Tarquin stood up.
“Oh, sorry. Hope it’s not too serious. I’m going up to my room for a bit, see if I can get an English channel.”
“You know, Tarquin, that dog of yours has more sense sometimes,” she said as he wandered off.
Ten minutes later Petru came in and sat where Tarquin had been.
“Did you get it?” Constanta said, still immersed in her mobile.
“Yes. Perfect. Cheap as well. Where’s Tarquin?”
“He’s gone upstairs, pissing me off,” she said.
“Yuh? What’s he done?”
“Oh, just getting bitchy ’cos I wouldn’t speak to him. You know, give him my undivided attention. I’m talking with Natalia … I’m busy!” Constanta said, clicking her tongue.
“How is she?”
“She’s fine, but very worried about your mum. Looking forward to seeing you, darling.”
“Well, it won’t be so long. France is cool, I’m enjoying myself for once, but I’ll be back over there soon,” he said. “Tell her ‘Hi’ from me.”
“Sure.”
Petru looked at his watch.
“Okay, it’s eleven twenty. I think we should get moving, say soon after twelve. We’ve got to drive there, lose the car, get over the wall and into the park, and we got to find the best place to hang out.”
“So soon?” Constanta said. “I thought we were leaving about one?”
“No, it’s too late,” Petru said firmly. “We got a lot to do. We have to find where their van is parked, to start with. Then we have to find the best place to get the shots. It might be impossible to photograph the cabinet outside the house. I might have to get the shots inside, when they remove the packaging or take it out of its box. You have to realize, Constanta, we have no idea what this thing is. How big it is.”
“Well, it can’t be bigger than the van, can it?” she said with a serious look.
“Well, duh … of course it can’t! But if it’s small, it will probably be packed in a box, but if it’s massive, then it’s possible it will just be covered in sheets, in which case I might be able to get a photo when it’s being unloaded. I’m the asshole taking the pictures, and it would help if I knew. I still say that we will struggle to get a picture of this thing outside the house. I can probably get shots of them unloading something—get their faces and the van—but the cabinet … this is our problem.”
“Mmm. I guess you’ve got a point,” she said, finally putting her phone down. “We just don’t have a fucking clue what they’re planning to do with it. I mean, how do we know they are going to unpack it? Perhaps they’re just going to stick it somewhere in the house and leave it as it is?”
“Look, as you said before, we have to play this as we go along,” Petru said with a sigh.
Constanta didn’t respond for a few moments and let her eyes focus on the bustling square outside the window. There was a merry-go-round with heaps of shouting children scampering around, eager for a ride. Suddenly, she made up her mind and stood up.
“Right, darling, the best thing we can do is get into a position where we can listen. We have to find out what the fuck is going on. We’ve got a bunch of guys with a fake cabinet in a huge weirdo house in France, and guess what? Some other guys who happen to be Russian are trying to find them. And I mean, really trying to find them! Why? What are they fucking doing? There’s a plan here, Petru, and we’re in the fucking dark, and perhaps the Russians don’t know either, but sure as hell we’re gonna find out! Can you knock up the grumpy old man, darling, and tell him we’re gonna leave earlier. I’m going to the room to get ready. Oh … and make sure he takes Percy down to the concierge’s wife with his two bowls, or he’ll probably forget!”
“Sure. See you up there,” he said as she walked out. “And take that thick coat in case. We might be there late tonight.”
Chapter 29
In a smallish room adjacent to the kitchen, probably the old pantry, Melvyn unrolled the first of several bundles of sacking which he and Oliver had retrieved from the van a little earlier. He felt a wave of affection at the sight of his precious handiwork again; the old oak posts, rails, and grooved boards of the outer chest which would harbour the precious cabinet itself.
These had been made with equal diligence and attention to detail as the artifact they were protecting, but their finish had to be appropriately rough to reflect the skill level of the artisan who had made them. This estate carpenter would have had a much cruder style of construction to the cabinetmakers of the period, but would still have been skilled in the robust jointing techniques befitting the functional everyday objects his job entailed. To this end, Melvyn had produced a masterful piece of mimicry. There would be no glue; just a series of pegged joints holding the mortise and tenons together tightly.
He began by laying each section out methodically, according to some chalky lettering whose meaning was only known to himself. It was now splayed out on the floor in two dimensions like the bones of an animal, ready to be assembled into its three-dimensional form. A small number of oak pegs at each end were ready for insertion at the appropriate moment. To ensure these joints were tight, and to make the assembly a little easier for himself, Melvyn had brought some long sash cramps and wooden blocks to apply some serious pressure when needed; a rubber-headed hammer and some sharp chisels stood by in readiness, plus a small bag of other tools. The lid of the chest (like the base) was already made up. It would not be hinged; it would be hammered down onto the chest using some tight-fitting dowels. The floor and legs had been treated to one of Melvyn’s favourite devices; contrived disfigurement, to mimic the gnawing of mice.
Melvyn, who always did his best to get inside the head of the person behind an artifact, had imagined this carpenter making the chest with some urgency. Word was out that gangs were already raiding the larger houses in the region for anything they could lay their hands on. The rule of law was faltering. The cabinet had to be secreted away into the garret … fast! As he was pondering these thoughts, the door suddenly swung open and Oliver’s head popped in.
“How’s it going, Mel? Wow. ready for assembly, I see, you clever bugger! Do you need a hand with anything?”
“No, I’m okay, thanks,” Melvyn said, whilst giving a dowel a sharp rap with a hammer.
“Tea?”
“No, I’ll be finished shortly,” he said, his cheeks red with effort.
“Okay, I’ll leave you in peace,” Oliver said, removing himself. He knew Melvyn well enough not to hang around.
Fabien walked into the kitchen as Oliver was pouring himself another cup of coffee.
“Oh, there you are, Fabien. I did shout, but you were out of range. Want a coffee?”
“Non, not for me, thanks,” the young man said, looking out onto the garden. “It’s warming up out there, and the van will be catching the sun now, so we probably need to bring the cabinet in soon.”
“Yes, quite true,” Oliver agreed.
“Does the air in the house seem lighter and drier to you?” Fabien said.
“Very much so,” Oliver said, taking a gulp of coffee. “It’s a completely different place! How often were you and Cecile coming down here?”
“Not enough. We were coming every other weekend at the beginning—you know, after our ‘agreement’—and cleared huge amounts of stuff from the rooms through there and burnt it. So much unnecessary clutter; it had to go. Then more recently, Cecile got interested in garden design and started doing some studies on the weekends in Paris, so we came down less. Probably once a month. It wasn’t enough, and as you can see, the house gets damp.”
“Well, quite.”
“You see, Oliver, I had to be careful. I was always thinking about the cabinet and its placement here. I didn’t want to get an army of tradesmen in here to start renovating the place until the cabinet was in its niche. The whole idea rests on the fact that the house is … undiscovered. If people had been in here doing things—like electricians, carpenters, roofers, and
so on—the magic would have been lost and our discovery that bit less believable.”
“Yes, you’re quite right, Fabien. The mystique of an old, neglected but grand house is essential for our requirements,” Oliver conceded.
“Absolutely!” Fabien said emphatically. “And once the cabinet has been placed and has had enough time to accumulate a load of cobwebs and dust, that’s when we get the roofer in … to discover it in front of me and Cecile!” He laughed out loud as he said this, and Oliver himself couldn’t resist a cheesy grin.
“My word, Fabien, you beat me at my own game, and I’m not complaining!” Oliver said, chuckling. “C’mon, let’s go and get the cabinet, for God’s sake, before it cooks!”
He took a final gulp of coffee, and without further ado, they went out to the courtyard where the red Toyota stood waiting.
“Blimey, it’s hot out here!” Oliver said, looking skywards. “We need to get that thing inside sharpish! It’s so cool in the house one forgets how quickly it heats up outside!”
“True, on a scorching summer’s day, the house is always cool. It’s superb.”
Oliver opened the back doors of the van and a wall of hot air rushed past his head.
“Fabien, do you mind getting inside and manipulating it this way? You’re younger than me; my back creaks when I have to bend down inside that thing.”
“No problem,” he said, jumping nimbly in and stepping over a heap of blankets. “Phew! It’s so hot in here!”
He clasped the corner of the makeshift crate containing the cabinet and pulled gently, then with greater force. “Mon Dieu, it’s heavy!” he said. “How did you get it in here?!”
“Melvyn’s surprisingly strong,” Oliver replied, “and wiry. He can bend this way and that without a problem, the lucky bugger.”
Fabien pulled again and the crate moved backwards with reluctance.
“Look, I think it’s better if we get Melvyn out here, Oliver, I’d hate to damage something; he put it in here, so he knows how to get it out.”
“Okay, I’ll go and get him,” Oliver said, disappearing at a fast amble.
Fabien sat on the rear deck and wiped some sweat from his face with the sleeve of his shirt. A faint breeze was beginning to stir the tops of the beeches and higher still, cirrus clouds skidded across the blue sky on a fierce invisible wind.
Three minutes went by and then Oliver reappeared with a rather vexed-looking Melvyn.
“You’ll see what I mean, Mel,” Oliver was saying apologetically. “It’s scorching in the van, and we were worried.”
“Okay, open the side door,” Melvyn said sternly. “And Fabien, if you could get in and twist the crate away from the bulkhead a bit.”
Fabien jumped back in and did as he was told, whilst Oliver stood by looking anxious.
“That’s it. Now push towards me … slowly … slowly. Oliver, can you give me a hand here, please.”
The two men took the weight of the cabinet as it emerged from the side of the van. Then, as it came out nearly its full length, Oliver shuffled to the other end where Fabien joined him to take the strain. Finally the whole of the crate was out and being held on three pairs of hands.
“Okay, let’s let her down for a moment,” Melvyn said in a strained voice, “and check we have a free passage into the house. We don’t want to be stopping to open doors. Let’s get her to the top of the steps there, have a rest, and then do a straight run to the bottom of the main staircase.”
“Okay, Mel. Sounds like a good plan to me,” Oliver said slightly breathlessly.
A minute or two went by whilst Fabien checked the route. Then Melvyn crouched down whilst the other two took the opposite end.
“Okay. One … two … three … lift!” Melvyn said as he flexed upwards. The crate swayed ominously and then steadied. “Right, slowly does it to the top of the steps.”
Twenty minutes later and the three men were slumped at the bottom of the main staircase enjoying a cool drink.
“Bloody hell,” Oliver said, sweating profusely. “That was hard bloody work!”
“That was nothing, Oliver, we have four flights of stairs to go up next,” Melvyn said with a serious look.
“God help us!” Oliver muttered.
“Merde! Pain before gain,” Fabien said, chuckling and taking a glance at his watch. “Look, it’s one thirty, everyone, shall we stop and have a little lunch before we do this marathon to the garret?”
“Bloody good idea Fabien!” Oliver said, wiping a hanky across his forehead. “I’m starving!”
They meandered into the kitchen and slumped down on some scruffy painted chairs, whilst Fabien busied himself getting plates, cutlery, glasses, various cheeses, and bread. Finally he plonked a jug of celery on the table.
“That’s salad! No time for fancy stuff till later,” he said, grinning.
They chuckled and got stuck in with the sort of macho gusto generated by hard physical exertion.
* * *
Tarquin and his two companions dropped onto the cool damp earth inside the overgrown wall surrounding the parkland. The low-hanging branches of an old oak and some thick ivy stems had provided excellent support to haul their bodies over the crumbling brickwork. Tarquin opened a flap of torn cloth on his knee and dabbed some blood with his handkerchief. The air was thick with the pungent smells of rotting vegetation, fungus, and decaying wood.
They scanned their options from the thick undergrowth and bushes. The land directly in front of the house was empty of shrubs or bushes, just some magnificent cedars with their tiers of flat leafy branches scattered randomly. These wouldn’t provide the protection they needed. Someone looking out of the house towards the south would see them immediately.
A route to the north of the building was their only option. Here an almost unbroken swathe of low bushes and shrubs stretched in a great arc towards the house, amalgamating with those around its walls. Their only problem here was how to get across the drive. This was the one place where they would be exposed.
“I think it has to be this way, guys,” Constanta said in a low voice. “The other way is out of the question, and I don’t want to climb back out and then in again farther down.”
“Yuh, you’re right. We don’t really have a choice,” Tarquin said as he eyeballed the landscape through the leaves and branches.
“I’ll go first and you follow one at a time, okay?” she said, moving ahead.
“Sure,” Petru said, falling in behind her.
At the edge of the bushes they waited for a few moments to work out the route. Suddenly Constanta was off, scuttling low and fast across the drive and into the undergrowth at the other side. Petru followed and then Tarquin.
“Well, we don’t have a fucking clue if anyone saw us or not!” she said, laughing quietly. “The house is so far away!”
“Let’s just assume not,” Tarquin said, breathing heavily.
They moved on towards the house, keeping low. After twenty minutes they slid silently into the thicker bushes of the garden.
“We need to get to the back to … the other side,” Constanta whispered. “I think the van is parked in there somewhere.”
“Let me go first,” Petru replied huskily, shouldering his way in front of Constanta. “I can see a route through there.”
They followed him quietly, Tarquin taking up the rear.
After a further few minutes of ducking and weaving through the intricate web of branches, Petru suddenly gestured to Constanta to stop. He carefully moved ahead alone. She could see him through the foliage edging along a wall.
He stopped and peered round a corner. Almost immediately he turned and beckoned her to come closer. She moved quietly towards him, pushing rhododendron branches out of her way as she went.
Arriving at Petru’s shoulder, she peered past him and into the courtyard. The red van stood there in the blazing sun, the back doors gaping open.
“Shit!” she hissed quietly under her breath. “They’ve taken the cabinet
inside already!”
“Yes, we’ve arrived a bit too late,” Petru whispered.
Tarquin arrived at her shoulder and peered round.
“Fuck!” he muttered.
“Look, Tarquin, I suggest you go back along the wall to the end and wait. It’s not so thick there and you can relax. But keep hidden. Your phone’s on vibrate, so I’ll let you know what’s going on, okay?”
He disappeared back into the green jungle, shafts of sunlight playing on his clothes as he went. She turned to Petru.
“Right, darling … who dares, wins! You’re gonna take a trip into the house, okay?”
“You think?”
“It’s all we can do. Like we discussed last night, just get some pictures and find out what the fuck’s going on. You are our eyes and ears!”
“Shit!”
“You’ll be fine; you just have to find out where they are. There are no dogs, just three guys!”
“Fuck you!”
“My pleasure, sweetheart,” she said, flashing her white teeth and squeezing his shoulder.
“Okay … I’m going in, I’ll call you when I can. Don’t leave without me.”
He glanced furtively into the courtyard, and without further ado, dashed across the entrance to another smaller patch of shrubs against the wall of the house itself. She then watched him scuttling low and fast towards the nearest open window. He stopped and listened intently for a few moments for any presence inside. Nothing. With a final glance towards Constanta, he jumped up and levered himself slowly over the ledge and disappeared inside.
* * *
“My God, this is tough going,” Oliver said, slumping down on the stairs. “Two flights over and two more to go!”
“It’ll get easier, strangely enough, Oliver,” Melvyn said lightheartedly, “as your brain works out the easiest way to carry it!”
“Of course it will!” Fabien said chuckling. “Soon it will float up on its own!”
“Like it, Fabien,” Oliver said, laughing. “Mel, you’ve got the heavy end; are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yep … no problem,” Melvyn mumbled breathily.
The Freiburg Cabinet Page 22