That Will Do Nicely

by Ian Campbell

  "Here we are, Sir. It was Easter Saturday, just over a week ago."

  "I'm quite familiar with when Easter Saturday fell this year son, I didn't have it off in either sense of the word. Get on with it."

  "Sorry, Sir. The man came up to me in Soho and reported the loss of $12,000 in Travelers’ cheques. I informed the station and brought him here."

  "You think they were the same cheques?"

  "I'm pretty sure, Sir. The two officers who interviewed him will know."

  "What was his name?"

  "O'Hara, John O'Hara; an American staying at the Regent's Palace Hotel."

  "You've done well son. I'd like a word with Mr. O'Hara. Thanks. You can go now." Roberts dismissed him.

  "Sir." The constable snapped to attention, saluted his superior and marched out of the room. Roberts was more impressed with the constable's information than his parade-ground formality. Nevertheless, he mused, the lad had done well.

  Roberts left the briefing room and visited the 'front of house' area, populated by the uniformed branch of the species. He wasn't exactly greeted like a long lost brother, as there was little love lost between the uniform branch and C.I.D. The desk sergeant, Joe Bromley - an old timer, who knew him from old, was pleasant enough to deal with, however.

  "I need a small favor Joe."

  "What brings you down here; slumming it for a change?"

  "It's the favor I need, Joe, not your attempt at wit." Roberts replied dryly.

  "What do you want then?"

  "Can you look in your lost property book for Easter Saturday... name of O'Hara... lost rather a lot of Travelers’ Cheques."

  "Half a jiff... won't take a second." Bromley lifted the large ledger, otherwise known as the 'lost property book' onto the counter and turned over its outsize pages, searching for the date.

  "Here we are, 'John O'Hara, c/o the Regent's Palace Hotel... $12,000 Travelers’ Cheques, drawn on the 'Second National City Bank of Dallas'."

  Roberts was out of the door by the time Bromley had finished reading the name of the bank.

  "Thanks Joe, I owe you one." Roberts called over his shoulder.

  Roberts could feel the adrenalin beginning to flow in his veins. His excitement mounted as he raced upstairs to the C.I.D., offices. At the far end of the corridor on the second floor, he entered into the information center of the station, a predominantly female area. He thrust open the door to the computer room and was pleased to find one of the machines 'manned' by Jean Danby, a W.P.C with whom he had liaised on a couple of previous cases.

  "Hello Jean, long time - no see. I need a favor in a hurry. Can you help?"

  "I'm still getting over the last favor I did you." Jean said, mildly flirting with him.

  "It's nothing like that Jean. This is business."

  "Of course, Sir." She replied mockingly.

  "I want to find out what records we're holding, if any, on a John O'Hara, an American who was staying at the Regent's Palace Hotel a week ago. Also check for travelers' cheques drawn on the 'Second National City Bank of Dallas'. How long will that take?"

  "A couple of minutes."

  Roberts waited patiently, hoping his hunch would pay off.

  "There you are, Sir," she said proudly, pleased that the system did occasionally produce results." O'Hara, John... alias Steven Freiburg. Arrested for theft at Heathrow airport by a special squad last Tuesday."

  "Did you say theft?" asked Roberts, puzzled because to him criminals didn't usually indulge in differing types of crime like theft and fraud.

  "Yes, he was caught dipping the punters at Heathrow, Sir."

  "Jean, you’re an angel. One more favor? Can you find out where he is being held or if he's out on bail? I'd like a word with our Mr. Freiburg."

  "Certainly, Sir, but it will probably take a little longer. I'll ring you as soon as I know."

  "Thanks Jean, I owe you."

  Roberts left the women to their computers and walked briskly back to his own office, humming tunelessly to himself as he did so. The call came through 15 minutes later. Freiburg, alias O'Hara was currently being detained at Wormwood Scrubs prison!

  Pascoe gave the deux-chevaux its head and the little car almost found its own way back to Rennes-le-Bains. They had to be back for the Tuesday evening, to take any messages from Terry. On arrival, they were welcomed back at the Spa Hotel like long lost friends.

  Pascoe waited until dinner before he brought up the subject of buying some property. He still hadn't been able to gauge Sam's reaction to the suggestion and now that the scam was finally over he was scared he might lose her.

  "Have you thought about my proposition yet?" he asked eventually.

  "Which proposition?"

  "About buying some property here... and settling down." He watched her face carefully for a reaction, any indication which might tell him how to proceed. There was nothing.

  "If you must know, I've thought of little else since you mentioned it the other day," her reply shocked him only because he hadn't read it in her expression.

  "And what have you decided?" he asked, hopefully.

  “I didn't say I had decided." Her reply was sharp, but it was too late to back away from the subject.

  "Is there a chance you will reach a decision by tomorrow?"

  "Why tomorrow?"

  "Because I shall be phoning Terry after dinner and if he's found some suitable property, I will need to act quickly and I would like to know whether you're going to be with me or not."

  "Am I that important to you?" she said, a slight knowing smile on her face. The trouble was, he didn't know how serious she was being. For the first time since they'd met, he was unsure of her and of himself. It reflected in his temper. Sam, for her part, studied his face just as intently.

  "You know damn well you are. I couldn't have done this without you."

  "Of course you could." She teased. "You'd just have found somebody else to run the office in London."

  "Perhaps - perhaps not. Anyway, I'm glad it was you."

  "If I choose to stay, - to build something here with you - what are the conditions?" she asked, switching to the offence, catching him by surprise.

  "Conditions?"

  "You heard me.., strings.., conditions?"

  "None at all," he answered, unsure just what she was driving at.

  "I don't believe you. There are always conditions."

  "What the hell are you getting at, Sam?" she looked at him intently for several seconds, studying his face for any sign of weakness.

  "I'm just trying to get you to be honest with me, Tom. When we first met and I found out what you were really up to, you didn't have any alternative but to make use of me as best you could. True?"

  "That was a long time ago.., but yes, that's basically true."

  "And you were on the rebound from your wife at the time, so when I granted you the odd favor, I took her place, filled a void if you like. O.K., I was using you just as much... because I'd been hurt too many times by men.., so I let the relationship develop, as long as it was on my terms. Then I ran into a problem.., I found you weren't as chauvinistic as the other men I'd had and that you treated me more or less as an equal. That came as a shock and it's taken me a long time to let my defenses down a little and start trusting again."

  "So what's the problem?" by this point, he had no idea which way she would turn.

  "As far as men go, you're the best I've met; the most interesting by far and you have filled a large piece of my life. However, I have never planned on being tied down to you or anyone else."

  "So your answer's 'no'."

  "Look at it from my point of view. A year or so ago, I had just survived a divorce. I had made my own independent career and was standing on my own two feet answering to nobody and then you come along. You con me; work your way into my bed; make me fall in love with you to such an extent that I volunteer my help in this mad hair-brained scheme of yours which we have just brought off and now, to top it all, you expect me to set
tle down with you in a remote part of Eden for the rest of my life. What I'm saying, Tom is that I need time. Time to get my feet back on the ground. Any answer I give you before I've done that won't be real, just a continuation of the fantasy. So, for your sake, I'll go along with what you want to do here. It can be a joint venture if you like. I'll put up half the money - but in ten days’ time, I'm going to be back in Canterbury, teaching at the college, getting back to normal."

  "You're not serious?"

  "If you do love me; if you really care for me, you'll give me the time I need."

  "What then?"

  "I intend to work out my contract until the end of the Summer term and then I'll decide what I'm going to do with my share of the money."

  "And what about me?"

  "If I find I can live my old life without you.., fine."

  "And if you can't?"

  She reached across the table and clasped his hand in hers. Her gaze flicked over his face.

  "Then I shall be the happiest person alive, because you're a very rare man and it'll be a privilege to share in your victory."

  "But? There's always got to be a 'but'. I sense a ‘but’.”

  "If I find I can't live without you, I shall expect you to make an honest woman of me when the time comes." The news shattered Pascoe.

  "I thought marriage was the last thing you were interested in?"

  "It certainly was, but things have changed and thinking about it.., it does have certain advantages."

  "Such as?"

  "I would be able to stop taking the wretched pill for a start, which is making me fat."

  "You want to get married just to stop taking the pill... I don't believe you."

  "All right, I was pulling your leg... but it does have one important advantage."

  "Which is?"

  "Husbands and wives can't testify against each other in a court of law; at least that's what you told me your solicitor said about you and Terry."

  "So if they happened to catch one of us the other would be safe?"

  "Quite, and can you really imagine us living around here and not being married? I'd only have a few years left any way, before I would be expected to dress in black from head to foot according to their peasants’ religious beliefs. You see darling, I think marriage would be a necessity here and it would also stop the children from being bastards."

  "You never told me you wanted children."

  "I didn't.., then."

  "So now you've changed your mind."

  "Only if I can't live without you. You know you'd make a wonderful father. Didn't Terry want children?"

  "Not at the time. Too inconvenient for her."

  "I see... "

  "So when will you make your decision about us?"

  "I've already told you that... by the end of the summer term at the latest."

  "In the meantime?"

  "We carry on as before."

  After the meal Pascoe phoned Terry at the farm.

  "Hi Terry, it's Tom Pascoe. Have you any news for me?"

  "We've found two places for you so far... both within two or three miles of here. They're both disused farms... one's a little bit more run down than the other."

  "Would you say they were habitable?"

  "Yes, both of them are, in part.., but they need a lot of work doing."

  "That's not a problem. How much land is there with them?"

  "One includes 40 hectares and the other, seven hectares."

  "Good, they sound interesting. What do we do now?"

  "I've made an appointment for you with the mayor at 11.00 a.m., tomorrow morning at his office at Rennes-le-Château. I'll meet you there at 10.45 a.m., and introduce you."

  "See you tomorrow then.., and thanks, Terry."

  On his return, Sam greeted his news with a yawn.

  "Tired?"

  "A little. Are you coming to bed?" she asked, standing up from the table, gathering her things.

  "It's only half past nine."

  "I know, but I didn't say anything about sleep, just bed. Finish your brandy darling, but don't keep me waiting too long!"

  They slept-in until nine o'clock the next morning and consequently were the only ones in the dining room for breakfast. Just when they were beginning to feel a little guilty at causing the breakfast staff to work again, a matronly woman sat down three tables away. She was well into her seventies and carrying excess weight which hung as huge folds of fat about her ample figure. She was obviously at the Spa Hotel for its health facilities and the Spa was losing the battle!

  One of the more delightful aspects of the hotel was its situation at the side of the river Sals, which flows through the village of Rennes-les-Bains. The view from the dining-room windows was magical, as you could see the flow of the Sals, thundering its way downstream.

  "We'd better make a move darling," said Pascoe, glancing at his watch.

  "Why? The meeting's not until 10.45."

  "I know, but there are one or two things I want to do first."

  "Such as?"

  "I want to get a large scale map of the area, they sell them in the library."

  They left the hotel and crossed the Sals by means of the hotel's own private footbridge, some 30 feet above the river. A two minute stroll took them to the book-shop where an old fashioned bell fixed on a spring over the inside of the door announced their arrival to the owner, who appeared, instantaneously through the curtains at the back of the shop. Pascoe bade him the usual 'bonjour monsieur' and requested the maps he was interested in.

  It was already twenty past ten by the time they left the library and as they had a rendezvous at the mayor's office at eleven they had little time to lose.

  "How do we go about buying it?" enquired Sam, as they drove up the valley.

  "By going to see the mayor. Everything revolves around the mayor in these country districts... if we make a good impression on him, the problems can disappear, but without his blessing it'll be impossible."

  “What time did you say we'd meet Terry?" She asked.

  "Ten forty-five, outside the mayor's office."

  "It's nearly that now."

  "We'll be there in time."

  Chapter 21

  Rennes-le-Château

  They arrived with a few minutes in hand and spent them gazing at the panorama from the mountain top. Pascoe's thoughts were interrupted by a hand placed on his shoulder. Startled, he spun around to find himself facing Terry.

  "Hello Terry, how are things." They shook hands.

  "Fine. We're in good time. Our appointment's at eleven sharp... just leave the talking to me."

  They crossed the area of dust covered ground, which was used as the village car-park and instead of bearing left towards the church, moved to the right and followed the tiny street down from the water tower in the car-park. The mayor's parlor was but a few yards away. They climbed the steps and entered the office.

  In comparison to the rest of the village which could best be described as poverty stricken, the Mayor's parlor was a palace. A severe looking woman, with a weather beaten face who seemed forty or fifty, but was still probably in her mid- twenties, acknowledged them. After Terry had spoken to her for a few seconds, she got up, knocked on the door to the mayor's inner office before opening it and beckoned them in. Pascoe left the introductions to Terry.

  Pascoe listened carefully to the conversation between Terry and the mayor, but what with his rusty use of the language and the almost Spanish accent of the region, understood little of what was being said. The mayor gestured with his hands, as much as he spoke, which left Pascoe even more confused. The interview lasted 20 minutes, during which time neither Pascoe nor Sam uttered a single word. Eventually the mayor stood up, signifying that matters had been brought to a close. They endured the hand-shaking ritual and after bidding 'au revoir' to the mayor and his secretary, filed out of the room into the street below. Outside, Pascoe opened the inquest as to what had happened."

  "You've nothing to worry abo
ut," said Terry, "The mayor has agreed to help you and has two properties for sale. If you're willing to wait 15 minutes, he will take you to them."

  "Great. Are you coming too?" Pascoe asked, eager for his friend’s company.

  "I might as well. They're not expecting me back at the farm until this afternoon."

  The three of them strolled back up the street towards the priest's Magdala Library tower, perched on the precipice at the top of the hill and discussed the view.

  "I'm sure you men have some catching up to do," said Sam, "Do you mind if I go and have another look at the church?"

  "Go ahead darling.., we'll meet you back at the mayor's office in ten minutes..."

  "What do you make of all the mysteries that are connected with this place, Terry?"

  "You mean Lincoln's book, 'The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail'?"

  "Yeah, and the treasures of the Visigoths, Merovingians etc., I find it hard to imagine 30,000 people living up here in the dark ages... there can only be 100 or so now."

  "Yes it is hard to believe, but we have found things at the farm which are just as mysterious."

  “Such as?"

  "We've found Celtic remains, earthworks, masonry. They even terraced off the complete top of a nearby hillside in order to farm it and they did things with standing stones which are beyond belief."

  "Like?"

  "We found one stone deep in the woods, which was cubic in shape and balanced with one corner sitting on top of the corner of another stone embedded in the ground."

  "Quite a feat.." Commented Pascoe.

  "Especially, when the rock weighs more than 50 tons!" Before Pascoe could question his friend further however, a voice sounded just behind him.

  "Hey, Mr. Guyton? it is Mr. Guyton isn't it?" A chill ran down through Pascoe's spine, but as there was no one else around except for himself and Terry to whom the voice could possibly have been speaking, they turned around. Several feet away from them, but looming larger by the second, was one of the Americans from the conference. Pascoe knew he had been recognized. As he turned towards the man though, the American faltered in his step and Pascoe knew instinctively that the man wasn't sure.

  "Your name's not Guyton, is it Terry?" asked Pascoe.