Max & Olivia Box Set

by Mark A Biggs

  ‘Olivia, I agree, it will be safest for Elinor to stay with us until the end and we need to tell her that she can’t go home. We hide nothing from her but let her ask the questions.’

  ‘Right. On a purely selfish note, she will make it far more challenging for people to recognise us.’

  Having woken from our nap, Olivia and I made our way down to the lounge and waited for Elinor, who arrived minutes later. With the exception of us and the barman, whose name we didn’t know, the lounge was empty.

  ‘What ale do you serve?’ I asked the barman.

  ‘Our most regular ale is the Jail Ale, brewed at Dartmoor Brewery in Princetown. We also have Devon Dew from Summerskills Brewery in Plymton and Honey Bunny from Hunter’s Brewery in Ipplepen.’

  ‘Being that there are three of us and you have three on tap, we shall have one of each. Three pints, if you please.’

  ‘I can’t believe how tired I feel,’ said Elinor.

  ‘That’s not surprising, seeing everything that has happened today,’ I said.

  Sipping the ale, I glanced to check if the barman was still with us, while not making it look obvious. We were alone, so I continued, ‘Elinor, you do realise you can’t go home.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m so sorry we got you into this.’

  ‘I haven’t felt so alive for years. What do we do now?’

  ‘The way I see it,’ said Olivia, ‘we have two choices. We either all go to Mawnan or we split up. Elinor and I could go to Scotland and you go to Mawnan. Once you have found the clue from the cross, you ring us and we will recover Janus. It would save a lot of time and catapult us in front of those people trailing us. Elinor and I would make our way back to England, we’d meet up and together go to Cliff.’

  ‘We don’t know for sure that Janus is in Scotland.’

  ‘Max we both know it’s hidden somewhere in Scotland.’

  ‘Scotland’s a long way to go if you are wrong but, if you are right, it would be playing to our strengths… I could become a decoy.’

  ‘Another pint?’ came Rosie’s cheerful voice from the bar. ‘Will you be eating in the lounge or restaurant tonight?’

  ‘What do you think, ladies?’ I said, trying to hide any hint of surprise in my voice, hoping none of our conversation had been overheard.

  ‘I would like to eat in the lounge and perhaps have a glass of white—anything you have that’s out of a bottle,’ said Olivia.

  ‘Make that two,’ said Elinor.

  ‘Looks like it’s the lounge and I will have another pint of the Jail Ale please.’

  The conversation at our table went oddly silent. Our attempts at small talk, from my perspective, made it more obvious that we were trying to hide something.

  ‘Are you on holiday?’ asked Rosie while bringing the drinks to our table.

  ‘We are,’ replied Olivia. ‘We are on our way to Plymouth. We were in Exeter today and rather than driving straight to Plymouth we thought it would be a nice drive to go via the moors. We are really pleased we did. It was a lovely drive and your pub is really nice.’

  ‘Have you been here before?’

  ‘No, this is our first time,’ said Olivia.

  ‘I don’t mean to be nosy; it’s just that you seem familiar, as if I’ve seen you before.’ When none of us spoke, she continued. ‘Oh well, enjoy your stay and I will bring menus a little later on.’

  When Rosie had left the room Olivia said ‘What a charming lady?

  I replied. ‘And I thought all landladies were brash, brassy and leopard-print wearing!!!’

  Half an hour later we were no longer alone in the lounge. The pub was coming alive with people. Our meeting place was transforming into what it is that makes a traditional English pub. From those from other countries and particularly our experiences in Australia, English pubs are different. There is something magical about a night in the British boozer, they ooze a spirit that welcomes men and women alike. At home we would never dream of going down to the pub, but here it’s the social gathering place and I was looking forward to the evening.

  ‘Staying together or splitting up; that is the question.’ Reaching into my coat pocket I removed a coin and showed it to Olivia. I said, ‘Heads Scotland and tails we stay together.’

  With a flip of the finger, the coin launched towards the ceiling, catching the light as it spun, before falling back to earth and being caught in my hand.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Lostwithiel

  Inspector Axel

  I dialled Scotland Yard on my mobile phone and asked to be put through to Detective Wells.

  ‘It’s Inspector Axel,’ I said.

  ‘Hi,’ came the reply. ‘Did you have a good drive down to Exeter?’

  ‘Yes, it’s an easy and quick run from London.’

  ‘And they were expecting you at the police station?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. They were most helpful. I’m at Elinor Grange’s house now. The Mercedes is here but it’s pretty well smashed up. I’m surprised they made it back. The house looks empty and the back door is wide open. Either they made a very hurried exit or someone else has been here.’

  ‘Have you had a chance to have a look around?’ asked Detective Wells.

  ‘No, I haven’t gone in yet but, as soon as I’ve searched the house, I will call you back, say in thirty minutes.’ Before hanging up I added, ‘Have there been any new sightings of them?’

  ‘No,’ was the response, to which I replied, ‘Okay, I’m sure they will turn up soon; they seem incapable of going anywhere without leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.’

  ‘Be careful,’ were the final words from Detective Wells before hanging up.

  The back door was slightly ajar and, pushing it a little wider, I entered and sought the light switch.

  The kitchen was tidy and showed no signs of a hurried exit, although some of the drawers and cupboards were open. Nothing looked obviously out of place but it was almost as if someone had been looking through them. It is possible that whoever was chasing them in Exeter has also been here, I thought. Detective Wells may have been right when she had told me to be careful.

  The sitting room, like the kitchen, gave just the slightest hints of things having been disturbed. I stood noiselessly in the room and allowed my eyes to scan the surroundings. Was that a creak from upstairs? I looked up while remaining completely still and listened. A touch of apprehension swept over me. No footsteps but definitely a creaking. All houses make sounds; the expanding and contracting caused by heating and cooling and movement due to the wind. Staying very still, I waited, but no further noises were forthcoming and I tentatively dismissed the idea of the presence of another person.

  I moved methodically upstairs observing as I went. Opening what appeared to be the master bedroom, I peered inside; the bed was made and there was no sign of a hurried leaving. I stepped cautiously inside and unexpectedly felt the point of a gun being pushed firmly into the small of my back.

  ‘I wouldn’t move if I were you,’ came a voice from behind.

  As I stood absolutely motionless, the available options flashed through my mind. I could swing quickly and try and disarm whoever was behind, or do exactly as I was told, at least for the time being.

  ‘Well Inspector, it looks like we are searching for the same people.’

  Despite trying to remain relaxed, I felt my muscles tighten, to which the man behind responded, ‘Don’t make any sudden moves; it would be most annoying if I had to kill you.’

  ‘You may do it anyway!’

  ‘Now, now Inspector, that’s a very negative attitude. It will all depend on how well we get on. And I have a feeling we are going to be the best of friends. Now, can you spread your legs? Nice and wide for me please. A little wider. That’s very good. And your hands, if you would please place them behind your back, I would be most grateful.’

  With my legs spreading to the point of almost losing my balance, I placed my hands behind my back and I felt a
single cable tie being used to secure them together.

  ‘You can straighten up now. Do you see the chair next to the bed? Move towards it and take a seat.’

  While making my way to the chair, my heart was heavy with dread for my impending demise. To seat myself in the chair I would have to look upon my assailant. If I saw his face it would mean certain death. I turned slowly to lower myself into the chair. He was wearing a balaclava and pointing his silenced pistol directly at me.

  ‘Sit, sit,’ he said, motioning with the pistol. ‘Please Inspector, make yourself comfortable. Please also excuse the disguise, most annoying and itchy, but as you understand, very necessary.’

  Feeling I had little to lose and stalling for time in the hope that Detective Wells would ring and then be concerned enough to send help when I didn’t answer, I asked, ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Let’s just say I am someone like you who is interested in Max and Olivia.’

  ‘Did you set the explosion in Horton-cum-Studley?’

  ‘Your daughter’s house? Very sad, sad indeed. No, that was not me; far too crude. I haven’t been sent to kill you, Inspector. As I said, if we get along, you will be safe. I want us to have an open and frank conversation about Max and Olivia. You need to keep nothing from me and don’t tell me something I already know. If you lie to me, I will be really annoyed because then I will have to shoot you. I don’t want to do that and I’m sure you don’t want that to happen either. Do you think we can be friends?’

  ‘The best of friends! I am having a party next week; would you like to come?’

  ‘Bravo Inspector, we are going to get on famously. Now tell me something about Max and Olivia that I don’t already know, like where are they?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I have no idea, that’s why I am here, looking for clues.’

  ‘Good, I believe you. See, that was very easy. Now Inspector, I want you to think very carefully before answering. What else can you tell me?’

  I hesitated, taking the time to collect my thoughts. What was it that he wanted? Where did I begin?

  ‘In 2008, when they were riding across Europe, I believe they were searching for something. Whoever tried to kill them in Walbrzych must have thought they had it.’

  ‘Very good Inspector, go on.’

  ‘Max and Olivia, being back in the UK, must, in some way, be related to that trip in 2008. I also believe that this involves something that happened during World War Two.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ said my assailant, while keeping his gun pointing at me.

  ‘Max and Olivia knew a man called Pierre Gicquel. In 2008, they visited him just before he died. Pierre was in the French Resistance, risking his life on clandestine operations, helping allied service personnel escape from Brittany to England from the beaches nearby. I believe Pierre was murdered shortly after Max and Olivia went to see him.

  ‘My father, who escaped from France in 1940 and came to England, worked for the SOE or some similar secret agency. He also knew Pierre Gicquel. I believe therefore that Max and Olivia knew my father, or at least that they worked for the same people.

  ‘My best guess is that this involves some operation from WW2 and the people they worked with and for. As to what, I have no idea. Really that’s as much as I know.’

  ‘Excellent, Inspector! That was not too difficult. I do apologise for leaving you here and I’m afraid I will need to tie you to the chair before I go. I’m sure you understand. I can’t have you finding your freedom before I’ve had the opportunity to disappear.

  ‘Now Inspector, can you please hook your feet behind the legs of the chair while I tie you up?’

  I followed his instructions.

  ‘Excellent.’

  This six foot man of a slender build, wearing a grey pinstriped suit, red tie, light brown gloves with meticulously polished black shoes and speaking with a beautiful English voice took from his pocket a roll of cloth tape and proceeded to tape my body to the chair, making four or five passes.

  ‘Farewell Inspector and be careful. I am not sure you understand what you have got yourself involved in. Unfortunately, as you have discovered from what happened at your daughter’s house, people are willing to kill for Janus.’

  With those words, he slipped quietly from the room. I didn’t hear him descend the stairs, leave the house or even start a car, but I was in no doubt he was gone.

  Not long after I was left alone, perhaps twenty minutes or so, the phone rang. It was in my right hand trouser pocket and out of reach. Ten minutes later it rang again. Tied to the chair and with no choice but to be patient, I waited in my confinement. How long I remained in the chair is difficult to estimate; the sense of time alters when restrained with nothing to do but wait. Eventually, there was the distinctive sound of a car slowing and stopping. Shortly after came the noise made by two car doors being closed and, at last, voices.

  ‘It’s the police,’ I heard called from downstairs. ‘Inspector Axel, are you here?’

  ‘Upstairs,’ I called back. ‘I’m tied up but otherwise okay.’

  * * *

  Max

  ‘Tails, we stay together,’ I said, looking to Olivia and Elinor who nodded in agreement, before Olivia added, ‘Two out of three.’

  ‘Are you trying to get away from me?’ I asked. At this, the girls laughed.

  After dinner we remained in the lounge enjoying its energy and atmosphere. Its smells, the ale, food, fire and people were so different from that of our nursing home which had its own distinctive aroma and a sound of silence. This stillness was broken only by what little energy the dining guests of the evening had in reserve. Every day that energy was eaten away, little by little, until it was all gone and you visited no more.

  Here the room was alive, sharing its vigour and vitality with whoever entered.

  Despite our fatigue, we remained at our table until it was gone ten and then, bidding each other good night, we made our way upstairs and to our respective rooms. We agreed to meet again at eight in the morning for breakfast.

  I awoke to a gentle knocking and, from my bed in the dim light of morning, I saw a piece of paper being slid under the door. Olivia had stirred to the sound as well.

  ‘What time is it?’ she said.

  The bedside table clock informed me it was five past seven.

  I swung my legs from the bed and placed my feet on the floor. Like a new born butterfly rising from its cocoon, I waited, stretching my wings as the blood pumped through before attempting flight. With care I rose from the bed and moved across, or perhaps shuffled is a more accurate description, to where the paper lay on the floor.

  ‘What does it say?’ called Olivia in a voice still mixed with sleep.

  I picked up the paper and fumbled to find the light switch and the page, which just seconds ago was a blur of indistinguishable lines, came into focus.

  You’re on the morning news and Facebook staying here

  I read aloud the words from the scrap of paper, adding an interesting observation, ‘The handwriting doesn’t appear to be in adult script. It looks like a child’s writing.’

  ‘Do you think the Facebook post is on the news or they are two separate things?’ asked Olivia.

  ‘I don’t know but let’s not wait around to find out. I’ll wake Elinor while you get dressed.’

  Within ten minutes Elinor had joined Olivia and me in our room. After showing Elinor the note I said, ‘We need to slip out separately and meet at the car. I’ll go first and start the engine, then Elinor, you come next and then Olivia. A minute apart, perhaps two, but no more. We can’t risk waiting around!’

  Leaving £200 on the bed to cover what we owed, one by one we left as planned. Having all made it safely and unseen to the car, I pulled out of the pub and accelerated towards Two Bridges.

  ‘If questioned, the owners think we are going to Plymouth. I reckon we should keep a healthy distance from Plymouth and try and stay on B roads. Any suggestions Elinor?’

  Elinor t
hought for a few seconds and then said, ‘When you get to Two Bridges, rather than continuing down towards Yelverton, we could turn right to Tavistock and then go through Gulworthy to Gunnislake. The problem is we end up on the A390 which takes us to St Ives, Lostwithiel, then all the way to Truro. To get us from Truro to Mawnan I would need a map.’

  From within the mirror I saw Olivia reach over and pass forward to Elinor the map we had purchased in Oxford. At almost the same moment we arrived at Two Bridges and I almost missed the right turn to Tavistock, having to brake heavily to make the turn.

  ‘Hang on, I’m going to put some distance between us and Postbridge.’

  The Jaguar unleashed her six cylinders in a distinctive low growl. She sprinted to full speed and the road unfolded as sweeping curves flowing left then right, the bends only serving to encourage the Jaguar’s pedigreed speed. No one spoke while I wrestled the big cat along the unveiling bitumen. Seven minutes later, by my watch, we arrived in Tavistock.

  ‘Gee I enjoyed that,’ I said. ‘That’s a real motor car! The best of British.’

  Choosing to ignore my driving exploits and comments, Olivia said, ‘We need to stop for breakfast and plan our assault on Mawnan.’

  ‘I was thinking of Lostwithiel,’ I replied.

  ‘Is that wise, stopping so close to Cliff?’

  ‘Do you think it matters?’

  ‘No, I suppose not, it’s as good a place as any.’

  ‘I do feel left out sometimes,’ said Elinor from beside me. Her voice however was warm and displayed neither sarcasm nor antagonism.

  The drive to Lostwithiel, once back on the A roads, was spirited but, not wanting to attract unwanted attention, I did not make it racy. Arrival at the historic town of Lostwithiel brought back fond and challenging memories. From Olivia came silence but I imagined she was having similar thoughts.

  Swinging left at the Kings Arms Hotel, I remembered its annoying narrow one way street. We crawled down the road and past what looked like, on the right, a coffee shop. By the time I had recognised it as such, I had missed the parking opportunities which were on the left side of the road. I turned at the first intersection, Church Street, and was greeted by a large red sign with a horizontal white line running through it.