Almost Eden, page 17
‘What?’
‘I’ve had the police around, my … solicitor here was murdered-’
‘Murdered?’
‘Murdered by someone in Plymouth, someone interested in this land, and the silver,’ I lied. But, I was not completely sure I was lying. I was lying by intent, not by material fact.
After a long pause came, ‘What?’
‘In addition to the silver, the estate’s previous owner stole millions in gold bars, from a ship, and it’s UK Government property. I had a visit today from a nice chap from the Secret Service.’
‘What the hell…’
‘People think the stolen gold is here, as the silver was here. I’ve had three different offers on the estate in the last twenty four hours, and the price is edging towards five hundred. Wendy, the people who’re bidding all think that the stolen gold is buried here somewhere, and this place is worth three hundred at most. And Wendy, your man’s people in Plymouth know its real value, but are as bent as a six bob note.’
‘That can’t be right.’
‘By all means, my dear, explain it away otherwise.’ I waited.
‘It must be down to the publicity.’
‘Wendy, who increases a bid on a place they’ve never even surveyed?’
‘Still…’
‘Tell your man … that the offer on the table from the rich deep sea treasure hunter from Salcombe … is four seven five.’ I hung up, smiling, but then forced it away. I was going for the cheap shot. Still, I was bloody delighted to have upstaged Patrick with his bloody yacht, and to have slung some mud. Whoever the guy was, he had learnt of the gold and wanted to start digging for it. Well, start digging after I had sold the old place.
I dragged a chair across to the window, and sat with my feet up, enjoying the view that nature had laid on for me, wondering just how smug I must have looked right now. When my phone trilled, I assumed that Wendy was calling back, but it was Ben.
‘Hi, Ben.’
‘You sound cheerful for a change.’
‘How do I normally sound?’
‘Not cheerful.’
‘Oh. How’re studies?’
‘Last exam today for a while, thought I might pop down to you next weekend.’
‘I’ll be here. In fact, I may be here all next week as well the way things are going. Ben, you’ll find out soon enough, but … after that story in the papers the firm have sacked me.’
‘Well fuck ‘em, you’re rich. Get out of London, and start living for a change, Dad.’
‘Sorry, but when did we trade places – and you become the father?
He laughed. ‘Enjoy it while you can, old man.’
‘I’m not that old, not yet.’
‘Well you sound better.’
‘I just knocked Mum’s new man down a few pegs. A cheap shot, but I do feel better.’
‘What did you say to him?’
‘Never spoken to him, but he’s asked your mother to pressure me to sell this place to him, and he’s offering over the odds for it – way over the odds.’
‘Why, just to impress Mum?’
‘No.’ I took a breath. ‘Today I had a visit here from the Secret Service, MI5 I guess they are -’
‘What have you done, Dad!’
‘Me? Nothing. But you know that silver hoard?’
‘Yes…’
‘There was also a few tonnes of gold with it as you suggested.’
‘Tonnes of gold! Shit, Dad, you’re rich!’
‘It belongs to the government, it was stolen, and they want it back – or they’ll shoot me full of holes.’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘And your mother’s fiancé … knows about the gold supposed to be hidden here, and that it’s illegal, and he wants the land -’
‘So he can try and find it. What a sneaky shit.’
I knew this was wrong, but I was secretly delighted to be pushing a wedge between Ben and his future father-in-law.
Ben added, ‘I’ve been researching the family, online, the family tree -’
‘Don’t.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t, whatever you do. There are … some hidden family secrets that are best left buried. Your distant relatives were … not so nice.’
‘Bloody hell, did they nick the gold?’
‘No, not … directly. Just please, don’t pursue it. OK.’
‘OK.’
‘So, you think you might pop down?’
‘I’m free from next Thursday.’
‘Get the train, I’ll pick you up.’
‘Any chance of some pocket money … for ice cream.’
Smiling widely, I said, ‘I think I can afford that, despite being an unemployed bum. But you’ll get access to your trust soon enough.’
‘And it’ll pay off my student loan!’
I rested my head on the pillow, happy with myself, despite stooping to such tactics, my phone plugged in and recharging. When it rang, it was the office number. My boss. My old boss.
‘Hello?’
‘Roger, I’ve spoken to the partners, and … they’d like to avoid any messy publicity, and a tribunal. They would like to offer a settlement, given the many years of good service -’
‘As well as the pension settlement I could have got.’
‘Well, yes, that as well. They were thinking of a year’s pay, fifty thousand -’
‘Try another number.’ I hung up, soon realising I had no idea why I had just said that, or why I had hung up; I was negotiating a settlement, not selling a house. I cursed myself for having done that, hoping I would not have to go to court against them. ‘Bugger.’ I lay back down.
When the phone trilled I opened my eyes and forced a few deep breaths, trying to wake up fully, ready to be sensible with the firm. But it was Wendy.
‘Wendy,’ I flatly stated.
‘I would have never thought you’d stoop so low.’
‘Some of us stoop, some get kicked to the ground.’
She paused. ‘What?’
‘Never mind. To what are you referring, my dear?’
‘Ben?’
‘What about our dear son?’
‘You told him your theories about Patrick -’
‘Theories! Your fiancé upped an offer on a property without a survey – without ever having seen the place! What has the dear chap said?’
She took too long to answer. ‘That his people in Plymouth want the property for holiday cottages.’
I was ready for her. ‘Really. There’s a farm above me, repossessed, two hundred acres, existing planning permission for holiday cottages, going for three fifty. That’s two hundred acres … and it already has permission. This had no permission, it has a public path through the middle of it, the police crawling all over it, and its less than forty acres. Yet they’re offering four seven five?’
She was stuck, and with nowhere to go, and I had just made that up.
I lifted the card for my MI5 fishing partner. ‘Got a paper and pen?’
‘Why?’
‘I’ll give you the number of the man from MI5. Why don’t you call him, and ask his opinion.’
‘You know I won’t do that.’
‘Why not … my dear?’ She offered no comment. ‘Look, you have always been the smartest woman I’ve ever known. Go away and have a think, do some research, and try and figure this one out. Something … stinks to high heaven here, and not just the eel we caught earlier. I’m receiving offers every few hours from people I’ve never met, who’ve never been to this property. Trust me, and by this time next week the offers will be at six hundred. And, if and when we meet, I’ll explain about Betty.’
‘I still can’t believe she had that silver there. Is there … something about her you’ve discovered?’
I sighed. ‘Well, for one we were not related.’
‘Not related?’
‘No, she … was adopted by Gran, raised till twelve years old, then given back to the family here. She’s a Norton, not a Hobson, and her tale is … a very sad one.’
‘She always seemed OK. A bit batty from time to time, but that was her age. Does that affect the inheritance?’
‘It wasn’t an inheritance, it was a will, and she could have left this place to anyone. But she named me, specifically me, in 1968.’
‘That was before we met!’
‘Yes, and it’s a puzzle. And that silver, that was at the house, in the attic, from the Second World War.’
‘Why in god’s name did she keep it there and not tell anyone?’
‘When I know that … I’ll sleep better.’
‘All the times we stayed at the house, and the silver was over our heads, a few feet away.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed.
‘She was always kind to the kids, cooked us meals, and didn’t like to accept money.’
‘But was secretly very rich. I have some pieces of the puzzle, but not all of them.’
‘And the gold … people really think it’s there?’
‘Some do, but we know it was moved after the war, some found in London. Still, if people want to outbid themselves for it … fine, let them; our kids will get more when I finally croak.’
‘You’re set to become rich.’
‘How rich is your fiancé?’
‘Eighty or ninety million.’
‘Well, I won’t be as rich as him, certainly not now, now that I’m an unemployed bum.’
‘What’ll you do?’
‘I … have no idea; I might stay here a while longer. Do some research, Wendy, and use that brain we both know you have. Bye.’ I hung up, and I hoped that she would not call back. Still, that was the most we had said for a while, angry exchange or not, and I had got the last word in today. Twice.
Deciding that I would try and wake myself with a coffee, I headed downstairs and got the kettle on. I had just taken the first sip when the phone rang again.
My old manager began, ‘Roger, I think I can get you seventy five.’
‘In writing please, a copy to my solicitor down here.’ Swains details were still on the kitchen table, and I read from the letterhead.
‘We’ll fax the offer,’ I was promised.
‘Fine,’ I responded, and that was that.
With the kitchen again quiet, my coffee again sipped, I was happy with seventy five, very happy. That amount would have kept Robby going for a hundred years.
With coffee mug in hand I stepped out, the day warm, the air still. It was 4pm and quiet – save Robby’s clattering. I stepped over to him, the turbine wheel now fitted. ‘Looking good.’
‘Aye, be good to see it turn.’ He eased up and wiped his brow with a sleeve. ‘First I ‘ave to connect pipe up from cottage.’
‘No hurry. And next weekend my son, Ben, might come down.’
‘Been a while since I seen kids yer.’
‘Well, he’s twenty, so not quite a kid anymore. He probably drinks more than you.’
‘Oh, you has problems with him eh.’
‘What? No, no drinking problem – he’s in university, and they like to party. Away from home an all.’
With grease applied, frames and bolts tested, we lowered the heavy turbine into its slot, threaded the connecting rod and locked it in place and attached the wheel. Fetching the wires that had come with it, I attached two small lengths, Robby hand-winding the wheel till it was turning at what looked like a fast pace. I brought the two wire ends together, and they sparked.
‘We have juice,’ I announced. ‘It works. Well done, Robby, good work.’
He stood, the heavy wheel spinning with its own momentum. ‘Be good to see lights on from it.’
‘Anyway, I thought – with Ben coming down – that I’d go shopping tomorrow and get some curtains, and some paint.’
‘Make old house better, aye.’
A van, trying to negotiate the access road, caught my attention. The name on the side gave it away; the garden centre. I had forgotten all about them. With the van squeaking to a halt, Robby and I stepped across.
‘Had trouble finding this place?’ I asked with a grin.
The man driving had eased out. ‘No,’ he said defensively.
‘I ordered this stuff last weekend!’ I gently nudged.
‘Early then,’ he rudely offered. He stepped around to the rear, leaving me wondering if he was joking.
The fence panels were soon stacked up against the side of the house, the strawberry pots laid out on the path. The driver was thanked, a form signed, a grunt issued, and off he sloped.
‘Need water,’ Robby suggested, pointing to the strawberries. ‘Look right dry.’
We fetched the watering can and fed our latest additions what they needed, soon transporting them up the slope behind the house. Between the chicken coop and the wind turbine we laid them out in neat rows, and now I considered that I definitely did need a greenhouse.
Stopping at the chicken coop and peering in, I asked Robby about eggs. ‘Two, three a day at best. I have’s ‘em away while you’re sleeping.’
Smiling widely, I said, ‘Drop some in for me. But, you know, don’t drop them. You feeding the chickens each day?’
‘Aye, afore I pinches their eggs. Only seems fair.’
‘I’ll have to learn all this, and now that I’m a man of leisure, maybe I should get into all this off-grid stuff.’
My phone trilled. ‘Hello?’
‘Roger, it’s Michael Coltrane at Swains.’
‘I had another offer.’
‘Who … from?’
‘My ex-wife’s new fiancé; he has people in Plymouth.’
‘What was the offer?’
‘Only four seven five,’ I lied, and I wondered why I was lying.
‘I can get five fifty.’
‘Is this ethical? I mean, they think the gold is here…’
‘That’s their concern.’
I hesitated. ‘Yes, I suppose. And if they got planning permission they’d make a mint.’
‘Exactly, it’s worth a million all in. What should I tell them?’
‘That I’ll make a choice next weekend; family will be down.’
‘Oh, by the way, we had your bundles from Pugh, all in our safe in Salcombe, near the library.’
‘I know the library. And the envelopes stuffed with cash?’
‘There were two.’
‘Nice to know it’s safe. Thank you.’
‘Any … problems?’
‘Are we expecting … any problems?’ I quickly countered with.
‘Only from treasure hunters.’
‘I have a man with a shotgun. Besides, we’re isolated here, and that coastal path is overgrown. I haven’t seen any walkers yet.’
‘Call me if you have any thoughts on the offer.’
‘You’ll be the first person I do call.’
Within two minutes he was back on. ‘Roger, just had a fax … offering you a settlement of … seventy-five thousand -’
‘My previous employers. They sacked me today.’
‘Seems like a good offer.’
‘Wait till next week, say … Wednesday, and accept it.’
‘What’ll you do next?’
‘Might stay around here, I’ve had some freelance work offered.’
‘We’d have some work for you, few days a week.’
‘Might come to that, when I need the beer money. Thanks.’ I faced Robby. ‘Let’s down tools, have a quick wash, then a drink in Salcombe.’
‘Aye, my ban is up.’
I stopped dead. ‘Ban?’
‘Was banned for fighting.’
‘When … exactly?’
He gave it some thought. ‘When they started that war with those Arabs.’
I cocked an eyebrow. ‘I think … that the ban may have ended, yes, otherwise it would be … unusually long and cruel.’
Scrubbed up, he still looked like a farm hand after a hard day’s work, but I didn’t care. We drove off up the access road in my returned car, and I noticed that the tank was only a quarter full. Mark Pugh, or the police, had used a great deal of diesel. I adjusted the seat, the mirrors, and noticed that my sweets had gone, as well as the small change that I kept in the ashtray. Seemed that I couldn’t trust the police, or the solicitors around here.
I topped up the tank in Kingsbridge, an odd look given to me by the man behind the counter, and as we drove down to Salcombe I wondered if leaving the estate was wise. There was nothing of value there, at least not above ground, and it was not a place you visited unless you were invited – and knew where it was.
I parked near the library and noted the location of Swains local office, soon on steep and narrow roads leading down to the front, and to the boats. It was busier than normal, the crowd swelled both by tourists enjoying the pleasant evening weather - and locals out for a drink after work.
‘Ay up,’ Robby called.
I followed his nod, and noticed Mason sat at table with a few other business types, the group now outside a trendy wine bar. I pretended that I had not noticed them through the crowds.
Robby came to a dead stop, and peered into a shop window. I halted, took a step back and joined him. ‘Em’s any good?’
I smiled widely, and shook my head. I couldn’t, could I, not with Mason sat there. It would be rude, very rude. It would be devilishly rude, and very funny.
‘Robby, if we bought that ... folk would be right curious and right upset.’
‘I ‘av money, I wants it for me.’
My eyes narrowed. ‘For … you?’
‘Dropped many a hook in sand and mud. This’ll fetch ‘em up they reckon.’
If anyone else on the planet had said that, anyone at all…
Five minutes later I stepped out of the shop, Robby now carrying a large metal detector, eighty pounds of his money used up. Without looking towards Mason, but catching him out of the corner of my eye, I could see that he was now on his feet. And it took every ounce of strength I had not to smile.
I led Robby on, and down to a café, a table grabbed outside. With Robby fiddling with the metal detector, I ordered two omelettes, and two teas. With the waitress withdrawing, a shadow preceded a large man easing into the final seat.
My fishing partner from MI5 studied the metal detector. Turning to me, he said, ‘Is there … anything I should know?’
