The Shackleton Affair (A Raymond Armstrong Novel Book 2)

by Michael Gill

  “Prohibition.”

  “Okay, go on - I know about this. Rum runners from my neck of the woods,” she said.

  “I can imagine smuggling rum into the states from Nova Scotia. Laphroaig was the only whisky that ever got into the USA through prohibition. The customs officer thought it was cough medicine.”

  Idiots she thought, just like now. All my stolen stuff in a Walmart bag. She laughed to herself.

  “Anyway, after prohibition they passed a law that all bourbon must be matured in a new cask. That left them with all these three year old perfectly good and charred casks waiting for someone to buy cheap. The Scots jumped on board.” He continued to tell the story while Trace watched him intently. She had her head tilted to one side, flicking her hair back with her hand constantly.

  “That was quite interesting I have to admit, and narrated so well.”

  “What does Ian do for a living?”

  “Nothing much anymore. He’s comfortably well off. I mean loaded actually.”

  “So what got him interested in whisky?”

  Trace ordered another bottle of wine and Raymond could see she was getting sloshed.

  “Ian is completely nuts when it comes to collecting rare whisky. Quite obsessive with it.”

  Raymond had a thought. A series of whisky thefts must mean a collector was behind it. He had read it was a medical condition that could take over, in the same category as Obsessive-Compulsive disorder. This is a tad different from hoarding or all the books you often see in a house. Collecting books can become a real pain, he’d read.

  “Does he have an extensive collection?”

  “Oh yes, and he travels the world going to auctions.” No matter what the situation, Raymond’s skills from the company would always kick in. “I have a client actually looking for a Dalmore, does Ian have one?” He looked at her as if he just said this in passing, when really he was probing, studying every facial muscle, her eyes, hands - every bone in her body.

  “I don’t know the names of his whiskies. I thought I mentioned I don’t even like the stuff. No idea and a question for him.” She was defensive, her flirting eyes replaced with shifty ones. After a few seconds her sexy demeanour returned. She held out her hand and touched his. “Thanks so much for talking to me.”

  “Why don’t you come to my room, tuck me into bed with another whisky story. Did I mention being a Yoga instructor? My body can move into positions you would never imagine.”

  “I don’t think so. Goodnight Tracey.”

  “Your loss,” she said wobbling down the hallway. “My room is on the ground floor.” She opened the main door leading to the ground floor rooms. She looked backed while finding her key in her bag. She stared at the key. “Raymond,” she shouted to him. “One-one-four if you change your mind.”

  Raymond walked to the bar. “A Glen Breton 14 please,” he ordered from the bar person. He took out his iPhone to check for any important emails. He found one from Anne.

  First Sheringham: Found the house although it’s a bunch of flats these days. Turns out talking to the locals he rented from some officer he knew in the navy. I also found from locals stories that the Queen came quite often to the town. Anyway, no reason to be here at all except it was near Sandringham.

  Sandringham House wasn’t quite as beautiful as I recalled. The grounds are outstanding. I never knew that after the King died in 1910 she took over the main building and stayed there until she died in 1925. I started calculating some dates around all this. She was always a big supporter of our explorer but possibly did get friendlier after the death of the King. She would have been sixty-six years old at the time. Her son the King and Queen Mary would always stay in the York cottage on the grounds. Quite small really for the King and Queen of Great Britain. I thought that quite odd. I mean not small by our standards, and it does have a beautiful view and is by a lake. Really, I find researching Queen Alexandra to be as mysterious as Shackleton.

  I asked lots of questions to everybody I could get my hands on. The tourist guides were a waste of time and I tried talking to the staff. Nothing really but it was a nice break. Even went down to Cromer when I stayed in Sheringham and had the best fish and chips of my life. Miss you. Xxxx

  He smiled knowing Anne was having a heck of a time with all this. Her passion for Shackleton was rekindled and all by accident really. A whisky tasting and a theft. Strange how life works sometimes, he thought.

  He was finally ready to retire when a phone call came in from a number he knew well. This will be interesting he thought and answered. “Richard, it’s been a long time.”

  “I need to meet you in the morning at the usual spot.

  “Well I’m in Nova Scotia and not back until the day after tomorrow.

  “What the hell are you doing there?”

  “A distillery visit, not that it’s your business.”

  “Right, day after tomorrow. What time do you get in?”

  “8.30 AM.”

  “Right 10.30.”

  “What is all this about?”

  “National security and don’t be late.” The line went dead.

  Chapter 21

  Raymond woke early and took a three mile run taking in the spectacular views around the distillery. Back in the chalet, the clock said 6.30. He showered and shaved, timing all of his daily chores to be downstairs when the kitchen opened at 7.00. He entered the dining area at 7.02 precisely and sat in a corner on his own. He loved having breakfast in a hotel at this time in the morning. Once all the guests woke up it was mayhem at the buffet bar. All you can eat was usually advertised and yet guests would pile their plates. Moving backwards and forwards looking for coffee. Does the waitress bring it or do we help ourselves? Where is it? Drove him crazy just watching them.

  The next guest to arrive five minutes later was Trace. “Good morning Raymond, may I join you?”

  “Never pegged you for an early riser, particularly after to all the wine you consumed.”

  She sat down opposite him, while a waiter poured coffee for her. She lifted the cup to her lips, took a long sip and looked blankly into his eyes.

  “Why up so early?”

  “Golf,” she replied.

  “Really! Being a yoga instructor must work wonders for your golf game. What do you shoot?”

  “I see you have a good memory.”

  “I try.”

  “A five handicap.”

  “Very good. I have a fourteen.”

  “I shot a seventy-nine at Cabot links yesterday.”

  “You were saying last night. Typical links course?”

  “Yes, just like Scotland and Ireland. It’s gaining a reputation as one of the best in North America. I’d never played the course. I was quite pleased with my score.” She’s quite good Raymond thought.

  Trace asked him, “What are you doing today?”

  “Actually not much. They have a trade day which my friend Louisa is attending. Our flight isn’t until midnight. Why?”

  “Join me for a round of golf at my local club in Chester.”

  “I couldn’t. I don’t have my clubs and how long would it take to drive there? I have to be at the airport for ten this evening.”

  “Easy. Ian and I are travelling back in one hour by helicopter. The tee time is noon and you can join us for dinner. I’ll arrange for our limo driver to take you to the airport. What clubs do you own?”

  “Tailor-made.”

  “Steel or graphite irons?”

  “Steel.”

  “Right handed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, I’ll arrange a rental set that are similar. Are you in?”

  “Yes, let me pack my bags and inform Louisa I will meet her at the airport.”

  The flight took no time at all really. Raymond had estimated it would have taken 5 hours by car. It was too noisy to speak during the flight. Ian had invited him for dinner and mentioned he could see his whisky collection and was looking forward to chatting with him.

&n
bsp; Trace made the five minutes’ drive to the golf course from the house in a small BMW car that she said was her pride and joy in the summer.

  The club shop fitted him up with a set that looked almost identical to his golf clubs back home.

  It was time to tee off on the first tee. A par five to open up with. Interesting thought Raymond. He looked to his right, taking in the view of the Atlantic Ocean. He breathed in fully smelling the seaweed and salt from the ocean waves. Trace swung her driver slowly with a full back swing, the ball travelling at least two hundred and fifty yards down the centre of the fairway.

  “Nice swing.”

  “Thanks.”

  Raymond drove a similar distance but off to the left, landing in the rough.

  “Most first-time players always aim left to keep well way from the ocean. When we go inland it’s the other way round.”

  “Is this a true links course then?”

  “Not really but close enough. It’s a par five remember. Just a nice shot back onto the fairway.

  “Thank you.”

  “Always here to help a guest player. Well at least on their first time here. Do you want a wager? I play to five and you to fourteen.”

  Raymond took out his wallet. “I have two hundred in Canadian dollars.”

  “Deal,” she said offering her hand, which he shook.

  Raymond played his second to the centre of the fairway and his third to the edge of the green. To his astonishment, Tracey had gone for it in two, her second shot with a hybrid landing in the centre of the green. She birded the hole while Raymond scrambled for his par. The second hole was a short par three with the ocean a backdrop to the hole.

  “What is that?” Raymond asked pointing in the sky just above the green.

  “An osprey. Our provincial bird.”

  “Amazing. We almost lost all of ours in England and Scotland.” Raymond shot landing in the bunker. He suddenly realised this would be a hard day especially playing by the water. The views were breathtaking causing him to lose focus. By the eighth hole he had recovered slightly since the course had left the ocean, reminding him more of his club course back in Stamford. The last two holes on the front nine were back next to the ocean which he immediately reverted back to the beginning, bogeying them both.

  They stopped at the club house for a break. “I’m having coffee with a Baileys. How about you?”

  “Make that two,” he said.

  She came back with two cups moments later.

  Trace sipped on her coffee while studying the score card.

  “Would you like to know our scores after the first nine holes?”

  “If we must,” said Raymond knowing full well he was losing.

  “Forty-three for you. Thirty-nine for me. This is going to be close with our handicaps. Let’s go,” she said.

  After both scoring two pars, they arrived at the twelfth hole, a par three. Raymond was licking his chops.

  “This looks like home Tracey. I’ll have you on this one.”

  “Okay,” she said with a smile. “By the way, call me Trace.”

  “Pet peeve of mine shortening names. I’ll call you Tracey, if that’s okay?”

  Trace tilted her head to one side, shrugging her shoulders. “Let’s see you get this one on the green.” She smiled smugly.

  Raymond hit an easy six iron which landed in the centre of the green. The flag was tucked to the back, resulting in a perfect shot that seemed to slide by the hole within inches.

  “Almost a hole in one. I will birdie this, Raymond declared.”

  Trace hit her iron short landing at the front of the green. The ball continued through the green stopping within a few feet of the hole. When they walked down to the green Raymond was in shock. He found his ball all the way over the green on a slope full of long grass. How come?”

  “This green is super-fast.”

  “Thanks for telling me. What happened to the host being helpful?”

  “You seemed so confident. I didn’t want to burst your bubble.” She cocked her head to one side with a wide grin.

  “Are there anymore holes that might surprise me?”

  “No. The green on this hole is always fast. We have no idea why. Let me show you.”

  Raymond stood on the edge of the green watching her pace around it, looking at all angles. She took out her putter, made a short back swing. Raymond watched the ball slowly roll across the green and into the middle of the cup.

  “A birdie for me,” she said confidently. Raymond finished putting to score another bogie. She remained quiet with a confident stride walking to the next hole.

  By the time they reached the last hole Raymond had become somewhat frustrated with this course. There were so many nuances and it would take many rounds to master it. They both had a par on the eighteenth. Trace came over and shook his hand. “I do believe you owe me money,” she grinned. She took out the scorecard and calculated the totals. I have a seventy eight which is one over. You have an eighty nine which is errmm three over.”

  He took out his wallet and handed over the money. She snatched at it, her eyes darting back and forth. It reminded him of a cocaine addict looking for a fix with a punter handing over cash. She had been a delight to play with until that moment. Quite odd really.

  “Right, let’s head back to the house for dinner.”

  Chapter 22

  The house was a delightful open concept which Trace was now showing him. He reckoned it would have to be in the region of ten thousand square feet. The small living room seemed to be all glass, the light streaming in through a huge number of windows and sky lights.

  ”This is Ian’s. I hardly ever come in here. It’s his place to relax. He gazes out of the windows at the ocean or watches the rain bounce off the sky lights,” she said pointing to the ceiling. “The kitchen is three times the size of this. Follow me.” It was on par in size with a restaurant kitchen. He slid his hand on the kitchen top which stretched over twenty feet across the room. “Nova Scotia granite. The finest money can buy,” Trace said.

  They looked in the spa, a three bedroom guest house which was attached, and they continued walking through the grounds. At the rear numerous trees kept it reasonably shady and provided a wind breaker for the ocean. They had a private beach with stunning views that went on forever over the ocean as far as the eye could see. He thought, in fact, that was the direction of England with Nova Scotia being the nearest of any mainland Canadian province. They had a quick look in the garage which had room for six cars. Presently there was a Ferrari, a Jaguar and two motor cycles. He strolled over to one bay, taking off a large cover at one end.

  “Lotus Elan,” said Trace.

  “Replica of John Steed’s in the Avengers. Great show, the man has taste,” said Raymond. Trace looked blankly. Way before her time.

  They came back in the house through the front door after spending time wandering about in the flowers and shrubs that graced the front garden. He stared at the tall cathedral-style portion of the house. It was in the middle climbing high with large windows dominating the enormous property. To the right of them was a smaller, vaulted style while to the left was a traditional roof with tall pillars.

  “Follow me,” she said as they went back through the front door and down one flight of stairs. She opened a large set of doors, taking a step back. “The theatre.”

  It was set out like a gastro pub sports bar with leather sofas and armchairs. A fully stocked bar that any English pub would die for.

  “I guess Ian likes sports?

  “Only the big events,” came a voice from behind him. “I invite many friends to watch the super bowl, Kentucky derby, and hockey of course.”

  “Any British football?”

  “Yes, the FA cup. I have to pay big dollars for that game. Friends never miss it. Who’s your team?”

  “Leeds United.”

  “Shame, they were one of the best in the world in the Revie days.”

  “Yes, it’s time we got back i
nto the top flight.”

  “Trace was telling me last night you are an avid whisky collector.”

  “Only just started actually. I need to attend more auctions or have some spotter there on my behalf. What do you do?”

  “Family trees.”

  “Surely there can’t be much money in that line of work.”

  “I write novelettes for the family who usually have plenty of money.”

  “So, you are also a writer.”

  “Of sorts.”

  “Let’s eat first before I show what I have so far. I know you need to leave here by 8.30. I have arranged for my driver to take you to the airport.”

  “Thank you.”

  They moved into a large dining room with a lovely young lady serving them.

  “The chef in the kitchen was one of the top in Canada.”

  “Do you have permanent staff Ian?”

  “No, just the odd night when we have guests. I have a full time cleaner who often does the cooking.”

  They ate in almost complete silence. Trace was quiet apart from telling Ian all about the game and how she’d beaten Raymond.

  They went down a flight of stairs on the other side of the theatre room. “Welcome to my library,” said Ian. There were shelves of books all around the room which had been categorised by genre. Raymond looked at many of the different sections. When he got to non-fiction again they were categorised. Biographies, True crime and finally, under W, whisky. “I have quite a few of these,” Raymond said.

  Off to one corner was an area with a long shelf made out of mahogany wood, where single malts were neatly sitting side by side in alphabetical order. This guy suffers from OCD or something similar he thought.

  “So what’s your opinion of my small collection and where should I be looking for new additions?”

  Raymond studied the malts. “What about a Glenfiddich fifty year old? You seem to like the golden anniversary year with what you have.”

  He turned, moving to a seat opposite Ian and Tracey. “Have someone at the next auction. It would look excellent at the side of the Highland Park fifty.”