‘Sorry.’ I take down the hood, glancing furtively up and down the road to make sure that no one is following me.
‘One can’t be too careful these days.’ He takes out a set of keys and unlocks the two deadbolts on the door. ‘There are Bolshie spies everywhere.’
‘Oh – right.’
I seem to have caught him in one of his 1940s ‘fugue’ moments, and I’m unsure how much to play along. It’s a relief when he holds open the door so I can enter. Winston gives me a good ‘sniff down’ in the narrow hallway, but I seem to pass muster. He wags his tail, and I pat his head. Mr Pepperharrow sends the dog off to the kitchen and closes the door.
‘I thought you’d be back again, young lady,’ he says. ‘At least, I hoped so.’ He cocks his head. ‘My old eyes have seen things you can never imagine. I’ve got pictures burned into my head of terrible things. Pain, suffering, and so much death. But when I look at you…’ he holds out his hand to usher me into the sitting room, ‘it’s like all those things are wiped away; erased. All I can see is her once again.’
He follows me as I walk into the sitting room, staring at the books, the model airplanes, and ultimately, the plain wooden clock on the wall, its brass hands frozen at a moment in time, its springs wound down, its pendulum hanging limp.
‘You told me before that Marina gave you that clock, didn’t you?’ I walk over and stand in front of the boxy wooden case, staring at the brass escutcheon and the dark, empty keyhole.
He comes over and stands next to me. I can sense his hesitation – and his regret. ‘I did,’ he says.
‘Did she have it on the wall when you knew her, or did she have it hidden away? Under her bed, maybe?’
He shrugs but doesn’t respond.
‘Do you have the key to the case, by any chance?’
He stares at me for a long moment. ‘No,’ he says finally. ‘I think you do.’
Nodding slowly, I reach into my pocket and grasp the key in my palm. It seems to grow warm against my skin. ‘You put it inside the jewelled bird,’ I say. ‘When you left to go on your mission. You wanted to help Marina keep it safe.’
‘I didn’t put it there,’ he says. ‘I told her to take it to Jeremy Stanley. He was into fixing clocks – I knew he’d sort it for her.’
He moves away from me, lowering himself into the armchair. ‘She confided in me. Told me who she really was. Told me she grew up in a palace. But then the world went to hell. She had loyal servants who helped her escape. One of them had relatives in England and helped her start a new life.’
‘So she was royalty,’ I say. The excitement I feel at having this confirmed is tempered by sadness at the loss and the waste. ‘She could have relied on her connections to the British throne and lived here as a princess in exile. Why didn’t she? She might have survived.’
He shakes his head. ‘Don’t think I didn’t tell her that. I pleaded with her to go and claim her rightful status. But she wasn’t interested in fancy clothes and garden parties and balls. Those things were the cause of everything she’d lost – her family, her homeland, her way of life. Instead, she threw herself into the care and protection of the few things she had left. Her daughter, whom she loved dearly, and the few treasures she’d brought with her. It was a hard life, but she was quick to laugh, and quick to love – maybe too quick. But Marina was happy, in her own way. Maybe you can tell your grandmother that…’ He wipes a tear from his eye.
‘She’d like to hear that.’ I smile. ‘And I will tell her – or maybe I can arrange for you to tell her yourself.’
He smiles. ‘Little Catherine – such a wee mite she was then. I kept tabs on her from afar, you know. I never wanted to make myself known – didn’t want to upset her nice life.’ He frowns. ‘Maybe that was wrong.’
‘I’m sure she would love to know you. When this is all over.’
‘Aye,’ he says.
I go over to him and take his arm, feeling a strong connection with this man who helped my great-grandmother. For them, there was no ‘happily ever after’. On a dark London night, their love died a cruel death. But when he smiles at me, I can see happiness and relief in his eyes – that something of her lives on in me.
‘Did you bring her locket?’ he says. ‘I’d like to see it again. It was Marina’s favourite. She…’ he pauses for a moment and swallows. ‘She used to sing the words to the song it played. Her voice, it was so beautiful. Deep and pure…’ He takes out a handkerchief and dabs his eyes.
I take the chain of the locket and draw it out from beneath my top. I undo the clasp. The bird flips up onto its perch and begins its slow rotation. The jewels glitter in the light; the music box makes its melodic tinkling sound. Mr Pepperharrow watches, mesmerised, humming softly under his breath.
‘She was so…’ but he doesn’t finish the sentence. Winston lets out a whine and a bark from the kitchen. From the hallway just outside the door, there’s a sound of soft clapping. I turn, as a man appears in the doorway. My heart bangs in my chest.
A man holding a gun.
- Chapter 50 -
‘Hello David,’ I say. ‘Or, should I call you Hal?’
‘Such a touching sight.’ When my grandmother’s erstwhile boyfriend sneers, his smooth, tanned skin cracks into a mass of wrinkles. Instead of looking early seventies like I’d originally thought, he’s definitely older than that. ‘But then,’ he says, ‘it’s always nice to see people on the side of the angels. So sorry to break up the party.’
I stare down at the hard black metal of the gun, knowing I should be feeling desperately afraid. But instead, it’s like the curtain has come up in some kind of surreal pantomime. The thought flashes into my head that at least while this man is here, my grandmother is out of danger.
Mr Pepperharrow leans forward, rigid in his chair. ‘Harold Dawkins.’ He grimaces as he says the words. ‘It’s an evil day when the dead start to walk again.’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Especially someone who deserved his punishment.’ I look from Mr Pepperharrow to Hal Dawkins. ‘Frank Bolton gave evidence against you, but your case was hushed up. You were sent to the front. Where you obviously didn’t die.’
‘You worked that out then – congratulations. Now, where are Marina’s jewels?’ His question is punctuated by a wave of the gun in my direction.
My heart sprints in my chest, but I stand my ground. ‘Well, I assume they were destroyed in the bombing. Why would you think any differently?’
‘They weren’t destroyed. That pretty bitch was too smart for that.’
‘I hope you’re not using that language to refer to my great-grandmother,’ I say. ‘Because that might make me angry.’
He laughs. ‘You know, Alex Hart, I like you. You have spirit. And I liked Catherine too. Sometimes, I almost wish things had been different.’
I snort a laugh. ‘What – that you weren’t a lying thief who’s pretended to be dead all these years, and who wormed his way into my grandmother’s life and heart so that you could search her house?’
‘That’s one way to put it.’ He shrugs. ‘You young people are so cynical these days.’
Mr Pepperharrow makes a move to stand up. His hand begins to shake atop his stick. ‘Can someone tell me what is going on here? Why is this scoundrel in my house; this sewer rat?’
The gun swings towards him. I edge over to the old man and step between him and the gun. I press him on the shoulder so that he sits back down. I don’t want him to endanger himself. I’ve done enough on that score already.
‘For Mr Pepperharrow’s benefit and my own,’ I say, ‘let me just make sure I’ve got this straight. It was Mallow Court that you were after all along, right? You suspected that Marina had a treasure trove of Romanov jewels with her when she came to London, and she’d hidden them somewhere. When the house on Larkspur Gardens was bombed, you searched and looted the wreckage but found nothing. You assumed that she’d given the jewels to Frank – the father of her child.’
He laughs. ‘
I didn’t know about any jewels until you started asking Catherine about them, and I saw the article in your office. So – thanks for putting me onto that.’ His lip curls. ‘And for your information, it was the house I was after – Frank’s house. The house that should have been mine. And the life. A nice life in a pretty place with lots of green, and a factory where I was the boss, not the lackey. The life that my girl should have had – not his. I was the one who put the idea in his head, you know?’
‘So?’
‘Oh, I know what Frank thought – with his highfalutin morals – he’d turn me in, and I’d cool my heels in Holloway a few months having learned my lesson. But he was wrong, wasn’t he? Sent me off to die – and, I’ll have you know – I almost did.’ He turns to Mr Pepperharrow. ‘Shot in the back, I was – when I was doing my bit.’ He grins. ‘Just didn’t hit anything vital.’
‘Despicable,’ Mr Pepperharrow mutters.
Hal’s face twists into a snarl. ‘Shut up.’
Mr Pepperharrow clenches his gnarled fists. I put my hand on his shoulder to keep him in the chair.
‘So when you searched the house,’ I continue, trying to diffuse the tension, ‘you found Frank’s diary, is that right?’
‘God, Frank and his pretty words,’ he rails. ‘I was gonna use it as kindling. But then I saw he’d only used our nicknames from when we were kids. They called me Flea because I was always scratching. Badger – because Frank saw one in the rubbish bin once. And Spider… because Jeremy once kept one as a pet in a jar under his bed.’ He laughs. ‘Frank was such a sentimental fool back then thinking we would always be friends. But I saw how I could use it. I wrote my name in the front cover, and sent photocopies of some of the entries to my Sally. Nice girl, but not the sharpest knife in the drawer. She put two and two together and got five.’
I roll my eyes in disdain. ‘You fuelled your own daughter’s anger against Mrs Fairchild. You involved her in your little scheme – got her to call the police pretending to be Catherine and have me arrested. You searched the house – ransacked the attic. Were you looking for the film reels?’
‘They were the only thing that could disprove my “little scheme” as you call it. The only real evidence. I knew Frank would have kept them. But I didn’t find the damn things.’
‘The films made for interesting viewing – but I’m not sure the fur coat suited you.’
Hal snorts. The gun doesn’t waiver.
‘And when Sally eventually came to her senses and stopped sending the diary entries,’ I continue, ‘you took over yourself. And you decided to plan some “mischief”. That would surely do the trick. And it almost did, didn’t it? My grandmother called in an estate agent. She was serious about selling. You may not have a conscience yourself, but you’re a damn good judge of character. Her weakness was that she was a good person – perfect for exploitation. In fact, so perfect, that you decided to try a dual approach. You waltzed into her life like a fake-tanned, face-lifted prince charming. You told a cock and bull story about being an ex-detective inspector, and swept her off her gardening clogs.’
‘She was up for it, believe me.’ He snorts. ‘And for your information, I was a DI – in the Caymans.’
‘So why attack her? If your plan was working so well.’
Hal ignores my question. ‘Do you know, I actually proposed to her? I had a ring and everything – the ring I took from her mother’s finger, all those years before. I thought it was a nice gesture my giving it back to her. But that daft cow said she didn’t want to marry again – she had a granddaughter now, and that was enough for her. She said that things between us were “a bit of fun” but nothing more. I realised that it had all been a waste of time.’
I shake my head. ‘For shame.’
‘Paah! Shall I get down on my knees and say I’m sorry?’
‘That’d be a start.’ I glare.
But I’ve gone too far. He takes a menacing step towards me, holding the gun just inches from my chest. ‘That’s enough chat. You’ve obviously got everything figured out, clever clogs. So now, you’re going to do two things. First, you’re going to give me that pretty pendant around your neck. Frank stole it, you know – took it off the neck of his own child while she was asleep. If it wasn’t for me, I doubt he would have given it back.’
‘He would have, and he did.’ I cover it protectively. ‘Frank wasn’t like you.’
‘Ha! You just keep on believing that.’
I gasp as he lurches towards me, grabs the edges of the chain and yanks hard. For a split second I think the chain is going to cut through my neck. But it breaks in his hand. He bends down and picks up the locket.
‘Like candy from a baby,’ he says with a sneer. ‘And the second thing…’ straightening up, he presses the gun sharply into my chest, ‘is that you’re going to tell me where the rest of the jewels are.’
- Chapter 51 -
As surreal as the whole thing is, the gun is painful as it presses against my ribcage. I wish fleetingly, that everything didn’t depend on my dubious acting ability. I’ve two choices – one: to collapse into a cowering heap, whimpering protestations of innocence; and two: think of something else. I punt for option two. I lift my chin, stare Hal Dawkins in the eye, and lean forward into the barrel of the gun.
‘Read my lips – I. Have. No. Idea. – you scumbag!’
Maybe that last bit was too much, but I’ll never know. Winston begins to bark again and just then, the door bursts open. A cricket bat makes an appearance. Held by the trembling hands of Tim Edwards.
‘Put the gun down,’ he bellows in his deepest ‘court voice’.
‘Well,’ Hal sneers, ‘if it ain’t “widows and orphans boy” come to save the day.’
‘I mean it great-granddad. It’s over.’
Suddenly, the pressure is released from my chest as Hal wheels around and points the gun straight at Tim. ‘You little pussy,’ he says. ‘If you hadn’t made a right muck of everything from the start, then we’d be living the high life by now. But no – you had to go and spring her out of jail. Get her snooping around and asking questions. And taking her to meet Sally. Where were you when the brains were handed out, boy?’
‘I had no idea what was going on.’ Tim bristles. ‘Gran started going on about an old friend – someone she had a score to settle with. I was worried she was going to get herself in trouble. You told her you regretted not being in her life, but really, all you wanted to do was involve her in stirring up trouble.’ He shakes his head. ‘You should have stayed away – left well enough alone. Stayed put on your sunny island with the women and the daiquiris. Instead, you’re here waving a gun around looking for some treasure that doesn’t exist.’ He shakes his head.
‘What do you know about it?’ Hal snarls. As the two of them stand off against one another, I look around for something I can use as a weapon – a letter opener or a fireplace poker. But all Mr Pepperharrow has in his sitting room is a whole lot of books. My eyes come to rest on something else – a model of a Spitfire that’s propping up a section of books on The Great War. I inch over towards it but it’s too far away. Too far away unless I can keep him talking.
‘You’re grasping at straws,’ I say. ‘If the jewels did exist – and, it’s a huge if – then the most likely scenario is that they were buried or destroyed when the house was bombed. You’ve never had any reason to think anything different.’
‘You didn’t know Marina.’ He swings the gun back at me. ‘She would have made sure they were safe – she was like that. I reckon those jewels were her insurance policy – the only proof that she was royalty – like that article said. And who knows… if she’d lived, one day she might have been first in line.’
I inch closer. ‘And what about Jeremy Stanley? Was he in on it with you?’
‘Spider? In on it?’ Hal laughs. ‘He had his arse stuck up a clock – weren’t interested in anything else. He wouldn’t have gone to the police. And later on, I took a chance – that he’d feel so
rry for poor old Flea, banished and exiled. Asked him if he couldn’t help out a poor bloke sell a few whatnot’s he’d picked up in France. He did it too…’ his laugh turns hollow. ‘And I’ve got a strange suspicion, it weren’t the first time.’
‘What do you mean?’
With the hand not holding the gun, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few loose sheets of paper. ‘The final diary entries. Don’t you want to know how Frank’s story ends?’
‘That’s enough!’ Tim says. ‘This needs to end once and for all.’ He reaches out and grabs the pages in his great-grandfather’s hand. Hal jerks his hand away. There’s the sound of ripping paper. Hal is left with a fragment of a page in one hand. And a gun in the other. He levels the gun at his great-grandson looking murderous.
I move within touching distance of the Spitfire. It’s made of metal – simple, but strong. Just like the real plane would have been.
All of a sudden, there’s the sound of running footsteps outside. ‘Alex!’ a voice calls out. I freeze in horror. I may have absolutely no control over the situation, but I can take care of myself. But if Chris gets hurt or killed… I’d never forgive myself.
The front door bangs open. Hal cocks his gun.
‘Alex!’ Chris calls out again.
Taking advantage of the distraction, I grab the spitfire and jab the point of its nose into Hal’s arm. The world seems to shake on its axis, shuddering into slow motion as a gun goes off in a deafening explosion. ‘No!’ I scream. At that moment, I know that Chris has been hit, and he’s dead, and my life is over… and that knowledge gives me superhuman strength. I leap at Hal and wrestle the gun from his fist. It explodes again and there’s a crack of wood splitting open and something heavy showering to the floor. And the pain blooms under my skin and my ears are ringing so much that I can hardly hear the sirens outside and the armed police unit rushing in and taking over the scene. I feel like I’m running through water as I try to reach Chris but instead find myself tumbling to the ground over the clock that’s been shot open and fallen to the floor. Marina’s clock. And there before my eyes, the world begins to sparkle and glow in the colours of shimmering jewels – red, green, blue, gold, silver. And the snow begins to fall, light and crisp in front of me, and I shiver in the cold and stick out my tongue to catch the crystalline flakes, as everything around me fades to black…
Finding Secrets Page 33