by Rachel Green
He slipped inside and up the path. It was a small garden and he’d designed it himself in a series of interlocking squares that cleverly kept his tiny greenhouse out of sight of both neighbours and the back fence. Retrieving the key from under the pot of basil by the back door, he slipped off his shoes and went inside. He paused in the kitchen for his eyes to adjust to the darkness and listened for the sound of his sister moving about.
All was silent and he heaved a sigh of relief. Much as he loved her, Latitia could be a harridan if woken before she’d had her eight hours. Three fifteen was far too early to be dealing with her, he’d had enough of that from his mum when he was a teenager. God rest her soul.
He debated making a cup of tea and skinning up in the garden but decided against it, since it was still wet outside from the earlier rain. Besides, he did have work in the morning and needed a bit of kip to stop him falling asleep at his desk.
Now there was a joke.
He peeled off his jacket and dropped it over the back of the kitchen chair. He hated his job. When his idiot friend had landed the cushiest job in the world by a sheer fluke he’d been happy for him, honestly, and even more so when Jim had offered him a job as a ‘Security Consultant’ at twice the wages he’d been getting at the steelworks. The problem was Winston was bored.
He sat and cleaned his shoes, wiping them off with a piece of kitchen roll and a spray of vegetable oil. He’d hated working a lathe too, but at least it had kept his mind fresh and eager for the wonders of the world. His sketchbooks had gone unopened in the months since picking up the security job. After staring into a bank of monitors all day and handing out visitor badges, all he wanted to do when he got home, was have a shag and put a bet on in the hopes of making a win big enough to retire on. Then he’d draw and paint all day and have exhibitions in London and New York.
Satisfied with his shoes, he carried them upstairs, avoiding the squeaky boards outside Latitia’s room and undressed in the dark. He left off brushing his teeth and got into bed wondering if his sister would remember to wake him before she left for her job in London.
He lay back, lacing his fingers at the back of his head and thinking about Pennie. He could smell her perfume on his skin if he turned his head toward the slightly-open window. She’d been good for a laugh, that one. No long term plans and she even talked about the bloke she really wanted to be with. No fear of getting a tag-along white girl with that one. He smiled and took a long, contented breath. He might get another few shags out of her, if this Chase bloke strung her along a bit more.
He heard movement in the hall and froze. Latitia knocked softly on his door. “Winston?” she hissed. “Are you awake?”
In the yellow glow of the streetlight, Winston pretended to snore.
* * * *
“Have you got a gate key?”
Felicia dropped a ten pound note onto the driver’s hand and slid out of the car. “No. Haven’t you?”
“Would I be asking if I did?” Julie watched as the taxi pulled out, using the wide drive of the manor as a place to do a U-turn and wincing at the shriek of the tires as he accelerated.
“Gillian drove into town,” her sister said. “She’s still got the keys. The remote for the gate’s on the same ring. We can just climb over.”
“Easy for you.” Julie shivered as the wind began to pick up. “You’ve got the athleticism to climb over. I’d be lucky if I didn’t get impaled on the top. I’m going to ring the house.”
“Don’t.” Felicia put a hand over the intercom. “You’ll wake people up.”
“That’s the general idea.” Julie blew into cupped hands. “They locked the gate. They can darned well open it again.”
“You’ll wake Harold,” Felicia said. “You know what he’s like when he gets woken up.”
“I do,” said Julie. “I’ve got to work with him tomorrow as well.”
“There you are then.” Felicia looked pleased to win the argument. “I could twist it open.”
“You’ll break it.” Julie looked to the north, where the woods bordered the grounds. “We could walk the long way round.”
“In those shoes? Puhlease.” Felicia rolled her eyes. “Can’t you just use a spell or something to get past?”
“Against these gates?” Julie couldn’t help raising her voice. “The double-barred wooden doors of the underworld would be easier. I don’t even want to imagine what the feedback from these would do. I’d rather diet until I’m thin enough to slip through the bars.”
“I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then.” Felicia climbed them with a single jump and pull, dropping down on the other side scant seconds later. “I’ll get the spare remote,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
Julie watched her dash through the trees, taking the short cut past the curve of the drive. She moved to the gatepost; the hollow between it and the wall holding the intercom was big enough to squeeze into and would cut out much of the breeze. With no street lights, all she had was the faint glimmer of the moon to light the area and she jumped when a figure drifted through the wall and addressed her.
“Julie, isn’t it?” said the ghost of Lady Melissa. What are you doing skulking about out here?”
* * * *
Purvis Mackenzie rubbed his eyes, until the neon green numerals of his digital clock came into focus. Three thirty a.m was no time for a working man to be getting up, but he’d come home to a blinking light on his answering machine and a message from the bishop, telling him he was expected at the diocese cathedral at seven a.m. sharp. Since the cathedral was in Oxford, that entailed a trip on the four thirty-two a. m. from King’s Cross.
Purvis sincerely hoped he could sleep on the train. Why did life have to be so complicated?
Chapter Thirteen
Chase typed in a new search and clicked go, keeping a wary eye on the clock in the corner of the screen. Six-fifty a.m. already. He would have to leave by seven at the latest, in order to get to the bank and still have a chance of getting to the sanctuary by eight. He only had thirty quid left in his wallet and that wasn’t even enough to fill up the petrol tank of the Jeep.
The screen refreshed. Chase glanced at the screen, put down his coffee cup and took a closer look. Penelope Michelle Black could afford a new pair of Wellingtons every day and not think twice about it. Her bank account alone generated more interest than Chase could afford to give in wages to the one member of staff that wasn’t a volunteer. Then there were her investment funds to consider, and her property holdings. It was also surprising to learn she held the lease for the sanctuary. The lease had changed hands from his previous landlord, without a change in the holding company or a whisper to Chase.
Why hadn’t she told him she was, if not outright rich, at least comfortably well off?
The answer was obvious. She didn’t want the type of man who would date her because of her money. Well that was all right, because she didn’t know he knew about it. He reached for his phone and dialled his accountant, jumping when it was answered on the second ring.
“You’re up early,” he said.
Jasfoup’s rich, deep voice replied. “If you didn’t expect me to be up, why did you ring?”
“I thought you’d be asleep, but wake up to answer the phone,” said Chase. “Listen, I’ve just read through Pennie Black’s financial report.”
“Have you? That shouldn’t be allowed.”
“I used a friend’s access.” Chase scrolled down the document and whistled. “Have you seen how much that new assistant of mine is worth?”
“I sent you the link, remember, and I’ll thank you not to use my log-in again. I’ll have to explain that access to accounting.”
“Don’t be such a baby. Is there any way I can get hold of the cash. I could cover all the debts with one stroke.”
“It’s what you’re stroking t
hat worries me.” Jasfoup, on the other end, took a deep breath. “Ask her for money. It’s either that or marry her,” he said.
“Isn’t there an alternative?” Chase sounded disheartened.
“Only if you like the long shot,” said Jasfoup. “You could insure her and hope she dies before Big Michael comes to collect on his marker.”
“How much?”
“What for?”
“To insure Pennie.”
“How should I know? I wasn’t serious. She has a life expectancy of another forty years.”
“Where does it say that?” Chase scrolled down the page.
“Another site,” said Jasfoup. “And no, you can’t have the password.”
“Get me some figures, would you? You never know when someone has an…accident.”
“You’re not planning anything stupid are you?” Jasfoup sounded worried.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you paused and then emphasised ‘accident’. If I’d been there you would have winked too, I’ll bet.”
It was ten past seven by the time he ended the call, forcing him to leave the computer running as he dashed out the door. He didn’t think to switch the screen off, so only a few seagulls died from the daily increase in global warming. The thought kept him occupied all the way to the petrol station. If global warming could be measured in such quantitative terms, people would be more likely to save electricity.
You could run a television campaign on that.
Chase pulled over into the MacDougal’s car park and pulled out his notebook. What a marvellous way to highlight the plight of endangered species. He’d write letters to the broadsheets first; The Times, say, and The Independent. What would you do if the cost of leaving your television on standby, was not only an extra five pence on your electricity bill but a young mallard? Leave the computer on all night? That’ll be thirty herring please. Can’t pay? We’ll shoot your dog. That’ll save the planet the cost of feeding a useless pet.
Chase warmed to the idea, scribbling pages of ideas into his notebook. There was mileage in this. Newspaper’s first then television, thirty second infomercials followed by, if he was lucky, his own television show. He paused in his scribbling and looked at the long line of cars in the mirror. It was typical of the English to form a queue, despite his being nowhere near the drive-through ramp.
He started the car and pulled back into the traffic. He was massively late in opening the sanctuary now but he didn’t care. He was far too excited about his new project. All it would take was a bit of luck and the right letter in the right place.
He pulled in at the petrol pumps, filled his tank with diesel and paid with the credit card least likely to be maxed out. The ATM ate his card when he tired to access her personal account.
The sanctuary account was still in credit, though, and he was able to draw out a hundred pounds from there. It would have to be paid back, but Chase happened to know of an absolute certainty in the two thirty at Kempton. A hundred quid at fifteen-to-one would suit him very well.
Pennie was sitting on the bonnet of her car when he got to the sanctuary. She had the windows wound down and the radio blaring, taking in a little of the morning sun while she listened to Chiltern. She slid off as Chase drew up, offering him a smile and a wave as she slid back into the drivers seat.
Chase, preoccupied with his new ideas for world awareness of global issues, merely nodded and unlocked the gates, though he had the chivalry to wave Pennie into the compound first. She drove past him with a blast of the Carpenters and parked in the space next to his.
He followed more slowly, aware of the bellows of a dozen hungry animals that needed to be fed and the ringing of the telephone, the outside bell announcing an urgency that could only be his creditors. He speed-dialled his accountant again.
“Jas?” Only Chase got away with calling him that, and then only because Mister Jasfoup was unusually tolerant of him. “I’ve got a great idea for a new marketing scheme. It could make us millions.”
He listened to the reply, looking at his watch. “Ten? That’s fine. Bring some cash though, eh? And those forms we discussed. Make me the beneficiary.”
He finished the call as the extension bell went silent. Pennie was waiting to be let into the office building and Chase hurried to unlock the door. “I’ve got the accountant coming at ten,” he said. “Where’s Mary?”
“How should I know?” Pennie didn’t get on with the other member of staff scheduled for today. “Maybe that was her phoning.”
“Maybe.” Chase scowled. “You’ll have to manage by yourself for a bit, all right?”
“Sure.” Pennie opened her locker and shrugged on her jacket, still covered in yesterday’s adventure. “I’ve managed before.”
“Great.” Chase opened the door to his office, stopped and looked back. “I haven’t forgotten our lunch date either. One o’clock suit you?”
“Sure,” Pennie said again, a smile lighting her face.
Chase stared at her for a moment more, marvelling at the way her face changed when she was happy. She was almost attractive, if you liked women with overbites and too-long noses who had said goodbye to size ten at age eleven.
“Was there anything else?” she asked, unnerved by his glazed stare.
“What?” Chase gave a start. “Oh, no. I was miles away, thinking about an ad campaign I dreamed up this morning. Don’t let me stop you from your work.”
Pennie nodded. “I’ll see you later then,” she said.
Chase watched her leave, picking up a feed bucket on her way out of the door. He went into his office and took out his betting slip, filling in the details before Mister. Jasfoup arrived and told him he couldn’t afford it. He phoned it through rather than going into the bookies personally, then pulled out his dictaphone.
“Features Editor, The Times, cc The Independent, The Guardian, The Observer. Dear Sir,” he began.
He was interrupted by the arrival of Mister. Jasfoup, who had arrived from Oxford in an impossibly short time. He was dressed exactly as always, in a grey Armani suit and Oxford club tie. He put his briefcase on the desk and opened it, pulling out several sheaves of paper.
“Here you go, old chap,” he said, handing the first to Chase. “You’re temporarily solvent. I’ve borrowed another fifty grand against the Sanctuary.” He opened the sheets of paper. “I need your signature here,” he pointed and waited until Chase had inscribed his name, “and here.”
He handed a copy of the document over. “It should be in your personal account by lunchtime.”
Chase glanced at the document. “Thanks,” he said. “What sort of loan is it?”
“A fast one.” Jasfoup plucked the papers out of his hand and laid them face-down on the desk. “Don’t default on the repayments.” He turned to another sheaf. “The other matter we discussed…”
“Yes?” Chase looked up. “Pennie, you mean? Is she really worth that much?”
“Yes.” Jasfoup perused several sheets of small print. “She’s a bit of a mystery girl, actually. I’ve no idea where she got her money from.”
“Her divorce, I presume,” said Chase. “She did say she’d been married and got a generous settlement.”
“Funny that,” said Jasfoup. “I can’t find any trace of a financial settlement pertaining to the divorce in her favor. Her bank accounts were almost exhausted, until a month after the decree nisi and then she deposited seven hundred K out of nowhere.”
“Where did she get that kind of money?”
“Where does anyone?” Jasfoup stared through the window. “What’s she doing here? She’s wealthier than anyone in Laverstone and works at the lowest paid job in the town.” He turned to Chase. “What does she get paid?” he said. “I couldn’t find her in the outgoing accounts between all the Janet Mondays
and Mary Tuesdays.”
“She doesn’t actually get paid at all.” Chase looked up with a thin smile. “Although on paper she earns seven-eighty an hour. I’d be obliged if you didn’t tell her though.”
“’Course not.” Jasfoup made a note in his diary. “Anyway, here’s the paperwork on her life assurance. You’re the sole beneficiary so if she passes on unexpectedly she’ll net you fifty grand. Twice that if she dies here, although you’ll have increased your employer’s liability if that happens and we’ll have to claw it back from the parent company.”
“I see,” said Chase, who didn’t. “What about her will? Who does she leave all that money to in the event of her death?”
“That’s the bingo bonus,” said Jasfoup. “Not that I wish the girl any harm, of course. I bet you can’t guess who she’s left it to. Every pound, shilling and tube of lippy.”
Chase looked out of the window. Pennie was walking across the yard with a bucket of feed in one hand and a bale of straw over her shoulder. “How much?” he said.
“What?”
“How much do you bet I can’t guess? A fiver?”
“If you like.”
Chase turned back to his dark skinned accountant. “She left it all to Restless Paws, didn’t she?”
Jasfoup laughed and opened his wallet, sorting through a stack of bills until he arrived at sterling, when he extracted a crisp, freshly minted five-pound note. “Well done old son,” he said. “Your luck’s finally turning.”
Chapter Fourteen
Reverend McKenzie nodded again, his gaze fixed upon the lacklustre painting of Christ, haggling over the price of timber by one of the Cathedral benefactors, as the Bishop made another dig about the state the parish of Saint Jude was in.
“What happened to the girl who vanished from her own baptism last year?” he asked, looking up to the rafters as if God Himself was demanding the answer. “I didn’t hear the last of that for months. I had to write to the cardinal to intervene.”