Josie fell back in the chair and stared across the room, eyes wide and seeing nothing, struggling to take in the news. She had given up; there had been nothing else to do. Nothing had prepared her for this. Nineteen days ago he had been on a break in Scotland, chilling out and cadging a spare place on a day-boat where he could and then nothing. The rest had been silence, until now and uncertainty lingered. Her brain lunged down a mental switchback, from blind acceptance to a gritty determination to reject the lie. Angry at the cruelty, then relief that it must be true because no one else would know about the navigator! What did she mean; he was going to be all right. How far from all right was he at the moment and how quickly would they draw closer? He might be okay physically, but what about his mind? "Oh God, questions, questions!" She murmured and slumped forward with her head in her hands, then wiping her face she straightened and muttered to the empty room. "I'd better tell Jardine." Josie kicked off her shoes, left the office and walked barefoot through the Grange, climbing the stairs to the second floor staff quarters. The building was silent and lit by emergency lights, her footsteps were a hushed padding. Occasionally a stair tread creaked softly under her weight. The faces of the portraits were lighter smears in the dark squares of the frames. Eerie, but many of the faces were, by now, like old friends. One portrait hanging at the head of the stairs depicted a woman in 18th century finery, captured in a relaxed pose, she would have been a beauty in any age and the dark silk of her dress complimented her fair complexion and the fiery hue of her hair. A trait she shared with Josie, who, sensitive about the crown she wore, jokingly referred to it as ruddy gold. Josie had felt drawn to this picture since her early days on the Grange staff and as she passed beneath the frame Josie whispered. "I think he's coming home." Still not daring to believe, she reached the head of the stairs and turned down the corridor towards Jardine's room. She knocked on the oak-panelled door and waited for half a minute, then knocked again and tried the handle. The door opened and she let herself in. Jardine was laid on the bed, dressed but asleep, she gently shook his shoulder. Jardine's eyes flickered open. "Josie, what is it, what's going on."
"Sorry to disturb you sir. But I have news.”
"What is it?" He said brusquely.
"Steel's been found."
Jardine lurched upright. "What, where, when?"
"Come down to the office and I’ll let you have the details." She replied and left. Jardine appeared in trousers and hastily buttoned shirt. The stubble on his chin and unkempt appearance and the time of the morning aged him. He may have looked dishevelled but his mind was sharp. "Any coffee?" he asked and Josie pointed at the filter machine on the filing cabinet. Jardine helped himself and poured one for her. “What do you have?”
"The call came in about twenty minutes ago," she said and quickly briefed him on the news. Jardine listened carefully, weighing her words and marshalling his thoughts. "Who else knows about this?" He asked.
"I had the call recorded so, whoever was on duty downstairs, you and me." She answered.
Jardine nodded. "Keep it like that for now." he told her, "but I want Langhers close by when the police have been. If he's scheduled to go off-Grange tomorrow re-arrange it, I want to talk to him." Josie was scribbling in her notebook again, jotting a little reminder for herself. Jardine swallowed another mouthful of coffee. He put the mug down beside his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don't suppose we've heard anything from Ben and his allies yet, have we?"
She flicked back through a notebook on her desk. "Yes, we have. He warned me to have a listening watch put on his short-wave frequency and we picked a signal up around midnight tonight. He's got a contact in the Loch Linnhe area, an old shipmate who spends his summers sailing the western Approaches, but he had nothing to report."
"With nothing to report there was no reason to wake me I suppose." Jardine raised an eyebrow. Josie nodded and sipped her own coffee. It was almost cold. "So, what's this shipmate do during the winter months?"
"Sails south, like the swallows, only he stops when he reaches the Med."
Jardine pursed his lips, "Hmm, does he indeed. That might be useful. That's really handy, being able to disappear when you like. I suppose it is possible, that he might have occasionally, for whatever reason, disappeared south a little earlier, or later than usual?"
"I've no idea sir, but if he can sail south and no-one misses him for months, then he could also disappear in a more sinister fashion and no-one will miss him that way either."
"Yes, I had thought of that." Jardine admitted reluctantly.
Josie drained her mug and sat toying with it, swinging her swivel chair from side to side and Jardine realised that a lot of the strain had gone from her face. The line of her jaw and the profile of her cheekbones were smoother, less gaunt than they had been for at least a week, her skin was as pale as it ever was, but had lost the translucence which made her look almost ghostly at times. He marvelled at the change and we had nothing confirmed yet, just the rekindling of hope, no matter how small had transformed her. He realised he must look a mess, in yesterday's crumpled sweaty clothes, shirt unbuttoned and no socks under his slippers. The stubble scratched his hand when he rubbed his chin and the shadow was well past seven o'clock, the pair sat in a companionable silence with the deep melancholy tock of the clock on the mantelpiece breaking the stillness of the room. Eventually Jardine spoke. "How come you were around to take the call, I thought you had finished?"
"Chance, I couldn't sleep so I thought I might as well get up and do something then go to bed when I felt tired enough to sleep, but it wasn't working. I was getting tired, not sleepy and groggy. I think I must have dozed off at the desk a couple of times, but I was awake when it rang and sleep just doesn't seem important now."
"Go and get some sleep, you're going to need rest. We may not get much over the next few days, so whatever we get now will be useful."
"I know," Josie agreed, setting her mug down and resting her hands on the arms of her chair. She sat a little stiffly. The muscles in her back, strained with trying to find a comfortable position earlier in the night now pulled at her, increasing her discomfort. "Go on lass, get off to bed. Let the night watchman take any more calls. No, better still, I'll have them diverted to the lodge. If anyone wants me I'll be there. I have to make a few calls on the Outland line. But I'll get myself dressed first. Now, go on, off you go. I'll sort things out down here."
“I’m feeling fine." She protested.
Jardine gave an exasperated sigh. "You're not fine, you're dog tired. Now go sleep and no arguments. If anything happens I will let you know immediately. OK?"
Josie gave in, there was no arguing with him tonight and he was right she was too tired to be any good in a crisis and finally gave in reluctantly. "I'll go, but I can't promise you that I will sleep."
Jardine smiled and looked her straight in the eye. "You'll sleep, trust me. You will definitely sleep tonight and don't go setting your alarm clock. Stay there until you wake naturally."
"If anything happens you will tell me?" She pleaded.
"Josie, go to bed." he said and ushered her through the building and to her room. "Now go and get some sleep, please." Jardine returned to his own quarters and stripped off his clothes before standing under the shower, shifting the temperature between warm and hot, then finishing with two minutes as cold as he could stand it. The final rush brought his system fully awake and he spent five minutes towelling dry while his mind mulled it over. He could not move until after the official contact, but that didn't stop him working out a deployment of his people so that some of them were ready and conveniently close to the area. The gist of it; his missing man had turned up, injured and hospitalised. He dressed in a navy blue polo neck sweater and cavalry twill trousers then pulled on black boat shoes and knotted the laces.
Josie closed door behind her, shutting the world outside and leaned on it for a full minute before crossing the room to her bed. Relief washed over her like the tide across a beach and
felt the energy ebbing from her body the closer she got to the bed. She stripped as she walked and by the time she reached the bed she was down to her underwear and she crawled under the duvet, her eyelids coming down in time with the covers as she snuggled her head into the pillow and slept.
Jardine checked on her as he made his way to the Porter’s Lodge. He stood by the door and listened to the sound of her breathing, it wasn't quite a snore, but just a touch louder and it would have been. He smiled; she had earned the right to snore like a woodcutter. She would be out for hours and just to help make sure he crept across the room and drew the curtains, blotting out what little light filtered in from outside. The lights of Oxford were a faint glow on the horizon, but when the sun rose it would pour into the room. Outside the glass a cloudless night was spangled with a fine view of the Milky Way and if the clouds remained as scarce at daybreak it would be a fine, bright morning. He left her to sleep. Jardine descended the staircase to the ground floor and went out of the heavy oak doors and walked the gravel drive that ran between the Grange and the Lodge known as King's Shilling, a name bestowed by a former occupant who had returned to his country beginnings after a military career brought short by amputation. Jardine walked slowly, hands in pockets and deep in thought, the gravel barely shifting under his weight and realised the anticipated daybreak was almost upon him. The sky was lightening perceptibly in the east and there wasn't a cloud in sight. The polo neck had been a good choice, as the morning air was colder than expected. He let himself into the lodge and made for the kitchen. There was little to do now except wait and he knew that wasn't his strong point. The police arrived at seven thirty, Jardine was on his third mug of coffee and the caffeine wasn’t doing anything for him anymore and the fluid level in his body made it feel like his back teeth were floating off.
The dark blue Nissan Primera parked outside King’s Shilling. Jardine twitched the curtains at the first sound of the engine as it changed gear to negotiate the turn from the road and watched it pull up. He was standing at the open front door, leaning on the jamb before the driver had left the vehicle and the conversation began across the gleaming paintwork of the roof.
“Morning Bill,” Malcolm Baker locked the car and straightened to his full lintel scraping six feet four inches. The epaulettes of a Chief Inspector decorated his uniform jacket and the tie and shirt were immaculate.
“Hello Malcolm,” responded Jardine, taking in the details at a glance and nodded at his friend’s rig, “bit formal for the time of day, good to see you though.”
The policeman walked around the front of the car, offering a large hand to shake “Didn’t expect to see you up and about, thought I might have found one of your staff here.”
Jardine pushed himself upright and took the hand. “No, I’m generally an early riser and I tend to use this place a lot, keeps me close to the action, but the length of the drive gives me a bit of space.”
“You’re not busy then?” Baker asked.
Jardine shook his head. “No, nothing much at the moment, we’re having a steady week this week, not much happening at all,” he said, “but we have got an event, shall we say in a couple of weeks, but then you probably know more about that than I do. Is that what this is about?”
“No,” Baker reassured him, “that’s not on my brief at the moment, beyond an initial notification. You may be lurking in shadows where even I don’t dare to walk with this one. No, this is something for you. I have some news.”
“Well, you'd better come in then.... Coffee, tea, breakfast?”
He raised a hand, declining the invitation. “Nothing for me thanks, it isn’t that long since I ate.”
“Fine, that’s no problem; come in anyway.” Jardine turned and led the way through to the kitchen and offered the Chief Inspector a seat. Malcolm Baker sat down and Jardine eased himself into a chair across the kitchen table. “Is this official, or unofficial.”
“Bit of both if you like, we’ve had some news during the night and one of my people would have been around at some point to bring you up to date, but I decided to do it myself.”
“And the news?” Jardine asked quietly.
“You’re man’s been found, alive, but injured. He was airlifted to the West Highland in Oban the day before yesterday; he regained consciousness last night and was able to give some personal details to a local uniform, they passed the word to us, citing you and here as next of kin and home address.”
Jardine closed his eyes, but the wrinkles and crow’s feet told that he was smiling. “Do we need to identify him, to confirm that he is who he says he is?”
“He did say something that sounded a bit weird, that might save you a journey.”
“Oh, what was that then?” Jardine asked.
“He said, or seemed to say something along the lines of, when you get in touch with them tell them you’ve found the Portugee. It all sounds a bit melodramatic to me, but apparently that’s what he said.” Baker explained, “I suppose it makes perfect sense to you doesn’t it.”
“Yes, it does, I think you can relax. It probably is our man.” Jardine confirmed.
Baker pressed for more information, a bit of background on the disappearance and sudden reappearance of Jardine’s man, but the Chief Executive of the Grange was playing it cagey, giving away no more than he had to and that was little more than the time of day and even that reluctantly. Eventually Baker gave up; throwing in the towel in the verbal games the two men had played across the table for twenty minutes. The policeman knew that his own walk through life took him through the shadowy side of life, but it felt like the brightest noon-day compared to the darkness that Jardine and some of his people at the Grange operated in. His parting shot was delivered with a smile and a repeat of the firm and friendly handshake that had started the meeting. “When I arrived, you knew he was safe.” Baker said, “That’s why you’re down here.”
Jardine smiled. “Malcolm, I knew something had happened, but we needed confirmation from an independent source. You gave us that. Thanks, it really is appreciated.” he let go of his friend’s hand and watched him return to the car. The engine purred as he reversed it out of the gate and back into the road, then drove off toward Oxford. He returned to the lodge and rang through to the Grange, punching the number for Langhers' room. The answer was prompt. "Kurt, get Josie, tell her it's confirmed, she'll explain and both of you come down to King's Shilling. We're going for a working breakfast. Clear your workload for the next week, at least. Tell her to do the same."
"OK, see you soon," he said, "mine's strong and black." The bafflement was clear in his voice. Jardine hung up and went into the kitchen and raided the fridge. It wasn't going to be a healthy breakfast, but it would be a hearty one.
*****
Chapter Eight
Iceline Page 7