by Ivan B
Mary said quietly.
“Parachuting actually, I’ve got a matching pair.”
Suzï turned a deathly shade of white and Mary thought for a moment that she was going to faint, after a few seconds Suzï tucked her head between her knees and took some deep breaths. When she finally sat upright Mary pointed to the little parachute motif on Suzï’s shirt.
“You jump?”
Suzï swallowed.
“Skydive.”
Mary nodded.
“Enjoy it?”
“Nothing like it.”
Mary patted her leg.
“I’ve only got myself to blame. You know the procedure; every jump check and pack the main ‘chute and then check and pack the reserve ‘chute. I checked and packed the main ‘chute, but it didn’t deploy. The reserve did, but shredded itself. The truth is I’d got sloppy and after each jump I’d just put the reserve ‘chute, still packed, in my locker. I couldn’t have touched it for three months. The instructors always warn you about getting sloppy and you always think it will never happen to you, but it did to me.”
Suzï was still the colour of parchment.
“How far?” She croaked.
Mary shrugged.
“To tell the truth I don’t know . We jumped from two thousand feet and after the main chute failed the reserve did work for a while, but it wasn’t a soft landing.”
Suzï sat transfixed by Mary’s legs until Mary said softly.
“What would you recommend?”
Suzï clicked back into serving mode and measured the diameter of Mary’s upper and lower leg. She sat back.
“Well there’s not a shred of fat there.”
Mary replied dryly.
“Hell of a way to slim.”
Suzï gave a nervous laugh and rubbed her hands to warm them slightly.
“I can offer you two choices. Firstly we’ve got a range designed for anorexic female skiers, secondly we’ve got a range that is designed for long distance skiing.”
“Which would you recommend?”
Suzï looked Mary in the eyes for the first time since they had sat down.
“Why do you need a brace, muscles or tendons or bones?”
Mary grimaced.
“Probably all three as I popped both knees, but this knee joint isn’t complete, there’s no kneecap and some of the outer edge of the lower joint is missing. It is now starting to move about sideways a little too much.”
Suzï swallowed at the thought.
“Ankles?”
“Both.”
“Hips?”
“Only stress fractures.”
Suzï swallowed and began to go white about the gills.
“Spine?”
“Severely twisted, but not broken.”
Suzï, obviously with a great mental effort, took her mind off parachuting and got back to the task in hand.
“There’s only one option and that’s what we call our Double Cuff. The problems with sideways knee movement is the appalling about of leverage available in the bones above and below the knee.” She hesitated a fraction. “The Double Cuff is an excellent brace, but I’m afraid it doesn’t come cheap.”
Mary shrugged.
“I’ve only got one pair of legs, I’d better look after them.
Suzï went to a store-room and reappeared holding the brace.
“This is really top of the range, exceptionally lightweight, it’s made from carbon fibre not plastic, and you can adjust the amount of friction in the joint, limit the rotation of the joint and once it’s been fitted properly, take it on and off easily.”
Suzï hesitated.
“Would you mind a knee stocking?”
Mary wrinkled her nose.
“Must I?”
“Save chaffing, but the brace was designed to go on bare skin.”
Mary rubbed her upper leg.
“Rather not have a knee stocking, but I’ll take a couple just in case.”
Suzï carefully fitted the brace and then showed her the different adjustments.
“The secret is, “she said confidently. “To have it tight enough to stop the sideways knee movement, but loose enough to feel comfortable. Since you only want lateral support I’ve set it for zero joint friction and no limit on knee bend, but you can see they’re easy enough to change.”
Mary watched carefully Suzi’s deft movements.
“Can you set it to limit forward rotation to 180°, it’s always been prone to try and go past straight if I’m not careful.”
Susan made a few adjustments and Mary tried walking up and down, the brace was definitely lightweight, superbly slim and gripped Mary’s legs in two places about eight inches apart both above and below the knee. As Mary walked it felt uncomfortable, but there was no doubt it helped. She sat down.
“How do I make sure it is in the right place?”
Suzï smiled.
“They are absurdly easy to get right, but in any case I’ve got a trick up my sleeve.”
They fiddled about with the various fittings for half an hour until Suzï was satisfied. She pointed to a pair of small levers.
“These automatically compensate for small adjustments in diameter, for instance if you put on some weight. Also, if you want to wear it on you leg with a stocking move the levers up one; to wear it on the top of jeans move it up three.”
Mary peered at the levers.
“What on earth is six for?”
Suzï laughed.
“Would you believe a wet suit?”
She produced an indelible pen from her pocket.
“Now I’m going to mark your skin, line up the marks with these little arrows on the first cuff and you’ve got it in the right place.”
Mary nodded.
“First can I try and fit it by myself?”
Half an hour later Mary rolled down her slacks and held Suzï’s hand.
“Thanks for you help, you’ve taken an awful lot of trouble.”
Suzï shrugged and handed over some cream.
“Put this on if you get chaffing, you’ll probably find it better than the stuff you normally use on your stump; it comes from Australia where sweat-chaffing is a real problem.”
Mary stood up and pointed to Suzï’s slacks.
“Do you sell those here?”
“Of course, we stock a large range of clothes, even children’s sizes, and there’ll be plenty that would be loose enough on you not to catch on the brace.”
Mary nodded.
“While I’m up here I’d like some trainers, nothing special, but they’ve got to be comfortable and,” she rummaged in her backpack and produced a tapered plastic insole. “This has got to fit inside.”
Suzï smiled.
“Must it be trainers? We do some lovely soft-leather gym-shoes with non-slip soles, but…”
Mary laughed.
“But they don’t come cheap.”
Suzï grinned.
“White, soft-grey, brown or black?”
Mary grinned back.
“I’ll look at the white and the grey, but I’ve gone off brown.”
Suzï finished serving Mary and watched her leave her part of the store for the clothing department. Suzï then rushed to the loo and was violently sick. While she had been serving Mary she had been racking her brains; she reckoned that she’d last checked her reserve parachute over ten jumps ago, that was one mistake she would not make again.
Mary finally left the sport’s store sporting her knee brace, a new pair of shoes and a new top, to her utter amazement the rest of the items she had purchased would be delivered to the security office below the flat free of charge. She smiled to herself, she had spent well over a thousand pounds so a free delivery was not too much to ask. She waved to a taxi and sat in the back, now for her second call of the day.
The taxi dropped her right outside the Bank of England and Mary walked inside, still conscious of her unseen knee brace. She stopped at an imposing reception desk and smiled at the spotty
youth behind the desk.
“Hi, I’ve an appointment with Mr Jamerson.”
He looked at his computer screen.
“Is that Mr Jamerson our numismatist or Mr Jamerson of equities control madam?”
She smiled at his formal manner, it definitely did not go with his appearance.
“The former.”
He peered at the screen again.
“Would you care to go to our interview room number three, Mr Smith will escort you.”
Mr Smith turned out to be a burly man squeezed into a smart uniform; he led her down the corridor matching his pace with hers, he did not speak. At the appropriate room he opened the door and ushered her inside; it was all embossed wallpaper, oak panelling and mahogany desk, it positively oozed tradition and stability. Mr Jamerson entered the room a couple of minutes later, he oozed arrogance and disdain. He sat down, did not introduce himself and started the interview by looking at his watch.
“I believe Miss Webb you wanted to discuss gold coinage.”
Mary tried a smile, but was rapidly beginning to think that this was not one of her best ideas. “I have a gold guinea minted in the 1950s that I’d like you to look at.”
He gave a supercilious smile.
“Let me guess, a guinea with two crossed palms on one side and the number one on the other. They were issued by Saudi Arabia in 1959, hence the Arabic writing around the one.”
She tried another smile.
“No, this one is dated 1952 and has the head of George VI on one side and the Union Jack on the other.”
He almost rolled his eyes and adopted a haughty manner.
“Then it’s a forgery. You won’t find the Union Jack on any gold guineas and the last golden guinea, known as the military guinea, was issued in 1813 in the reign of George III.”
Mary began to lose her patience, he had not even asked to see the coin.
“I’m told that they were never in general circulation, but issued as a fallback currency should there be a nuclear war.”
This time he did roll his eyes and shook his head.
“Highly unlikely.”
She leant forward slightly and said acidly.
“And of course you would know, I mean you are the coinage expert for the period in question.”
He was taken aback at her manner.
“Actually I specialise in post Seventieth century Bronze Coinage, but I am certain on this point.”
Mary didn’t move a muscle; he sighed through his nose.
“But if you insist I will check our database, have you got the coin with you?”
She passed over the coin and he swung round through ninety degrees and started tapping on a computer keyboard. In the end he pressed the ‘enter’ key and sat back; now, for the first time, he took a good look at the coin.
“Surprising the forgers bothered really, there are not that many gold coins and if you’ve got this much gold then you might as well sell it at face value.”
He suddenly stopped and peered at the screen, he tapped a few keys and looked at the coin again. He picked up the phone beside him and dialled. Mary listened to the conversation. “Hello George? I’ve got a lady with me and we’re talking about gold guineas, she has a coin that purports to be a guinea, but has too late a date. But, I’ve entered the basic data into our database and got a response I’ve not seen before, it says ‘restricted coinage category CW2’, can you help?”
She watched his face as it went from curiosity to bewilderment to disbelief, he put the phone down and turned to Mary.
“Mr Young, he’s our top coin expert, is coming to see you. If you don’t mind I’ll just pop out to meet him.”
He stood up and made for the door, Mary verbally waylaid him.
“Excuse me – the coin, I’d rather keep it in my sight.”
He had the grace to look sheepish and handed it back.
Mary waited for nearly ten minutes and then Mr Jamerson re-entered followed by his complete antithesis. The second man was short, rotund, had a full head of grey hair and enough wrinkles to strike a match. He held his hand out.
“Good morning, I’m Mr Young, but call me George, everybody does. I believe you have an interesting coin?”
Mary passed the coin over and he looked at it and then compared it to a coin he had in a little wooden tray. He turned his specimen coin over with a silk ribbon and then looked at Mary.
“May I ask where you found this?”
Mary smiled.
“In Suffolk near the sea.”
She studied his face.
“I take it that it is not a forgery.”
George smiled thereby significantly increasing his quota of wrinkles.
“Oh I can’t say that.”
Mary pointed.
“But there is a 1952 English Gold Guinea, after all your little sample coin is not a figment of my imagination.”
He gave a reassuring smile.
“Not necessarily, we also keep some coins that never went beyond the prototype stage.”
George sat down leaving Mr Jamerson standing, he fingered Mary’s coin and then nodded to himself.
“When I joined the bank I was told an apocryphal story that was one of those ideas that seemed right for a time. Your talking about the cold war period, paranoia about another world war etc. etc. There story goes that there were a few thousand 1952 gold guineas minted, but production ceased when the King died. They were meant to be kept in the various bunkers and war-rooms that were planned, but by 1954 the government decided that it was not the right approach and they were withdrawn and melted back into gold bars. I rather think that the government felt that if knowledge of gold coin storage got out it would attract thieves.” He gave a rye smile. “However the story has a twist in that they were supposedly not all returned.”
He fingered the coin again.
“Especially from Suffolk. It’s said that Suffolk lost one of it’s coastal war-rooms in the floods of 1953; it was so severely damaged they filled it with concrete, legend has it that was before anyone remembered the coins in the floor-safe.”
He smiled at Mary.
“If that were true I would guess that you found this on some Suffolk beach. With coastal erosion the way it is I guess that if there is any credence to that story that war-room could now be yielding up its secret.”
Mary merely smiled and George smiled back. All of a sudden he produced a small yellow cloth and cleaned the coin, he then slipped it into a small plastic wallet and handed it back to Mary.
“If I were you I’d keep that very safe.” He said seriously.
Mary self-consciously tucked it in her pocket.
“So what happens if I take it to an auction house?”
George sighed.
“Is that a formal request for verification of the existence of the coinage?”
“Yes.”
He gave a broad smile.
“Well that’s going to ruffle a few feathers. Can I have your address?”
She wrote her address on some of the vellum paper on the desk and handed it over. He gave her a stern look.
“You will keep that thing in a safe place, I’d hate to cause a fuss and then have you lose the coin.”
“Safe as houses.”
He nodded.
“We’ll be in touch.”
She smiled, not moving.
“What happens if I had more than one?”
George froze for a moment and then said quietly.
“One would be worth a small fortune in coin collecting terms. Two may raise some suspicions, but if you have more than ten I’d start to think about forgery.”
Mary nodded.
“But I guess you have a way of checking for forgery built into the design.”
He gave a huge wrinkle enhancing smile.
“I couldn’t possibly say.”
She laughed and stood up. He said in almost a whisper.
“If you have got a shed load, put them on the market before Christmas won�
�t you; I retire at Christmas and I’d love to be here to watch the fun.”
Mary shook his hand and walked out of the room to find Mr Smith waiting to escort her back to reception. Mr Jamerson gave George a curious look.
“Is all that true?”
George held up his specimen coin.
“Well this didn’t come from nowhere.”
“Can you check for forgery?”
“Yes, but in my opinion her coin is absolutely bona-fide.”
Mr Jamerson leant against the wall.
“Then wherever did she get if from?”
George smiled and rubbed his chin.
“The war-room the Suffolk Authorities lost was reputedly near a small village called Shingle Street. I’d start on the beach there, after all gold coins don’t float.”
The young man sighed.
“How many coins were supposedly lost?”
George smiled.
“Records of the period aren’t all they should be, but certainly more than two hundred and probably less than six hundred.”
Mr Jamerson smiled, perhaps a weekend in Suffolk with his metal-detector would be a good investment of his time. George just smiled in remembering; he’d been told the story by his boss when he’d joined the bank and, full of the exuberance of youth, had spent many pleasant weekends in Suffolk combing the beaches around Shingle Street. He’d spent so many weekends there he’d married the daughter of the local coastguard, but he’d never found so much as one single gold coin, so wherever Mary had found the coin he was pretty certain it was not Shingle Street. On the other hand Orfordness, a once closed and secretive island just off Aldeburgh, was now a bird reserve and open to the public, perhaps he’d visit there next time they went to see his sister-in-law. The only curious thing was that the coin was in near-mint condition, it had obviously not been pounded by sand and he was pretty certain it had not been immersed in sea-water. That left mud, he began to wonder if there were any mud-banks on or near Orfordness that were worth a visit.
Chapter 12
Every picture tells a story
Mary arrived outside the Planetarium at just before two o’clock to find Robert and Josie in the entrance queue. They shuffled along and were soon enjoying the astral show. Josie was mesmerised, so much so they paid extra and stayed on for the second show, which was not on stars, but the planets. Josie was totally spellbound for the whole show and they only extracted her from the building with a promise of a return later in the week. Even so a visit to the gift-shop was obligatory. As Josie looked through a huge poster display Robert and Mary stood nearby and kept an eye on her. Robert nodded towards Josie.