by Oliver Tidy
When we returned, I pulled up short of the house. We’d made good time and had a thin slice of the hour to spare. I said, ‘How about another ciggy before we face the women?’ I actually wanted one. I had to get my thoughts organised and I was bit nervous. Lewis obliged and we stood around in the dark, puffing away, with him clutching the plastic bag full of money.
I wanted to try my luck at cementing my relationship with Lewis. As we stubbed out our smokes, I said, ‘She paying you well for this?’
‘She’s paying me fuck all, actually.’
‘I’m not even getting petrol money,’ I said. ‘I think we’re entitled to some expenses money for tonight, don’t you?’
I didn’t think he was going to take the bait, but Lewis Edwards must have been hard up. He hesitated long enough for me to say, ‘What about we split a thousand?’ He hesitated some more. Encouraged, I said, ‘We go in there, you count it out and say it’s thirty-nine. What’s Hayley going to do?’
‘Split it how?’
‘I’ll take four, you take six.’
Lewis liked it. He pulled out a bundle and peeled off four hundred for me. I shoved it in my pocket and watched him do the same with his six hundred.
As we approached the door, I said, ‘Lewis, let’s not be too friendly in there. You know what I mean? Wouldn’t want any of the women to think we’d conspired to rook them of a few quid.’
‘Got it,’ he said.
The three of them were all in their same seats when we pushed in through the lounge door. I went over and stood next to Jo. I gave her a quick wink and said with as much irritation and tiredness as I could muster, ‘Right, I’ve had enough of this. I’ve got work in a couple of hours. If you two aren’t coming now you’ll have to find your own way home.’ That set a tone.
Hayley said, quickly, ‘Let’s let Lewis count the money first. OK, Rebecca?’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘Let him count the bloody money then.’ I exaggerated a yawn.
Lewis finished counting the money. ‘Nineteen thousand here,’ he said. ‘That makes thirty-nine thousand in total.’ He might have added the last bit for Jo.
Jo looked at me. I tried my subtle wink again. It felt like a tic.
‘Jesus Christ,’ I said. ‘You can count, can’t you, Lewis?’
‘Count it again, Lewis,’ said Hayley. She sounded pissed off and tired.
Lewis counted it again. ‘Thirty-nine.’
‘I’ve had enough,’ I said. ‘I don’t care how much is in there. All I know is I’m not getting paid a bloody thing for wasting my time and my petrol driving up here. I’m going home.’
‘David!’ said Jo. And I couldn’t tell if she’d caught my drift or not. I had to hope so.
‘There’s eleven thousand pounds missing,’ said Hayley.
‘Not my problem,’ I said. ‘I’m leaving. You two coming or not?’
Hayley turned her gaze on Rebecca Swaine. ‘Do you have the missing money?’ she said.
Rebecca Swaine said, ‘No.’
‘And you, Jo? Have you helped yourself to any?’
I knew Jo to be an accomplished liar. She stared right back at Hayley and said, ‘Why would I have taken just eleven thousand pounds when I had all that in my hands and no one any the wiser about it?’
‘Is that a no, Jo?’
‘It’s a no, Hayley.’
I took my keys out of my pocket and said, ‘It’s make your mind up time. Either you ladies are coming home with me or you, Hayley, need to make up a couple of spare rooms.’
Hayley was struggling with her decision. Some of her earlier confidence and control had ebbed away. I was hoping that the quick appearance of thirty-nine thousand might encourage her to settle for her bird in the hand and a warm bed sooner rather than later.
There was something holding Rebecca Swaine there. It was something Hayley knew. Thanks to Lewis, I knew it too. I wondered if Jo had been filled in while Lewis and I were off gallivanting around London and skimming Hayley. Rebecca Swaine wouldn’t be going anywhere without Hayley’s assurance that her secrets were safe. And Jo probably wouldn’t want to leave without her client. It was some sort of code. Like the Marines or something.
I made a show of checking my watch. I huffed and walked to the door. No one else had moved and I didn’t know what else I could do other than leave. I had my hand on the doorknob when Hayley said, ‘Wait.’ I made my, you-have-ten-seconds face. ‘You ladies should go with him.’ I tried to hide my relief.
‘Not without your assurance,’ said Rebecca Swaine. And, bizarrely, she’d managed to turn the tables on her abductor. Now she wasn’t going without her demands being met. It could have been a first. If Hayley wasn’t prepared to give it, I could see in the setting of Rebecca Swaine’s jaw that she’d squat. ‘I don’t have the money. I don’t have any money,’ she said. ‘I can’t make up the difference of your demand. And this is nothing to do with me. It never was. You’ve got nearly forty thousand pounds back.’ She sounded a bit desperate, pleading really, and it was a bit embarrassing to witness.
Hayley knew all that. She probably also knew that there wasn’t a lot she could do that she hadn’t done already to get her money back. She had to accept things – take the loss and feel fortunate that she’d got so much of her original investment back. In any case, it would be easy for her to give that assurance now and revoke it later. Now she knew who Rebecca Swaine was and where she could find her.
Lewis saw us out. He even winked at me on the doorstep. A friend for life and it had only cost Hayley six hundred quid.
***
47
It was coming to four o’clock. In the morning. I didn’t see that very often in my new life. Being the middle of winter, it was still pitch black. And cold. The night was starting to catch up on all of us. My eyes felt gritty. It was nice to get in the car with the heating on and just drive, in the knowledge my warm bed was only a couple of hours away.
A few streets into our journey and Rebecca Swaine said, ‘I want to thank you both. Neither of you had to do this tonight. You’ve taken some huge personal risks. I really am most grateful.’
‘Like I said before, you’re my client, Mrs Swaine,’ said Jo, as though that covered it all.
‘Even so, I want you to know that I won’t forget it.’
‘You know she made threats of violence towards you when she phoned us?’
‘I heard.’
‘Did you feel threatened?’
‘No. She made a joke of it. She said it would get your attention but that she had no intention of physically harming me. As you saw, she didn’t have to to get what she wanted. When and where did you find the money?’
‘After we dropped you off we had the idea that maybe Sigmund had gone to the church to hide the briefcase because he knew what was in it and that it was trouble and he didn’t want it in the house.’
‘So it was in St Rumwold’s?’
‘Yes.’
Mrs Swaine made a noise of surprise. I was glad she didn’t ask the awkward question of why we hadn’t driven straight back to her home.
‘You know why your husband had Hayley’s money, don’t you?’ said Jo.
‘I do now. I didn’t before. I didn’t know anything about anything. I have been so naive, so stupid...’.
‘Do you still need my services, Mrs Swaine?’
‘I don’t think that I do. Give me a day or two to think things through, will you?’
We all knew what that meant.
‘Are you going to tell me what it was all about?’
‘I understand that you want to know, Ms Cash, I really do. But I don’t want to talk about it. The fewer people that know, the happier I’ll be. I’m sorry. But that is my decision to make. I can only ask you to understand. If it helps, I will double your fee.’
‘That isn’t necessary, Mrs Swaine. Hayley was right about one thing: you’re my employer. Whatever you decide I have to accept.’
And that was that, conversation wise. I would
have preferred it if one or both of them had gone to sleep. But neither did. I snatched glances of them throughout the drive home. Mrs Swaine hardly moved her gaze from the side window, although I suspect her thoughts were more inward-looking. She had to work out how to deal with the recent revelations. Jo stared with a grim face at the road ahead. She didn’t even look once in my direction. I just drove.
We dropped Mrs Swaine off a little after five. She offered her thanks again and asked Jo to submit her final account.
As we pulled back onto the Marsh for the last and gammy leg of our trip, I let out a long breath and said, ‘Why didn’t you tell her about the rest of the money?’
‘I think she’s had enough excitement for one night.’
‘Do you think that was your decision to make?’
‘OK, if you want the truth, she’s pissed me off by not coming clean with me over things.’
‘When will you tell her, or are you pissed off enough to consider not telling her and giving it to an animal shelter?’
‘No. Certainly not. I’ll call on her tomorrow. I’m too tired to bother with it all now and she doesn’t deserve good news.’
I thought Jo was sounding a little bitter and twisted, and could do with cheering up. I said, ‘So what bit do you want to hear first – why Nigel had the money, or the family secrets.’
Jo turned to face me. ‘What are you on about now? I’m too tired to play games.’
‘Lewis Edwards is my new best mate. He’s all right when you get to know him. We didn’t just share a journey across London and back.’
‘Not body fluids?’ She couldn’t have been that tired if she was making comments like that.
‘Cigarettes, gossip and a thousand quid.’
‘So that’s where it went?’
‘Just sealing the deal, really. Cementing a friendship.’
‘Whose idea was that?’
‘Mine, actually.’
‘I didn’t get the impression you two were mates when you got back with the money.’
‘That’s just ‘cos I’m a good actor. And if I convinced you, probably Hayley bought it, too.’
We agreed that as we were only minutes from home we’d wait. I wanted a comfortable seat and a mug of hot fresh coffee for my story-telling. Jo said she needed things, too. I think she meant the toilet.
As soon as we got in, I put coffee on in the shop – a rich, strong, dark aromatic blend I’d been looking forward to trying. I also stuck on some heating. We agreed to meet back in fifteen minutes. I had a quick, hot shower and changed into clean sweats. I really wanted my bed, but there was no way Jo was going to let me sleep until she’d heard it all.
***
48
Six o’clock and we were downstairs occupying a pair of facing two-seater Chesterfields. Mugs of coffee, plates of cake and our stockinged feet occupied the low table between us. Twelve hours previously, it had been a hundred grand in used twenties. Life is full of surprises.
‘Where do you want me to start?’ I said.
‘Where’s the sixty thousand?’
‘Upstairs in my uncle’s office.’
‘OK. What do you know that I don’t?’
‘Sigmund, Nigel and Lewis were all at Art College together.’
Jo made a noise and face to let me know this wasn’t news.
‘I’m starting at the beginning,’ I said. ‘According to Lewis, Sigmund was besotted by Nigel. In a gay way.’ Jo continued to chew, but slower, like she could hear better that way. ‘For a while they were lovers.’ Some of Jo’s blueberry muffin exploded out of her. ‘According to Lewis, for Sigmund it was the real thing, but Nigel was swimming in both pools with equal gusto. He was putting himself about, inside and outside the campus, like the flu. Nigel broke Sigmund’s heart. And Sigmund never got over it.
‘Fast forward a few years. Nigel and Sigmund bump into each other again. Nigel finds himself invited down to Goldenhurst for the weekend and for reasons known only to him, he accepts.’
‘Maybe he felt like rekindling an old flame.’
‘Maybe. Anyway, Nigel meets Rebecca and a marriage of convenience is made.’
‘Convenient for whom?’
‘All of them. Sigmund because he gets his one true love back in his life and living under the same roof as him; Rebecca Swaine because Nigel can add a bit of respectability, not to mention some much-needed income, to Chez Swaine; Nigel because he thinks he’s died and gone to heaven – not only does he get to live in a million pound house, but he can avail himself of whatever gender of sexual partner he’s in the mood for simply by walking into the next bedroom...’
‘Rebecca Swaine knew about her brother and Nigel!? I was right: Freud would have been interested in that family. That’s beyond disgusting. I think even the ancient Greeks would have considered that a step-child too far.’
‘I doubt it. Ever heard of Oedipus? That was one weird family. And don’t forget what’s in the pot here: Romney Marsh, with its rich and varied history of practices of sexual deviation; diluted blue-blooded British aristocracy with its rich and varied history of practices of sexual deviation, and a red-blooded relation of British Art renown.’
‘You didn’t say, with its rich and varied history of sexual deviation.’
‘Do I need to? Everyone knows rich and varied practices of sexual deviation are the norm from installation artists to origami enthusiasts – something about the creativity process. It’s all that left-brain thinking. Plays havoc with the libido, apparently.’
‘So Sigmund was related to Peter Nash?’
‘You mean, Paul Nash. Peter Nash played for West Ham United in the nineties. I don’t think he is remembered for his paintings, although he did have something of a reputation in the tabloid press as a piss artist. Anyway, I’ll come to that, if you’ll just shut up and let me get on with it. Where was I? According to Lewis, Rebecca Swaine didn’t know that Nigel batted for both sides when she married him.’
‘But she found out?’
‘I don’t know. She did say they weren’t sleeping together, didn’t she? Ask her if you like.’
‘If I like what? The idea of being turned to stone with a look? What’s in this coffee?’
‘Caffeine. Water. Why? Don’t you like it?’
‘I feel weird.’
‘Could be the Rohypnol kicking in.’
‘That’s not funny.’
‘Sigmund still paints, but only for pleasure. He’s good, remember. Now, it seems that Nigel didn’t just view deviance as something to influence his sex life...’
‘Gay and bisexual people aren’t deviants.’
‘Sorry, that depends on who you talk to. The Pope doesn’t have a good word to say for them and I think you’ll find his opinion’s quite respected around the world.’
‘I know you’re trying to wind me up but I don’t know why?’
‘I’m sorry. I’m tired and this coffee is like booze. You know I don’t mean it. Nigel does not tread the straight and narrow to the front door of his professional life either. He saw a way to make some quick and easy money by utilising a bit of hush-hush industry gossip about the forthcoming fortunes of a multi-national. And he got found out. Lost his job. No hope of getting another in the financial sector.’
‘We know all this.’
‘Almost certain prosecution and pillory.’
‘So he started looking around for other ways to make some fast and big money?’
‘Yes. And everyone knows that short of guessing six lucky numbers out of forty-nine on a Saturday night the chances of that are slimmer than an anorexic after Lent.’
‘Unless you want to work hard at something.’
‘If you say so. I’ve worked hard at a few jobs and I never ended up anything but workhouse-poor.’
‘Spare me, will you?’
‘So Nigel convinces Sigmund, who, remember, is still head-over-heels in love with Nigel and, just like people since the beginning of recorded time who are head-over-heels in l
ove will do anything for those who are the focus of their adoration, he convinces Sigmund to do something wrong for him: paint him some fakes.’
‘What sort of fakes? Oh, hang on – Paul Nash sort of fakes.’
‘Well done. According to Lewis, Nigel swung it with Sigmund by playing on his ancestry.’
‘So Sigmund was related by blood to the artist?’
‘Who knows? But he was convinced he was. And that’s what mattered.’ I tapped the scrapbook that I had thought to bring in from the car and that had been sitting on the sofa beside me. ‘And Nigel fed his belief. According to Lewis...’
‘Must you keep saying according to Lewis?’
‘I think so. Because I got all this from Lewis. So nothing’s proven. It’s just according to him. Hearsay.’
‘Yes, I understand. I understood the first time. So now I get it, you can stop saying according to Lewis because I know that everything you say you got from Lewis.’
‘Fine. I get a bit bored saying it anyway.’
‘So Nigel just opened up an art gallery in London and started selling Paul Nash fakes. That doesn’t sound very bright or legal or much of a long-term business plan.’
‘No. I do wish you’d just let me tell it. According... Nigel opened the gallery with some of his ill-gotten gains while he was still at Hudsons; when he had money from his fraud burning a hole in his pocket. It was an indulgence and maybe he really felt something for Sigmund or that he owed him something. I don’t know. More likely, from the picture I’m building up of Nigel...’
‘Fancy yourself as a profiler now?’
‘...he saw a way to risk a bit of capital that wasn’t his in his own little venture. He had an art background and maintained an interest in art. He actually sold a few of Sigmund’s paintings and when he and Hudsons parted company he decided to try and build on the interest. What else could he do? He certainly wouldn’t have wanted to work for a living. And he actually believed in Sigmund’s work.’
‘How touching.’
‘Convince enough people, or the right people, that something is worth believing in, or investing in, and watch the rest of the lemmings line up and fight each other off for the chance to open their wallets to, in this case, own a “masterpiece”.’