The Freiburg Cabinet

by Thomas Charrington

  And with him on board, Fabien really did believe the ship could sail. After all, he deserved this—of course he did—for Cecile and for his family; Oliver was right. He’d been kept down for too long. Her attitude towards him had changed lately. She laughed a lot, teased him … was more the joyous creature she had been when they first met.

  At last she sensed the foundations of a stable future. Yes, he was joining a different fraternity now … he was crossing over to the other side. Rolling his newspaper, he stood up, stretched his limbs, and then made his way purposefully to the bar.

  Chapter 20

  “Sorry, Mel. I meant to call you an hour ago, but bloody Titus has decided to take himself off on a hare hunt,” Oliver said breathlessly on his mobile. “Damn animal! Dogs always do this when they know you’re about to go away; you know, play up like spoilt children!”

  “Oh, not to worry then … just wondered if you’d like some lunch; Mary’s got some sausage rolls lined up and salad. Everything’s ready and packed and I’ve got some drinks in a cold box.”

  “That’s great, Mel, and it’s a long run tomorrow, too … six or so hours to Troyes. He glanced at his watch. “Twelve thirty. Look, just go ahead and I’ll be over as soon as I’ve found the dog. I think I know where he might be, and I’ve got a couple of things to sort out for Frederic. Would you mind if I snatch a bite with you … say at two, and then I can have a chat with Mary about Titus’s new habits in case he goes off again! You go ahead though.”

  A short while later, with Titus locked securely in his kennel, Oliver stuffed some papers into a drawer in his desk, locked it, and picked up the telephone.

  “Lily?” he said gently.

  “Hello,” she replied coolly.

  “Just wondered how you were, and to say thanks for dinner the other night.”

  “Glad you enjoyed it,” she replied matter of factly.

  “It was a fun evening, beautifully organized, as usual. You’re a fabulous cook, darling.”

  “Thank you … I try.”

  “They were an interesting bunch, and good to see Giles in such cracking form. The city seems to be treating him well.”

  “Does it ever not?” she said curtly.

  “Well … uh … I haven’t seen him for a while so I wouldn’t really know,” Oliver said, aware that Lily’s mood could be better.

  “Just wish he didn’t talk about it so much … it’s soo boring,” she said irritably. “As we both know, the city’s a bloody casino, and the gambler in Giles just can’t get enough of it. But it’s a man’s playground, you know, and any woman that ventures into it has to grow a leathery skin pretty quickly, or she’ll become a mere ornament.”

  “My dear Lily, aren’t we being just a little cynical,” Oliver said chuckling. “I presume you’re referring to Sabrina?”

  “Oddly enough I am, and no, Oliver, I am not being cynical. Giles is a man’s man, you know. Doesn’t really get women; they’re play things to be humoured and shepherded. I mean, he’s perfectly ‘het’ but we just don’t interest him.”

  “Oh? He seemed to be sparking with Sabrina.”

  “Sparking! Oh Lord, yes, he can spark, all right, if the girl’s got the right plumage. But that’s acting, and I can assure you it’s his own performance he’s really watching. Besides, Sabrina’s more of a man than Giles will ever be. I’m sure I saw some balls under that ridiculous little pelmit she was wearing. She’s ambitious, you know, keenly aware of her career path in the square mile, and she knows how to flatter!”

  “Really?” Oliver said uneasily.

  “Come on! I’m sure she took Geoffrey’s cottage for the summer in order to wriggle her way into a rich social set down here. I can tell you, I saw through her in seconds. It was Giles who asked her to dinner; said it seemed sad not to introduce her to some locals. Men are soo stupid! She’s deceptive—the parasitic pilot fish waiting for the sharks to make the kill before helping herself to some juicy leftovers.”

  Oliver burst out laughing.

  “Well … can I say I thought you were looking absolutely ravishing, darling; the glowing hostess in slinky peach! David couldn’t keep away from you.”

  “Exactly … so where were you?” she said tetchily. “Pretending to be interested in the badgers on Botcombe Farm?”

  “Were you eavesdropping?”

  “No. I just know what Fiona’s favourite subject is, and I know that it wouldn’t interest you. You were a bit distant, that’s all,” she said sighing. “I’m terribly fond of you, Oliver, don’t you understand? I’m confused.”

  “ I … er … I’m sorry, darling, but … you … well … seemed quite busy. Look, when I’m back from France, I’ll come over and do some serious pruning and … and bring you a couple of bottles of something delicious and some gorgeous French cheese!”

  “You charmer,” Lily said sadly. “Go on, off you go.”

  “Call you when I’m back,” he said, closing off.

  Chapter 21

  As the tarmac river of the M20 raced under his wheels, Tarquin was already looking completely at ease in the driving seat of his new machine. Clear of London, he was feeling the first flutters of excitement at what bizarre experiences lay in wait for him across the channel.

  This would be something to lift a few eyebrows in his social circle. Heading off to the continent to catch an antiques fraudster with a Romanian girl he’d met in a pub; a woman he barely knew and who seemed to become more obscure the closer he got to her. A woman whom, he had to admit, had an uncanny knack of seeing what he was blind to.

  “He can sleep anywhere, that boy,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the stretched out body of Petru. “He works hard, though, so it’s not surprising. They open the bagel stall at six thirty in the morning, so he has to be up at five, which is early even by my standards. He does the first three hours alone.”

  “Cooer, that’s a time of the morning I rarely see,” Tarquin said, feeling vaguely ashamed. “How did he manage to get away for this trip if he has to do the early shift?”

  “Oh, Zavasta, who owns the business, has a cousin who just came over to England, and he’s going to do the early bit until he gets back. He doesn’t pay him much, so he deserves it. As I told you, Petru had bad life before. He was with some bad people and they used to do organized robbery of shops and things like that around London. Petru is good boy at heart … it wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want to be a criminal, but he saw no other way. His real interest is in electronical things … you know, computers and stuff. His older sister was my best friend at school in Iassi, though. She called me one day completely unexpected from home.”

  “What … from Romania?” Tarquin asked.

  “Yes. She gave me his number and asked me to get in touch with him and try and help. And I did, and that’s how he came to be working for Zavasta.”

  “Okay … that was good of you,” Tarquin said, looking absently in the rearview mirror. “I can see he’s a smart cookie. The way he got into Oliver’s house was a marvel, and then all that information he uncovered; he’d be an asset to our secret services.”

  “He sure would … that’s why I insisted he came with us. I think he’s going to show you what else he can do on this trip. The other tricks he has in his box!”

  “Well, if it ever comes to it. To be frank, I’m really not so sure that we’re going to catch up with Oliver. It just seems a bit of a long shot, but what the hell, we’re going to have a fun little road trip, that’s for sure!”

  “Oh Tarquin … you’re such a pessimist. We’re going to find the bastard, I’m telling you,” she said, gazing ahead. “By the way, just so you know, it will only be us two on the way back. Petru will be going straight back home for a bit; his mother’s ill and she needs help.”

  “Oh, okay … that’s sad,” Tarquin said, as a green sign with “Dover 22 miles” hurtled past. “I hope she’s not too unwell.”

  “Shit happens,” she said, “but I don’t think it’s so
bad.”

  * * *

  Six seconds later and the same sign registered in the muddled head of Bob.

  “Oh … the white cliffs of Dover … we’ll be seein’ France shortly, G!” he mumbled.

  Bob’s words slowly trickled into Gus’s mind. Suddenly the blood began to drain from the folds and gullies of his face, as a tsunami started building in his brain. Dover … Calais … France … Freedom … There was a long pause and then it rushed back, red and turbulent, and his eyes turned hot.

  “Oh my fuuuck!!” he shouted, causing Bob to almost jump out of his seat. “Bloody idiots! Of course … of fucking course! He’s going across the channel; the bastard’s going to France!”

  “Eh? What? Where? Well, we just follow ’im, don’t we, G?” Bob said, startled.

  “No, we can’t, you clown! Unless you’ve got you’re fuckin’ passport!” Gus said panicking.

  “Oh … yer … well … the thing is you never said nothing about a passport, G,” Bob said, looking at Gus nervously.

  “Exactly, Bob! I didn’t, and now we’re fucked!” Gus said desperately. “Just shut it, B … don’t say nothing, okay? Just … just let me think!”

  They sat in silence for two minutes, Gus’s fingers white on the wheel, his jaw muscle flexing uncontrollably.

  Suddenly he broke the silence.

  “Right, I’ve got it!” he said quickly. “Worked out what we’re going to do, okay. Now listen up, Bob, listen up careful. Our man is heading to the tunnel, or he’s going to catch a ferry. Either way it’s going to be a disaster for us ’cos we haven’t got passports. So we’re going have to stop him going, okay … we’ve got to act now, Bob, or we are seriously fucked. So what we’re going do, is wait till we get off the motorway … yer know … outside Dover and onto a smaller road, and ram him from behind.”

  “Ram him?” Bob said, looking worried.

  “That’s right. Ram him and force him to stop. Then we’re going to give him what he deserves, and force the bastard to tell us exactly where the cabinet is and what he’s planning to do with it.”

  “But, G, that’s going to be tricky, innit? How you going to make him stop, and what about the other traffic? We’ll be seen.”

  “Of course we’ll be seen, but we don’t have a choice, do we! We have to stop him, and this should work. You get clunked from behind and you slam on the anchors … reflex action. Then we block him. He doesn’t know who we are; he’ll think it’s a mistake! And then wham! We let him have it! Besides, we have false plates on, so anyone who calls the cops can give the bloody reg, for all we care! Anyways, we’ll swop ’em over shortly and put the mag plates back on.”

  “Bloody ’ell, I hope you’re right. G,” Bob said, staring at the Voyager a couple of hundred meters ahead. “How long we got?”

  “About five minutes, so get yourself in gear, and no hurting the dolly unless she asks for it. Get in the back so it looks like it’s just me in here, or they might get suspicious and do a runner.”

  Bob swivelled his seat and disappeared into the back. Gus lit a cigarette and sucked on it hungrily.

  “I’ll give you the word, okay, so don’t move till then. You might want to get a hold of something; it’s going to get bumpy.”

  “Okay, mate, I’m ready,” came a muffled voice from the back.

  A few minutes later and the Sprinter slowed down for the first of a number of roundabouts. Bob peered through a spy hole in the front and watched the Voyager getting close and then farther away and then closer again.

  “Get ready, B!” came the tense command from the front. “After this one.”

  Bob felt the Sprinter slow down, take the bend, and then accelerate angrily as it straightened out. His heart raced. Suddenly there was a sickening thud, and he was thrown to his left as it lurched violently.

  Regaining his balance, he saw the Voyager weaving erratically just in front of them, its brake lights glowing. As predicted, it moved towards the side of the road, and the Sprinter took up a commanding position on the outside as the two vehicles came to a stop.

  “Go!” Gus yelled.

  Tarquin felt the shock from behind and the subsequent flex of his head backwards onto the headrest as though in a dream. He found it difficult to regain control of the car, which weaved dangerously for a few seconds. Gradually he slowed down and then moved onto the hard shoulder, his heart racing. Some idiot had made a mistake.

  A black van screeched to a halt menacingly on his right. He heard Constanta’s voice beside him shouting something in Romanian, and then he heard Petru telling him to keep driving. Completely disorientated, Tarquin imagined they were blocking the traffic, so he quickly moved the vehicle forward fifty meters. Two men had appeared from the van behind them and were running towards them as he stopped and got out.

  Constanta was already out shouting something in Romanian to Petru. Percy was barking wildly and would have followed Tarquin had Petru not managed to grab his collar in time and hold him back.

  As Tarquin walked shakily towards them, vaguely thinking he should have a notepad and pen, Constanta yelled at him to get back in the car. It was too late. Tarquin turned his head towards her as Gus’s fist crunched against it in a glancing blow which was aimed at his throat. He groaned, a deep, low, animal sound, and as he fell he heard a piercing scream like an enraged raptor whose nest was being raided.

  Thudding onto the tarmac, he looked up and saw Constanta in slow motion, her bare foot silhouetted against the blue sky slamming into the side of Gus’s head, throwing it sideways. A spray of saliva gleamed briefly as it burst from his open mouth. She landed like a cat and momentarily watched Gus fall, then a hand like a vice closed on her arm. She spun round and found herself gazing into the sadistic eyes of Bob. As his other hand began to tighten around her neck, she let herself drop, and then with another shriek, whipped her foot viciously into his groin. His hand loosened on her arm and he doubled up moaning.

  Tarquin stood shakily to his feet. Petru was in the driving seat revving the engine yelling at him to get in. Constanta was also yelling.

  “Get in, Tarquin … they’re gonna kill you!”

  She pushed him forcefully into the back and slammed the door.

  “Go, Petru, go … go … go!” she yelled, falling headlong into the passenger seat.

  The door swung open for a few seconds and then slammed shut with a loud bang as Petru put his foot down and careered into the traffic, swerving erratically.

  “Petru, shift as fast as you can, they gonna follow, believe me. Move it! Now do you understand, Tarquin!” she yelled at him. “You don’t fuck with this people!”

  “I … I … didn’t realize … I thought …”

  “I know what you thought … now tell him where to go!” she yelled.

  “Okay. Okay. Just follow signs to ferries … cross-channel ferries … you can’t miss them; they’re clearly marked,” he blurted.

  Constanta glanced repeatedly through the back window as they crossed a series of roundabouts on the route to the terminal. Tarquin noticed Dover Castle on the left and then a towering white cliff which dwarfed the houses below.

  Suddenly she shouted, “Here the bastards are!!”

  Tarquin looked painfully through the rear window and saw the unmistakable black Sprinter powering towards them in the distance, gaining by the second. Percy couldn’t be held back and, sensing the tension, jumped from the front seat to the back repeatedly in a state of high anxiety.

  “C’mon, c’mon,” she said frantically, “where is this place!”

  “There!” shouted Tarquin. “Take that exit!”

  They straightened out and looking back saw the Sprinter closing in rapidly. A car in its way was clipped and weaved violently as the black van thundered forwards in a headlong rush.

  “Here we go … just go straight across there … and … and down there!” he shouted as the Voyager hurtled down a road with high walls on either side. “We go through to the right there and there’s
the custom point where we show passports!”

  As they came to an abrupt halt at customs, they all peered back anxiously. The Sprinter came to a screeching stop at the top of the incline, its shiny skin glinting eerily in the afternoon sun. It waited there for forty-five seconds, engine revving as though panting—a hungry dark predator watching the prey it so nearly caught, slip away.

  Chapter 22

  Oliver brushed some flakes of pastry from his shirt and pushed his plate to one side.

  “Thank you, Mary, that was perfect,” he said. “I sometimes forget to eat, and then I’m suddenly famished!”

  “You bachelors are all the same, Oliver, you don’t look after yourselves properly,” Mary said, taking his plate to the sink. “It’s always slap dash meals at odd hours, and then you wonder why you get ill.”

  “True, I can be rather lazy in that direction,” Oliver conceded. “A slice of toast and some cheese is just so easy, I suppose.”

  “Easy, but not wholesome, Oliver … you need a good woman to look after you,” she said in a matronly way. “Now where’s Melvyn with that map?”

  Suddenly the door flew open and Melvyn came in looking flustered.

  “Sorry, I thought I’d put the map in the holdall with the other papers, but it was behind the driver’s seat in that pocket,” he said, handing it to Oliver.

  “Okay then, I’ll leave you two men to finish your business,” Mary said, putting on a pair of gardening gloves. “I’m at the far end of the garden by the shrubbery if you need me.”

  “Thanks again, Mary. If I don’t see you, have a very peaceful few days with only yourself to worry about!” Oliver said warmly as he spread the map open. “Oh, and don’t get fooled by that dog of mine … he’s always hungry, however much he’s eaten.”

  “Don’t think for one moment that Titus will get the better of me!” she said, disappearing out of the door.