have become complacent and thinking nothing can do you harm. Well, what you experienced ten days ago is nothing to what is going to happen to you very very soon.

  I will not be treated like fool, Oliver. Please understand most clearly that you will be badly hurt if you do not contact us within five days.

  Be assured we know where you are, in London or in Glostershire. You cannot hide, we are watching you.

  CALL ME!

  Z.

  Tarquin gazed at the letter, blood pumping through his temples. He felt sick. He really was being hunted, and the hunter knew where he was.

  Was there something in his past which was coming back to haunt him? Had he snubbed someone without realizing it? Had he said or done something terribly serious and simply not recognized the gravity of what he’d done? No! Why would this person refer to him as Oliver? It had to be a mistaken identity. He felt his brain was going to explode. This wasn’t a “random” attack in the west end; this was home. They knew where he lived; Constanta was right!

  He went through it for the seventh time, and then leapt to his feet. “Gloucestershire!”

  That was where his neighbour lived, Oliver Clasper! But … but … that didn’t mean anything, did it? He wrestled with his reasoning. It could be that guy, but there again he could be completely innocent. Just because he lived in Gloucestershire wasn’t proof of his guilt; that would be a ludicrous deduction. Tarquin felt so scared he just wanted to tell someone. He strode out of his door and knocked at number five. He waited and knocked again. He wasn’t even quite sure what to say when Clasper opened the door.

  ‘I’m … er … sorry to trouble you, Oliver, but you wouldn’t … er … be in a spot of bother, old fellow, with anybody, would you? It’s just I’ve got this strange letter.’

  No! That sounded crazy, and Clasper would rightly consider him to be a bit odd, or worse, rather suspect. He quickly retreated, but it was obvious the house was empty anyway. He made himself a cup of coffee and tried to think rationally. Should he call Constanta or the police? He decided to call her first, and say that it was time to involve the police.

  “Tarquin, you should know by now this is a bad time to call,” she said assertively. “Always text me in the mornings … there is no …”

  “I had to call, I’ve had another letter for Oliver delivered through my door,” Tarquin interrupted desperately. “This is really serious now. I must call the police!”

  “No! Tarquin, do not call the police; believe me, it won’t help you, darling. Call me at four. I have a plan,” she said decisively.

  “Look, I just …” he hesitated. “Okay, at four.”

  He gulped back the remaining half cup of coffee without even noticing it.

  Percy looked up at him expectantly; the two-hour car journey up from Wiltshire had primed him for a walk.

  “Okay, Percy, let’s go,” Tarquin said as he grabbed the lead. After locking the door, he glanced nervously up and down the street. He felt vulnerable; his sense of security was ebbing away. In the park, he decided to call a lawyer friend and run it past him. He’d been reluctant to reveal the strange happenings in his life to his friends, for fear of ridicule. But the pressure was mounting, and he felt the need for some solid English advice.

  “Toby?” he said hesitantly.

  “Speaking,” came the clipped reply.

  “It’s Tarquin here.”

  “Who?”

  “Tarquin,” he said, amping up. There was a long pause.

  “Well I’m damned, nice to hear you, Tarquin!” Toby said, sounding both surprised and pleased.

  “Hope all’s well with you, and Susan,” Tarquin said awkwardly.

  “Yes, she is actually, fine old boy! Must be a good six months since we saw you. Everything okay in your world? Diana keeping you on the straight and narrow, eh?”

  “Well, no, er … she’s actually … uh … well … you know, gone on a little hol to Sri Lanka and seems to be having a fantastic time,” Tarquin blurted.

  “Good stuff. So you’ve got a pink ticket, you lucky bugger. Wish my other half would have the decency to go on a little holiday. Truth is, she won’t let me out of her sight! Says I have a gilded tongue that can’t be trusted! But you lead a charmed life, old chap. Life for you appears to be a stroll in the park. Nothing seems to ruffle you, Tarquin. You should come and watch me in court one day, and then you’ll see the tarnished side of the coin.”

  Tarquin laughed thinly.

  “Well, I think I already have, to be frank, Toby. Life has thrown an odd one at me of late, and I need your opinion on something. I think I’ve been caught up in a sort of mistaken identity fiasco, and … well, it’s turned a bit nasty. I was decked in Soho by a pair of thugs a couple of weeks back, broke my finger, bruised ribs, but thought nothing more of it.”

  “Mugged?”

  “Well … that’s what I thought at the time, but it seems to be a bit more sinister than that. I had nothing stolen and … well …these people are now pressuring me at home.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know, but they address me as Oliver and keep telling me to make contact with a mysterious person called Z. And as you can imagine, I don’t have a clue what they’re talking about!”

  “Sounds unpleasant,” Toby mumbled, and then paused. “I’m sorry, old fellow … but are you absolutely sure there isn’t something … erm … well, something you are involved with which might have caused this to happen?”

  “Completely and utterly, Toby. I’m not one for dabbling in dickie business,” Tarquin said, beginning to sound faintly hysterical.

  “Police involved?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Bring them in, they’ll sort you out. Horrible for you; I sympathise. Sounds odd to say the least. Look, I’m sorry, Tarquin, but I must dash. Got to be in court at two, and I need to get back to chambers. Let me know what happens, and meanwhile I’ll speak to Sue and we’ll get a date in the diary for dinner … when Diana’s back. Good to hear you, old fellow. Chin up!”

  He closed off, and Tarquin was left watching Percy humping another dog, and wondering if he was any closer to a course of action.

  * * *

  He was waiting this time as Constanta came out of the tube at Marble Arch. She jumped into the car and demanded to eat immediately. Tarquin didn’t need to ask. As they drove, he handed her the letter which she read intently three times before folding it and laying it on the dashboard.

  “Well, it seems they have known each other for a long time,” she said, gazing out on Oxford Street.

  “Really?”

  “Tarquin, did you read it properly? He says … this Z guy … you are not ‘careful’ man you used to be.”

  “Oh, yuh … it … it does imply that, I agree,” Tarquin muttered. “I was just so shocked to get the damn letter, I wasn’t looking at the details.”

  Constanta clicked her tongue and studied the passing windows of Jigsaw.

  Sitting opposite each other at McDonald’s twenty minutes later, she chomped into her hamburger with a very unladylike gusto. He smiled, which she immediately picked up on.

  “What’s your problem?” she said, with ketchup smeared on her chin.

  “There’s no problem. Just thought how pretty you look, even when you eat like an animal.”

  “Oh, I’m so flatter
ed,” she said, giving her face a thorough wipe with a tissue. “Now Tarquin, this is getting very serious. It seems I know what’s going on more than you, don’t you agree?”

  “Well, it does seem you have a keener grasp of the situation than me, Constanta. My mind just refuses to acknowledge that this could be happening to me! I just don’t have things like this going on in my life, and it’s difficult to take it on board. I keep thinking it’s just a mistake. Perhaps you’re just more used to this sort of … er …”

  “Of what ?”

  “Well, perhaps you’ve seen the rougher side of life, and you look at things more clearly. You don’t suffer from reality blockages.”

  “Exactly, Tarquin! You’ve lived a pampered life, and even when things jump out at you, you refuse to see them. Well, I’m telling you to be very careful. This is not the time to have one of these blockages, because you will end up getting badly hurt. This people mean business, and at the moment you are the target. Yes, I have had it tougher than you, darling. Can you imagine what it’s like to be brought up in a house with no toilet? Where you have to crap against the side of the house at night, ’cos you don’t want to freeze to death going to the hut, and you know by the morning it’ll be like a lump of stone, so you can throw it in the bushes? Where you clean your arse with a corn cob ’cos there’s no paper …”

  “I don’t understand,” Tarquin said, looking completely puzzled. “A corn on the cob to—”

  “No … not a corn on the cob! Are you crazy? I said a corn cob—the thing that’s left when you’ve eaten the corn, stupid. Yes, it has its uses; it’s quite soft.”

  “Good God,” Tarquin muttered incredulously.

  “You see, you’re shocked, aren’t you! Doesn’t fit in with your world view, does it? Well, what I’ve just described is not unusual back home. We were often four of us crammed into a freezing bed, in a room with black mould all over the walls. The winters in Romania are really bad, and the summers are the other way. The fields are like ovens. It can be forty-two degrees sometimes, and in the winter it can get to twenty below. And my grandmother would be out in those fields in that heat, bent double using her bare hands to gather the crop day after day. She didn’t have sun cream … we couldn’t even afford toilet paper, darling! That’s why she looks ninety when she’s only sixty-five!”

  She looked at Tarquin for a few moments as though gauging his reaction. He looked back at her speechless.

  “Now, I have a plan,” she continued. “I’ve called Petru, my friend I mentioned a few days ago …”

  “What, the fellow who can … er … get into people’s houses?” Tarquin said quietly.

  “Yes, the boy you wanted to take the piss out of.”

  “I certainly did not,” Tarquin said defensively. “I was just being a little humorous, that’s all …”

  “Well, don’t laugh too hard, time is running out, darling. Petru is going to help you, though.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve told him to get into Oliver Clasping’s house and have a little look around.”

  “What? Snoop about my neighbour’s house? What if he’s there, for God’s sake. He comes and goes without any pattern … and the house is probably alarmed as well.”

  “Do you think Petru’s stupid? He’ll check all this out.”

  “And what’s to say there’s anything to find? The guy’s more than likely completely innocent. Just because he lives in my street and happens to be involved with antiques.”

  “And lives in Gloucestershire, and is two doors away from you, and also—which is something Petru picked up on—is at number five and you are number nine.”

  “And? What’s that supposed to mean?” Tarquin said, raising his eyebrows.

  “Think about it. The numbers five and nine sound quite similar. don’t they? They are the only two numbers under ten which can be mistaken for each other quite easily.”

  “This is ridiculous!” Tarquin said, shaking his head. “What on earth would that have to do with anything?”

  “A lot, Tarquin. I have a problem with a person who owes me money, so I ring someone up to go and frighten this person. I tell him he lives at number five bla bla street and guess what, he rocks up at number nine because he misheard me on a bad line and scares the shit out of the wrong guy.”

  “Oh, come on, Constanta, this is—”

  “Psssssst. You’re doing it again, Tarquin, blocking things that are easily possible. Have you not heard of the charging light brigade in the Crimean War? I think there was a small mistake there which led to a big problem.”

  “Oh, we are knowledgeable,” Tarquin said sarcastically.

  “You think I am stupid, don’t have any education? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but the education system in Romania is very good,” she said fiercely.

  “No … look, I’m sorry,” Tarquin said quickly. “I … I suppose you saying that, just seemed … Well, a bit out of character.”

  “The character you’ve built for me, more like. You don’t know me yet, Tarquin!”

  “Very true. Sorry … look, I’m a bit uptight. I shouldn’t have said that,” he said, squeezing her forearm softly.

  “Petru is coming at nine thirty tonight with some stuff to … well, get into the house,” she continued. “We just need to see that Clasping’s not there, and call him with the green light. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Tarquin said obediently.

  Inside he felt he was losing control, involving himself in things which went against all his instincts.

  “Don’t worry, darling,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay. Petru is good.”

  Chapter 15

  “Good evening, Melvyn,” Oliver said, stepping into the workshop and adopting a rather formal tone. He felt like the general in a forthcoming campaign who has to reinforce a sense of authority, having become slightly too familiar with his soldiers.

  “Hi mate,” Melvyn replied softly.

  “Well, it’s Tuesday and she’s ready for the off! Well done, you! I’ve dreamt of this day, and you know, Melvyn, I feel certain that when you say it’s ready, it really is ready. I have a lot of faith in you.”

  “It’s taken its time, but it had to be right,” Melvyn mumbled shyly.

  “It most certainly did. We don’t want this thing going off half cock. Now, have you got a pen and paper handy, as I want to give you the boat times and all the details of our trip?”

  Melvyn fumbled in his heavily stained apron for a pencil and picked up a scruffy notepad.

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “We’re leaving Portsmouth at eight thirty pm on Thursday, which means we will have to leave here no later than three to be safe. I’d like to have the van ready as far as possible by tomorrow night, but we can’t load the cabinet until Thursday morning. There’s no way we’re going to risk it over night anywhere except here in the workshop. That means we spend Thursday morning packing it up in the van, nice and discreetly, and making sure everything is ultra secure. Do you need more foam rubber or blankets?”

  “Nope, got plenty.”

  “Okay, so we arrive at St Malo at seven am on Friday after a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast, I hope. Don’t worry, you’ll have your own cabin. From there we go and visit Frederic in Laval. Do you remember him? The guy who sold us the Austrian table.”

  “Oh yes, him.”

  “Well, he’s about two hours away, so we’ll have a coffee with him and see if he’s got anything of interest. Then it’s a straight run to Troyes, arriving somewhere around six, all things being equal. We’ll each have to do a bit of driving, I’m afraid, but we’ll have a couple of stops as well. By the way, when Frederic asks us what we’ve got planned with the van, we tell him we’re picking up a piece near Paris from a relation and delivering another. I’ll handle it; don’t worry yourself about that. But we mustn’t let him look in the back of the van at any cost! He’s an inquisitive fellow, as you know.”

  “Yeah
, best keep him away from the van, I think,” Melvyn agreed.

  “Good, so going back to our plan, we get to Troyes and then pick up Fabien at the train station around six. Apparently there’s a hotel opposite with a nice bar so he’ll be in there if we’re late. Pretty town, Troyes. You’ll like it; very medieval. The house, though, is about half an hour outside, near a village called Lusigny sur Barse; it’s called Chateau Clery. You’ll love it, surrounded by a wall and plenty of trees, so no prying eyes. It’s even got its own orangery. The whole area is magical; it’s called La Foret d’Orient. How evocative is that?”

  “Sounds very nice,” Melvyn said matter of factly.

  “We’re leaving the cabinet downstairs for the night, and in the morning we’ll get up into the roof so you can see for yourself how suitable it is for our purposes. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. And then, my friend, we have a well-earned drink!”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Fabien’s girlfriend is working in Paris, and they normally spend the weekends down there, so the poor bugger has had to concoct some reason for keeping her away! I believe he’s told her he’s meeting an architect to discuss building something in the garden; you know … a big surprise!”

  “He’d better be careful. My Mary knows straight away if I’m telling a porky!” Melvyn said with a chuckle.

  “Well, I know, but he had to get her out of the way somehow.”

  “Sure.”

  “Anyway,” Oliver continued, “there’s a huge staircase leading up to the garret with these massive oak timbers forming the framework for the roof. Doesn’t look like anyone’s been up there for decades, which suits us perfectly. Cobwebs everywhere! Once you’ve looked at the spot I have in mind and agreed it’ll work, you can start assembling the crate. When you want help, Mel, we’ll be there.”

  “Blimey, sounds quite a place. Straight out of a Dracula movie!” Melvyn said with a snort.

  “When you’ve finished doing that part, we’ll bring the cabinet up, and then you can work your magic. I’ve bought some walkie-talkies for our stay over there. It’s a hell of a way from the top of the house to the ground floor, so anything you need, just call me up. Prefer you turn your mobile off once we leave Frederic. You know, less traces of us there the better. I’ll make sure Mary has a contact number.”