The Freiburg Cabinet

by Thomas Charrington

  “Don’t I know it,” Melvyn said with a smile.

  “Oh, and please don’t forget your passport, Mel,” Oliver said with a wink as he stepped out of the workshop door.

  Shortly after turning out of Melvyn’s drive, Oliver suddenly remembered he must put a final call through to Fabian. He pulled over and reached for the dedicated handset in the glove compartment.

  “Hi, Fabien, everything okay?” he said anxiously.

  “Oh, hi, Oliver, that was lucky, I was about to go down the steps to the underground! Yes, everything is fine this end, and I’ve said my good-byes to the team for the next two weeks. They’re fine about it, and I think a little envious that I have a big house to go and sort out in France.”

  “Yes, of course,” Oliver said without any interest. “Now I just want to check what time you arrive in Troyes. I know you told me, but I didn’t write it down. Was it six eighteen?”

  “Six twenty-eight, Oliver … five twenty-eight English time. I’ll be leaving Cecile’s flat in the mid afternoon and the train should take about an hour and a half. I’m taking her for a spectacular dinner tomorrow night at a seafood restaurant near the Place de la Republic.”

  “Lucky her! Careful what you say. Right, I’m reckoning we’ll be there somewhere between five and six, or rather six and seven French time, so just wait in that hotel if we’re not there. Are you packed, got your passport, ticket, and so on?”

  “Please don’t worry. Oliver. I’m very organized, I can assure you. Just a few little things to do in the morning and that’s it. I will meet you in Troyes definitely … unless something unexpected happens. My life would be in ruins if I didn’t make it!”

  “Sorry, Fabien, just last minute jitters, I suppose,” Oliver said with a loud laugh. “See you on Friday evening, and keep your mobile to hand.” “Okay, see you then. Good-bye, Oliver.

  Chapter 19

  On Thursday morning, Bob was slumped on one of the observation seats as Gus stirred in his sleeping bag.

  “You know what, G, I’d forgotten how stiff me muscles get doing these stakeouts,” he said to the barely conscious Gus.

  “Well, you seemed to think you was in a five-star hotel by the way you was sleeping earlier,” Gus croaked drily as he unzipped the bag. “Took a few good kicks to get you into the land of the living. I thought you was the one that could survive on three hours a night! Now pass us the cold box and let me get a cool cup of orange down me throat. I’m fucking parched here. What bloody time is it, anyway?”

  “Six twenty-five.”

  Gus clumsily rummaged around in the box, and having found a plastic cup, poured himself an orange juice. His Adam’s apple bounced up and down to the inhuman grunts he emitted as he swallowed two cupfuls in quick succession. He smacked his lips.

  “Right, I’m going up to the park to sort myself out in a proper toilet, okay, so you’re in charge for the next twenty-five minutes. I’ve got me dog, make sure yours is up and running, and for Christ’s sake, call me if there’s any change in status.”

  “Okay, G. I’m on it,” Bob said, looking keenly through the spy hole at Tarquin’s house.

  The street was quiet and empty apart from a noisy band of starlings, flitting between the small trees dotted along the pavement. Ten minutes later, a milk float appeared, and the sound of clinking glass added to the steadily rising tempo of distant traffic.

  Gus reappeared a bit later looking fresh and purposeful. His thinning hair had been gelled and was swept back, accentuating the bony contours of his skull and sharp cheekbones. With his black shades, black sweatshirt, and powerful athletic build, he looked entirely wrong in this leafy haven of suburbia. In fact, the only thing in the vicinity which chimed in sympathy with Gus was the brooding dark vehicle he now climbed into.

  “Magnum Satellite Services, my arse!” he said with utter disdain to Bob as he took up his position behind the wheel. “Ruins the lines of our girl, and the sooner we rip ’em off the better.”

  “Serves a purpose, G,” Bob said with a yawn. “You didn’t forget to put the false plates on, did you? I forgot to look.”

  “For fuck’s sake, B. Stop asking stupid questions, will you? Of course I bloody didn’t!”

  “Right. I’m going for a scrub as well, mate. I’ll be back in a tick. It’s by the first gate, innit?” Bob said. climbing out.

  “Yeah. Hurry.”

  Tarquin, who’d been up since six, pulled the zip around his suitcase for the last time, stood up and took a slurp of cold tea. It was now seven twenty. Percy stood looking at him forlornly, having shadowed his every move.

  “Look, Percy,” Tarquin said, looking down tenderly at the white and tan creature at his feet. “You’re coming with me, so stop worrying. No kennels for you this time, you’re coming to France.”

  The small dogs’ ears pricked up and his head tilted to one side, desperate to read his master’s intentions.

  “C’mon, boy, it’s time for a good walk before we leave,” he added, as though the animal was perfectly conversant in English. “I don’t want to have to stop for you.”

  As they left the house, a pair of yellow eyes in a nearby black van studied them intensely, and a heartbeat moved up a gear. Gus watched them until they disappeared from his field of vision and then groped nervously for his cigarettes. He needed to calm himself; it wasn’t time for any action. Oliver was simply taking his dog for a walk.

  “Blimey, G. There’s a friggin’ fog of smoke in ‘ere,” Bob said a while later as he climbed in beside Gus. “You want to go easy on those or they’ll nail you.”

  “You’re not me doctor, B, but I appreciate your concern. Now, did you see him? He’s gone off to the park with his mutt.”

  “Who? Oh … er … you mean our man. No, I didn’t, as it ’appens; must’ve just missed him.”

  “Wakey, wakey, B. I need you sharp, real sharp. Get a coffee down your gullet and give us that bag of sandwiches. I’m fucking starving.”

  Twenty minutes went by as Capital radio washed over them, and Gus munched his way through some sandwiches.

  “Oh, he’s back!” Bob said in a loud whisper, looking in Gus’s wing mirror as Tarquin sauntered back up the street with Percy. “He’s a big bastard, isn’t he? And he looks all dressy, like he’s off somewhere.”

  “Well, he probably is, and he’s gonna have company, isn’t he!” Gus said with a leer.

  Under the malevolent gaze of the two men, Tarquin let himself back into the house and all was quiet again. The two men settled more comfortably into their seats and let the early morning minutes roll gently on.

  “Right, B. I want you to look the part of a satellite TV expert,” Gus said suddenly, yawning. “We’ve been sat here for twenty-four hours and we ’avn’t done very much, have we, apart from strolling up and down the street with a clipboard taking photos! So open up the back and grab that coil of cable I put there and lay it along the pavement for say ten metres, then grab that satellite dish and stick it at the end. Then grab that toolbox and lay out some frigging tools like you know what you’re doing.

  “Anyone says anything, just say we’re doing a survey for the council and you don’t know nothing, okay? If you want to know what to do, just pull the different wires out the cable and start cutting them. You know, take the plastic sheath off the wires. Start looking technical, B. We don’t need someone getting suspicious and calling the cops.”

  “You gonna help, G?” Bob said. looking at Gus.

  “Someone’s got to keep an eye out, as you know. Oh, go on, then I’ll grab the cable,” he said suddenly, jumping out and going round to the back. “I’ll take a tape measure and a book and start taking measures.”

  At 10.15, a vehicle pulled up outside Tarquin’s house and hooted. Tarquin came out and talked to the driver for a few minutes before directing him into a parking spot nearby. Gus and Bob watched intently as Tarquin was shown round the exterior of the vehicle and was then given a demonstration of the interior workings. He then
signed a pad of paper held by the driver and received some keys. They continued to chat for a further five minutes before another car appeared and the driver was taken away, leaving Tarquin and what was obviously a rental vehicle.

  “Right, mate, it looks like it’s green for go,” Gus said urgently. “Pack up the kit quickly and let’s get ready. Our man is heading somewhere, and for some reason he doesn’t want to take his Merx.”

  “He’s not necessarily going now. Could be going later on.”

  “I’ve got a feeling in me bones our man is on the move, my friend, so snap to. Make sure that cable and toolbox are secured proper. I don’t want things skidding around.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Bob began clearing the various items from the pavement and noisily loaded them into the van. A curtain hung towards the back, which hid the main body from prying eyes when the back doors were opened.

  “Okay, all done,” Bob said, slumping in his seat slightly out of breath. He idly flexed his fingers and arm muscles and studied his tattoos fondly.

  A few minutes passed by.

  “Okay, Okay,” Gus said quietly, almost to himself, whilst scrutinizing his wing mirror. “Seems we really do have a party going on here this morning.”

  “What’s up now?”

  “Right, I want you in the back in full observation mode, B, and let me know exactly what’s happening. Two more bods have just pitched up at his door as we speak. A tall blond woman, I think, and a bloke … on the smallish side.”

  Bob swivelled the front seat and moved quickly into position at the spy hole in the main body of the van.

  “Yep, you’re right, G. Oliver’s talking to them now; she’s got a suitcase and he’s got a rucksack. Hey, Oliver’s pointing at the rental and handing her the keys. They’re loading up. Perhaps they’re going to take it and leave our man?”

  “Just watch, B, just watch,” Gus said, drawing heavily on his cigarette.

  “Blimey, his dog’s just run out and jumped into the motor,” Bob said excitedly.

  “It’s looking like he’s on the move like you said, G. He ain’t going to let his precious mutt go off and leave him, is he!”

  A minute or two passed in silence as the two men watched.

  “And here comes the main man with his suitcase,” Bob said urgently in a low voice.“He’s locking up … real proper lock up … double-checking, and now he’s taking a gander up and down the street. She’s also taking a look. Okay, okay. Oliver’s getting into the driving seat. It’s showtime, G!”

  Gus turned the key, and the Sprinter roared into life.

  “Fuck, they’re facing in the other direction, you’re going to have to hurry.”

  “Relax, they’re going into a one-way system and will be coming right past my snout when I take a right here,” Gus said with supreme confidence.

  They turned at the bottom of the street and waited.

  “You smart bastard,” Bob said with feeling, as they tucked in behind the Voyager leaving a car in between.

  * * *

  “This is a nice car, Tarquin,” Constanta said, settling Percy into her lap and tickling his ears. “Why such a big one?”

  “If we’re travelling across France, we need some space, don’t you think? I can’t bear being cramped.”

  “I agree, Mr Tarquin,” Petru said from the backseat. “I can stretch out and go to sleep!”

  “Petru, don’t get silly ideas,” Constanta said curtly. “This isn’t a holidays.”

  He can sleep if he wants,” Tarquin interjected. “It’ll be a boring drive to Dover … about two hours or so. As long as you are awake, sweetie, we’ll be fine.”

  “Thank you. Mr Tarquin,” Petru purred, whilst lying back and sighing.

  “So what exactly is the plan?” Constanta asked, giving Tarquin a sharp look.

  “Right. We’re catching the three-thirty ferry to Calais, arriving at about six o’clock local time, as France is an hour ahead of us.”

  “Okay.”

  “So the actual boat journey is an hour and a half. We then drive out of Calais and take the motorway to Reims, a city on the way to Troyes, arriving there … say about nine o’clock. Then we find our hotel, which I’ve booked, drop our bags, and go and have a well-earned supper! Sound all right?”

  “Wow! You have been doing your homework, darling. Congratulations!” Constanta said, grinning.

  “Thank you, I’m glad Madam approves!”

  “Well, I certainly approve. Mr Tarquin,” came a voice from the rear.

  “Is this Reims place close to Troyes, or do we have a long drive tomorrow too?” she asked.

  “No, probably an hour and a quarter … something like that,” Tarquin replied with a growing sense of control.

  * * *

  “Now he’ll be heading to Gloucestershire, according to Z, and then we’ll catch ’im in the act. Catch ’im playing with his little cabinet, and then we give him the fright of his life,” Gus said, as they moved up the Latchmere Road.

  “Too right, G!” Bob smirked, whilst stretching his arms out and flexing his fingers so they cracked one by one. “I’m looking forward to this.”

  They arrived at Clapham Common and took a left into the one-way system.

  “Should ’ave fucking guessed,” Gus said with annoyance. “He’s going in to fuel up. Look, I’m taking a dive down this street for a second, and we’re going to jump out and get these bloody TV plates off! I’m sick of the things.”

  They came to a quick stop and both jumped out and removed the various magnetic plates advertising their satellite communications expertise. They threw them in the back with a loud clatter.

  “Done!” Gus said, slamming the doors. “Now we can follow him a bit more discreet.” The Voyager edged out of the petrol station, mirrored a short distance away by the Sprinter with its black nose and bull bars.

  They headed east along the top of the common and then took a turn towards Clapham South. Shortly after, they headed east on the south circular.

  “What the fuck is he up to?” Gus said, more to himself than Bob, whose sense of direction didn’t exist. “He’s heading southeast, for Christ’s sake!”

  “Not good?” Bob answered, trying to sound concerned.

  “No, it’s definitely not good; he’s either got a crazy route to his gaff in the country, or he’s got another plan. I was thinking that if we lost him we could catch up with the roach at his other house, but we haven’t got that option if he’s heading somewhere else. We’re going to have to stick with him like shit to a blanket.”

  “Bloody ’ell,” Bob said absently, whilst ogling a buxom coloured girl at the lights.

  “Perhaps he’s got a lockup in this direction or something.”

  They carried on through the various neighbourhoods and on past Dulwich College.

  Every now and then they lost sight of the Voyager, and Gus fretted and swore at every vehicle around him. Eventually they moved out onto the motorway

  “Where in the hell is this geezer going?” he said in frustration. “At least we can keep a good distance back from him on these big roads. I bloody nearly rammed him a couple of times earlier!”

  “We’re doing good, mate, we’re still with the arsehole,” Bob said soothingly.

  * * *

  As Gus and Bob passed under the M25 and out onto the M20 in determined pursuit of their quarry, Fabien glanced up briefly from his newspaper as his train was swallowed by the gaping mouth of the channel tunnel. He’d made this journey countless times, but he always liked to witness the transition from the open air of Kent, to the tight sleeve of concrete he now plunged into.

  He felt strange … even to himself. Who was this man, Fabien, who was about to carry out this audacious act? The grief-crazed state he was in, those three years ago, were a distant memory now—a time when the world suddenly turned as cold and solitary as a drafty winter platform on the journey to school; a time when it took every grain of his will to haul himself from his bed
. Cecile was his sun … and she had gone out.

  But someone had pointed to an escape hatch in his cell; a hatch which would change his life forever. What previously had seemed so repulsive and dangerous to contemplate had suddenly become a blessed release from the leaden twilight that surrounded him. He had reached for it, yes, in desperation to get out into the sunshine and find Cecile; and Oliver had been there to grab his hand and pull him through.

  He had embraced Oliver’s ethos as a drowning man claws buoyancy from the rowing partner he despises. But that was then. He felt stronger now, in control of his life, and a part of him baulked at the enormity of what he was about to do. But Oliver’s words that fateful night in the restaurant still reverberated in his mind …

  “… that takes courage, Fabien. Crossing that boundary is not easy, but the rewards for those who have the guts are stupendous.”

  And it was true … it did take guts; guts, imagination, and unbelievable skill. He had seen the cabinet with his very eyes; had absolutely insisted. And it was a masterpiece of authenticity. Something already smouldering with a perceived provenance, ready to burst out into the world from the womb of Melvyn’s workshop and be feted.

  The man, Melvyn, was a master. Well, he should be. He had a history … a fascinating history of innocence corrupted by the guile and greed of others. Yes, like so many, Melvyn had entered the restoration business all doe eyed and keen, and then, as his talent became noticed, he was gently nudged into another world … a world where things happened that shouldn’t happen.

  A place where his pay had suddenly bloomed, where he was taught the subtle science of subterfuge. Where it was not just about restoring old bona fide pieces, it was about building new “antique” pieces. A place where he learnt about old glues, varnishes, polishes, and waxes. A place where there seemed to be a reservoir of aged timbers, metals, and veneers for particular regions and centuries, and where the construction techniques of these workshops was well documented.

  He also had contacts—people who were specialists in very particular disciplines, ready to jump to his command. Yes, by the time he came to Oliver, Melvyn had already been forged in the crucible of chicanery … and eighteenth century French furniture was his speciality.