London

by Carina Axelsson

  After a few moments she said, “I’m afraid my eyesight is poor. Why don’t you tell me what it shows?”

  I described the photo to her, but she said nothing. Frustration was beginning to gnaw at me. Why would no one tell me anything about this picture?

  “I came across it when I was researching an article about Johnny Vane for my school magazine. I heard that you raised Johnny and his brother, that you were close to them—and Georgie too.” I saw her stiffen when I said this.

  “Close?”

  Now I didn’t know what to say. She was prickly, and if I said the wrong thing, I clearly ran the risk of turning her off. I tried being as vague as possible. “Yes, well, sort of—”

  “There was no ‘sort of’ about it,” she hissed.

  Ah, so she wanted me to know she had been close to them. Good, then I’d push the opposite way. Hopefully I could provoke her into talking. “Well, I was surprised to hear that you could have been so close to the Vane children, because I know how much their mother, Clarissa, was loved and admired. From everything I’ve heard and read, it seems she must have been really, really lovely—”

  “She was lovely, that’s right,” Jane interrupted, “but she was also a vain, flighty creature who was tortured by demons of her own making. I’m the one who kept that household together—not Clarissa. I’m the one the children were close to—not Clarissa. She has never been close to them.”

  “You mean, she never was,” I corrected her quietly.

  Jane’s eyes were blazing. For someone who had trouble seeing, she could certainly focus when she wanted to—and right now she was focused on me.

  Suddenly my phone vibrated. It was a message from Sebastian:

  Leave now

  He gave no details, but he surely had good reason for telling me to get out. It was unlike him not to use punctuation; speed was clearly of importance.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to go. My parents have just rung for me. Bye!” I didn’t wait for an answer before I rushed down the steps. But as I neared the street, I spotted a figure heading toward me, and I instinctively ducked into the shadows afforded by Jane’s neighbor’s large shrubs. From there, I saw Johnny Vane walk past me and into the house. So that’s who she’d been expecting, I thought.

  “Thanks, Watson,” I said to Sebastian as I joined him across the street. We quickly fell into step as we headed for the Thames. Along the way I told Sebastian about my exchange with Jane.

  “Funny,” Sebastian said, “how Caro and Georgie didn’t react too much—or at least tried not to—yet Jane and Johnny reacted very aggressively.”

  “I know. So does that tell us that Johnny and Jane have something to hide? Or just that Caro and Georgie are better actors?”

  “Good questions, Holmes. I don’t know.”

  “Neither do I—yet. But I look forward to finding out.”

  After a few minutes we reached the Chelsea Embankment and bought tickets at the booth on Cadogan Pier. We were a little early for the next departure, so after boarding, we found the seats we wanted and I pulled out my phone and searched online for images of Johnny Vane. Slowly I scrolled through the images. Johnny looked the same in nearly all of them—even the ones dating back twenty years to his graduation from Central Saint Martins. Leather biker jacket, boots, and a T-shirt: these were the basics. Sometimes there was a scarf or a chic turtleneck, but always worn with a good dose of irreverence. Even in the few photos showing Johnny in a tuxedo, his ability to twist a classic form shone through. And always there were the fingerless gloves and silver rings.

  “What’s so important about those images?” Sebastian asked as he sat on one side of me and watched my fingers zoom from one picture to the next.

  “No special reason…it’s just something Chandra said. She said Johnny never takes his gloves off. And if these images are anything to go by, she’s right.”

  I held my phone out for Sebastian to have a look. “Maybe he just really, really likes wearing them. Besides, by now they’re clearly a part of his look.”

  “That’s what Chandra says, but I’d get tired of wearing gloves all the time.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t live and breathe fashion.”

  “True…but things aren’t always what they seem, you know—as my grandfather often liked to say.”

  “Okay, but how can wearing studded, fingerless gloves be anything other than what it seems?”

  “Well,” I said, laughing, “I won’t know unless I keep looking, will I?”

  Finally the boat’s engines revved to life and we slowly pulled away from the dock. The air on the Thames was invigorating and the view splendid. London’s lights danced on the water’s surface, and from the river, the buildings seemed totally different—more beautiful even. It was fun, standing on the prow of the boat, leaning on the railing, and watching my lovely city go past.

  Sebastian pulled a folded map out of the inner pocket of his jacket and spread it out on the broad metal handrail. He’d placed red crosses on a few spots up and down the river.

  “The red crosses represent the places where, according to the London Port Authority, small beaches appear when the tide is low. Considering that the Embankment is well lit, we shouldn’t have any trouble finding them, even if we can’t reach them all on foot.”

  In fact, from the boat and even in this light, we could see a few of the narrow, rocky, but very real beaches that Sebastian had highlighted on his map. Despite the romantic view from the boat, I was excited and wanted to get off and explore one of the beaches. “I have to know what it feels like to walk on one of them, and I’d like to feel the water too,” I said.

  “Fine, Holmes. Let’s get off at Westminster. It would make sense to try to retrace Gavin’s steps.”

  I nodded as I looked at the map. There was one beach that seemed a likely destination for Gavin on Sunday morning. I pointed to it. “That’s the one,” I said, just as the boat’s intercom system called out “Next stop: Westminster Pier!”

  We got off the boat, and once again, I had the sensation that we were being followed. Covertly, we checked behind us, but nothing or no one caught our attention.

  “Well, if someone is shadowing us,” Sebastian said, “then they certainly know how to do it.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better about being followed, Watson.”

  Annoyingly the shadow had moved so quickly and lightly that I hadn’t had a chance to make out a distinct shape. Was it Gavin’s attacker, maybe? Or someone who didn’t like me questioning the Vanes? Could it even be one of the Vanes themselves? Unless I got a good look I’d never know.

  There wasn’t much we could do except stay alert, I thought, as Sebastian and I reached Westminster Bridge. Once there, we crossed to the south side of the river and left the bridge by the flight of steps on the right. From here to Lambeth Bridge, the Embankment was accessible to pedestrians only. After a few minutes (I was timing it), we stood in front of a simple loading dock. The beach I wanted to see was directly below us.

  The loading dock was between an ice cream stand and a tour boat company. On the opposite side of the river and a bit farther down, to the right from where we stood, was the Palace of Westminster. It was spectacularly lit up, and I couldn’t help but stare at its reflection rippling on the water’s surface.

  But after a moment, we stopped admiring the view and walked down the short flight of stairs that led to the dock. Nothing was closed off—although, of course, the small office on the dock was shut for the night. We passed some loading equipment and crates, and then climbed down a ladder that led right onto the surface of the pebbly beach. I was surprised to find that we were not alone. A couple of flashlights shone farther along the pebbly shore as a small, chattering group combed the beach. They were mudlarking!

  It was amazing to think that I’d never noticed how much the Thames rises and falls. The r
iver had a life of its own that I’d been entirely ignorant of. I bent down and swished my hand through the water. The current had changed, and from this moment on, the tide would begin coming in—not that I could see any discernible change at that moment. The surface of the water seemed as impenetrable as ever. But from what I’d read and heard, it was underneath the surface that the tugging of the current could really be felt. The water swirled around my hands, inky and opaque. I watched, mesmerized by the fact that I’d never touched the Thames water before. Suddenly I felt something wrap itself around my hand. With a soft yelp I jumped to my feet.

  “What is it?” Sebastian said, concern in his eyes.

  I laughed as I lifted my hand and revealed an old shoelace entwined around my fingers and wrist. Not the most stunning start to my first mudlarking experience, I thought as I continued walking along the water’s edge. The going underfoot was rough and I was thankful for my Converse.

  A few minutes later, however, it was Sebastian’s turn to call out. He wasn’t up against a mere shoelace, however. He was well and truly stuck!

  I thought he was joking at first, teasing me for the way I’d jumped when the shoelace coiled around my hand. But by the time I ran to him, I’d noticed two things: (A) he was standing with both his feet in the water—how had that happened? And (B) judging by the way he kept twisting and turning, he was in serious trouble.

  “My left foot’s caught. I can’t get it loose,” he cried out.

  I plunged my hands into the water and tried to free him.

  “It’s a roll of wire fencing,” he said. “I could see it at the waterline and I jumped onto it without thinking. Stupid! As soon as I put my weight on it, it slid down into the water. I don’t know if it’s the bottom of my pants or one of my shoelaces that’s caught on the wire. But I’m definitely stuck.”

  “Hold on to me,” I said as I continued to feel around under the water, hoping to find a way to loosen him from the wire’s grip.

  The tide was coming in fast now, and the spot where we were standing would shortly be submerged. I looked around, but there was no one else on the beach. The treasure hunters had disappeared back onto the Embankment.

  “Sebastian, you have to wait here for a minute, all right? I’m going to go back onto the dock and find something I can use to cut the wire,” I said.

  I ran back along the beach the way we’d walked and up the ladder onto the dock. Then I dashed up the stairs that led to the Embankment in the hope of finding a passer-by who could help me. But it was quiet, and I saw no one nearby. As I turned, however, I saw a figure flit behind the ice cream stand to my left—and he or she moved with the same lightning speed and lightness of foot as the shadow I’d seen earlier.

  “Hello!” I called. “I need some help!”

  No response. I’d definitely seen someone run behind the ice cream stand, so either they hadn’t heard me, or they were deliberately keeping away from me. In that case, I was even more sure that whoever was hiding was the person who had been shadowing us since Sloane Square—or probably since we’d left the party.

  I ran to the ice cream stand, but as I reached it, I saw the figure peel away from the shadows and start to run toward the bridge. There was no point in following—I’d wasted enough time already. But at least I’d seen a distinct shape: tall, athletic, and male. That didn’t tell me much, but I wouldn’t have applied that description to Johnny, Georgie, or Caro. So who was it?

  I ran as fast as I could back to the dock. Once I reached the loading equipment, I turned on my phone flashlight and frantically searched among the crates, forklift, and machinery for scissors, a crow bar, a hammer, anything that might be sufficient to cut the wire holding Sebastian. But there was nothing!

  I started picking up some of the empty crates and tossing them around, hoping to find something useful lying forgotten underneath—but there was nothing. Then, just as I was about to run along the Embankment and call again for help, a glint of something metallic caught the light of my flashlight. It was on the floorboards of the forklift. The machine’s tiny cab had a covered roof, but was otherwise open to the air, and I saw no blinking light signaling an alarm. Without further thought I reached in and grabbed the tool by its handle. It was a chisel. It wouldn’t have been my first choice, but perhaps it would do.

  On my own, I didn’t have the strength to hit the wire mesh with enough force to break through. I quickly ran my eyes over the crates and equipment. I didn’t see what I was looking for, but surely I would find something on the beach.

  I ran back to the ladder and climbed down it again. As my feet touched the beach I searched around me, my eyes taking in the varied surface of the shore until they rested on just the thing I needed—a heavy stone. I picked it up and hurried back to Sebastian.

  He was up to his knees in water now. “I can feel the current coming in from behind me,” he said, a note of panic in his voice. “It’s quite strong.”

  “Well, hold still,” I said. “I hope this will work.”

  We positioned Sebastian’s leg so that I’d (hopefully) be able to break the wire around his left ankle without hurting him. Then he repositioned his free leg for maximum balance.

  “I thought you said this was going to be a romantic outing,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Technically, I think I said it could be romantic—which I actually feel it’s becoming.”

  “And how can you possibly get that feeling?” I asked as I lifted the rock in my right hand and held the chisel with my left.

  “Well, there is something quite romantic about being saved by a good-looking detective at night under the moonlight, don’t you think?” He stopped talking as he watched me aim the first thwack. “Of course, most romantic would be if you could get me free without breaking my ankles.”

  “Very funny, Watson. You’re entirely in my hands now, so I’d start being nice if I were you. And stop distracting me and look somewhere else, will you?” I didn’t wait for an answer but let the stone fall onto the chisel handle. It felt like the wire bent, but it didn’t break. I repeated the same procedure again and again. Soon, however, my hands were submerged under the water, and I could see that Sebastian was getting more anxious. The water was above his knees now, and I had to get up to my shoulders in the water to reach his ankle. (I thanked the detective gods that it was Belle La Lune who’d lent me the suit I was wearing. She was the last person who’d be angry with me for ruining it.) It was getting more and more difficult to hit the chisel. But finally I broke through enough of the wire around his foot to loosen it.

  “Stand up, Axelle, and get out of the water,” Sebastian said. “You’re getting tired—”

  “I am not!”

  “You are…” He stopped talking as he wriggled his foot. “Besides, I think you’ve done it.”

  I took another step deeper into the water so that Sebastian could hold on to me more easily. My legs and arms were now completely sodden with river water (not to mention my suit!). I began to shiver as I stood next to Sebastian so he could lean on me for support until he finally his foot pulled free.

  With a hop and a skip we splashed our way out of the water, only stopping to pick up my clutch bag from the edge of the beach as we dashed back to the ladder. We climbed to the dock and collapsed onto a concrete barrier between the loading dock and the steps leading up to the pavement. Neither of us said anything as we caught our breath.

  “Well,” I said finally. “I think we’ve figured out how Gavin got his legs wet.”

  “You think he got stuck in some wire?”

  “No, I doubt he would have had the same brilliant idea as you.”

  “It’s nice to know, Holmes, that even when you’re half soaked with germ-infested river water, your spirits aren’t dampened.”

  “Clearly, Watson, you haven’t heard that old saying, ‘Look before you leap.’”

 
; “And clearly, Holmes, I’m never going to live this one down.”

  “Probably not.” I laughed. “But seriously, I think Gavin might have come down here for the same reasons we did: to test the water, to know what the incoming current feels like.”

  “This is the closest ‘large’ beach to where he was found, so timing wise, it fits perfectly with his actions on Sunday morning—better than any of the others I’ve marked on the map.”

  I nodded. “Yes, and that’s given me a theory. Remember that Gavin told Tallulah he had to check on something, and that she also had the feeling he was planning to meet someone. Let’s assume he was checking on the tides and currents, and while he was down there, he maybe looked at his watch, realized he was running late for the prearranged meeting he’d made with whoever, and got out of the water. He ran the five or six minutes to the Embankment on the other side of the river and confronted his ‘date’ with whatever he’d discovered about the past, thanks to that old photo, and the person hit him hoping to silence him.”

  After a moment Sebastian said, “So what do you think he discovered?”

  I shook my head. “I only have a few vague ideas at the moment.”

  “That you won’t share?”

  I laughed as I upended my Converse and watched a stream of water pour out. “Don’t you think it’s time we got home?”

  Sebastian did the same to his shoes, then took my hand and pulled me up. As our hands touched I felt a tingling sensation race through me like a jolt of electricity. I’d forgotten how good we were at dealing with dangerous situations together. I’d almost forgotten how good we were together period. I was spending more time with him now than I had in three months, and it made a welcome change from our tension-fraught long-distance Skype calls.