by Kiley Dunbar
Mirren pulled away again, smiling. ‘Do you remember that night when we were out walking and you said you’d wait for me?’
‘I do.’
‘I don’t want you to wait for me.’
Adrian’s eyes rounded with sadness but she kept talking.
‘I’m done with waiting. What’s the point in waiting when you’ve met someone you really, really like?’ Mirren leaned in again, this time to kiss his cheek, and Adrian closed his eyes, sighing with relief.
Over in the inglenook Kelsey watched them and nudged Jonathan with a grin. ‘Those two are sorting things out then.’
‘Looks that way. I still owe them both an apology for getting mad. I’ll head over there once Mirren puts Adrian down.’ Jonathan laughed heartily, holding Kelsey’s hand and rubbing his thumb over hers.
‘Are we good?’ he said quietly.
‘Of course we are,’ Kelsey replied and for a moment they were all alone in the bubble again.
‘I’m so proud of you launching the gallery, and how you did it all on your own.’
‘I had your encouragement, and Mirren’s help, and my family were always there cheering me on, and of course, Norma started this whole thing.’
As though she knew she was being talked about, Norma caught Kelsey’s eye across the room and sent her a smiling wink with the knowing air of a fairy godmother.
Kelsey was still smiling when the bar door swung open and someone stepped inside loudly proclaiming about the chilly weather.
‘Who can that be? We’re all here, aren’t we?’ she said. ‘Did the “private party” sign fall off the door, or something?’
Kelsey quailed at the sight of Jonathan’s smile fading.
‘It’s him,’ he stammered weakly.
John Wagstaff had bumbled unware into the party and was making his way towards Kenneth and his usual spot at the bar, taking off his feathered hat and clapping his gloved hands together for warmth.
‘Sack and ale please, Kenneth,’ he called over the noisy chatter.
Over in the corner, Mirren’s head snapped up at this, and she and Adrian threw dazed glances between the old actor and Jonathan, whose only thought was for his mum.
Olivia Hathaway was tightly clasping Art’s arm. She’d recognised her old lover too.
‘Mom, are you OK?’ Jonathan was saying, but she couldn’t reply.
‘Blythe Goode?’ Wagstaff boomed in surprise when he noticed his old co-star. ‘I count myself in nothing else so happy as in a soul remembering my good friends.’ He was already quoting Shakespeare, as was his way, and towering over her.
Blythe was as smart and quick as she always was and hastened him down to her eye level.
Kelsey watched him bend to her and she already knew what Blythe was whispering in his ear.
‘Leave?’ he boomed with a jocular theatricality. ‘I’ve only just arrived! And what a sight for sore eyes you are. Come now, let’s sit, drink and be merry!’
If anything, Blythe’s words had made him even louder and more exaggerated than usual. Everyone at Kelsey’s party was looking at him now. Blythe was shaking her head and muttering about him being an old fool.
Suddenly Jonathan was on his feet, his face a picture of pain and regret. Olivia Hathaway was gripping his wrist and telling him to sit down.
‘It’s OK. I’ll take him outside, talk to him there, tell him a few home truths while I’m at it,’ he said to his mum.
Art, Olivia and Kelsey got to their feet too, just as Jonathan slipped out between the chairs and tapped Wagstaff on the back.
Kenneth, sensing trouble, narrowed his eyes at them from behind the bar, and George and Mildred started up their yapping at the sudden change of atmosphere.
‘Yes, dear boy?’ Wagstaff said, having turned to look at the tall stranger with ice-blue eyes just like his.
Kelsey watched the emotions in Jonathan’s heart play out on his face, his jaw muscles tensing and his eyes pooling with tears even though he was fighting them away.
Mirren and Adrian were now on their feet too and making their way into the scene, casting wary glances at one another.
Jonathan opened his mouth and the old man looked on, his face a picture of innocence and incomprehension. Something moved Wagstaff to look past Jonathan and there he spotted Olivia Hathaway standing by the inglenook, her face frozen in alarm.
‘Good grief!’ he exclaimed. His eyes flicking back to Jonathan’s, the slightest hint of realisation dawning.
That was the moment it happened. Just as Olivia burst into tears and Art shielded her from Wagstaff’s gaze and Jonathan nodded gravely at the old man to confirm that what he was thinking was correct, a bright flash of light from the pub doorway lit up the bar room for a millisecond before the door swung closed again.
Everyone froze and shared looks that asked what the hell was going on. Only Mirren and Adrian moved.
‘It’s all right, we’ll sort it out,’ Mirren mouthed towards Kelsey. The two reporters dashed out the door in pursuit of the paparazzo who had caught the first meeting of the famous father and son actors on camera.
Chapter Forty
‘Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends’
(Henry VI, Part 1)
Their boots beat down upon the wet pavements as they ran, leaping up the kerbs, dodging the couples out on Valentine’s dates.
‘There he is,’ Mirren shouted at the sight of the figure all in black running towards the dark shadows of the churchyard.
Her heart pounded as she ran, gasping great gulps of air to power her along. Adrian kept up with her, never taking his eyes off the man. After only a few moment’s pursuit they realised his pace was slowing and he was struggling to run, holding his side and staggering to a stop against the high theatre gardens wall where the trees blocked the light from the few streetlamps in this part of Stratford’s old town.
Adrian grabbed his collar, forcing him flat against the bricks. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.
‘Nobody,’ the man gasped, keeping his head down. Adrian knocked the black baseball cap from his head and squinted at the pale, wheezing man.
‘Boz, it’s you!’ Adrian said, his tone disgusted. He looked to Mirren. ‘He’s the old photographer from the paper. I thought Ferdinand got rid of you?’
‘He rang out of the blue, an hour or two ago. A “sensitive job”, he called it. I didn’t ask questions. I need the money, Adrian.’
‘Do you know who you were photographing?’
‘Old Wagstaff and his lad, Jonathan something, Ferdinand said.’
‘What did he want with the pictures?’ Mirren asked, wrestling the camera from his hands.
‘Careful with that; that’s my livelihood there,’ he said, a note of terror in his voice.
Adrian forced him harder against the wall, gritting his teeth as he spoke. ‘What did he want with the pictures?’
‘He’s running a story on Friday about the pair of ’em.’
‘I’ve got it. Look.’ Mirren had the picture on the screen; Jonathan and Wagstaff face to face and Olivia weeping behind her son. ‘I’m deleting it.’
‘Please don’t. I need that money. Ferdinand got rid of me in September without a penny of my wages from the summer months, saying he had cash flow problems. But he promised me he has a bundle of cash in an envelope ready for me to collect at the office. I’m to get it tomorrow. I need it or I’ll be homeless by spring. Ferdinand’s no friend of mine, but I need that money. I’m desperate.’
‘Too late, it’s deleted,’ Mirren told him, and he winced.
‘But he still knows about Jonathan and his mum,’ Adrian said to her as though Boz was no longer there. ‘We can stop Ferdinand running the story, but how do we stop Boz’s mouth? He’ll go to the tabloids and break it before Ferdinand can.’
Mirren huffed a deep breath and eyed the photographer. He certainly looked down on his luck. She peered into his face. ‘He’s not bad; just desperate,’ she said. ‘I know what to do. Come with me
.’
It took five minutes to march him to the cash machine where Mirren withdrew all of her money in spite of Adrian’s protesting.
‘Three hundred and seventy quid?’ Boz said, taking the bundle of notes, warm from the machine. ‘That won’t cover my mortgage for three weeks, let alone the three months I owe.’
Adrian rolled his eyes and punched his own card into the machine, clearing out his account. As he was about to hand Boz the money, he hesitated. ‘Give us your mobile first.’
Mirren caught Adrian’s drift and snatched the phone from Boz’s hand. She scrolled for Mr Ferdinand’s number and typed:
Job’s done. You’ll get your pictures first thing tomorrow.
‘That’ll buy us some time to search the Examiner office,’ said Mirren, before leaning close to Boz’s face. ‘Now, if you don’t want us calling the police and telling them you robbed us both at knifepoint by the cash machine, you’d better disappear. You don’t want to add a criminal record to your misfortunes.’
Adrian’s eyes widened as Mirren spoke in the most threateningly Scottish accent she could muster.
‘You won’t hear any more from me, I promise,’ Boz whimpered. Adrian loosened his grip and Boz scuttled off into the dark shouting his apologies over his shoulder as he went. ‘I wouldn’t hurt a fly, but when a man’s desperate he takes what’s offered.’
They watched him retreat.
‘Do you think that’s enough to keep him quiet?’ Mirren asked.
‘Should be, that was nearly four grand he got away with.’
‘Four grand! Jesus!’
They started walking instinctively towards the Examiner offices.
‘I was saving up to take Gran to Spain on holiday to see Dad. Might have been their last chance to spend a summer together,’ he said, sadly.
Mirren circled a hand over his shoulders. ‘Oh, Adrian…’
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s worry about that later. We’ve got a press to stop.’
* * *
The Examiner offices were locked up, dark and quiet. Adrian made sure to slide the bolt on the door once they were inside. ‘That’ll stop Ferdinand sneaking up on us this time,’ he said.
They held hands climbing the stairs in the dark, Mirren lighting the way with her phone.
‘Boz said there was an envelope of cash waiting for him at the office. Do you reckon that was true?’ she asked.
‘I wouldn’t stake my life on it. Boz is a pretty simple guy. He fell for Ferdinand’s lies time and again, always believing he’d get paid in the next quarter, no matter how many times I warned him to cut his losses and leave the old stick insect in the lurch. My guess is Ferdinand was desperate for the picture and cooked up a story about an envelope of cash for poor old Boz, knowing that he was skint.’
They reached Ferdinand’s office door.
‘It’s kind of creepy in here in the dark,’ Adrian said, but Mirren breezed in and flicked the light on.
‘I’ll search his computer, you look for that envelope. You never know, maybe there was cash for Boz. It might repay you some of the holiday money you lost. Uh… Adrian, look at this.’ There on Mr Ferdinand’s desk was his computer and in it’s hard drive was a memory stick. ‘Yours, by any chance?’
‘That’s the one!’
Mirren sat at the computer while Adrian began a search along Ferdinand’s cluttered shelves and inside the cupboard, shoving aside empty crisp packets and piles of yellowing papers as he went. A few moths flitted up from the mess and circled the bare light bulb.
‘Bingo!’ Mirren called after only a moment’s searching through Mr Ferdinand’s computer files. ‘That was easy. He’s even called the file “The Wagstaff Exposé”. What a plum.’
‘He never was the sharpest tool in the box. Should we read it?’
‘Nope.’ Mirren clicked delete.
Adrian was smiling, still rummaging through the cupboard. ‘Mirren, is there a key on that desk?’
She searched for a moment around the furry coffee mugs before bringing up a whole bundle of keys. ‘I’d say every key Ferdinand ever owned was here.’
‘Find the smallest one.’
Mirren rifled through them before singling out a squat silver key and handing it to Adrian who was crouching in front of a small safe.
‘We make a good team,’ he said, as he took it from her.
‘Like Cagney and Lacey?’
‘Or Mulder and Scully,’ he corrected her with a smile.
‘That works too, I guess,’ she shrugged. Adrian worked the key in the safe but when the door sprang open it was empty.
‘Hmm, that’s weird,’ said Mirren. ‘It wasn’t empty when I came for my interview. In fact, Ferdinand was stuffing that thing full of banknotes. He got quite a fright when I disturbed him with it, actually.’
‘Hmm.’ Adrian closed the safe and stood up. ‘No cash for us then, never mind. Grab that memory stick and we’ll go.’
‘Hold on a second,’ said Mirren. ‘While we’re here we should get Kelsey’s money for her. I did promise her ages ago that I’d try.’
‘Well, let’s see. He transfers freelancer payments on that computer. I used to know the log-ins because it was me who paid out the staff expenses, taxis, working lunches, that sort of thing, back in the days when we actually got expenses. But that was ten years ago now.’
‘Worth a shot? I’ve got Kelsey’s bank details here on my phone. It’s how I transfer the rent on my room at the barge to her, but do you think Ferdinand’s changed the log-in details?’
Adrian gave a wry laugh and sat down at the computer, clicking the keys. ‘Do you reckon an old relic like him would still use Ferdinand1 as his banking password after all these years? Oh… we’re in!’
‘You’re kidding!’ Mirren clapped her hands. ‘It’s like we’re in a heist movie!’
They scrolled through the payments onscreen. ‘Look, there’s the last time he paid Boz, the poor bastard, back in March! He worked here for six months after that.’ Adrian shook his head in disgust.
A car rolled by outside, its headlights making the blinds glow yellow. Mirren froze as it passed. ‘OK, add Kelsey’s payment and let’s get out of here. I’m getting nervous now.’
‘Uh…’ Adrian gaped at the screen. ‘Look at this… a series of payments made by Ferdinand to his own personal bank account. A hundred pounds… seven hundred. Christ, there’s one for six grand! There’s even more here, look!’
‘That doesn’t look like petty cash or expenses payments to me,’ said Mirren.
‘No. No it does not. Look, there’s payments coming in from Eagle Media, our parent company. They’re marked, “Staff bonuses”.’
‘And?’
‘They go back seven, no eight, years. I haven’t once had a bonus in all that time. Crafty sod’s been keeping quiet and transferring them to himself.’
‘He’s stealing money from the paper?’
Adrian reached for the phone and dialled. ‘And he’s got away with it by cutting staff down to the bare minimum recently so no one would cotton on to him, by keeping the last of our freelancers hanging on and hungry, and by generally looking as incompetent and disorganised as possible. No wonder we’re going under. And if that empty safe means what I think it means, Mr Ferdinand’s already done a disappearing act with some other source of the paper’s money.’ He snapped his attention to the phone. ‘Stratford police station? It’s Adrian Armadale at the Examiner. I’m reporting the long-term embezzlement of funds by my editor, Clive Ferdinand.’
Epilogue
‘The wheel is come full circle’
(King Lear)
‘I’m not brilliant with heights.’ Kelsey clambered slowly up the ladder, her cameras hanging on their straps around her neck.
‘Get up there, the parade will be starting in a minute,’ Mirren said, slapping her bottom.
Adrian joined Mirren on the street. ‘Good view from up there, Kelse?’
‘S’good thanks,’ she shou
ted down nervously as she turned and sat on the little platform on top. ‘Bit wobbly. I thought you were supposed to be holding the ladder steady, Mirr?’
‘I can hardly take notes if I’m holding a ladder,’ Mirren called back, but Adrian was already supporting the legs and making a thumbs-up at Kelsey and squinting against the April sunshine.
The day of the grand theatrical procession had arrived. The theatre companies had been preparing their costumes and floats for weeks. In less than twenty minutes every theatre company in town was going to set off from the station where a grand old steam train was busy whistling and puffing, recreating the old days between the wars when acting companies arrived by steam and the leading ladies and men in their furs and elegant outfits would be whisked through town in carriages, waving to the people who would make up their audiences that season.
This, however, was to be a walking parade through the centre of town, where the streets were criss-crossed with coloured bunting and theatre flags. The procession would stop when the players reached the theatres on riverside and the actors would walk in through their stage doors to await their last calls as the spectators poured into the auditoria to take their seats, ready for the very first performances of Stratford’s high season.
The streets were already thronging with visitors and locals. Some of the smaller shops had closed so staff could watch the never-before-seen spectacle. Even the gallery barge was closed up so Miranda, Kelsey’s smart and efficient new gallery assistant – and a budding young photographer herself – could join the crowds.
Kelsey had pitched her wooden scaffold at the corner of the High Street where the parade would turn down to the riverside and she had a two hundred yard view of the open street, long since cleared of parked cars and cordoned off to traffic by the police.
On their way here, Adrian and Mirren had recognised the two arresting officers who had come to meet them at the Examiner offices on Valentine’s night before heading to Mr Ferdinand’s house in the old town where they had found him frantically trying to hide the fifty-three thousand pounds in cash he’d embezzled over the years from the paper. It had been the talk of the town at the time, especially since Adrian and Mirren had thwarted Ferdinand’s Wagstaff exposé, replacing his salacious front page story with the tale of Ferdinand’s arrest for misappropriation of newspaper funds.
