by Matt Drabble
Charlotte’s voice broke into his thoughts. ‘How did you get on?’
‘I’ll have something soon,’ he answered. ‘We’d better go somewhere anonymous,’ he added as an afterthought.
‘I have a room booked at a Travelodge near the motorway.’
‘When did you book it?’
‘This morning on the way down. I always plan ahead,’ she said a little smugly.
‘Did you use your real name?’
‘Maybe,’ she said, a touch unsure.
‘Well, that’s out then. We have to assume that someone might very well be looking for us now. I used my real name and provided ID at the retirement home, and I also saw a sophisticated CCTV setup there –’
‘So?’ Charlotte said a little testily.
‘So they have your face, and it is a pretty memorable one,’ Travis said, meaning it in a factual way, but finding his cheeks involuntarily flushed. ‘Because no-one seems to be all that eager to let me in on any of the crazy details to all this, I am going to assume the worst.’ He gave her a penetrating look, challenging her to reveal what she knew, but she broke the contact and looked away first.
‘Wherever we’re going we’d better do it fast before we’re sleeping in the car,’ Charlotte said quietly.
‘We’ll have to use the one that I arranged this morning. I’ll ring the guy and let him know the good news that my wife will be joining me,’ he said, enjoying her sulk.
In a grumpy huff Travis joined her back in the car; it was a long time since he had operated with another person in any kind of function. He was already finding the shared experience frustrating.
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Charlotte drove in a grumpy mood to match that of her new companion. He had used the Sat Nav to locate the B&B he had booked, and they were on their way to it now. She was debating with herself about what, if anything, to reveal to Parker. He seemed genuine and capable enough, but she had so little trust to give. Having been shut off from the world for so long, she wasn’t sure if she could open up to anyone.
She risked a glance at her passenger; up close he wasn’t much to look at. His shoulders were slumped and his face was pudgy. His stomach poked over his belt and his wardrobe told a tale of neglectful care and choices. His hair was unkempt and in need of a shampoo and cut as much as his face was in need of a shave. But there was something about his eyes that caught her attention. They were deep-set and full of pain, but they also sparkled with more life than the rest of his body exuded. It wasn’t any sort of physical romantic attraction; it was more that she had finally found herself in need of an anchor to the world around her.
‘All right,’ she said with a heavy quiet sigh.
‘Huh?’ Travis said, looking up.
‘I’ll tell you what I know. If you’re going to stick around, then you at least deserve to know what you’re getting into.’
‘Okay. Shoot’
‘It was July 1991 …’ she began.
When she had finished the tale of the fire and her parent’s death, her cheeks were wet with tears that she had long thought exhausted.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
COMMON BURIAL GROUND
Travis could only sit and wait for Charlotte’s tears to stop. Her shoulders hitched and heaved and a bottomless pit of pain was mined for fresh grief. It was a feeling he knew only too well; his own grief was by now a familiar friend and a regular caller.
‘So what happened afterwards?’ he asked gently when her tears subsided. He instinctively knew that this was the type of story that had to be spilled in one sitting otherwise it would only fester.
‘By the time the emergency services were called the house was all but destroyed by the fire. Family lawyers processed the estate and I ended up shifted around between greedy relatives who seemed to think that I came with a bank account that they could dip into. Once they realised that the money derived from the insurance on the Montague portrait was held in a trust until I became old enough, they were no longer interested in me.’
‘How much was the insurance?’ he couldn’t help asking.
‘I think it was around 1.3 million, and that was over twenty years ago’
‘And then?’
‘Not much else to tell,’ she said tersely. ‘My father, or whoever he was by then, strangled my mother before a fortuitous collapsing ceiling saved me from his murderous intent.’
‘What a monster!’
Charlotte turned on him in a flash. ‘He was not a monster. He was a great man and a loving father. Don’t you ever speak ill of him again.’
Travis was taken aback by her defence of a murderer. ‘Wait a minute’ he said with a puzzled brow. ‘Are you trying to tell me that your father was another victim of Hugo Montague? Just like Delaney back at the retirement home?’
Her averted gaze spoke volumes.
‘Oh, man,’ was all he could think of to say as he struggled to process the facts.
‘Don’t you think it’s too much of a coincidence?’ Charlotte said.
‘I think it’s a little bit easier to believe in coincidences than in haunted murderous paintings,’ he replied.
‘So why are you still sticking around if everyone is so obviously bonkers?’
‘I have my reasons.’
‘And you’re not going to share them?’
‘It would appear so.’
‘Charming!’ she said.
‘Not in the slightest.’
Charlotte sulked as she drove.
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The two men followed at a safe distance. The black sedan was nondescript and unobtrusive, a perfect match for their purpose. They kept the rental car always in sight but never close enough to arouse suspicion in their prey. The two men mirrored their vehicle: both were of average height and average build. Their clothes were picked carefully to blend into the world around them – beige suits befitting an accountant or a bank cashier. Both men were clean shaven with sensible haircuts and no noticeable features: they were a perfect combination of average.
The passenger motioned with a slight tilt of the head as the rental in front drifted over to a turnoff with indicator flashing. The driver of the black sedan followed suit and eased down on his speed to keep the distance between them. A phone rang in the passenger’s pocket and he swiftly withdrew the mobile, listened intently to the caller and then hung up as instructed. The driver raised an eyebrow in question and the passenger answered with a small single shake of the head and a tap of a finger to his watch. The driver understood and continued to follow.
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Charlotte observed the signs and took the turning for Beech Cottage. The lane departed from the main road and she found herself propelled along a beautiful stretch of countryside with sweeping views of lush green fields. The B&B Parker had found was isolated and discreet and perfect to disappear in for a while.
She had felt embarrassed at her tears, but was unable to uncover the age old wounds without breaking down. It was a private hurt and one that she usually guarded well, but if Parker was going to stay in the game, then he deserved a little honesty. She had expected him to reciprocate with his own tale of grief, but as yet his walls were firmly fortified.
He was beginning to become somewhat of an unwanted distraction to her. He was rude and abrasive, and seemed to have little in the way of any formal training when it came to the violent side of the business. And yet there was a small glint of defiance in his eyes that spoke of a steely will. Before all this was over, he could be of some use.
She pulled the rental car into the small car park at Beech House, a tarmacked area with neatly white-lined spaces for three cars, marked ‘Guests’. She exited the car and stretched her back against the stress of the day. Parker followed suit and stood looking up at the attractive cottage – a stone-clad building with large glinting windows looking out over the sweeping view. The wooden stable buildings in the grounds looked as though they had been converted into accommodation.
The front door of the
cottage exploded outwards as a tall, rotund, fiftyish man bounded out with a beaming face of warm greeting. ‘Welcome, welcome!’ he said, smiling broadly and nodding his balding head.
Charlotte flinched and almost took a swing at Parker as he grabbed her firmly and affectionately around the waist. She stared daggers at him until he glared forcibly back and she felt herself reluctantly yielding to his subterfuge.
‘Hi there,’ Parker said as he steered her around to face their host.
‘You’ve certainly brought the weather with you,’ the landlord said, and Charlotte wondered why he felt the need to wear a thick engulfing woollen cardigan that strained to contain his bulk.
‘I’m Joffre,’ he said. His face was kind with a ruddy red glow and a silver beard.
‘Nice to meet you, Joffre,’ Parker replied. ‘I’m Travis Boulder and this is my wife Charlie.’
Charlotte finally caved in and took her lead from Parker. As annoying as it was, he was right – for discretionary purposes they had to pass as a couple.
‘Hello,’ she said with a smile, trying to match the friendliness on parade.
‘I’ve got a lovely room prepared for you – the honeymoon suite.’ Joffre winked good-naturedly.
‘Lovely,’ Parker said, as he flicked her a grin and a sly look of humour.
‘Be a dear and get the bags, darling,’ she said to Parker, pleased to see his grin falter as he hoisted her heavy pink holdall from the boot of the rental car.
They followed Joffre into the cottage and up the stairs to a large en-suite room at the top of the house. Charlotte noted the attractiveness of the surroundings; it seemed like forever since she had even noticed the simple comforts of a warm home.
‘Here we go,’ Joffre said, beaming. ‘Hope everything is to your liking. Bathroom through here.’ He pointed with a meaty finger. ‘TV, tea and coffee making facilities, and a phone with a direct outside line. There’s free Wi-Fi, and breakfast is at seven until ten a.m. and there’s a packet on the table there, containing all the information you need for the local area.’
Parker thanked him. ‘It all seems great. I think we could do with a quick rest and a cuppa.’
‘Then I shall leave you to it,’ Joffre said. ‘Anything you need, I’m just downstairs and a whistle away.’
As Joffre closed the door behind him and Parker began massaging his face as though his smiling muscles were sorely out of shape, Charlotte laughed genuinely for the first time in a long while. ‘I think you’ve made a new friend there,’ she said teasingly.
‘I think it was the pink bag,’ he said, still smiling. ‘Sorry for grabbing you outside. Under the circumstances, it just seemed the natural thing to do.’
Charlotte felt her cheeks begin to flush. ‘Well don’t do it again or I’ll break your bloody arm,’ she said, a little too strongly.
‘Could you?’
She stared at him, wondering at the question. ‘Could I what?’
‘Break my arm. It’s not a challenge,’ he added somewhat hastily, ‘I’m just curious.’
She stared at him, angered again by his manner and what seemed to her his harsh tone. His dead eyes briefly sparkled again, whether with humour or mocking she could not tell.
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Travis returned her stare. She was a curious one and no mistake, one minute all teeth and claws and the next strangely innocent and vulnerable. But he did want to know just who he was travelling with and what her limits were.
‘There’s a large meadow out the back of here,’ he said, nodding towards the window and the secluded field beyond. ‘Perhaps it’s time we got to know each other a little better.’
Her flushed face and jaw set in stone told him that she had missed his intentions; she confirmed this as she stormed past him and down the stairs. He flinched as the front door was flung open and then slammed shut behind her. So much for low profiles, he thought to himself as he hurried down after her. For once his luck held, as Joffre was either out of earshot or the soul of discretion.
He exited through the oak front door and had to jog after her. She had already disappeared from sight and he had to guess at her path. The lane they had driven down led back to the main road and the path from the house headed down a muddy trail and into the wooded fields.
Travis chose the trail and ran along the rutted path as wet mud splattered his poor choice of footwear. He slipped and staggered as he struggled to keep his balance. He looked down at the trail and was surprised to see that if Charlotte had come this way, she had left little evidence. The trail, covered over by low hanging branches that shaded the sunlight, was gloomy and encased in shadows.
He ran as fast as his slipping feet would allow, and was soon out of breath. He cursed his lack of fitness and his general sliding health since Amy’s death. He had never had a muscular build, but he had at least been active in the past. His mind had always been his sharpest weapon; he was not much of a fighter, preferring his battles to be of a more cerebral fashion.
Bursting through the shaded path he suddenly found himself out in an open field lined with hedgerows. He spotted Charlotte up ahead and increased his speed. Her shoulders looked stiff and her arms were wrapped tightly across her chest. He could feel her anger radiating off her.
‘Charlotte,’ he said, panting as he caught up with her.
When she didn’t answer he reached out to tap her shoulder. He wanted to apologise but felt sorely unarmed. As his hand touched her she whipped around with frightening speed. Her hand was a flashing blur as her fingers clamped down hard on his wrist. With the sudden cessation of momentum, he was thrown forward and fell down onto the uneven muddy grass. His manhood took a blow, both figuratively and literally as it was crushed beneath his body weight.
‘What the hell was that for?’ he demanded as he climbed back to his feet and brushed himself off.
‘Bring it!’ she said, with fire in her eyes.
Travis viewed the woman as she stood before him. Her knees were dipped slightly as if ready to spring and her body was angled slightly to one side to minimise the target. Her right arm was crooked back, and her left extended a little. Her palms were open with stiff fingers in a classic martial arts stance, and although her eyes were blazing, her face was cool with concentration.
Travis appraised the warrior before him. She was obviously trained to a high standard. Her balance and stance spoke volumes as did her rock-steady arms. Any adrenaline infusion was under control and her energy force held closely in check. His conclusions were quick and decisive; she was a formidable opponent that he had no interest in engaging in any physical confrontation. He could only hope that when it really mattered she would be on his side.
‘Easy, Charlotte,’ he said gently, his hands upturned and his arms pulled towards his chest in surrender. ‘I don’t know what you think is happening here, but I’m not your enemy.’
Her eyes flashed again, but she did not drop her guard.
Finally he dusted off his best smile, one he hadn’t used since before Amy’s death. He tried to shrug away the feelings of betrayal and used it now.
‘I don’t know about you, but all this exertion has made me hungry. Why don’t we find somewhere to eat and maybe talk a little more.’
She stared at him for what seemed like an age, before she slowly lowered her arms and armoury. ‘You’re paying,’ she said with a slight smile, before walking off briskly towards the B&B.
Travis felt a smile creep unwittingly across his lips; she was a woman he was finding more and more difficult to dislike.
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The Forester & Flower was a hearty pub in the oldest of English styles. The beams were oak, the fireplace was blazing, the beer was cold, and the welcome was warm. Joffre had recommended the place for somewhere to eat and Travis unexpectedly found himself famished. The bridges between him and Charlotte were fragile and rickety at best; the foundations were not set in concrete, but in crumbling sand.
‘So why exactly are you chasing t
he Montague Portrait now?’ Travis asked as he tucked into a large steak.
‘Vargas,’ she said in a low hard tone as she picked at a pasta dish.
‘What about him?’
‘He approached me through some dummy corporation. He’s claiming that the painting somehow survived the fire that took my parents. But I saw it burn, Parker. I saw it destroyed. He’s trying to reclaim the insurance money that was paid out for the painting, and most of my funds have been frozen in his vain efforts to force me to settle.’
‘It’s the painting he wants, isn’t it? Not the money.’
‘Yes.’
‘If the Montague Portrait still exists, what do you plan to do with it if you find it?’
‘I’m going to destroy it once and for all. And I will go around, I will go over, I will go through anyone who tries to stand in my way, including Vargas.’
‘What is he?’ Travis asked, hoping his voice didn’t betray his worry as his fork trembled before his mouth.
‘What do you mean?’
‘When I met him, it was … it was strange. He was strange. I’ve met many men in my life, Charlotte – some liars, some thieves, good men, bad men and downright evil men. But I’ve never felt scared of anyone until I met Vargas. He carries a force of will that is akin to a force of nature. He scared me, and I always trust my instincts.’
‘Then why are you still here? Why did you take this case?’
He put his fork down and pushed his half-finished plate away from him.
‘Her name was Amy,’ he said in a small choking voice.
‘Your wife?’ she asked in an equally small voice.
‘She was more like my life.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I never realised that my sun rose and set with her, you know? I didn’t realise until after she was gone that she was the best of me.’ He was grateful that Charlotte had the good grace to stay silent. It was a venomous pus-filled wound that had never healed, and every time he picked at it, it seeped bitter bile into his system. ‘The cancer ate her from the inside out. It stole her life. She was a woman who lit up every face around her. Her enthusiasm for the world was infectious and even made a miserable old git like me smile and want to be better.’ He smiled even as his eyes misted over. ‘When she began to fail, she was always more concerned about those in pain around her. Always looking to hand out condolences despite her own impending death; it was typical of her to the very end.’