‘Right, well they’re on their way. We’d better go and see what else is missing. Come on.’
He turned and led the way upstairs, still white as a sheet. I scurried after him. Gosh, how awful. Quite apart from being extremely valuable, the porcelain had been in the Penhalligan family for generations. Nick’s great-grandfather had started the collection by giving a figurine to his wife as a wedding present, and every year after that he’d presented her with a different piece. Each one had a provenance and usually a fascinating story about how and where he’d managed to acquire it. In terms of sentimental value they were priceless. I felt sick to my stomach, so heaven knows how Nick must be feeling. What on earth would his mother say?
‘What will Hetty say?’ I whispered as we went into the blue room together.
‘God only knows,’ he said grimly. ‘Bastards, look at this.’ He pointed to the empty cabinet. The door was wide open.
‘My God, there must have been about thirty pieces in there!’
‘Thirty-two.’
‘But how did they get the door open? Was the lock smashed?’ I went up to look.
‘Don’t touch it!’ Nick grabbed my arm. ‘Just in case there are fingerprints on it. No, look, the key’s still in the lock.’
‘What! They had the key? But – there are only two keys, aren’t there?’
‘Exactly. Mum’s, and this one which is ours, it’s got the blue ribbon on it.’
‘So they took it from the jug?’
He shrugged. ‘Must have done.’
‘So it’s someone we know, someone who knows where we keep it. Nick, how awful, how creepy!’
‘Or someone who’s heard about where we keep it – let’s face it, the blue jug on the dresser isn’t exactly the safest place in the world.’ He shook his head. ‘God, I could kick myself. I kept meaning to put it back in the safe but I just never got round to it.’
He started prowling around the room, pulling open cupboards and searching through drawers. This was the room where anything remotely valuable was kept. I followed tentatively.
‘Anything else missing?’ I asked, anxiously peering over his shoulder as he rifled through a drawer.
‘Nope, not as far as I can tell. The watches are still here and they haven’t touched the stamp collection – go and check your jewellery, Polly, oh, and the silver downstairs.’ He had a clenched calmness now; he was back in control.
I ran down the corridor and into our bedroom with a hammering heart. How beastly, and how horrid to think someone had been rooting around in our house, our home, going through our things. It made me feel sick just thinking about it. I pulled my jewellery box out of a drawer and opened it. I don’t really have much, but I’m desperately attached to the few pieces Nick has given me and one or two brooches of Granny’s. Thank goodness, it was all there. I put it back in the drawer and ran down to the dining room.
The silver candlesticks were still in the middle of the table and the usual array of odds and ends was all present and correct on the sideboard. I was just looking through the cutlery when the doorbell rang. I dropped the knives and forks and ran to the front door. Two rather bored-looking policemen stood on the doorstep, one of them leaning against a pillar.
‘Mrs Penhalligan?’ enquired the elder of the two.
‘Yes, thank goodness you’re here,’ I gasped. ‘Quick, come in, we’ve been burgled, isn’t it awful!’
The pair moved slowly through the hall, gazing around and taking in all the portraits and the huge chandelier.
‘There’s a lot of it about, madam,’ observed the elder one lugubriously. ‘In here?’ He indicated the drawing room.
‘Yes, yes, go in. My husband’s just checking to see if anything else has been taken; he’ll be down in a minute.’ I followed hard on their heels. ‘What d’you mean, there’s a lot of it about? Has there been a spate of burglaries in the area or something? Have you any idea who it is? Is it a gang? D’you think we’ll ever get our stuff back?’
They made straight for the fire, toasting their bottoms and looking around the room with interest.
‘It’s a little early to answer all those questions, madam, certainly without more detailed information,’ said the elder man pompously. ‘We’ll start when your husband gets down, shall we?’ He picked up a little silver snuff box from a table, looked at it with interest, turned it around and put it down again.
‘You’ve got some nice stuff here, Mrs Penhalligan,’ he observed.
‘Yes, yes, we have, um, you said there’s a lot of it about – round here, d’you mean?’ I persisted.
‘All I meant, madam,’ he said with weary indifference, ‘is that burglary is a very common occurrence these days.’ He pursed his lips, clasped his hands behind his back, rocked back on his heels and resumed his appraisal of the room.
‘Not for us it isn’t,’ I retorted darkly, ‘and not when it’s thirty-odd pieces of priceless porcelain either. I do hope you’re not going to write that off as a common occurrence. This collection has been in the family for centuries; we must get it back – it’s absolutely imperative!’ My voice rose rather hysterically.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. ‘Take it easy, Polly, come and sit down.’ Nick led me over to a sofa.
The policemen sat opposite us. I glared at them.
‘My wife and I are in need of a drink, but I don’t suppose you’ll join us?’
‘No thank you, sir,’ declined the elder one, taking off his cap, ‘not whilst we’re on duty, got to keep our wits about us, you see!’ He grinned moronically.
Yes, that must be a full-time job, I thought sardonically as Nick handed me a large gin. What hope did we have of getting our loot back with this pair of country bobbies? God, the younger one was even stifling a yawn now, not too keen on night duty, perhaps? Missing the football on the telly, maybe? Well, bad luck, Ploddie, I thought, eyeing him grimly, you’ve got work to do now.
Plod the elder wearily took a notebook from his top pocket, then he patted a few more pockets and eventually extracted a pencil. He licked the end and slowly flicked through his little black book.
‘Now. Suppose you tell me exactly when you discovered that the collection was missing, sir?’
‘Just now,’ said Nick patiently, ‘just before I telephoned you.’
‘What, just before? Or about five minutes before?’
‘Er, well, yes, about then.’
‘Shall I write ten o’clock then, sir?’ he asked, pencil poised, eyebrows raised.
‘No, it was about three weeks ago actually,’ I burst in angrily, ‘but we’ve only just got around to telephoning you, been too busy, you see. For goodness’ sake, what difference does it make?’
‘OK, Polly,’ Nick said gently, ‘I’ll deal with this.’ He took my hand. I was trembling.
The Plods stared at me open-mouthed. Eventually Plod the elder cleared his throat. ‘We have to go through the formalities, madam,’ he said stiffly, ‘for our notes, you see.’ He indicated his little book.
‘Well, be a bit quicker about it, can’t you?’ I muttered.
He turned his watery gaze on Nick. ‘What exactly did you discover was missing, sir?’
‘Thirty-two pieces of antique Meissen, mostly figurines. I can give you a more detailed description later.’
‘Valuable?’
‘Very,’ said Nick through clenched teeth.
‘And, er, was this said collection in a safe?’
‘Well, no, it was in a glass cabinet, actually.’
‘A glass cabinet?’ He raised his eyebrows.
‘Yes, I know that probably sounds a bit crazy to you but they’ve always been kept there, so that we can see them. Not much point in having beautiful objects if you can’t look at them, is there?’
‘That’s a matter of opinion really, sir,’ murmured Plod the elder, exchanging a knowing look with his gormless companion. ‘And, er, was this said cabinet, by any happy coincidence, locked?’
Nick flushed. ‘Of
course it was.’
‘And the lock had been smashed?’
‘No, the key was in the lock. Whoever it was had found our key and used it.’
At this, Plod the younger raised his head. He awoke from his dream and turned his sleepy eyes on his partner. One of them flickered ever so slightly as if he were alive.
‘Ah ha!’ he murmured knowingly. Heavens, he could speak.
His partner nodded sagely and, leaning in, confided to Nick in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘It’s too early to say for certain, sir, but what you’ve told us so far gives us reason to believe that this was an inside job, someone who knew the house, who knew where the key was kept.’
‘Oh, brilliant!’ I snapped scathingly. ‘Truly amazing deduction. Funnily enough we’d come to the same staggering conclusion ourselves in about two seconds flat!’ God, these people were morons, where were MI5, CID – where was Morse when we needed him most? The policeman looked at me in amazement.
‘OK, Poll,’ soothed Nick, ‘calm down, they’re just doing their job.’
I ground my teeth but managed to hold my tongue. The Plods turned away, pointedly excluding me, and addressed themselves exclusively to the man of the house.
‘Anything else missing, sir?’ purred Plod the elder.
‘Not as far as I can tell, but I’ll have to have a thorough look later.’
‘And as far as you’ve been able to check – no broken windows? Signs of forced entry?’
‘No, nothing, although the downstairs loo window was slightly ajar, but that’s not unusual and it’s too small for anyone to get through anyway.’
Plod the elder pursed his lips. ‘Hrmmm …’ He jotted something down, murmuring ‘Open … win … dow’ as he wrote. He looked up sharply. ‘Now. Burglar alarm?’
‘Er, no.’
‘Locks on the windows?’
Nick shifted awkwardly. ‘Well, most of them don’t shut properly anyway, they’re so old, so it would be a waste of time locking them.’
The policeman stared. ‘Don’t shut properly? Really?’ He gave a sardonic little smile. ‘I wonder, sir, you didn’t actually leave the front door open for them, did you?’
I was on my feet in an instant. ‘Oh, so it’s our fault, is it?’ I stormed. ‘Because we don’t live in a house with bars on the windows and Rottweilers circling the grounds, it’s our fault if our property is violated, is that it? Well, funnily enough, we choose to live like this, in a home, not a prison, and why shouldn’t we, it’s a free country, isn’t it!’
‘Polly –’ Nick put his hand on my arm.
‘Well, honestly, it’s ridiculous! They’ve been here about twenty minutes now and all they’ve done is yawn, state the bleeding obvious and blame us!’ I rounded on them. ‘You should be after them! Giving chase, radioing for help, pursuing them across country, climbing over walls, jumping ditches, instead of sitting here on your bums scratching your heads and taking notes!’ I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t bear to see them make Nick feel so guilty, knowing how desperately upset he was.
The Plods declined even to acknowledge this outburst. They politely examined their notebooks as if the mad wife had unfortunately, and embarrassingly, escaped from the West Wing. They focused their attention even more pointedly on Nick, shifting their bottoms as they turned towards him. I fumed silently.
‘Now, sir,’ went on Plod the elder, ‘you’ve been here all day, I take it?’
‘No, I’ve been away for a couple of days on a business trip, I got back at about six o’clock tonight. My wife has also been away, but she got back last night.’
Suddenly my fumes evaporated. I sat very still. Plod the elder turned to me.
‘Is that right, Mrs Penhalligan? You got back last night?’
My tongue seemed to be welded to the roof of my mouth. I unstuck it, it tasted rather as I imagined dog poo would. ‘Er … yes,’ I whispered, ‘last night.’
‘I’m sorry? I didn’t quite catch that.’
I cleared my throat. ‘Sorry. Yes, I got back last night.’
‘And you’d been away for …?’
‘J-just one night. Thursday.’
‘And were you also away Thursday night, sir?’
‘No, I was here. I left on Friday at about lunchtime. You see, that’s what I don’t understand: the house was only empty on Friday afternoon and I can’t believe anyone would have had the nerve to break in in broad daylight, especially with our various farm hands wandering around, but I suppose they must have done, unless it happened last night while Polly was asleep. What an awful thought, darling.’ He took my hand.
‘Awful,’ I murmured. The whole thing was awful, appalling, actually. I felt hot all over, I seemed to have been ambushed by pints of red-hot blood and every part of my anatomy was either burning like fire or wet and clammy, except my mouth, of course, which was extremely dry. Plod the elder turned to me.
‘At about what time did you go to bed on Friday night, madam?’
‘I – I’m not sure.’
‘Approximately, darling,’ coaxed Nick gently. ‘I know it’s horrible to imagine someone prowling around while you slept, but do try and remember. Was it about ten? Or eleven?’
‘Er, yes. About ten. Or eleven. About ten thirty,’ I whispered, pulling a cushion on to my lap and using it to wipe the perspiration from my hands.
‘And nothing disturbed you all night?’ Plod the elder’s eyes bored into mine. How could I ever have found them watery and insipid? They seemed to burn like laser beams, and his questions, which had previously seemed so banal and inconsequential, now seemed terrifyingly probing and inquisitorial.
‘You didn’t get up to go to the bathroom? Or go downstairs for a glass of water? Nothing like that?’
‘No, nothing like that,’ I whispered. Was he trying to trap me?
‘You stayed in bed all night?’
I licked my lips. ‘Yes, all night.’
Well, that was true enough, wasn’t it? I thought desperately. I had been in bed all night. All right, it hadn’t been my bed, but it had been a bed. Another man’s bed. I felt sick for the umpteenth time that day. Nick’s precious porcelain collection had been stolen whilst I lay next to another man in a hotel bedroom, and now I was lying like a dog to save my own miserable skin. Even by my extremely low standards this was unspeakably shameful. I stared at my shoes. Guilt seemed to be leaking out of them, all over the polished floorboards and the Persian carpet. I daren’t look up. My toes were sliding around in my Docksiders now, slippy with perspiration. Was this what was known as perjury? I wondered. Lying to the law like this? Was it a treasonable offence? Could I be arrested?
The navy-blue legs opposite me were straightening. The Plods were getting to their feet, notebooks were snapping shut and, thank God, they appeared to be talking to Nick rather than me. I took advantage of this brief respite and wiped a few beads of sweat from my forehead. My hair was frizzing dramatically.
‘Now, sir,’ Plod the elder was saying, ‘we’d like to have a look around in a minute if we may – check the windows, look at the cabinet, that sort of thing – but first of all, could you tell me who exactly has a key to this house?’
‘Well, aside from ourselves there’s my mother, Hetty Penhalligan, she lives in Gweek, and my brother Tim, whose farm is next door to ours. I think that’s it.’
‘No, Mrs Bradshaw has one,’ I muttered.
‘Oh yes, our daily.’
‘Ex-daily,’ I reminded him.
Plod the elder raised his eyebrows. ‘Ex?’
‘Yes, I fired her last week.’
‘Did you now? And she still has a key?’
‘I suppose she has. I certainly don’t remember asking for it back.’
‘Ah ha!’ He pursed his lips and nodded importantly. Revenge Motive flashed like a neon sign on his forehead.
‘I really can’t see Mrs Bradshaw taking a cabinetful of antique china,’ said Nick wearily. ‘If she felt like taking something out of spite – and I’
m quite sure she wouldn’t – she’d be far more likely to nick the video, something she could sell.’
‘Well, we have to explore every possibility, sir, follow every lead. In our line of work, no stone can be left unrolled or it won’t gather moss. If you want to see the trees in the woods, you’ve got to be alive to every possibility,’ he said pompously, comprehensively mixing every single metaphor he could think of.
He pocketed his notebook. ‘And now, if you’d be so kind as to furnish me with Mrs Bradshaw’s address, I’ll have one of my men interview her just as soon as possible.’
He made it sound as if he had a force of thousands at his disposal, whereas in actual fact one or other of these two goons would be round at her house dunking a digestive in a cup of tea and discussing The Mad Woman of Trewarren just as soon as they’d finished here.
Nick showed them around the rest of the house, then saw them to the front door. I was very relieved to see them go. He came back from the hall looking pale and drawn. He stood with his back to the fire, massaged his eyes with the heels of his hands, yawned widely and shoved his fists despondently in his pockets.
‘I’m knackered.’
I reached out and touched his arm. ‘Me too. Let’s go to bed.’
‘Good idea. We’ll sleep on it.’
We turned out the lights and went slowly upstairs. Nick shut the blue-room door as we passed. We undressed in silence, got into bed and lay still, our minds whirring. I stared into the darkness.
‘Odd, isn’t it, that nothing else is missing,’ mused Nick eventually.
‘Mmmm … I mean, it’s not as if the silver isn’t valuable, or the stamps. You’d think if someone was going to go to the trouble of breaking in they’d snap up as many goodies as possible.’
‘Unless they were particularly interested in the porcelain and knew where they could sell it on. It’s incredibly difficult to get rid of a collection like that unless you have contacts and you know the antique world. You can’t just leak thirty-odd pieces of Meissen on to the market; people in the know would immediately smell a rat.’
Going Too Far Page 19