The Mask of Destiny

by Richard Newsome

  The old man gazed down at Gerald, malice in his eyes.

  ‘You don’t scare me,’ Gerald said, as convincingly as he could. ‘They’ll find you guilty.’

  ‘Do you think so? I rather fancy I’ll be dining at Simpson’s in the Strand before the week is out.’

  Gerald stared at Green in defiance, while trying to stop his knees from wobbling. ‘Nasty cold you’ve picked up,’ Gerald said. ‘Bit chilly down in the cells, is it?’

  Green cleared his throat and coughed lightly into a handkerchief. ‘Yes, I suppose I am a little rough. The conditions here aren’t quite what I’m used to. Perfectly frightful.’

  Green swatted at something on his neck. ‘And to top it off, blasted mosquitoes,’ he said. ‘Nothing worse than an irksome pest that won’t go away.’ He inspected his fingers, then sprinkled the debris over Gerald’s head. ‘Still,’ Green’s voice narrowed to a flint-like sharpness, ‘so much more satisfying when you catch them…and kill them.’

  Two policemen appeared from the crush behind Green. Hands slapped onto his shoulders and he was hauled back through the crowd towards the courtroom door. Sir Mason didn’t take his eyes off Gerald the entire way.

  ‘Gerald, are you all right?’ Ruby took him by the elbow and spun him around. Gerald sucked in a lungful of air. He hadn’t realised that he’d stopped breathing.

  Mr Prisk appeared on his other side. ‘That is well out of order,’ he said. ‘Sir Mason shouldn’t be talking to witnesses. What did he say to you, Gerald?’

  Gerald tightened his jaw. ‘It was nothing,’ he said, a little too loudly. ‘Can we just go inside?’

  By the time they were back in their chairs, Sir Mason Green was once again seated in the witness box. Gerald ignored Ruby’s whispered questions and tried to concentrate on what was going on. Green gazed out across the courtroom, straight at Gerald.

  The prosecuting counsel resumed his battle. ‘Sir Mason, let us turn to the theft of the Noor Jehan diamond,’ Mr Callaghan said. ‘You have told the court that you spent the evening in question at the opera. That is correct?’

  There was a long silence. Green did not respond.

  ‘Sir Mason?’

  Every eye in the court turned to the figure seated in the witness box. Green stared at Gerald, unblinking.

  Total silence.

  The judge shifted in his chair. ‘The accused will answer the question.’

  Nothing.

  The clerk of the court stood up from his desk; his chair scraped across the floorboards. He approached the stand and peered up at the man seated there.

  ‘Sir Mason?’ he said. ‘Are you all right?’

  After a second, the clerk’s face went pale. He turned to the judge.

  ‘I—I think he’s dead!’

  Chapter 3

  Bedlam. The courtroom erupted.

  Reporters rushed from the press gallery, sending chairs tumbling as they made a dash for the door, stabbing at their mobile phones as they went. The usher bustled the jury out through a side exit; some jurors were on the verge of tears.

  The defence counsel and his team surrounded the witness box, all talking at once. The judge and the Crown prosecutor were at the bench, heads together in a hushed conference. Beneath them, all was confusion. A police constable cleared a path for a paramedic carrying resuscitation equipment. Somewhere in the tangle of bodies, the accused was lying on the floor. Court staff tried to clear the public gallery. People were standing. But no one was leaving.

  The only person still in his seat was Gerald Wilkins.

  Sir Mason Green was dead?

  Sir Mason Green—threat, presence, shadow—dead?

  Someone was pulling on Gerald’s arm, tugging hard on his sleeve.

  ‘Gerald! Did you hear that?’

  Ruby’s voice penetrated the fog that had smothered his brain. Gerald was suddenly aware of the clamour around him. The judge was on his feet, leaning over the side of the bench.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he was saying to the clerk.

  The clerk looked back at the judge, ashen-faced. ‘I think it’s his heart.’ The paramedic emerged from the scrum around the witness box. He was shaking his head.

  ‘You’re safe, Gerald!’ Ruby was shouting in his ear, barely able to contain herself. Her eyes shone. ‘He can’t get you now!’

  Sam appeared at his other arm and pulled him to his feet. He punched him on the shoulder again and again.

  Gerald looked at his friends as if he’d never seen them before. Who was this pretty girl holding him so tight, tears rolling down her cheeks? And why was this boy thumping him on the arm? Again and again? Why were they jumping up and down, pulling him into this strange celebration dance? The world had switched to slow motion. All was mayhem—a muffled stage play where the actors were continuing their parts even though the curtain had fallen.

  Gerald looked at his mother. At the end of the row, Vi was staring into a pocket mirror and reapplying her lipstick. Satisfied with the result, she dropped her make-up into her handbag and snapped it shut. With it, Gerald’s world jolted back to normal.

  ‘Well, that opens up the afternoon,’ Vi said. ‘Time for a decent cup of tea.’

  For Gerald, the days following the death of Sir Mason Green went past in a blur.

  Constable Lethbridge and his colleagues returned to normal duties, being no longer required to guard Gerald in his home. The media frenzy subsided as other news events sprouted and blossomed. There was an obituary in The Times, naturally. A full page. It went into great detail about Sir Mason’s long and respected business career, his generosity and the many charitable committees on which he served. The only mention the article made of the murder trial was about some ‘unproved allegations from a nouveau-riche Australian which failed to sully the reputation of a truly great Englishman’. Ruby was outraged—‘those stupid, pig-ignorant, ill-informed, melon-headed…’—but Gerald didn’t care what the papers said about him. Sir Mason Green was gone. That was all that mattered.

  A flurry of activity overtook life in the Chelsea townhouse. Gerald’s mother, even busier than usual, was organising a party. ‘There’s no use having a ballroom if you don’t use it,’ Vi said to Gerald. ‘Now that your father and I have returned to London, it’s the perfect opportunity to make our presence felt.’ Invitations had gone out. More than two hundred guests were expected. Decorations had been ordered, flowers arranged, menus planned.

  In the days leading up to the big night, Gerald’s father did his best to keep out of the way, spending most of the time at the cricket at Lord’s. Gerald was keen to follow his father’s example. So when the telephone rang the morning of the party and it was Ruby, he was happy to accept any suggestion that would get him out of the house. Even—

  ‘Shopping?’ Gerald said.

  ‘You’ve got something better to do?’ Ruby asked.

  Gerald looked at his mother. She and Mr Fry were going over the dinner plans. A sheaf of menus and seating charts covered the kitchen table. From the expression on Vi’s face, she could have been planning the invasion of Europe.

  ‘Where do you want to meet?’ Gerald said into the phone. ‘And can we make it really, really soon?’

  Oxford Street was alive with shoppers. The late summer that had warmed London that year was still bringing smiles to the city’s inhabitants, and they were making the most of the final days before the first chill winds of autumn blew in.

  At the back of a restaurant, on a side street away from the colourful shopfronts and the crowds, Gerald, Sam and Ruby sat in a booth. A mountain of shopping bags lay at their feet. After hours of shopping and planning, they were exhausted.

  The remnants of a meal of burgers, chips and milkshakes were spread across the table. Sam belched. ‘Not up to Mrs Rutherford’s standards,’ he said, rubbing his belly, ‘but it filled a hole.’ He let out a satisfied sigh.

  Ruby turned to Gerald. ‘I think it’s a brilliant idea—a week camping in the Lake District sounds perfect. I’ll
ask our parents, but I’m sure we’ll be able to come.’

  Gerald nudged his foot against the pile of shopping bags under the table. ‘You better come,’ he said. ‘Or I’ve just bought a tonne of camping gear for nothing.’

  Sam groaned. ‘I can’t believe we have to go back to school so soon. This holiday’s flown by.’

  ‘Have your parents decided about school for you yet, Gerald?’ Ruby asked. ‘Are you going back to Sydney?’

  ‘They’re talking about boarding school,’ Gerald said. ‘But until they make up their minds, I’m on holiday.’

  In fact, life for Gerald without the spectre of Sir Mason Green hovering over him was looking pretty good. He’d already placed an order for a customised snowboard and had convinced his mother to fly his friend Ox over from Sydney for a snow holiday the following January. ‘I’m fairly sure Geraldine kept a chalet in Klosters,’ Vi had said. ‘Possibly even two. I’ll ask Mr Prisk—it is so hard to keep up with the details.’ She had clasped Gerald’s face in her hands and given his cheeks an extra tweak. ‘You are my special little man,’ she’d cooed. ‘Walter says we have to take extra special care of you. He says you’re the reinforced slab that I need to build my life upon.’ Gerald wasn’t sure he liked being referred to as a lump of concrete.

  Ruby’s voice broke Gerald out of his daydream. ‘Aren’t you even a little bit curious, Gerald? About the last casket? About why those golden rods had such an effect on you?’

  Gerald stretched his arms wide and yawned. ‘Not even slightly,’ he said. ‘All of that ended the moment Mason Green dropped dead.’

  ‘If it was me, I’d give anything to find out,’ Sam said. ‘Just think: there are two ancient artefacts out there that have some mystical power over you Gerald, and maybe a third one just waiting to be discovered. It was funny enough seeing what one of them did to you. I’d pay money to see what all three would do.’

  Gerald shook his head. ‘Look, it was a fun adventure and I’ve got a couple of nice souvenirs back at the house. But that’s it. A week ago that ruby we found in India and the drawing of where the ruby casket is probably hidden were the most important things in my life. I really wanted to beat Green to that last casket, to ruin his quest. But now?’ Gerald stretched his arms even wider. ‘Now, my biggest worry is what food to pack for our camping trip.’

  ‘I guess so,’ Ruby said. She picked up a French fry and nibbled an end. ‘It’d be nice to know what that gem unlocks though.’

  ‘I bet that’s why Green gave himself up,’ Sam said. ‘To get closer to Gerald so he could steal the ruby.’

  ‘The way Green’s lawyer was going, he would have got off too,’ Gerald said.

  ‘Maybe,’ Sam said. ‘But when Death comes knocking, nothing’s going to turn him away, no matter how much cash you’ve got piled up against the door.’

  Ruby and Gerald both stared at Sam.

  ‘Bit profound for you, isn’t it?’ Ruby said.

  Sam shrugged. ‘Green got what was coming to him. Still, it would be interesting to know what he was looking for.’

  Gerald dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. ‘Whatever it is, it’s been buried for a thousand years or more. It can stay that way.’

  Sam’s eyes flickered towards Ruby, then he gave another shrug. ‘So who’s coming to this party tonight?’ he asked.

  ‘At last count it was a couple of hundred people,’ Gerald said. ‘But Mum’s phoning around to try to boost the numbers. She wants it to be an “event”. And you’ll finally get to meet Walter.’

  ‘Who is this Walter?’ Ruby asked.

  Gerald closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. ‘Mum’s life coach,’ he said. ‘She brought him back from America. They met at some party at Martha’s Vineyard. He’s supposed to help her achieve her full potential, or something.’

  ‘How does he do that?’ Sam said.

  ‘He’s putting her through some course that’s meant to make her vibrant and fresh and happy.’

  ‘She’s sitting on a fortune worth twenty billion pounds,’ Sam said. ‘What’s not to be happy about?’

  ‘Ah, but it’s not her money,’ Ruby said. ‘All the money was left to Gerald—his parents are just looking after it till he turns eighteen.’

  ‘That’s another five years,’ Sam said. ‘That’s forever. Plenty of time for her to play at being a gazillionaire.’

  ‘Sam!’ Ruby frowned at her brother. ‘Don’t be so rude.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ said Gerald. ‘One thing I’ve learned from Walter is that sometimes you’ve got to take what comes. You can’t control everything that happens to you.’

  ‘Really?’ Ruby said. ‘So nothing is certain?’

  Gerald cringed. Ever since his last day of school back in Sydney, the phrase ‘Nothing is certain’ had been popping up all over the place.

  ‘Very funny,’ Gerald said, as Ruby and Sam burst out laughing. ‘All I’m saying is if the fates have it in for you, there’s not much you can do to change things.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Ruby said.

  Gerald looked at her, surprised. ‘You don’t think so?’

  ‘Think has nothing to do with it,’ Ruby said. ‘I know so. And I’ll show you.’ Ruby stood and took Gerald’s hand. She dragged him over to a round table in the middle of the restaurant.

  ‘What’s this supposed to prove?’ Gerald asked.

  ‘Just shut up and follow me, okay?’ Ruby tugged on his hand and led him twice around the table, then back to the booth. She plopped down next to Sam with a look of accomplishment on her face.

  ‘So?’ Gerald said. ‘What’s a guided tour of the restaurant meant to show me?’

  Ruby leaned forward and said in a low voice, ‘Your life is now forever changed.’

  Gerald started laughing. ‘What are you talking about? How can two laps of a table change my life?’

  ‘Chaos,’ Ruby said.

  ‘Chaos?’

  ‘It’s chaos theory. If we hadn’t walked round that table we might have left this restaurant by now. For the rest of your life you are going to be a minute behind where you would have been. Every interaction you have with the world from now on—the things you see, the people you meet—will be different because of that little walk. And all the people you meet: their lives will be different too, even if only just the tiniest bit. The same goes for the people they meet, and so on—like ripples spreading on a pond.’

  Gerald wasn’t convinced. ‘So life is just one coincidence after another? There’s no grand plan?’

  ‘I’m the coincidence queen, Gerald,’ Ruby said with a wink. ‘You can trust me.’

  Sam picked at his teeth. ‘Well, it’s no coincidence that this conversation is boring. We get to meet Walter tonight. Terrific. Anything actually exciting going to happen, Gerald?’

  A shadow passed over Gerald’s face. ‘Two things,’ he said. ‘And I can’t bear thinking about them.’

  Chapter 4

  Vi was still fussing over seating plans for the party when Gerald walked through the front door, weighed down with shopping bags.

  ‘I’m not sure the archbishop should be sitting next to Lady Carstairs,’ Vi said to Eddie. ‘Not if the gossip magazines are to be believed.’

  ‘Why don’t you move the bishop?’ Eddie said. ‘Stick him next to Walter.’ Then, under his breath, he mumbled, ‘That ought to shut him up for a bit.’

  Vi bristled and straightened in her chair. ‘I will not have you white-anting Walter.’ She grabbed up her handbag from under the table and pulled out a key ring. She jangled five golden keys in Eddie’s face. ‘See this? I am only three away from graduating from the Drawing Room of Indifference to the Library of Absolute Insight on the fourth floor,’ she said. ‘The fourth floor, Eddie! No one in Walter’s course has ever got that far. He says I’m gifted.’

  Eddie snorted. ‘A gift, more like.’

  ‘What was that?’ Vi skewered her husband with a rapier stare. ‘You know what’s in the Library of Absolu
te Insight, don’t you?’

  Eddie emitted a weary sigh. ‘The Chalice of Inner Stability?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Vi said. ‘The Chalice of Inner Stability. Walter says it is essential for my core structural strength. And from there it’s a mere eleven storeys until I reach the Attic of Ultimate Fulfilment.’ Vi’s face flushed at the thought if it. ‘I’m the best student he’s ever had.’

  ‘For what he’s getting paid,’ Eddie said, ‘you’re the only student he’ll ever need.’

  Gerald knew when to make himself scarce. He reached the lift just as his mother exploded.

  From the tall window in his bedroom, Gerald gazed out at the line of chimney pots that ran the length of the rooftops opposite. He had a sweeping view of the rear lane and the chain of luxury terraced houses across from his own. Not a roof slate was out of place. Window boxes were carefully tended, blooms of red and yellow dotting the upper levels. Two houses down, a man in a dark suit and parade-gloss shoes swept leaves from a driveway out into the cobbled lane. Gerald watched as the man bent down to run a thumb across the toe of his right shoe, wiping away some smudge or speck of dirt. The man inspected the spotless driveway and retreated behind automatic gates as they swung closed, sealing off the outside world.

  ‘Imagine being trapped in a life like that,’ Gerald thought. ‘What a drudge.’ Then he looked down to discover Mr Fry, broom in hand, ejecting a pile of leaves from his driveway. The butler surveyed the result and, with a nod of satisfaction at a job well done, wandered back towards the kitchen door. He paused by the Rolls Royce parked in the drive. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he dusted it across the silver bonnet ornament, then disappeared into the house.

  Gerald shook his head. ‘Just imagine…’

  He sat on the edge of his mattress and drummed his fingers on the bedside table. He had promised himself that he would stop thinking about it; stop wondering about its meaning. He knew he had to keep it out of his mind. But…