by S L Ager
‘We came over a day early to do some shopping,’ he replied, smothered by Claire. ‘On the way, your mum phoned me. Her car’s in the garage, so we came straight here as fast as we could.’
Claire’s dad glanced behind him towards the entrance. A vision of loveliness with legs like a gazelle’s161 entered the hall.
‘Jayne!’ shouted Claire.
She wanted to run up and throw her arms around her, but Jayne looked too perfect to spoil. Her thick blonde hair tumbled down, resting on her shoulders in soft, natural curves. An understated162 cream trouser suit flattered163 her legs as she seemed to glide into the building. Complementing beige164 heels took her to a slender six feet tall.
As easy as a model on a catwalk, Jayne sashayed165 in long, masterful166 strides across the museum, a gorgeous waft of perfume in her wake. Her feline eyes twinkled, smiling at Claire. The schoolchildren who were leaving with Mr Hollie fell quiet as she crossed the hall, and the teacher’s jaw gaped open. One of the teenagers let out a low whistle.
Mr Hollie tutted and muttered, ‘Insufferable167 kids,’ as he gushed a profuse168 apology to Jayne, almost bowing in servitude169 as he spoke. Swooning170, he straightened his tie and turned crimson171.
Jayne had this effect on people. Busy rooms fell quiet, and crowds would part to let her pass, people gawking172 in admiration. She emitted173 a magnetic174 aura175. Claire sometimes wondered why Jayne liked her dad. They were totally different characters, but she was glad Jayne did.
‘Claire, darling,’ Jayne said, clearly upset. ‘Are you OK? What on earth has happened here?’ she asked, hugging her.
Claire inhaled, eager176 to pour out her heart, but then Gwilym stepped forward.
‘Claire, tell your story later,’ he said in a quiet yet insistent voice. ‘When you are home. It’s time to go now.’
‘Oh, OK,’ she responded, abashed177. ‘OK.’
In a slow, deliberate178 manner, Jayne pivoted to face the policeman.
‘Thank you for helping the girls today,’ she acknowledged in a cool, eloquent179 voice. ‘Their father and I very much appreciate your assistance,’ she continued. Polite180 and professional, she smiled broadly, exposing her faultless181 white teeth. Her gaze bore into Gwilym.
Even Gwilym looks dazzled, thought Claire, smiling in his direction.
‘Our pleasure; we’re here to help,’ he replied as professionally as Jayne had.
Claire watched them as they spoke.
Gwilym looks funny, she thought, grinning. All men act funny near Jayne, she giggled to herself.
‘We will contact the parents if we have any more information.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ Jayne replied cordially182, smiling wider. Gracefully she tossed her hair over her shoulder and twirled round on her high heels. ‘Come on, Claire, darling, let’s get you home.’
Jayne wrapped a loving arm around Claire’s shoulder and ushered her towards the exit, where Vince was accompanying Rebecca into the ambulance.
As they left, Claire glanced back from Jayne’s protective embrace183, looking for Gwilym. He stood alone, watching her leave. Searching for answers, her keen184 eyes queried his cryptic185 yet impassive face. He caught her eye and gave her the slightest nod of his head. Her eyes lingered on his, moistening and crinkling into a smile as they did. Swallowing hard, she battled to banish the hideous vision of him shattering into thousands of pieces, then turned and headed out of the museum with Jayne.
13. Exhibition Case 111
Gwilym watched as Claire left the museum’s chaotic exhibition hall, the beautiful woman’s arm wrapped in a protective shield around Claire’s shoulder. He could not help but be beguiled by the unique fragrance1 she left behind her. It left an indelible2 stamp on his senses; he would recognise it anywhere and at any time.
He headed towards the cracked exhibition case and, like any good policeman would, began to investigate the attempted theft. His partner, Owain, had recovered the two young Mal-Instinctive accomplices from the basement, where he had left them earlier, and was striding over to their teacher, a boy grasped in each hand.
‘Are these two with you?’ Owain addressed3 Hollie, who was still flapping and flouncing4 about with incompetence5, ineffectually6 trying to round up his rebellious7 class, who were having a ball8 now.
Mr Hollie blanched9. Flabbergasted10, he stared aghast at the two bedraggled11 boys. The teacher’s mouth opened and closed. His long, spindly12 legs buckled13 like two pieces of spaghetti.
‘How did I ever manage to lose these boys as well?’ he muttered, trying to compose himself 14 and deal with the renegade15 youths. ‘Er … yes, they are,’ he stuttered, fluttering his hands, trying to get his assistant’s attention.
Ever an extrovert16 young woman, Miss Malik smiled at him and waved enthusiastically back.
Attempting to cover his ineptitude17, but failing spectacularly18, Hollie twirled in nervous one-footed circles, busying himself by calling out to his students. He stumbled to a clumsy halt at Owain’s feet, and Owain looked down at him, straight-faced.
‘And you are?’ Owain asked the teacher, an official19 edge to his voice.
‘Walter Hollie, Chorlton High,’ panted the teacher, standing up and sticking out a feminine20 hand.
Owain ignored it and spoke to Hollie. ‘These two were larking21 around in the basement. Up to you what you do with them. I wouldn’t be too lenient22 though,’ he warned.
‘No! Er … no, of course not,’ Mr Hollie replied, wondering if he’d be sacked23, certain he’d be demoted24, his reputation25 now tarnished26.
Owain thrust the two young attackers towards their teacher. The bruising grip, together with the marks it would leave, conveyed an unequivocal27 threat. As he stepped back from the disgraced28 boys, a lingering glare reiterated the stark warning he’d given to them both.
Mr Hollie half bowed before the policeman. ‘Thank you, thank you, sir. I cannot apologise enough for the behaviour of my pupils,’ he stuttered.
He’d noticed nothing of Owain’s physical veiled29 threats to the Mal-Instinctive boys, too distracted by inwardly30 rehearsing31 the speech he would be giving to the headmistress in about an hour. She was one tough lady; he’d have to grovel32. Sweating now and swallowing copiously33, he led the two Mal-Instinctives away, none the wiser as to who, or what, they really were.
From the sidelines, Dave the security guard lumbered34 up to Owain and handed over the decoy boy he’d been holding secure for him.
‘Here’s the other lad for you,’ he informed Owain in an officious35 voice. ‘Thank you, Mr Wise,’ said Owain. ‘Mr Hollie,’ beckoned Owain, detaining36 the third Mal-Instinctive by the scruff of his collar.
Mr Hollie swooned.
Without speaking, Owain thrust the boy towards him.
The teacher promptly37 gripped his third delinquent38 pupil by the arm and whisked him away.
Meanwhile, over by the broken glass case, Felicity approached Gwilym.
‘Sir, Drane is in the ambulance with the girl and her father. We are about to leave. May I clarify39 which hospital is prepared? The usual?’ she asked in discreet tones.
Even in shapeless40 fluorescent work garments41, Felicity’s prettiness shone. ‘Yes. We’ll meet you there, Flic,’ replied Gwilym, using her abbreviated42 name.
The vast exhibition hall had finally been evacuated43 and the alarms switched off. Dopey44 Dave and blundering Bert had slouched off upstairs and were back to normal, stuffing down popcorn and guffawing45 at a movie. After all, the police were in charge now.
Owain approached a solitary Gwilym, who now stood by the cracked case. ‘Sir, I sense your unease and preoccupation46 towards the fledgling47 Instinctive.’
‘I hope she is resourceful48.’ Gwilym frowned as he spoke to Owain. ‘She is faced with such onerous49 adversity50 so soon.’
‘She has already begun to prove herself,’ replied Owain, touching Gwilym’s shoulder. ‘You are weary51, my friend.’
‘Yes, per
haps I am a little tired,’ replied Gwilym as they walked across the hall, approaching Mrs Evans still sitting in the office chair.
‘Marjorie, how are you now?’
‘I am fine now, sir,’ she replied. ‘Do we have any word from Robert?’ Do we know if the Cutter is safe?’ As she spoke, her taut52 skin pulled over her skeletal53 cheekbones and ashen face. Her hollow54 voice faltered to a mere croak, barely audible even in the small office.
Gwilym watched her; she appeared changed, sunken55 with fretfulness56 and fatigue57.
‘Not yet, though no doubt we will soon,’ he responded. ‘You must rest, Marjorie. Close the museum for a while and wait for him. If he contacts us first, we will let you know,’ said Gwilym, encouraging her as he spoke.
‘Yes, sir. Of course, you are right,’ she concurred58.
Concerned, Gwilym watched her get up and hobble59 away, her gait stiff and laborious, but they must leave her.
‘Come, Owain,’ beckoned Gwilym. ‘We still have work to do.’
As the two knights left the museum, a faint crinkle of an echo followed them, its cheerful, melodic60 notes drifting in waves across the empty hall, akin to wind chimes tinkling in unison61 as if pushed by a languid62 summer’s breeze. A smell of fresh lilies swirled upwards, once again filling the air with sweet perfume. Then slowly, one by one, every crack, every split, every fissure in the glass case retraced63 its original tracks with pinpoint64 mathematical precision, until there were none.
Case 111 looked exactly as it had that morning.
14. Luxury in Defeat
Outside the museum, Claire didn’t see the chauffeur1-driven black Bentley glide past them; she was too busy strapping herself into the front of Jayne’s smart four-wheel drive. As her seat belt connected and she glanced outside, she narrowly missed the handsome, stylishly attired man in the back, who scrutinised her through the tinted window. He had misjudged2 her; he wouldn’t make that mistake twice.
He rolled a matchstick-sized object in one hand and held an oblong3 metal box in the other. Fascinated, he studied the Cutter between his fingers. Why had it failed him? Why had the glass not succumbed to its targeted blows? What had that shrewd4, sly5 little knight Evans done to it?
Curious, he checked it from all angles, observing its plain yet bewitching6 form. His eyes flashed but his face matched that of stone. Only the rhythmic tapping of his foot, like the swish of a cat’s vexed7 tail, hinted at his seething irritation. The Knights Hawk had won this round. A seasoned businessman, he’d lost deals before but always found other ways to win. Resilience8 and, of course, ruthlessness9 were the key to success. He had plenty of both.
Holding the unique object with care, he laid it back in the purpose-built box. He paused, before closing the lid and tucking it into the breast pocket of his Savile Row suit.
His long, manicured nail tapped on the opaque glass that separated him from the front. His tap turned the screen transparent10, revealing his female driver. Catching her eye in the rear-view mirror, he nodded once, then tapped the screen again, returning it to privacy11 mode, then reclined12 into the decadent13 opulence14 of plush15 cream leather. He directed his eyes up towards the extravagant16 vehicle’s leather-trimmed roof and gesticulated17 his hand in a dismissive wave. A screen made from ultra-thin graphene glided down, halting at eye level. Columns18 of rapid figures flickered, shifting from red to green then back to red again. His intelligent eyes scanned the ever-changing columns of numbers. He absorbed the fast-changing digits, computing each meaningful and consequential19 detail with ease. He swiped at the air with his finger, flipping the view. More rows flickered in different time zones20; his gaze followed the erratic21 changes of this morning’s financial22 markets. Satisfied, he gestured again, and the graphene screen retracted.
It would be a long journey, time to ponder23 his next move. He signalled into the air again. The rapturous24 piano notes of Rachmaninoff’s Concerto25 Number Two in C Minor26 filtered27 with unobtrusive28 clarity into the Bentley’s ostentatious29 back seat. The sound quality sublime30 and orchestral31.
Goosebumps prickled his arms. Rarely affected by emotions, he was moved by this music. He unwound32, resting his head back and inhaling the fine-smelling leather of his exorbitant33 yet tasteful customised34 car. I must allow more leisure35 time, he reprimanded36 himself. Perhaps a yacht37, he thought.
He lifted a heavy glass up towards the light, inspecting the rising amber38 bubbles. He popped his minute thermometer39 into the top of his champagne flute40. The digital reader displayed the extortionate41 beverage’s42 exact temperature.
Obsessive43 attention to detail was one of his key attributes44; he prided himself on precision and accuracy – some may even call him eccentric45. Smiling, he loosened his tie and savoured a liberal46 sip of perfectly chilled vintage47 champagne. Uninterrupted and absorbing the divine music, he quashed his anger, closed his eyes and enjoyed the luxuriant48 ride home.
15. Sticking to the Story
Unaware the Master’s Bentley had just glided past her window, Claire, sighing with exhaustion and relief, melted into the sumptuous1 front passenger seat of Jayne’s car.
The spacious interior2 smelled of leather and Jayne’s arresting3 yet irresistible perfume. Gadgets4 to do this, switches to do that. Heated seats and a talking computer that phoned people if you asked it to. Claire was used to squashing into her mum’s battered old banger5 – and that was when it started.
What’s my mum going to say about school? she thought as reality shattered her reverie.
Her mum drove her mad sometimes, yet Claire realised how tough juggling three kids and a full-time job must be as a single parent. Despite how different her mum was from Jayne, she appreciated how she kept things afloat6, and she knew for sure her mum would never leave them. Dee’s own childhood had been dire7, and she had always vowed8 not to repeat the same mistakes, no matter how dreadful things got for her.
‘How are you feeling, darling?’ asked Jayne, keeping her eyes on the road.
‘Worried about Mum; she’s gonna flip. I know she can be a bit of an airhead9, but she’s so against us missing school she’ll freak,’ answered Claire.
‘I’m sure she won’t,’ replied Jayne. ‘Not when she realises why you did it, and not when she hears what you actually did. You’re a bona fide10 heroine, my darling.’ Jayne glanced over, smiling.
Claire blushed, brushing off the compliment11, although she had no idea what bona fide meant. Her confidence from earlier had all but seeped away – it all felt such a fantasy12. She knew it was a complete cliché13, yet it did feel like a dream. But it had happened; she had even made some of it happen. Miles away, she caught Jayne examining her.
‘What happened to you and Rebecca today?’ asked Jayne, turning her head back to the road. ‘You gave your dad such a shock.’
‘I know,’ replied Claire. ‘I’m scared of what he’s gonna say too,’ she added. ‘Will you have a word with him for me, please?’ she begged, blinking at Jayne with puppy-dog eyes.
‘Of course,’ replied Jayne, flicking on the indicator14. ‘I’m sure he’ll show you mercy15,’ she laughed. ‘You can tell me what happened today. I won’t be judgemental16.’
Claire longed to tell Jayne everything; she trusted her, but she also remembered Gwilym’s face when he’d stopped her from telling Jayne at the museum. His attitude had struck her as odd, one she’d struggled to read. She’d decided there and then to discuss today only with members of the Knights Hawk, but she wondered if she’d ever see Gwilym and Owain again or whether Gladys was back at home with Jack and Thomas. But how could she keep this from Ben? It would be so difficult – yet she’d have to.
‘So, what happened?’ asked Jayne again, encouraging Claire to talk, when the phone rang. Her dad’s number flashed up on the screen.
‘It’s Dad!’ squealed Claire. ‘Can I talk to him on your hands-free?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ answered Jayne.
‘Claire, it’s Dad he
re. Are you OK, love?’ he asked, sounding strained.
‘Yeah, I’m fine Dad. I’m really, really sorry for not going to school. You’re not too mad, are you?’ she blurted.
‘Mad? No! I’m just glad you’re both OK,’ he replied. ‘And anyway, you missed school to go to a history museum, Claire,’ he laughed. ‘Don’t EVER do it again though,’ he added.
‘Phew! Sorry, Dad, honestly I am,’ she said sincerely17.
Vince’s voice lifted. ‘Jayne?’
‘Yes, darling?’
‘Dee’s at home, distraught18. Could you drop Claire there, please? Rebecca’s going to be fine; she’ll need lots of fluid and rest. There is some justice19 though; the police have arrested that revolting20 boy Drane.’
‘Yes, of course, no problem,’ replied Jayne. ‘I’ll drop her off; then I’ll text you.’
‘Great, see you in a bit, then.’
‘Bye, Dad,’ Claire shouted.
They were almost home; Chorlton wasn’t far from town, though the rush hour commuters congested21 the roads into an irritating gridlock22. Claire peered through the window, finding some solace23 in Drane’s arrest, and trying to make sense of the day. Too tired and hungry to think coherently24, she tipped her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.
‘Penny for those thoughts?’ Jayne asked, nudging Claire’s arm as they sat in traffic.
‘I’m thinking of school on Monday,’ she answered. ‘I hope they don’t expel25 me.’ Horrified at the thought, she turned an anguished face towards Jayne.
‘Of course they won’t. You’re hardly a serial26 offender27, and it’s a history museum, not a nightclub. Still, I guess you’re liable28 to be in some trouble,’ she added, throwing Claire a rueful29 glance.
In truth, Claire wasn’t concerned about school; it paled30 into insignificance right now. That image of Gwilym turning emerald and shattering as that woman had plucked the gem from the gold dominated her thoughts.