‘If you don't know, find out, it might be useful.’
He guessed it to be about a quarter of a mile away, and roughly halfway between the big old house and the cottage, all safe and secure inside the buffer zone, but why?
Glancing back down the slope to Angela, Frank saw she was hidden in the sea of long grass, and with a shrug, set off running, and as he drew closer, the spire became clearer and the architecture seemed roughly the same as the big old house.
The meadow finally merged with the copse, but there was no entrance to be seen, and pushing through the undergrowth, he stepped out into a sun-dappled clearing, and a small, grey stoned church filled his eyes.
At first he thought it looked solemn, but realised it wasn’t like that at all, and more of a beautiful sadness, untouched by time and man.
Walking closer, he marvelled at the dedication that had created this masterpiece, and it seemed to have its very own presence, to live, to breath and to brood.
He guessed its size at about sixty paces long by thirty wide, with stone arches that sparkled as the rays of the sun danced on multi-coloured stained glass windows to shed mysterious light into dark recesses, and over to the left of the beautiful church stood a massive stone tomb looking strong and forbidding, holding safe the past.
Standing quietly in the silence, his gaze was drawn to the rows of stone crosses and headstones that fanned out in semicircles all facing the spire, and in a rough count he noticed fifty or more, but it was strange, they were all immaculately kept.
Looking around, he noticed a feeling of awareness, and knew he was not merely looking at the past but was invading a sanctuary, a place best left alone, left unto itself, and yet, something unknown was bringing him on.
Kneeling down at the first grave, he read the words chiselled into the headstone.
Rest in peace, dear Timothy. Wondrous son, your nine short years brought such joy.
He moved on from grave to grave.
Dear Margaret, beloved child, taken by our Lord in your fourth year.
Elisabeth, always a joy, lost to us at such your young age of five.
Matthew, aged two, your laughter will always be with us.
Victoria, you gave us such a year of joy, we will always love you.
Edward, dearest child, always in our thoughts.
Wandering from grave to grave he suddenly heard the sounds of crashing in the copse, and swinging around, saw Angela bursting into the churchyard, her eyes wild and angry.
‘So. You are here.’
She walked stiffly towards him, her nostrils flaring, mouth grim, her body hard.
‘Mr Lewis, is it an absolute fucking impossibility for you to ever obey bloody orders, because no-one is allowed here. No-one. Now get out. Get out!’
He took a deep breath, ‘Okay, but it’s only a church, so what’s the problem?’
She walked up slowly, and standing dangerously close, snarled deeply into his face.
‘The problem, Mr Lewis, is you. You are the god damned problem because you will never do anything you’re told. Now get the fuck out of here.’
There was a heavy silence as they walked back to the picnic and he knew he’d blown it, and dumping the mess of food and drink into the pack, she threw it, straight at his head.
‘So why won’t you ever obey orders? Tell me that.’
He caught the pack as it hit him in the face, ‘I don’t trust people. I never have.’
She moved closer, her hands sweaty, ‘And why the hell not?’
‘You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Try me.’
‘Alright. Well when a bunch of office magicians stitch me up to do something they don’t want to do for themselves, I follow my instincts, because they’re usually too busy licking arses and screwing everyone else for promotion while the foot soldiers come home in body bags. So if you don’t like the way I work, get someone else, or if you’re feeling brave, try doing it for yourself.’
Angela glared at him, but then stepped back, hands on hips, eyes thoughtful.
‘Mr Lewis, you really are testing my patience. But then again, you do have a point, so maybe we are finally getting to the bones of our little relationship, and although it’s been a long journey, I think we’re almost there now, and as I said before, you and I are very much alike in some ways.’
She stepped closer, ‘So we shall have to see, in how many ways. Won’t we?’
Returning to the cottage, she left him and walked away to the study.
‘I have to check my mail, so help yourself to a drink.’
The fax machine had two messages, the first from Louise, and one from Tonabie.
Hi Angela.
Re: Frank Lewis enquiry.
Early indications show he was an orphan from birth.
Several fostering attempts but considered too unruly.
Permanent placing at a long stay corrective orphanage, known as The Boy’s House.
Allegations of long term, grievous bodily harm, carried out on him by a Miss Gillpenny.
A loner, difficult to relate to women, clever and independent but prone to violence.
Louise.
Angela read the report till a picture of his early life became clearer, and remembered he’d been described as a controlled explosion attached to a trip wire.
So did that mean there were even more complications to come? With a sigh, she read the fax from Tonabie.
Dear Angela.
Re: Counsellor. New information.
The Counter Intelligence Corps have found a private diary belonging to the above, it’s mostly personal and has no relevance to the ongoing investigation, but there is a comment, dated today, regarding Section Operative, Charon.
It doesn’t make any sense, but for your information, I quote:
‘Hooray, finally mounted Charon, and now we’re both safe on the mount.’
End of quote.
As I said, it makes no sense.
Tonabie.
PS. Pool car found in Cirencester, but so far, Lewis’ driver has not been located.
Angela walked back to the kitchen, and as she tried to marry the two fax’s together, wondered why the counsellor had taken the time and trouble to write that note.
It must have been important to her, and she’d written it, as if making love had been an achievement, but why to make them safe?
Thinking of the fax from Louise, it sounded as if Lewis had been dominated through his tender years by some bitch called Gillpenny who enjoyed violence, so could that explain his attitude to authority, and maybe a difficulty in relating to women, and if he’d never asked the counsellor for sex, she might have falsified her reports so as not to bring suspicion on his sexuality, and by finally mounting him, she’d made them both safe on the mount. Mount Olympus.
As too many imponderables flooded into her mind she decided to let it rest for now, and settling Frank in the guest room, was more than happy to sink into her soft bed and let the cares of the day drift away as she fell into a deep sleep.
10
Frank awoke to the early morning sun streaming through the window, and it took a moment to remember that Angela had settled him in her guest room. Getting out of bed, he looked out and saw her in the garden, but he was surprised.
It seemed now as though the aggressive woman had gone, and in her place was a surreal, virginal apparition wandering ghostlike by the stream, her creamy white negligee flowing gently around her soft curves.
Puzzling at this new contradiction, he turned and saw that his Bergen had been opened, and laying arranged on a dresser was a fresh shirt, clean underwear and his shaving kit.
He smiled, and was never quite sure what this woman would do next.
Padding along to the bathroom, he washed and shaved, and having got dressed, went down to the kitchen and saw dark coffee bubbling gently in the percolator along with a tray of cups and plates and a rack of toast beside a pot of marmalade.
Looking at it all, he shrugged. Why no
t …
Filling the coffee jug, he carried the tray out into the scented garden, and walking down through the wild tangle, stopped when he saw her sitting on the bough of a tree that reached far out across the stream, and she was humming to herself as she swished her toes through the sparkling water.
Watching for a moment, he placed the tray down in the grass, and when she looked up she seemed startled, but her surprised gaze became warm, and her smile, gentle.
Standing up, she walked bare foot along the bough and stood gazing down to him.
Frank smiled, ‘You’ve obviously done that before.’
She frowned as if trying to remember, ‘Yes, but a long time ago.’
Before he could reply, she jumped, ‘Catch me.’
Spreading his arms, he caught her, but as she landed against him, she looked puzzled.
‘And I haven’t done that for a long time, either.’
Sitting together on the grassy bank, she slowly sipped her coffee and glanced up to him.
‘I was going to bring you breakfast in bed, but this is much better.’
He seemed thoughtful, ‘Yes. I like to be outside, I can’t relax in buildings.’
Remembering the horrible fax from Louise, she suddenly wanted to change the subject.
‘So, you’ll be going to Thornley quite soon.’
‘Yeah. Well I might as well get started, there’s nothing to keep me here.’
Angela looked down into her coffee, and thought, ‘No, I suppose not.’
Clattering the cup down, she sat up straight and tried to ignore a sudden strange feeling.
‘Right. Where was I? Oh yes. Well I’ve arranged for the official car to take you to Thornley, and you’ll meet Montague at the main security lodge at nine o’clock. Okay?’
‘Yeah, that’s fine with me.’
‘Good. So when you get to Thornley the investigation will be entirely in your hands and you can do as you wish, solving the puzzle is the only thing of any importance, so as with the 14th Intelligence Company, you can use piratical methods if necessary, it will be your decision and you’ll be absolved from justifiable homicide as required.’
‘Okay, but it sounds like you’re expecting more deaths.’
‘Yes, I am, and given the present state of play, that would seem quite likely, but does it bother you?’
‘Not especially, if it gets the job done.’
‘Good, and it seems we’ve found yet another likeness, I ought to be compiling a list.’
He shrugged, ‘I do my best if I agree with the terms of engagement.’
‘Well if that’s your criterion, I shall have to persuade you of my view of the argument.’
He finished his coffee, ‘I think you’ve already done that. Pale 1 files, remember?’
‘Indeed. Now as it’s essential I remain in control, it’s absolutely vital I’m kept up to date with any new developments. Agreed?’
‘Fair enough.’
‘And as we must obviously keep in touch, you will use the cottage as your safe house, but I’ve arranged for Mr Montague to have a room at the clinic, because, as we know, his condition is rather fragile. Okay?’
‘Sure, it’s a good idea.’
‘Now the staff work on different shift patterns, and as you might need to cross check their statements, I’ve told the day staff to remain available until 9 p.m.’
Frank smiled, ‘I bet that went down well.’
‘Yes, there were a few grumbles, but this has to go right the first time, and it’s only for one day. So that’s about it, unless you can think of anything else?’
He shook his head, ‘Not really, and anyway, Monty will take care of the rest.’
‘I hope so. His reputation does seem to travel ahead of him.’
Frank carried the tray back to the kitchen and heard a car coming along the rutted track. Glancing over, he saw a sleek black Jaguar driving over the small stone bridge, and as it parked beside Angela’s Mercedes, knew it was time to go, but what this day would bring was anyone’s guess, and it was strange when they said goodbye, with Angela just standing there as if expecting something, so it was a relief when he drove away in the car.
Joining the main road, he noticed they were making a circuit of the estate, from Angela’s security lodge, round in a curve to the main avenue of Thornley Manor, and when he saw the red and white, five bar gates standing back on either side of the road, they reminded him once again of Porton Down.
The car swung off the main road and into a tree lined avenue, and in the distance, he saw the security barriers of Thornley Manor’s main police lodge, and cruising down, an armed MoD policeman sauntered across the road and waved them into a reception area.
His solid body language showed an uncompromising attitude as he took time checking the registration number of the car against the notes on his clipboard, and leaning down, scanned all around inside before looking at Lewis.
‘Good morning, sir, and your name, please.’
Frank told him, and the policeman carefully ran his finger down the list on his clipboard.
‘Ah yes, you are booked in, so may I see your ID.’
Frank handed over his new card, and watching, saw the policeman’s eyes widen as he read every detail on Frank’s shiny new ID.
Her Majesty’s National Security, and underneath was the single word CARDINAL with the head of the Queen embossed on either side, and below was Frank’s photograph together with a reference number and the authority the bearer carried.
The policeman handed the card back, ‘Thank you sir.’
Frank looked him in the eye, ‘Has my colleague arrived yet, Mr Montague.’
The guard checked his clipboard, ‘No sir, no-one of that name has booked in.’
He looked again, ‘He is expected though, but not till nine o’clock.’
Frank nodded, and climbing out of the car, lit a cigarette and looked around.
‘Okay, thanks. I’m a bit early so I’ll wait in the lodge.’
As Frank wandered off, he heard the policeman talking urgently into his lapel radio.
‘Hey sarge, you’ve got a visitor. He’s a big fella by the name of Lewis, and guess what, he’s from National Security.’
Sergeant Jenkins slammed his pen down, ‘Now look, John, you know damned well I’m up to my armpits in this bloody paperwork, so cut out the crap will you.’
‘But sarge, it’s true.’
‘John, if you’re having a laugh, you’ll be on the nightshift for the next six months.’
‘Honest sarge, really. His ID said, National Security, Cardinal, and there’s another one booked in as well.’
The sergeant released the button on the radio, ‘Oh great, that’s all I need.’
The security lodge was probably built during the last war, it was made from red brick, solid timber frames and had a covered veranda that ran the whole length of the building, there was a central door, three windows and a check-in hatch, but Frank ignored it, and pushing the door open, saw the sergeant walking over.
‘Good morning, sir. I understand you’re from National Security, so can I help?’
‘No thanks sarge, you carry on, I’m just waiting for someone.’
The sergeant hovered, the paperwork now being the last thing on his mind.
‘Umm. I was going to make some coffee, sir, if you’d like some.’
‘Yeah, good idea. Black, no sugar.’
As the sergeant busied himself in the small kitchen, he wondered what was going on, after all, he probably knew more about the security of this station than anyone and he couldn’t think for the life of him why Spook 1 should be here.
Swilling out a mug, the phone rang, and picking it up, he heard a woman’s nervous voice.
‘Hello? Is that Sergeant Jenkins? Oh good. This is Tara Goodwin and I’m expecting visitors. Two gentlemen from … Umm, have they arrived yet?’
‘One has, Miss Goodwin, he’s with me now, but he’s waiting for a colleague to arrive, so would
you like to speak to him?’
‘Oh no, it’s alright, I’ll meet them when they come up to the house.’
The sergeant frowned as he put the phone down.
She’d sounded as if her knickers were full of broken glass, and it made him wonder.
Local gossip said she’d been screwing his boss, Chief Inspector bloody Hillsdown for almost a year, so was it possible the authorities saw it as a security issue?
He turned to Lewis, ‘That was Miss Goodwin. She said she’s expecting you.’
Frank looked out through the window, ‘She sure is, sarge. She sure is.’
As Frank paced up and down the veranda, he saw a sleek black Jaguar drive gently up to the barrier, and Monty didn’t look good, he didn’t look good at all. Frank felt angry as he walked down the steps. So why the hell was he doing this?
Snatching the rear door open, he settled himself in the car and saw Monty take a sip from a brown medicine bottle, and when an MoD police car pulled up, both cars drove off along the avenue towards Thornley Manor.
Sergeant Jenkins wandered out onto the veranda, and as he watched the cars drive away, slipped his hands into his pockets and called the constable over from the barrier.
‘John, you get to hear all the local gossip, so tell me, apart from Chief Hillsdown, do you know if anyone else on this station is porking the lovely Miss Goodwin.’
The constable shook his head, ‘No sarge. Not that I know of, and although most of the lads would like to give her one, I haven’t heard of anyone who’s managed it.’
The sergeant pulled a sour face and turned away, ‘Okay, thanks.’
Thinking back, the constable rubbed his chin, and with a smile, called out to him.
‘Hang on, sarge, I do remember something. Yes, it was a couple of months ago when Frankie Myers was on the night shift. Yeah, he was checking the maintenance hut, and found Anderton, the clerk of works, giving it doggy fashion to some poor woman. It was dark in the hut and Anderton said he was shagging one of the canteen women, but Frankie swears to this day he definitely recognised Miss Goodwin’s perfume.’
Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1) Page 11