“Blimey, Mel, I’m getting cramps in my fingers!” Oliver said after a few minutes. “All this bloody twisting!”
Melvyn laughed. “Yeah, it is tough when you’re not used to it, I suppose!”
After twenty minutes of muttering and swearing, Oliver stood up, flexing his fingers.
“God, that was painful, you must have hands like claws, Mel!” he said, chuckling.
“Grab the other side of the lid, Oliver,” Melvyn said. They eased it gently off and put it to one side.
“You know what, Mel, you’re one clever bugger!” he said, looking at the faux pine shell which disguised the real cabinet. “This looks like cheap rubbish!”
“Well, that’s the idea, Oliver. Just wait till the sides and front come off. Okay, now take the two screws on your side out of the front panel and I’ll do my end,” Melvyn said. “But keep hold of the panel!”
They removed the screws and then very carefully pulled the panel away. Chunks of foam fell away with it.
Another scuffed pine frame with a pair of recessed panels revealed itself.
Petru looked on in a state of puzzlement. What exactly was going on? The cabinet didn’t look impressive at all.
“Okay, Oliver,” Melvyn said, standing up. “Very gently put your fingers around the edges of the panel, like me, and pull upwards. They’re only dowels but quite firm.”
They slowly worked the panel up until it was free of the side frames. Melvyn put it to the side.
“Now do the same with the front panel. Very gently … gently … here she comes.”
Oliver chuckled and peered at it in awe. “Oh my God, what a heavenly sight!” he said affectionately. “I get such a thrill just looking at it.”
Petru gasped quietly inside his chamber; he knew at once he was looking at the “cabinet.” Even to his untrained eye he could see the magnificence of the piece in front of him.
Without hesitation, he lifted his camera and took several more shots. He then pulled out his mobile and sent a text to Constanta.
“They just unpacked cabinet. is f.. amazing. Cannot talk very close to them. Got photos call u asap.”
A text came back within seconds.
“F. great! Any idea whats going on?”
“No, still don’t know yet.”
“Ok, remember getting late now and windows r shut.”
“Ok.”
He closed the phone and peered out as Fabien appeared at the top of the stairs with the chest lid under his arm.
“Wow! Shit! She is so wonderful,” he gasped in amazement.
“She looks good, eh?” Oliver said smugly.
“More than good, Oliver … she is a masterpiece!” Fabien said, moving around the cabinet.
“Right, we’re going to remove the two sides now,” Melvyn said, trying to keep the momentum rolling.
After a further fifteen minutes, the cabinet stood gloriously naked and utterly out of place in the dilapidated rustic surroundings of the garret.
Oliver burst out laughing at the sight.
“Have you ever seen such a ridiculous spectacle in all your lives!” he said grinning. “One of the most exquisite pieces of the eighteenth century standing in this barn!”
“It does look blooming odd, I must admit!” Melvyn agreed, smiling.
“But this will make its discovery all the sweeter … all the more plausible!” Fabien said.
“True. Yes, that’s very true, Fabien,” Oliver agreed.
Petru lowered his camera again. What were they saying? Something about eighteenth century and a discovery being sweet. He struggled to understand.
“Right, time is six forty-five, we need to get a move on,” Oliver said, glancing at his watch.
“Oliver,” Melvyn said suddenly, rather sternly. “I can tell you right now; this will not be finished tonight.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been thinking,” he continued. “The light is dropping quite seriously. I didn’t realize how gloomy it would get up here, and I need light … a lot of light … daylight.”
“Okay, Mel,” Oliver said. “If that’s the case, so be it. We don’t want to jeopardise this for the sake of an extra half a day. It is getting gloomy up here, I quite agree. What shall we do?”
“I reckon we should place the cabinet inside the chest for the night for safekeeping.”
“What, in case some squirrel takes a fancy to it!” Fabien said with a chuckle.
“Something like that,” Melvyn said, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Here, put these on, please,” he said, handing each of them similar gloves. “We don’t want our fingerprints all over the cabinet. They’ve got strands of rubber sewn into the fabric so you’ll get a hell of a grip!”
“Smart thinking, Melvyn, hadn’t thought of that,” Fabien said.
They moved the remains of the crate away to the side, so the cabinet and the chest stood facing each other.
Petru was looking from an angle behind the chest but face on to the cabinet. He quickly took some more shots from his hideaway. He was beginning to feel cramped and uncomfortable and could feel things crawling around his ankles. The light was fading, and he began to worry about getting out of the house.
“Right,” Melvyn said. “As you can see, I’ve removed the front panel of the chest so all we have to do is take the weight of the cabinet and move it straight across and onto the base of the chest, okay?”
“Sure, no problem,” Fabien said, getting underneath one corner whilst Oliver took the other.
“On the count of three … very gently, please,” Melvyn said.
The cabinet slid gently across and into its new home without a hitch. Melvyn then squatted down and fixed the front panel of the chest temporarily into place. Finally he laid the lid loosely on the top.
“Voila!” Fabien said with a sigh. “Bon nuit, mon cherie!”
Petru took some final shots and popped his camera away. He stretched one leg out and then the other to keep the blood flowing. All he wanted was for them to disappear downstairs so he could get out of his hellhole.
“Okay, I think we can say that’s a good job done,” Oliver said with a yawn. Wiping his handkerchief across his face, he suddenly made his way towards the closest dormer window. Petru saw the fabric of Oliver’s trousers very clearly as he passed within a foot of the hole and stopped. He crouched low and put his head between his knees trying to diminish himself.
“God, what a stupendous view!” Oliver said, gazing out on the parkland below, now bathed in a soft pinkish light. “This truly is paradise. I can just imagine some dusky maiden cantering across those meadows on a white charger.”
“You can, Oliver?” Fabien said with a snort. “I’m sure it can be arranged!”
“I think we both know that’s a lie, Fabien!” Oliver said, turning away from the window.
“C’mon, let’s go down and have a drink. God knows we’ve earned it! Ready, Mel?”
“Give me a few minutes … I’ll follow you down,” Melvyn said.
“Okay. See you down there, Mel,” Fabien said, moving towards the stairs.
“Sure,” he replied vaguely. Their voices slowly receded. It was suddenly very quiet.
Melvyn gathered up his tools and popped them in a bag. He then stood very quietly scrutinising the chest. There was dead silence in the garret now, and Petru knew this was the most dangerous moment so far. He froze and watched Melvyn through a smaller crack lower down which afforded him a more discreet view. After standing motionless for a full two minutes staring at the chest, Melvyn then started scanning the garret itself.
His eyes flickered over the floor boards at the top of the stairs and then began probing the architecture towards the windows. He stared at the wainscoting where Petru was crouching, hidden and fearful in the darkness. He prayed Constanta wouldn’t call now, as even the muffled vibration might be picked up in this heightened situation.
Suddenly Melvyn ambled purposefully towards him and then beyond his field of vision. L
ike Oliver, he gazed out of the window onto the parkland below whilst his strong fingers, like scouts on a battlefield, moved restlessly over the wood surfaces around his midriff, sniffing for information on texture and density. Petru couldn’t see him now, but he heard him turn. He seemed to be staring into the darkness of the main garret where the light was losing its fight with the shadows. Again he stood like a statue, so that Petru felt his heartbeat must betray him.
Then, without warning, he was off. With a final glance at the chest, he made his way down the stairs to join the others.
Petru waited a further five minutes in case one of them had forgotten something. He let himself stiffly out of his lair, and then carefully replaced the wooden boards back in place.
He stretched for a minute or two, allowing the blood to filter back into his numb muscles. What an ordeal! Now he had to get out of here. Flapping the cloth across the floorboards to erase his latest footmarks, he went over to the staircase and listened; voices a long way down. He pulled out his mobile and phoned Constanta.
“Okay, I’m out of here,” he said. “I’ve done all I can.”
“Well? Are things clearer now, darling?” Constanta said with a small chuckle.
“Yes. A bit better. I’ll tell you when I come out. Where are you?”
“Where you left us, but a bit farther in … you know, towards the other side of those bushes, away from the courtyard. Just call me when you’re out; you may have to take a different route. Be very careful, darling.”
“Okay.”
“Well?” Tarquin said, in the gloom of the bushes.
“He’s coming out,” Constanta replied.
“Has he discovered what’s going on in that madhouse?”
“I’m not sure, he couldn’t really talk. Said he would explain when he sees us.”
“Sod it!” Tarquin said in frustration.
“What’s the problem?” she said. “Give him a chance … he has to get out of there now, and all the windows are shut.”
“I know. It just doesn’t sound like he’s cracked it. He would have said something more positive.”
“Tarquin,” Constanta said firmly. “Just wait and see what he comes out with. Stop being so negative. He’s got loads of photos, and he says he’s seen the cabinet, which is fucking amazing!”
“Well, that’s brilliant … but we still don’t—”
“Tarquin, you’re beginning to annoy me now,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Give him a fucking chance!”
“Okay. I’m sorry. Just want this whole trip to have been worth the effort,” he said solemnly.
She threaded her fingers through his and pecked him on the mouth.
“Be patient. It’s all gonna work out. He’ll be out shortly, and then we have to do some serious detective work.”
Tarquin slumped back down on the leaves and gazed through the leaves at the deepening lilac sky.
“The bats will be out soon,” he said with a sigh.
“You fucking nutcase, Tarquin,” she said, nuzzling up to him and laughing in suppressed spurts.
Petru listened from the shadows of the garret to the distinctive notes of a piano far below him. They skipped joyfully up the stairs accompanied by laughing voices, beckoning him to join in the new frivolous mood of the house. But they did nothing to lighten his surge of despondency and worry. He knew only too well that the piano was tucked in the curl of the main staircase on the ground floor, and that this meant his route was blocked … at least for the moment. He cursed. Pulling his camera out for the final time, he took more photos of the chest and the remains of the crate which it had arrived in. He also took some of the pine panels that were propped against the wall.
He knew these had some relevance but wasn’t sure what, at this stage. He was tempted to open the lid of the chest to take more photos of the cabinet, but this might be risky, and he had many shots of the cabinet from before. It was getting dark and he had to use a flash, but that was risky; anyone in the garden would see. True, someone was playing the piano, but the man, Melvyn, had a habit of wandering off alone; perhaps he was out in the garden right now.
Zipping up his rucksack and scanning around for anything he may have left, he headed down the stairs. The sounds of merriment from below grew in tempo as he descended, but he was keenly alert. Perhaps only Oliver and Fabien were at the piano, with Melvyn somewhere else … like on the first floor. Reaching the second landing, he looked over the banister down the stairwell to the ground floor. He could see one person far below, holding a glass and agitating to the music, but who it was he couldn’t see. Certainly there was no light coming from the first floor, so this suggested they were all at the bottom.
He crept down, step by step … a ghostly figure with shadows for eyes, clinging to the wall to avoid the light. The sharp smell of tobacco smoke and wine grew in intensity as he descended. Moving onto the first landing, he stopped and peered gingerly down.
Fabien was on the piano stool, flanked by the other two men. Oliver was completely immersed in the moment, laughing and cajoling, whilst Melvyn stood by like a statue, awkward and stiff, unable to let himself go. Petru feared the sixth sense in Melvyn. He knew he only had to glance up to see his face illuminated as though on stage.
Cursing again, he moved away from the stairwell and tried to figure out a plan. What the hell was he to do? Wait until they went into the kitchen for supper? That could be some time away, and what’s to say they would all go in there, anyway? Perhaps Fabien would cook, and leave the other two in the main hall.
Should he climb out of the window? He glanced outside. It was dark. That would be impossible. Suddenly his mobile shivered.
“Where the fuck are u?” Constanta wrote.
“Trapped inside. cannot get past them on ground floor.”
“Why, the house is huge?”
“They blocking stairs.”
“Only one stairs?” she wrote.
Petru stopped and thought. There were other stairs; he’d seen them when he first entered the house … in that first passage.
“Let me check. Give me 10 mins,” he wrote.
He moved away from the stairs and into the deep twilight of the first landing. There were no other stairs accessible from here, he suddenly remembered; the landings were blocked by huge partitions.
Quickly he moved up to the second floor again. He peered into the gloom beyond and felt a shiver go down his back. The house seemed to be holding him prisoner. Very carefully, he moved along the second landing into space he hadn’t searched earlier. It was dead dark. No windows to shed even the faintest glimmer from outside. He held his mobile up for light as he moved forward, cursing that he had no torch.
Doorways passed on either side; he tried some of them, but they were locked or had no handle. He desperately wanted the landing to open up into a new stairwell or at least a back staircase, but the utter blackness crushed in on him and breathed its ancient breath down his neck. He had to be in the centre of the house now … it was as silent as a tomb.
Without warning, his foot sank downwards and a floorboard whipped up and struck his temple. Yelling in panic, he yanked his foot out of the cavity and fell on his side. The board fell back with a thud. He clambered up and stood listening, as a warm trickle threaded its way through his hair and down his cheek. He dabbed it with his sleeve, his hand shaking uncontrollably. He strained his ears for noise below. Suddenly the floor vibrated noisily and made him jump in terror. The fucking mobile! He picked it up … another message.
“Well?” she wrote.
Petru took several deep shaky breaths and tapped out a reply.
“Leaving now. No contact.” He texted back.
He moved back down the long landing, crouching very low to the floor for fear of another loose board. He stopped at the stairwell listening. The voices and piano notes were still there, oblivious to his trauma. He took a left towards the rooms he was familiar with and headed carefully down that landing. It was brighter here; he c
ould get a sense of space and distance.
Without hesitation, he entered the room with the wardrobe and went straight to the window. He gasped in amazement; it was quite light outside. There was a bright moon dipping in and out of some fast high clouds. It threw wild branch shadows onto the walls and floor and over his bloodied face. He remembered Constanta’s words about the house being haunted; he shivered. Rubbing his hands on his trousers very thoroughly, he pushed the sash up those few inches. He mustn’t leave blood; he mustn’t leave any signature of his existence here. Next he removed his small rucksack.
The moon came out again as though on cue and illuminated his escape route. Leaning out, he scrutinized the cill, the ledge, and the branch of the tree below very carefully. There would be no second chance. They glittered with an eerie light, but were well defined. Then everything dissolved into inky shadow as the moon dived into the clouds once again. He had to time this right. If he jumped at the wrong moment, he’d be jumping blind.
With a final dab of his temple, he manoeuvred himself out of the window backwards, snatching his rucksack as he did so. As his centre of gravity moved ever outwards, he felt a surge of fear. Down … down … he slid, his chin scraping the stony surface, the rough clinging lichens … his toes searching for that life-saving platform. Then he was there and he could let his feet take the weight. He stopped for a few moments in relief, and glanced at the bright impassive moon and its hustling cohorts.
His hands were wrapped like claws around the window ledge, and he had to relinquish these precious anchors in order to proceed. His rucksack hung from his right wrist. With extreme care, he let go with this hand and allowed the sack to wriggle up to his shoulder. Taking hold of the cill once again with his right hand, he then twisted outwards and managed to get his left hand through the strap and the sack up onto his shoulders. This was it … he had to time it perfectly.
He now studied the racing clouds impatiently with a sense of intense danger in the pit of his stomach. In quick succession he was plunged from brightness to inky dark, to brightness again. And then, after a few interminable minutes, there it was … the patch of clear sky he’d been waiting for. A further half minute dragged by in the hellish gloom before, once again, he was bathed in silver light. Then, looking over his shoulder at the branch below one final time, he took a deep breath and released his hands. He started falling backwards, but as he did so, he twisted his body outwards, bending his knees to propel himself away from the building.
The Freiburg Cabinet Page 25