The Freiburg Cabinet

by Thomas Charrington

  “Pull in at this next layby, Mel,” Oliver said, pointing ahead. “I think it’s best if I take over now.”

  The Toyota came to a halt, and they both climbed out and stretched.

  “Gawd, am I glad that’s over!” Melvyn groaned, arching his back.

  “You’ve done a straight two and a half hours, Mel, so I dare say you need a break!” Oliver said with a chuckle.

  “Yeah, feels like it. Funnily enough, I quite enjoyed a spell of driving. Don’t do much at home, and the French roads are lovely and empty.”

  “That’s true,” Oliver agreed. “Well, hop in and let’s get on. Only another half an hour. We’ll be there, say …,” he glanced at his watch, “just before six, which is fine.”

  Twenty-five minutes went by before they came off the ring road and headed towards the town centre.

  “If I remember correctly, the station is on the west side of the old town … down this way,” Oliver mumbled.

  “Boulevard Delestraint … good … over the lights … Boulevard Victor Hugo. Yes, now I remember. Over the roundabout … Boulevard Carnot. This is it … and … take a left! Gare de Troyes!”

  Chapter 25

  “Fuck, it’s them!” Constanta hissed loudly, getting lower in her seat. “They’ve arrived!!And guess what they’re driving … a red Toyota!”

  She giggled excitedly.

  “Bull’s-eye!” Petru said, slapping her leg.

  “Well done, detective!” Tarquin whispered, his head swiveling as they passed. Percy leapt from the front to the backseats repeatedly, sensing excitement, till Tarquin grabbed him and held him on his lap.

  “Right, Petru. Let’s go,” she snapped, opening the car door. “Don’t stare at them … we just got to keep an eye on where they park and who they meet, okay?”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  “And Tarquin, be ready to move, for fuck’s sake. I’ll call to let you know when they meet him and what they’re doing, okay?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Hope there are not two red Toyota vans with English plates here today!” Petru said, trying to keep up with Constanta’s long stride.

  “Ha ha … you’re soo funny, Petru. I’m dying here,” she said breathily over her shoulder. “There they are … parking by that small house.”

  “That’s a toilet.”

  “Whatever, let’s just wait on this bench and keep watch on them.”

  They sat down by the station entrance, their eyes glued to the red van, people milling around them.

  Presently a stocky, middle-aged man climbed out rather stiffly and stretched. Another man emerged from the passenger side and came round the van. He was slighter in build but with a mop of black hair and distinctly rounded shoulders. They both looked surprisingly respectable in checked shirts and well-cut trousers. The driver scanned the car park and then glanced at his watch. After a brief word to his partner, he disappeared into the lavatory.

  The dark-haired man leaned with his back against the van and took a long thoughtful look at the station building, as though absorbing the architecture with some interest. A few minutes later the stocky man reappeared and, having taken his jacket from the driver’s seat, locked the van. They both then strolled casually towards the station entrance and passed Constanta and Petru who were having an apparently animated conversation in Romanian.

  “Fuck me, they were so close!” Constanta said excitedly under her breath.

  “This people are not hard men,” Petru muttered, looking over his shoulder. “They look smart, like businessmen.”

  “Sure, I know what you mean. Not like those bastards from yesterday,” Constanta agreed.

  “I think the driver must be Oliver,” Petru offered, “and the other guy is his helper. Did you see his hands?”

  “No, darling, I didn’t,” Constanta said, stretching out her legs and pointing her toes.

  After a few minutes, the dark-haired man reappeared and walked back to the van where he took up his position as before. The time was 6.25 pm.

  They kept up a casual banter in Romanian for the next few minutes and then heard the arrival of a train.

  “Very good,” Petru said quietly, “it is on time.”

  A further few minutes went by, and then Constanta put her hand briefly on Petru’s shoulder and wandered into the marble-floored station. People were meandering about in all directions, reading newspapers, chatting, and gazing at the arrivals and departures’ board. She spotted Oliver by the entrance to the platforms. A large number of newly arrived passengers were winding through a gate, displaying their tickets to a bored-looking official.

  Suddenly a lean, fresh-faced man emerged from the bustling crowd and, having handed over his ticket, headed straight to Oliver. He greeted him warmly in English. They spoke for a moment or so, then made their way casually towards the entrance. This was Fabien, she figured; much younger than Oliver, and clearly nervous. She noticed the reserved almost awkward way they interacted and decided he was more a business colleague than a true friend; their body language was clumsy.

  She moved closer in behind them, just another girl engrossed in her mobile. But her ears were straining for information. Then suddenly it came, unmistakably. In the gush of conversation, the word “cabinet” popped out like a sweet cherry. A ripple of excitement coursed through her stomach. They really had hit the target.

  “No, Oliver,” Fabien said firmly. “I think we leave it in the van tonight and probably most of tomorrow as the ’ouse is damp, especially the ground floor. I want to open the shutters and windows before we bring it in. We can’t afford to risk it.”

  “Is it safe?” Oliver asked.

  Fabien laughed.

  “Of course it’s safe! You’ve seen it. Don’t you remember those ’uge iron gates at the entrance with that big rusty chain and lock? No vehicle can get in, and the whole estate is surrounded by a wall.”

  “Okay … if you’re sure,” Oliver agreed, nodding. “Probably not a bad idea. Melvyn can build the chest tomorrow and we’ll put it straight inside. We don’t want sudden changes in humidity causing problems.”

  “The garret is much less damp; it’s drafty and the air is clearer,” Fabien said.

  “Well, that’s good. The house is about half an hour away, isn’t it?” Oliver said, trying to dodge an incessant stream of people pushing against them.

  “Approximately.”

  “Wonderful. It’s great to see you, Fabien … away from London. The day of reckoning has arrived!” He patted the young man’s shoulder briefly as they headed out into the car park. Constanta peeled away to join Petru. It was time to move.

  They strode hurriedly across the tarmac and back into the Voyager where Percy immediately leapt onto Constanta’s lap and licked her face feverishly.

  “This is it, Tarquin,” Constanta said, holding Percy away. “Don’t fuck this up, pleeeease!”

  “Wait for the moment, Mr Tarquin, they are talking,” Petru muttered from the backseat. “I’ll tell you when they move.”

  After five minutes of discussion, the three men climbed into the Toyota, did a loop, and then headed towards the entrance.

  “Okay, Mr Tarquin, they are moving!” Petru snapped, looking over his shoulder. “Just wait till they come past … which is … wait … wait … wait. Okay, now!”

  Tarquin lurched forward and stalled.

  “You fucking idiot, Tarquin!” Constanta shouted. “What’s the matter with you!”

  Tarquin fumbled with keys and gears for a few moments without saying a word and then, having restarted the engine, roared forwards, tyres squealing. Beads of sweat showed on his forehead as he accelerated towards the Toyota.

  “It’s okay, Mr Tarquin. Go steady,” Petru said urgently. “We don’t want crash into them!”

  “I wouldn’t put it past him!” Constanta mocked with a high-pitched cackle. “Okay, so they’re turning right.”

  Tarquin moved in close behind them.

  “Sorry about that, fol
ks,” he said sheepishly. “Haven’t done that in ages!”

  “Okay, roundabout coming up,” Constanta said, ignoring him. “Keep close. Keep close … gooood!”

  They carried on in this vein for the next ten minutes, and then suddenly the Toyota did a swoop to the right and they found themselves in the car park of a supermarket.

  “Right, so they’re getting some groceries,” Constanta said. “Which … which I suppose means they are not going to a hotel.”

  “Let’s just see,” Tarquin said as he took up a strategic though discreet position near the red van. “We don’t need to jump to conclusions … who knows what they’re up to.”

  The young man and the fatter of the other two climbed out and disappeared inside the shop, leaving the third man in the van.

  Half an hour went by and they then reemerged pushing two trolleys bursting with all manner of bags.

  “Fuck me, how long are they planning to stay?” Constanta exclaimed.

  “And where are they planning to stay,” Tarquin added. “Obviously not a hotel!”

  Leaving the car park, the two vehicles then headed out onto the ring road and presently turned east towards the Foret d’Orient.

  “Wow, this is nice,” Constanta said, looking at the unfolding countryside on either side of the road. “What a place … guess it’s good-bye, Troyes!”

  “Don’t get too close, Mr Tarquin,” Petru warned. “We must not let them realize they are being followed!”

  “Sure, quite true,” Tarquin mumbled, pulling back.

  “I think they are too busy chatting to notice, darling,” Constanta said over her shoulder. “They’re discussing how much money they’re going to make!”

  The landscape became increasingly wild and wooded as they left Troyes behind them, and the low light of the sun bathed everything in a soft pinkish light. Then, between the trees, lakes glittered and flashed at them intermittently.

  Without warning, the Toyota took a left turn down a narrow country lane towards a place called Lusigny sur Barse. The Voyager followed at some distance as this road was completely empty and their presence more obvious. Fifteen minutes went by as they wound left and right through thick woods, punctuated by occasional clearings and old wooden barns.

  Suddenly the indicator blinked on the Toyota and the brake lights glowed. This was it … they were turning.

  “Slow down, Tarquin!” Constanta hissed loudly. “For Christ’s sake, keep back, they look like they’re stopping.”

  Tarquin pulled onto the side of the road where they could observe the van from the deep shadows of some lofty oaks.

  The young man got out and disappeared down a side turning or driveway. A few minutes later, the van turned off the road and disappeared. They waited a few moments.

  “Go!” she said. “We need to see where they went.”

  “Careful,” Petru said, leaning between them anxiously. “They may not have gone so far.”

  They moved forwards slowly.

  “No, go faster … this is too obvious … just go past naturally, Tarquin, and we’ll take a look. Okay, Petru, are you ready?” she said over her shoulder.

  There was a high wall on the left side of the road, smothered with moss and clinging plants which rippled irregularly as they drove beside it. A short time later, the wall stopped abruptly at a large iron gate flanked by two monumental piers.

  “Yes, I’m looking,” he said absently.

  The Voyager passed the turning at a leisurely pace without stopping.

  “Well?” Tarquin said anxiously moments later.

  “Fuck me! It was. It was a road, like a private road to a huge house!” Constanta stuttered. “I could only see it a bit through the gates.”

  “Yes, it was a very big house, Mr Tarquin … perhaps two hundred meters from the road. The young guy they picked up at the station was right; they’re closing the gates. The Toyota was nearly at the house, I saw a cloud of dust! I guess he wanted to get some exercise!”

  “Did he see us?” Tarquin asked, concerned.

  “Probably. Look, we’re just a car driving by,” Petru said, “but we need to move fast in case they take cabinet out now. Constanta, hand me the camera, we must get over the wall and up to the house somehow to get the shots!”

  “Cool it, Petru!” she said, putting a hand on his wrist. “I heard them talking in the station, saying that the house is too damp to take it in now. They are going to leave it in the van tonight and remove it later on tomorrow when the house has been aired a bit.”

  “Are you sure?” Petru said, giving her a sharp look.

  “Yes, darling, I am sure. They were talking about building a crate or something before bringing it in. Remember, this is a wood cabinet, a copy. It must be treated like a baby!” she said, smiling widely.

  “Mmm … okay,” Petru said, putting the camera down with a sigh.

  “I’ll turn and we can take another look,” Tarquin said, pulling in to the side.

  “Not yet! Go on for five minutes and then we can turn round. Just give them a bit of time,” Constanta instructed, her hand closing around his wrist.

  “This must be important place … look at this wall! It was built to protect some very rich people, I think,” Petru said.

  “It’s in a crappy condition, that’s for sure,” Constanta added. “Look at all the ivy and the trees growing over it. It’s creepy!”

  “Even creepier when it’s dark and we have to climb in!” Petru said, smiling.

  “Fuck you, Petru!” Constanta said with a twisted smile.

  For all her bravado, Constanta was scared of dark old places. Eventually the wall curved away from the road, and Tarquin pulled over and turned off the engine. He studied the map for a few minutes whilst the others chatted, then he turned the car around and headed back towards the entrance.

  “Drive past, Tarquin, and stop fifty metres the other side,” Constanta said.“Petru and me will walk back and get some photos of the place to show you. You go on a bit farther and we’ll catch up with you by those trees.”

  “Yes, it is best if the car is out of way,” Petru agreed.

  Tarquin pulled over and they jumped out. Constanta immediately started picking some wild flowers and gathered them into a bunch. Petru watched her quizzically.

  “We’re going for a romantic walk in the countryside, darling … any problems with that?” she said, threading her arm through his and walking towards the gates. “We need to blend in!”

  As the sound of Tarquin’s engine disappeared, they became aware of the silence, broken only by the soft cooing of roosting pigeons.

  “Where is everyone?” she said, looking at Petru with genuine surprise.

  “What do you mean? Why are the roads so empty?”

  “Well, duh! It’s fucking deserted. We haven’t seen another car the whole time we been on this road. Don’t you think this is weird?”

  “Not so much. France is less populated than the UK, and it is much bigger,” Petru said matter of factly. “Besides, I think this is a National Park so there are not so many houses.”

  As they approached the gates, Constanta felt a prickling on the back of her neck and a tightening in her stomach.

  “Keep to the side,” she said in a loud whisper.

  Tentatively at first and then more boldly, they moved closer until their noses were pressed against the rusty vertical railings of the gates. They gazed through in awe.

  Chateau Clery, magnificent and yet strangely withdrawn, stood at the end of a long unkempt track which in previous times had presumably been the well-maintained drive to a grand house. Large weeds formed a green Mohican down the centre of the two tracks and gave the place an overwhelming sense of abandonment and neglect; like an old, dishevelled relative, forgotten and unvisited, left to face the embers of their life alone. The years, the centuries even, had muted and intertwined the definition of the building with its surroundings, and now it seemed to be dissolving into the dense shrubs and trees which crowded
around its walls, and embracing its stony skin.

  Chapter 26

  Lily slammed the kennel door and then stuck her hand through the bars to give Titus a final stroke.

  “There you are, boy, at least you got your walkies,” she said as though to a child.

  Walking back on to the gravel drive, she pulled out her mobile.

  “All done and dusted, Mary,” she said warmly, “and yes, the bugger did try it on. Made a dash for the meadow! But I shouted and shouted, and to my surprise he came back looking guilty!”

  “Oh, thank you, Lily,” Mary chuckled. “How lucky is that … to meet you in the village shop just when I really needed someone! My mother doesn’t call for help often, but when she does, I have to get over there fast!”

  “I know what you mean; mothers are ignored at our peril! Was she okay?” Lily asked.

  “It sounds so silly to be stuck in one’s own bedroom, but if the handle falls off, that’s what happens!” Mary said laughing.

  “Well, thank God she had a telephone in there,” Lily offered.

  “Yes, I know. I mean, at ninety-two, you can hardly shuffle down the drain pipe, can you!”

  “Your husband is with Oliver, isn’t he?” Lily asked tentatively.

  “Yes, they’re on a trip to France … looking at some furniture, I believe. A friend of Oliver’s bought a place near Paris, and there was a lot of furniture he didn’t want. So he asked them to go over and pick it up. It’s good stuff, mind you; Oliver wouldn’t be looking at tatt, if you know what I mean!”

  “No, quite. You don’t end up living in a place like this, fiddling around at country fairs. How long are they away, Mary? I tried to get an answer out of him the other night, but he seemed very vague.”

  Mary laughed. “That’s Oliver all over! Never gives a direct answer. Even my Mel doesn’t know what’s going on half the time, and he works with him! I’ve given up asking, to be honest. He’s back when he’s back!”

  “Golly, I see. Doesn’t like being tied down.”