“Sure, no problem, darling … you’ve earned it,” she said affectionately. “You’re gonna rest today. See you later. Oh, help yourself to antiseptic creams and stuff in my bag. Some of those cuts look nasty.”
She slumped back in a chair and waited until Tarquin reappeared with Percy. Then they went out onto the street and took a left towards the square. Constanta threaded her arm through Tarquin’s.
“Poor fellow looks in quite a bad way. That house really gave him hell … and as for jumping into that yew tree …”
“Yes, he could have lost an eye … just imagine how we’d have felt,” she said.
“He probably should have waited till they went to bed and then just climbed out of the window,” Tarquin said.
“Sounds simple, darling, but he had no torch, he’d been whacked on the head by a piece of wood, he had no idea how long he would have to wait, he was starving hungry, and he was worried about us! I think he was getting scared as well … he wanted to get out!”
“Yuh, guess you’re right. I was forgetting he was in the dark … can’t have been easy.”
“Hey! It’s all happening here,” she said, as they entered the square and were suddenly being jostled by shoals of excited children. “C’mon, old man, let’s take a ride on those horses!” she said, suddenly speeding up.
“Carrousel de Tempes Modernes,” Tarquin muttered, looking at the sign on the gaudy merry-go-round as it careered around with its shrieking occupants. A pair of painted horses swung into view, followed by a balloon and basket, a tram, a tea cup, and a particularly luxurious curved chair with rich gold carving.
“Come on, Tarquin. Let’s get on the next ride!” Constanta said, scooping up Percy as the carousel came to a halt. She jumped into the red padded interior of the golden chair, “Hurry!”
Tarquin climbed in hesitantly, his large hand gripping the curved roof which curled over them like a seashell.
“Cheer up, darling. This thing won’t eat you!” she said, wriggling close to him and gripping an overexcited Percy.
A long-haired attendant with a bulging leather pouch, like a sporran, appeared in front of them. Tarquin handed him some coins.
Suddenly they were off. The children shrieked and Constanta yelled out as well, as the grand buildings of the square revolved around them, making Tarquin feel both dizzy and exhilarated. He wasn’t used to spontaneous bursts of enthusiasm and settled his face into a fixed grin, which after several more revolutions evolved into a grimace.
“Loosen up, for Christ’s sake, Tarquin, and kiss me,” she demanded.
He was pondering as to how passionate this kiss should be, when the carrousel slowed down and stopped. He made to get up but she stopped him.
“Where are you going? I said I want a kiss.”
“Oh … sorry,” he said sheepishly.
He leant towards her and gave her his best tender (but in a public place) kiss, and made sure not to hurry. Suddenly there was a whistling behind him and the man with the pouch was back, looking surly.
“Fuck him,” she whispered as she pulled the back of Tarquin’s head towards her more forcefully, before releasing him. Tarquin clambered out and thanked the man, whilst wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. The attendant regarded him with mild disgust.
They moved across the square to an older-looking building, one that seemed to hold authority over the others—probably the town hall. It was baroque looking, heavy and stained by the onslaught of centuries. There was a distinct, carved inscription above the arched, blue doors. Tarquin moved closer, squinting.
“UNITe INDIVISIBILITE DE LA REPUBLIQUE, LIBERTE, EGALITE, FRATERNITE, OU LA MORT”
“Does that say ‘death’ at the end, Tarquin?” Constanta said at his shoulder.
“Yes … yes it does. The revolution was a very bloody business,” he said, staring up.
“But of course you know all about that … you had your own,” he added.
“True … sometimes the people at the top take the piss. Fancy a coffee … there’s a café over there and I could kill a hot chocolate,” she said, moving off, pulled by a snuffling Percy. Tarquin caught her up.
“Tarquin,” she said slipping her arm through his.
“Yuh?” he said, turning to look at her.
“I wondered if … if we could go home via Paris? You know … spend a night there on the way back. I just really always wanted to see Paris.”
“You mean all those wonderful shops in Paris, darling!” he said with a small snort, aware he’d suddenly addressed her differently.
“No!” she wriggled against him like a puppy. “The Eiffel tower … Notre Dame.”
“The Palace of Versailles,” he interjected.
“Yes, the Palace of Versace … Chanel … Hermes …,” she said giggling.
They both erupted in laughter and he slapped her playfully on the shoulders.
“Not so hard, you clumsy ape!” she said with a sharp frown. “I’m not one of your public school boyfriends.”
* * *
Oliver came into the kitchen to see Fabien studying a map of the house and garden, spread out on the table.
“Morning, Oliver!” he said, rising. “Coffee?”
“Morning, Fabien. Sorry, seemed to have slept in again. I find this house increasingly relaxing,” Oliver said.
“No bad dreams this time?” Fabien said.
“No, not last night; slept like a baby. Must admit, I feel slightly thick in the head though … how many bottles did we get through?”
“Two—and a ’alf! Not too bad, eh … between three?” Fabien said with a chortle.
“Well … erm …. it wasn’t really between three, was it. Mel hardly drank very much and you’re fairly sensible, so it follows that I’m the culprit!” Oliver said with an embarrassed chuckle. “If you will play jaunty tunes on the piano, what do you expect!”
“Come on! You’re on ’oliday!” Fabien said heartily. “’Ow about some eggs and bacon?”
Oliver hesitated.
“Erm … okay. Bloody good idea! Love some. It’s the only cure,” he said, slumping down at the table. “What’s this?” he said, gazing at the drawings. “Doing something for Cecile at long last?”
“Well … I’ve got to give some thought to the garden, or I’ll be in the dog ’ouse, as you English say!” he said, folding the map. “Would you like to come and see the ‘Folly’ after breakfast? I’m having it repaired, if I can … it was once beautiful … a place my grandmother adored when she was young. It ’as a similarity to Le Temple de L’Amour at Versailles … a smaller, simpler version. Do you know it?”
“No, I can’t say I do, Fabien … would be intrigued,” Oliver said, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. “Is Melvyn upstairs already?”
“He went to the garret hours ago, before I got up. There was no sign of ’im down here, so I went up and there he was. Felt he didn’t really want me around, though, so I came back down,” Fabien said, taking a packet of bacon from the fridge.
Oliver chuckled.
“I can imagine! It’s the one time when Mel really wants to be alone. You can sort of see his point. He’s really concentrating up there.”
“Ah … it’s not a problem. I appreciate his talent … his expertise. He ’as to get it absolutely perfect.”
“We’ll have to help him move the chest into place, of course, but I doubt that’s for a while yet,” Oliver said. “Oh, by the way, I was thinking we’d leave tomorrow, early afternoon, and catch a night ferry across again. Is that okay?”
“Sure, no problem, that means there’s no rush.”
After breakfast, and after Oliver had made a short trip upstairs to see Melvyn, he and Fabien stepped from the musty air of the chateau into the bright sunshine. In a split second he was engulfed by a strange new mood, as an elixir of divine fragrances wafted up his nostrils. Huge expanses of flower-strewn meadows stretched out to the south, swirling around the bases of the stately beeches, and between the isla
nds of colourful shrubs. To the west, a line of poplars guarded the way to Troyes.
The air throbbed with the low hum of countless flying insects … insanely busy, crisscrossing each other’s flight paths in chaotic synchronicity. The sun warmed the back of his neck as he followed Fabien through the knee-high grass, and for a few inexplicable moments, the high excitement surrounding the cabinet dissolved into a feeling of intense emptiness. It was as though the raw beauty of the garden was imposing its own values and perspectives on him, and subtly undermining the trivial focus of his ambitions.
Presently they emerged from a cluster of tall shrubs and were confronted by a sort of miniature temple, with a semicircle of Greek columns.
“Voila!” Fabien said with a flourish.
“Golly. this is a find,” Oliver said in awe, gazing up at the columns.
“This is my ’idden mistress!” Fabien said grinning.
“You mean Cecile doesn’t know about this?” Oliver said, perplexed.
“Of course she knows. She knows the garden much better than me,” he said. “What I mean is that I’m going to get this renovated and made into a real folly where Cecile can come and read and …”
“Write poetry?” Oliver said with a smile.
“Exactly! Where she can write love poems to me!” the young man said with a chuckle.
“Lovely idea, Fabien. It’s an elegant little building, but it needs its roof repaired.”
“Of course. Come on, let’s take a closer look,” he said enthusiastically.
They made their way over and stepped through the columns and onto its cool marble floor.
“The columns are in good condition!”Oliver said, rubbing his hand over the round surfaces like he was caressing the flank of a horse. “Doric, if I remember rightly … but you must get this ivy out of the way. It’s terrible for stone surfaces; you don’t want to let them get too pitted.”
“I know. Bernard will deal with that. As I mentioned, it’s like a small copy of the one at Versailles. Also, the one there doesn’t ’ave this weird little room at the back,” Fabien said, pushing an impenetrable cascade of creepers to one side and peering into a dark space. “Perhaps it was one of those ice storage places. There seem to be some steps going down, but with this tree growing across the entrance and the thick undergrowth, I can’t really see.
“It’s dry, as well, thanks to this low roof. I’ve never gone inside … well, it’s impossible as it is; you’d need a chainsaw. And to be honest, when I was a child I remember being told a serpent with six eyes lived ’ere and it’s always made me scared. There’s a pair of slit windows at the top, though, and you get these beautiful shafts of light. It was obviously used for some purpose … but what? A changing room for musicians?”
“Hmm, wouldn’t know about that,” Oliver said, staring at the semicircular floor. “I love it. It’s quirky. I’m sure the historical records in Troyes will tell you. Can you see it from the house, or do those shrubs hide it?”
“In the winter you can make out the roof and the tops of four columns, but at this time of year, no chance. Cecile will be so happy if I get this done; it looks terribly neglected.”
“You have a lot on your plate, Fabien,” Oliver said, stepping back through the columns. “One thing at a time. Get the windows and roof sorted out in the main house first, and then you can consider the way forward.”
“True. The only problem is that we can’t touch the main ’ouse for a year, as you know. We can’t have tradesmen climbing around in the place until the chest has been discovered.”
“Well, that’s right … it’s out of the question. I guess you’re just going to have to hold back on all major activity here until that time,” Oliver conceded.
“Oliver, I can wait! It just makes me so ’appy to be able to repair this whole place. It’s a dream beyond anything I ever thought possible!” the young Frenchman said with passion.
“You’re a talented young man, Fabien. It’s time your true worth was rewarded,” Oliver said with a small smile. “Let’s hope and pray our project doesn’t hit any glitches.”
Back in the house, Oliver went up to join Melvyn whilst Fabien put a call through to Cecile.
“How’s she coming along, Mel?” Oliver said breathlessly at the top of the stairs.
“Good timing, Oliver. We’re ready to take it through to its resting place,” Melvyn said, standing up and stretching himself. “Bloody hell, that took it out of me, Feel exhausted! The part that really hurts is powdering the blooming cabinet.”
“Sorry, Mel?” Oliver said, lifting his brows.
“Powdering the cabinet. You know … blowing dust on the appropriate surfaces to age it. It’s been in there for two hundred years, don’t forget, so it’s going to have grown a coat of dust particles, that’s for sure. Even popped a few spiders in there for good measure!”
“What will they eat, Mel? No flies can get in, can they?” Oliver said, genuinely concerned.
“Oh yeah. There are cracks here and there, for sure. Besides, they quite enjoy eating each other when times are hard,” Melvyn said without humour. “I want loads of webs in there.”
“Good God!” Oliver said, patting his shoulder lightly. “Are you quite certain there’s nothing you could have overlooked?” he said, giving Melvyn a searching look.
“Like what?” Melvyn said.
“Look, I’m sure not,” Oliver said quickly. “Just want it to be one hundred percent, that’s all. But you’ve never let me down before, so I’m sure it’s fine. Come down and have some tea and a break, even lunch, if you want; you must be famished.”
“I am, to be honest,” Melvyn said with a sigh. “Would you help take some of these bits down, like the crate and panels?”
“Absolutely. It’s all going to be burnt; well, apart from the fake panels, of course,” Oliver said, picking up a bundle. “They’ll be useful in the future.”
“Blooming right there, Oliver,” Melvyn said, picking some pieces up.
“Fabien’s cleared a spot at the back of the house for the fire, so I think we’ll get on and do that whilst you’re having a break,” Oliver said, leading the way downstairs. “We’ve been looking at the folly in the garden … very elegant little building.”
“Oh?” Melvyn said absently.
“I’ll take you over to look at it before we go. You’ll probably find it rather interesting,” Oliver said.
“Good, I’d like that,” Melvyn said, brushing some dust from his trousers.
“Oh, by the way, Mel, we’re going to head home early afternoon tomorrow. Does that suit?”
“Yep, that’s fine.”
“Bernard and his wife are arriving on Wednesday afternoon and will be taking up residence in the rooms at the back of the house; you know, along that passage by the kitchen and up those stairs. Cecile has made it as nice as possible. They’re going to be responsible for housekeeping and all sorts of other duties around the house until Fabien moves in,” Oliver said.
“And gardening. I think Fabien mentioned that Bernard was very keen on his plants.”
“Yes. I think you’re right. The main thing, Mel, is that there are people here to look after the place when Fabien and Cecile can’t be here. We can’t have the cabinet here without some protection. He’s got a pet carpenter to come over to put up a temporary partition over the entrance to the garret on Tuesday; you know, at the bottom of the staircase. He and his son have done quite a bit of work in the house already, apparently, and know the ropes. I think Fabien’s told them that there may well be children running around; you know, Cecile’s nephews and nieces or something along those lines. Just to give some reason for blocking it off.”
“Good. He’s got it all worked out, hasn’t he!” Melvyn said with a chortle. “But he’d better be careful that this carpenter doesn’t go snooping around up there before it’s closed off. The cabinet will be at its most conspicuous at the beginning … you know, before the spiders weave their magic and blend it into
the surroundings.”
“Very true, but he has already told them that they’re forbidden to go up there, because the floors are very weak; he’s also going to put on some old clothes and do some clearing, until the route is blocked. They probably won’t want him there, but it means he can keep an eye on them.”
“Good. That makes me feel a bit easier,” Melvyn said.
“Yuh, we’ve both given it a lot of thought, to be frank. Besides, the carpenter has a load of other work, apparently, and won’t want to hang around. And Bernard’s got a couple of those big farm dogs, so the place will be well protected.”
“Fantastic!” Melvyn said with approval.
They wandered into the kitchen, and Melvyn made a beeline for the kettle.
“Right. I’ll let you help yourself,” Oliver said. “I’m going back upstairs to get the rest of the stuff, and you’ll find us out at the back. Just follow the smoke!”
He disappeared out of the door and left Melvyn to yawn in peace.
* * *
Viktor was discussing the aborted trip to Strupe Hall with Zoltan.
“On this occasion, I have to agree with Gus,” he said down the telephone to his son. “I think Oliver will be back soon. The hire vehicle tells me this is a short-term trip. Better we abort a job than take stupid risks. If the woman was suspicious, who knows what could have happened if she contacted police with those idiots in charge.”
“Sure, Father. When Sammy smells trouble, we have to listen.”
“So we wait,” Viktor resumed. “Get them to keep watch on his house in Battersea, and when he returns, we’ll pay him a little visit … simple as that. But not straight away. He’ll be expecting something to happen after that piece of madness on way to Dover, but he won’t know when.”
“Sure thing. The son of a bitch knows we’re hunting him now. Perhaps he’ll come to his mind and call us.”
“Mmm, I’m not so sure. In his mind he won that round,” Viktor said. “We have to wait and see. Whatever that bastard is doing, we’re going to find out. We’re going to make him sing like canary. He’s making shed loads on the back of our ideas, boy, and he’s going to pay a heavy price! How many letters you sent him? Two? And that’s after that phone call, and still he ignores us like we don’t exist!”
The Freiburg Cabinet Page 27
