by Paul Bishop
"I saw you play once against Scotland," she said, abruptly changing subjects. "You were super."
"Thank you, but you don't strike me as the type to spend your afternoons mixing it up with soccer hooligans."
"Not everyone who attends a football match is a hooligan."
"Sometimes I wonder." I had vivid memories of standing in goal with a rain of coins and rubbish pelting me in the back. If we were losing, the barrage was often thrown by our own fans.
"Daddy took me. He followed your career closely. He says you’re the greatest goalie England ever produced."
I laughed, making her look at me with a trace of anger, as if I had challenged her father's words.
“I respect your father and appreciate his judgement, but there are many goalkeepers whose careers surpass mine. I was lucky enough to play for England. If I'd played longer..." I let the thought dribble off.
She was silent for a moment, concentrating on driving. She appeared to be digesting my words, chewing them over and then spitting them out to see how they compared with what else her father had told her about me.
"Does it still bother you? Not playing, I mean."
Her tone suggested interest, not malice, so I answered honestly. "Every moment of every day, asleep or awake."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It's my burden."
The countryside was whipping by when Paula turned the steering wheel deftly to the left, darting into an unmarked side road hidden between hedgerows.
"We'll go in the through the back," she said. "It's faster. You don't strike me as caring about impressive entries."
The tall hedgerows on either side were tangled with wild roses, sleeping morning glories, and bramble bushes. The shrubbery vanished as we entered the immaculately kept grounds, surrounding the Wren's Haven Farm manor house. The long gravel drive betrayed no sign of the last vehicle to arrive or depart.
There were several cars parked along the row of garages where Paula pulled the Spyder to a halt. She hopped out of the car with an intriguing flash of leg. I had to move fast to keep as she entered the rear door of the manor. Inside, she acknowledged two women busy cooking in the kitchen. From their cheerful return greetings, it was obvious she was well liked.
As we moved into the manor lobby, a voice called out from one of the side rooms. "Paula! You didn't bring Mr. Chapel in through the kitchen?"
"Don't be a snob, Mother," Paula said. She led me into the room, giving a severe-looking woman a peck on the cheek.
I smiled and shook Lady Qwale's extended hand. She was a handsome woman who maintained a regal bearing without being tall.
"I'm glad you came, Mr. Chapel. Adam has been thoroughly looking forward to your visit."
"Please call me Ian," I said.
"Then you should call me Amanda."
"Thank you."
“Paula will show you your room, then you can join Adam at the stables. Paula will take you. She loves those silly horses as much as her father does."
"They're not silly, Mother."
Lady Qwale looked at me and rolled her eyes with amusement. I liked her immediately, knowing she was gently teasing her daughter on purpose.
Ten minutes later, after I'd unpacked my small case in a comfortable guest room, Paula led me to the stables. They were about a quarter of a mile behind the main house, giving perspective to the full range of the land owned by Sir Adam. I knew large estates like Wren's Haven were scarce in England these days. Especially ones not open to the paying public on weekends to make financial ends meet.
When we entered the stables, Sir Adam had his back to us. He was standing with another man at the entrance to a stall, stroking the nose of a pitch-black thoroughbred. The horse was enjoying the attention.
"A fine job, Hocker," he said to the man with him. "We'll do well tomorrow."
Sir Adam's voice had the deep rasp I remembered.
"It'll be an enjoyable run," Hocker said. "I'll be putting my money on our chances." He patted the horse and turned away from the stall. He nudged Sir Adam when he saw us.
Sir Adam looked around. "Hello, hello," he said, taking my hand and shaking it for all he was worth. "It's good of you to come, Ian. You're looking fit."
Even in grubby jeans, tattered gray crew-neck sweater, and Wellington boots, Sir Adam couldn't disguise his breeding. He looked exactly what he was—a gentleman. He introduced John Hocker, and handshakes were exchanged again.
"She's a beautiful horse," I said, nodding toward the black animal who cocked an eye in my direction.
"Careful, Thieftaker will nip you for referring to him as a her," Sir Adam said.
I blushed slightly, which made Paula laugh.
"Horses aren't my strong suit."
"If you want to see a real lady, have a look at this ill-tempered filly." Sir Adam led the way to another stall occupied by a mangy-looking animal of indefinable color.
"Penny Dreadful," Hocker announced.
"Despite her looks, she's the best steeplechaser in the stable” Paula said, affection in her voice. “She’s won more prize money than all our other horses combined."
"That either speaks highly of Penny Dreadful, or poorly of the stable," I said, immediately regretting the quip.
Sir Adam found it amusing, laughing harder when he saw the hurt expression on Hocker's face. "You'll have to excuse Hocker," he said. "Very sensitive about his gee-gees."
"I once played on a football team everyone thought resembled something a cat would reject in the rubbish,” I said to Hocker. “But we took the FA cup anyway."
Hocker returned my smile, accepting the offered truce.
"Come," Sir Adam said. "Dinner will be on soon, and we can talk afterwards."
It was a subtle way of saying no business until the right time. It didn’t bother me. I was enjoying myself and the surroundings. We're all a bit snobbish at heart.
Back at the house, though, my feelings of foreboding returned in force when I was introduced to the other weekend guest.
Sir Adam did the honors. "Ian, I'd like you to meet Nina Brisbane. She's visiting
from America."
There was an awkward pause, as there always would be whenever this woman was introduced. She was tall, with long legs under a knee-length teal dress. The silky material of the frock highlighted the femininity of her curves, which would make male heads turn wherever she went. It was not her body, however, which riveted your attention—it was the full black veil completely obscuring her facial features.
"Are you enjoying your stay?" I said finally.
"Yes," she said, politely ignoring my awkward pause. "But I was hoping for more rain." Her voice was thick and smoky, her tone unselfconscious. She seemed at ease with the reaction the veil drew.
"More rain?" I said. It was an uncommon sentiment.
"I live in Los Angeles, where winter lasts for about four hours one afternoon in January. The rest of the time, the sun doesn't know when to shut up. I enjoy changes in the weather. They break the monotony"
Once you were past the shock of the veil, Nina Brisbane appeared to exude urbane professionalism and charm. Her manner suggested you should take the fact of her veil as no more than a trapping of fashion. But it was impossible not to stare intently at the folds of heavy black lace. Impossible not to guess at what unspeakable horrors the veil might cover.
"Are you here on business or a holiday?" I asked.
"I have business with Sir Adam, but I also hope to do some shopping in London."
"What kind of business are you in?"
"My family owns several sports franchises..."
"Quite," Sir Adam interjected. "Let’s sit and eat," he said, taking Nina's arm and leading her away.
Dinner was served in the formal dining room, with two kitchen maids keeping the dishes moving with silent precision. At first it was difficult not to watch Nina gracefully maneuver her food under her veil, but she handled the operation so well it soon became mundane.
Sir Adam
, playing the genteel host, led the conversation through various subjects and reminiscences. Everything was as it should be, but my appetite had died, and I could only pick at my food.
Gerald might be the genius in my family, but I’m far from a dim bulb. Gerald and Sir Adam are both devious bastards. I had no doubt one of the sports franchises owned by Nina Brisbane's family was the Los Angeles Ravens. A team with a dead goalkeeper. I felt sick to my stomach.
The unsurprising reveal came when Sir Adam maneuvered me to his study after dinner for brandy and cigars. Sir Adam started in with the authority I remembered well.
"Your pallor and the sweat on your forehead show already know part of the reason you’re here. I told Gerald you wouldn't fall for the subtle approach."
"Part of the reason?" I said. I forced the words past the constriction in my throat.
Sir Adam waved his arms in frustration. "Sit down. I’m not going to chop off your head. I'm going to offer you a job. Nina Brisbane owns half of the Los Angeles Ravens indoor soccer team. I own the other half. We need a new goalkeeper. I want it to be you."
I felt sick. My knees folded until I was sitting in the armchair behind me. "How could you even ask?" I stuttered the question.
Sir Adam sat and leaned forward in concentration. “You were one of the best goalkeepers in the world. You were also the best soldier I ever commanded. In Ireland, you proved your savvy and street smarts. You couldn't have survived the operations we were assigned otherwise. I need both your talents."
When I didn’t respond, Sir Adam barged on.
"Pasqual Maddox wasn't killed by accident in some late-night mugging. He was murdered by some bastard with more at stake than a watch and a wallet."
I felt anger rising inside me. "I've only got one bloody eye!" I screamed. "How do you expect me to get between the sticks again?" I stood up, quivering as if I was having a seizure. The brandy in my glass sloshed onto my hand. I hurled the entire snifter at Sir Adam. It smashed against his chest, but the sod didn't flinch.
I stepped toward him, fists clenching. Anger and frustration were boiling over inside me. I was going to pulverize him. Before I could take a second step, the door to the study burst open and John Hocker crashed in. He was out of breath, black smears covering his face and hands.
"The bloody stables, sir! They're on fire!"
Chapter 3
Even from the main house we could see red-orange flames dancing across the stable roof, black columns of acrid smoke clouding the air.
"What happened to the sprinkler system?" Sir Adam yelled. Everyone was running, feet pounding on the gravel path.
"Some effin' bastard pulled the bloody wires out of the main control box." Hocker's voice held an unhealthy rasp, his lungs already filled with smoke.
A sudden blur sprinted past us then transformed into Paula Qwale. Her father stuck out a hand to restrain her, but she eluded him easily and ran into the burning stall rows.
The enclosed stables consisted eight stalls on either side of a wide walkway. A large roof covered the whole structure in order to keep the area drier in the unpredictable Downs weather. The entrance was through huge sliding doors at either end.
I tried to follow Paula but was forced to make way for a groom who stumbled out through the open double doors leading a terrified horse by a makeshift rope halter. The groom's water-soaked shirt was tied across the horse's eyes. Several other grooms with horses followed in quick succession before Paula emerged from the smoke with both Penny Dreadful and Thieftaker in tow. Tendrils of her hair were singed and a gash on her left arm was bleeding profusely.
Hocker hurriedly organized a bucket brigade while Paula and Sir Adam took charge of moving the horses away to a clearing. Amanda Qwale, the house servants, and Nina Brisbane all arrived in a rush to pitch in. Faintly, the sound of a fire truck siren could be heard over the cackle of the flames.
I grabbed a young groom who was rushing around in a panic and accomplishing nothing.
"Where's the sprinkler box?" I asked, receiving a blank look in exchange. I shook the boy harshly. His eyes focused on me. He gestured indeterminately with his free arm.
"Show me," I said, releasing him.
The groom scampered around the outside of the stable building. I followed, stopping once to haul the groom to his feet after he tripped, and once to avoid being trampled by a terror-stricken horse breaking through the fire-weakened stable wall to save himself.
Through the horse's escape hole, I could see into the stables. The fire was getting the upper hand, but there was still a chance. Urged on by the horrible sounds of trapped animals, I stopped at the building's rear when the groom pointed at the sprinkler power box. The hard-plastic casing was splintered. Wires protruded in every direction like angry snakes.
Above the sprinkler controls there was the large metal fuse box, which provided power for the sprinklers, the automatic trough watering system, and the stable floodlights. I threw the switch off, plunging the area into darkness, and tore my fingers ripping open the outer shell of the vandalized sprinkler box, further exposing the inner wiring.
The first house I'd ever bought had to be entirely rewired. I'd taken great pleasure in learning how to do it myself with help from an electrician uncle. I hoped I'd retained some of what he taught me.
Working by the light of the flames, I fumbled to reconnect the sprinkler control wires. I then threw the main power switch back on. The stable floodlights came, indicating the fire hadn't damaged the electrical system yet, but nothing happened with the sprinklers. I turned the main off again and delved back into the wires.
It took two quick sessions of trial and error before water pouring burst out of the overhead sprinkler system. There was a cheer from the bucket brigade, but it could have been for the arrival of the fire crew.
I turned to the young groom, who was jumping from one Wellington-booted foot to the other.
"That was super, mister," he said. "How'd you do it...you know...having only one eye and all? Umm ...I mean..." His expression turned fearful as he realized he might have insulted one of Sir Adam’s guests.
I put my hand gently on his shoulder. "Just because I've lost an eye doesn't mean I've lost half my brains as well."
The groom started to stammer. "I... I’m sorry."
"You didn't think?" I finished for him.
"Yeah."
"It's okay. You were a big help."
His look of relief was comical. My lips twitched into a grin. Perhaps I was getting used to people who believed handicaps made you less of a person.
The groom headed back toward the front of the stables. As he did, I saw the figure of a man by a tree a short distance away. When he realized I’d seen him, the man turned and began walking away.
Why would anybody connected with the stables or the estate leave when they might be needed?
I called out, but the man moved from a walk to a jog.
The stable fire had been deliberately set. I knew firebugs got a thrill from watching the destruction they cause. I began running after the fleeing man.
Away from the stables the luminescence of the floodlights and the fire dropped drastically. I thought I'd lost my quarry until a shadow moved at the entrance of the estate's hedge maze. If the figure had remained still, I wouldn't have seen him, but his lack of patience gave him away.
I sprinted to the maze and slipped inside the seven-foot-high, tightly leafed walls before stopping to listen. I could hear harsh breathing and set off in pursuit. The maze was beautifully constructed and maintained. Twice I ran into dead ends, forced to retrace my steps. The person I was chasing seemed to be encountering the same problems. Every time I thought he'd lost me, or I'd lost myself, I caught the sound of laboring lungs or shuffling feet, which pushed me on.
A small park, at the heart of the maze, unexpectedly opened before me. Reflecting in the moonlight was a lily pond with a silent fountain. The pond was surrounded by an array of trees and flower beds.
My quarr
y was sitting on a white-slatted park bench, making exaggerated breathing noises. He was short and slightly built. Uncombed lanks of hair spilled down his forehead and across his eyes. He smiled, revealing crooked, protruding teeth. I stepped toward him, my attention fully on any furtive moves he might make.
A heavy blow caught me across the backs of my knees, and I dropped face-first onto the manicured turf. I started to roll to one side, but the sole of a huge boot planted itself with vicious force on my spine and drove the air out of my lungs.
Screaming panic messages shot through my nervous system to the already jammed reception center in my brain. A hand, which felt large enough to be the mate to the boot in my back, reached down and grabbed the jacket I was wearing and tugged it down until my arms were pinned to my sides. I struggled to escape but could find no leverage. A smaller hand nestled in my hair and jerked my head up and back until I was looking into the face of the slim man I'd been chasing.
"Not so tough now are you, you Limey bastard?" His accent was a thick Dublin brogue. He emphasized his question by spitting in my face. The thick slime of mucus stung horribly in my good eye. Reaching out with a filthy hand, he pulled off my eye patch and laughed when he saw the puckered skin beneath it.
Rage and shame surged through me and I felt like a wild animal caught in a vicious trap. If I could have chewed off a leg to get at my tormentor, I would have done so gladly.
Violently, I rolled over onto my back and kicked out with both feet. There was a gratifying grunt from the huge shape behind me, but my elation died when the smaller man kicked me in the head with the steel toes of his Doc Martin's. Reality spun away into a foggy haze which became worse when the weight of the big man dropped heavily onto my chest. He leaned forward and kneeled painfully on my biceps. The fetid smell of the man filled my nostrils.
"Get it over with, Liam," he said to his smaller companion.
Liam crouched down again and leaned over me. His upside-down face leered at me with a sickly grin.