The Impossible Fortune, page 26
Forgive me, Joanna is calling, and I have a lot to tell her.
I’ll just finish by letting you know that the expert on Flog It! has said that there are a lot of ‘avid collectors’ of Victorian pornography out there. ‘Avid collectors’? That’s what we call them now, is it?
64
Joanna types 24 July, her wedding day, into the CCTV, and begins to fast forward through the darkness of the early hours of the morning. At six a.m. she sees Bill Benson arrive through the avenue of trees and disappear into the lodge. Around twenty minutes later she sees Frank East walk in the opposite direction.
What would Joanna have been doing at six a.m. on her wedding day? She was awake, certainly; in fact, she’s not sure she slept at all. Her mum had messaged her at five a.m. and five thirty a.m. to say that she couldn’t sleep, but Joanna had pretended not to see the messages. Why? Well, Joanna supposes she wanted to show her mum that she was a grown-up, and not some sort of excited toddler who couldn’t sleep the night before Christmas.
But that’s exactly what she was that night. An excited child who wanted it to be tomorrow.
She should have replied, shouldn’t she? Should have told her mum she couldn’t sleep either. Then Joyce could have come up to Joanna’s room and they could have lain on the bed drinking hot chocolates and talked about Dad and Paul and love.
Why didn’t she? That’s a very good question. Why does she always push her mum away? There’s something about that relationship, something about being a child, and the need of a child to be an individual, to be something more than the things she’s been taught and the way she’s been raised. The need to somehow teach a lesson to the person who has taught her so many lessons? Joyce’s love for her is unconditional, Joanna knows that, but, really, unconditional love has a huge flaw. If you love me no matter what, who I actually am doesn’t matter. If someone loves your essence, your very being, what can you do to make them love you more or love you less? Nothing: there is no space. So the only option left to you is to continually prod at that unconditional love, to test it and stretch it, to mock it even.
And it’s not just that. There is a further problem with unconditional love, isn’t there? Because what if you don’t love yourself? What if, like Joanna, you obsess over your flaws and weaknesses, you constantly update the balance sheet of your own personality and find it wanting? Well, then the unconditional love of a parent is a sign that they simply don’t know you. If they truly knew you, their love would be peppered with caveats. ‘I love you, but …’
Since meeting Paul, Joanna has come to understand that all of these things are on her, however, not on Joyce. Joanna should love herself the way Joyce loves her: that is what Joyce has been trying to show her. Joyce is well aware of Joanna’s faults; she doesn’t hide them. But Joyce loves her regardless. Loves her more, in fact, for her flaws.
That’s the love that Paul showed her, and she accepted it, because Paul had chosen her, and she had chosen him. She learned to accept it, and she should now learn to accept it from Joyce. To accept that love, and to show her own in return. To stop constantly striving to prove that she was different to the little girl her mother held in her arms.
She should try, at least. She should try, because how nice would it have been to lie on the bed with her mum and talk about love?
There is movement on the CCTV, and Joanna slows it to normal speed.
And so it is that, just as an American business analyst wearing sunglasses indoors is saying, ‘Without an earnings cap the purchase is untenable …’ and Paul is asking, ‘What does “Karl Marx had mad riz” mean?’ Joanna sees Holly Lewis walking down the avenue of trees.
And beside her walks a man in his sixties. What was that name Joyce had mentioned to her?
Joanna has a quick flick through Instagram and immediately finds her answer. A man in his sixties, raising a glass of Champagne to the camera in a tux and tattoos. Well, well, well.
So Holly couldn’t come to the wedding because she had to work. The previous week she and Nick Silver had spoken, together, to a man named Davey Noakes. But on this day, 24 July, when she knew that Nick was out of circulation, Holly Lewis had met Davey Noakes alone, at The Compound.
Joanna can see from the CCTV that the two figures are talking. But what are they talking about?
Joanna decides she has to call Elizabeth. She takes a large piece of black card that she bought especially for Zoom calls and lowers it inch by inch over her screen to make it look like the Zoom has malfunctioned, then switches off the computer and reaches for her phone.
Elizabeth will want to know exactly why Holly Lewis and Davey Noakes were having a private meeting.
But, as she’s about to call, Joanna changes her mind.
And she calls her mum instead.
It rings the customary seven or eight times. Joanna knows that her mum likes to make herself look presentable before she answers the phone.
‘Hello, Joyce Meadowcroft here, whom is calling, please?’ Her mum also has a phone voice.
‘It’s me, Mum,’ says Joyce.
‘Ooh,’ says Joyce. She always sounds so excited when Joanna rings that it breaks her heart for all the times she hasn’t rung over the years. ‘I’ll just turn the volume down on Flog It!’
‘You can pause it, Mum,’ says Joanna.
‘My television doesn’t have pause,’ says Joyce.
‘It does, Mum,’ says Joanna. ‘I showed you last time we were down.’
‘Yes,’ says Joyce. ‘But the button you pressed doesn’t pause any more.’
‘It does, Mum,’ says Joanna. ‘You must be pressing the wrong button.’
‘I’m not pressing the wrong button,’ says Joyce. ‘I’m pressing the one you showed me.’
‘Mum, you are not pressing the one I showed you. If you were pressing the one I showed you …’ Unconditional love, Joanna, unconditional love. ‘Perhaps, perhaps it has stopped working. I’ll get Paul to take a look when I see you next.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ says Joyce. ‘He’s very good at that sort of thing. Your dad was too.’
‘I’m also pretty good at …’ Let it go, Joanna, let it go. ‘How much do you know about Davey Noakes?’
‘Not a great deal,’ says Joyce. ‘I know we ruled him out of Holly’s murder, because he’s always known about the money.’
‘Did he tell you that he and Holly had their own private meeting on the day of our wedding?’
‘No,’ says Joyce. ‘He did not.’
Joanna has also got Paul’s attention, and he puts down his essays and comes to look at the screen. Joanna puts her mum on speaker.
‘I was scrolling through the CCTV and saw them together,’ says Joanna. ‘That has to make him a suspect, surely?’
‘I’d say so,’ says Joyce. ‘Have you told Elizabeth?’
‘Why would I tell Elizabeth?’ Joanna asks. ‘You’re the brains of the operation.’
‘Me?’ laughs Joyce. ‘You might as well have called Alan. He’s cowering in the bedroom, by the way, because he got frightened by a banana skin.’
‘I’m like that with mushrooms,’ says Paul.
‘Hello, Paul!’ says Joyce.
‘Hello, Mum-in-law,’ says Paul, and Joanna can hear Joyce suppress a squeal.
‘I bet Alan can work the remote control though,’ says Joanna, because politeness is all well and good, but you can’t completely give up the fight.
‘Do you have the CCTV from today?’ Joyce asks.
‘Today? Sure,’ says Joanna. ‘What are you looking for?’
‘The strangest thing,’ says Joyce. ‘Ron went to open the safe today with Connie Johnson …’
‘Connie Johnson?’ Joanna raises an eyebrow to Paul, and he raises both of his at her.
‘Long story,’ says Joyce. ‘He insisted. But they’ve both gone missing. I don’t suppose the cameras caught them leaving? We’re worried about Ron.’
Joanna types in today’s date. ‘What sort of time?’
‘They went in at two-ish,’ says Joyce. ‘So any time after half two.’
Paul starts scrolling through, and Joanna senses an opportunity. ‘While we’re doing this, Mum, could you do me a favour? See the button on your big remote control, not the small remote control, the big one? Find the button with two parallel lines on it, and press it for me?’
‘Oh, that’s worked,’ says Joyce. ‘It wasn’t working earlier.’
‘That was the button you were pressing?’
‘I could swear,’ says Joyce.
‘Glad we could fix it without a big, strong man having to step in,’ says Joanna.
And, as she does so, she sees Ron and Connie Johnson walk out of the lodge. They disappear around the side of the building, and Paul switches cameras. They embrace – Ron Ritchie and Connie Johnson of all people – and then the two of them set off in different directions.
‘They left at three, Mum, I’ve just seen them,’ says Joanna.
‘Then where on earth is Ron?’ says Joyce. ‘Did it look like he was being kidnapped?’
‘It did not,’ says Paul. ‘It looked like they were in cahoots.’
‘Oh, that’s a lovely word,’ says Joyce. ‘That’s a very Paul word. Where were they both off to?’
‘Let’s find out, shall we?’ says Joanna. ‘We’re coming down to see you.’
‘Oh, goodie,’ says Joyce. ‘I’ve got shopping tomorrow morning, but I’ll be around from lunchtime.’
‘We’re coming down now, Mum,’ says Joanna.
‘But I go to bed at nine thirty,’ says Joyce.
‘Not tonight you don’t,’ says Joanna. ‘We’ll see you in an hour.’
‘Goodness,’ says Joyce. This was worth missing the price of Victorian pornography. ‘What should I tell Elizabeth?’
‘Tell her that Joyce and Joanna Meadowcroft are in town,’ says Joanna.
‘Ooh,’ says Joyce.
‘And Paul,’ says Paul.
‘And Paul,’ agrees Joanna. ‘And tell her we’re all going to see Davey Noakes.’
65
Has she been at her absolute best? She worked out the Jamie Usher angle eventually, but other than that? No, Elizabeth has to concede that she has not.
Is that understandable? Yes. She is old, she is rusty, she is grief-stricken.
Does that make her useless? No.
Nick Silver reached out to her in the first place because of who she was. What she had done. And she may never be that woman again – the mind a razor, the body a spring, the soul a granite cliff face – but she doesn’t need to be.
Because she is now part of a team. An odd team, she accepts that, as she sits on Davey Noakes’s sofa between Joyce and Paul, with Ibrahim perching on a footstool because it helps with his posture. But a team nonetheless.
Elizabeth’s grand plan had not gone as hoped. Find the key, then sit and wait. Because they had found the key, but it had immediately gone missing, straight into the hands of either Ron or Connie Johnson. She could understand Connie’s angle for taking the key, but that razor-mind of hers could still not fathom Ron’s angle.
Where were they both? Elizabeth is delighted that she saw them part company on the CCTV. That Connie hadn’t immediately killed him. Which is not to say she didn’t follow him and kill him later.
Joanna has the armchair, the alpha seat, which, historically, would be Elizabeth’s. But she’s earned it. She had found the footage of Holly and Davey, meeting at a time neither had mentioned. That has to be significant.
If Elizabeth does not have the key, Joanna’s discovery is the next best thing. Davey Noakes knows something he isn’t telling. Whether that makes him Holly’s killer or not has yet to be established, but it is certainly why they are all here at close to midnight.
There are so many questions still unanswered: who killed Holly, where is Nick Silver, why did Davey Noakes and Lord Townes both pay visits to The Compound the previous week? Perhaps it is time that she stepped up and answered a few.
Elizabeth feels her phone buzz and sees she has a message from Donna. Sorry, Donna, you’ll have to wait, we’re cracking a case here. It’s been strange. A whole case without Donna or Chris involved.
‘Well, this is jolly,’ says Davey Noakes. ‘Shall we start with some idle gossip?’
Joyce takes him at his word. ‘I was just watching Flog I–’
But Joanna clearly wants to take the responsibility of the alpha chair seriously. ‘Why did you and Holly Lewis meet at The Compound that Thursday morning?’
That’s certainly not where Elizabeth would have started things; you need to dance around a little first. That’s where Joyce was so useful: she has a capacity for small talk that Elizabeth has always lacked. But Joanna has been very successful in her field, and perhaps in the world of hedge funds one simply came straight out and said things.
‘Straight in, then,’ says Davey.
‘It’s an easy question,’ replies Joanna.
There’s a time and a place for this sort of approach, certainly. Elizabeth remembers that a passenger had once slipped through Heathrow with a case full of enriched uranium and delivered it to a London hotel. Once they had tracked down this courier, directness was a necessity, what with the prospect of nuclear capability falling into the hands of a criminal gang, and so his interview had been fairly direct. Direct and robust. But Elizabeth’s not sure if the same principles apply here.
Davey gives Joanna a curious look. ‘This doesn’t, automatically, feel like it’s any of your business.’
Davey, it seems, agrees with Elizabeth.
‘I’ve invited you into my house,’ says Davey. ‘It’s late, and there are rather a lot of you. I’d be even more annoyed if you hadn’t brought the eye candy.’
He cocks a thumb at Ibrahim, and Ibrahim says, ‘I moisturize.’
‘I’ll say you do,’ says Davey.
Okay, Elizabeth, put your brain into gear and see how it runs.
‘Quite right,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Joanna has questions for you, which we all want the answers to, but perhaps, in the circumstances, you might have questions for us first? Forgive me, Joanna.’
Elizabeth gives a slight bow of the head to Joanna, in deference to the alpha armchair. You have to be careful with people. But Elizabeth sees no defensiveness, and no pushback, just an understanding nod in return. Joanna is smart enough to read a situation in an instant and to let somebody else take a different approach. Behind the directness and toughness, Joanna has her mother’s lightning-rod empathy. No wonder she’s so rich.
‘Thank you,’ says Davey to Elizabeth, and, just like that, the alpha seat is in the middle of the sofa, between a sleepy nurse and a university professor wearing odd socks. Elizabeth sees Ibrahim give her a little wink.
‘I don’t suppose you have the Bitcoin?’ Davey asks.
‘We do,’ says Elizabeth.
‘You cracked both codes?’
‘We did,’ Elizabeth confirms.
‘How did you manage that?’
‘A number of different techniques,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Bit of creative imagination, bit of brute force. Was there luck involved? Well, I daresay you need luck in this business. But I find sometimes that the harder you work, the luckier you get.’
He looks very pleased with his contribution, and that makes Elizabeth happy.
‘And where is it now?’ Davey asks. ‘Do you have plans to sell it?’
‘Would you be in the market to buy it if we did?’ This is Joanna again – not a bad question.
‘Me? No,’ says Davey. ‘But I’d be keen to know that it’s safe?’
Wouldn’t we all, thinks Elizabeth.
‘It’s quite safe,’ says Elizabeth.
Davey turns to Joyce. ‘You were saying something about Flog It!’
‘Only that someone brought in Victorian pornography,’ says Joyce. ‘I missed what it went for, but even so.’
Elizabeth’s phone buzzes. Donna again.
‘Five grand,’ says Davey. ‘I was watching the end because I didn’t want to miss South East Tonight.’
‘I’ve put South East Tonight on pause, because these two arrived in the middle of it,’ says Joyce, putting her hand on Paul’s arm. ‘This is my son-in-law.’
‘Lovely,’ says Davey. ‘And does he have a name?’
‘Paul,’ says Paul.
‘It’s the button with two parallel lines,’ says Joyce.
Elizabeth sees Joanna start to fidget. It is important not to be too direct sometimes, but it’s also possible to swing too far the other way.
‘Any other questions?’ Joanna asks.
‘So if you’re not selling it,’ says Davey, ‘what’s the big plan?’
Elizabeth takes this. ‘We simply want to use it to find Holly’s killer, and perhaps discover what on earth has happened to Nick Silver.’
‘Well, I can help you with both of those,’ says Davey.
There is safety in numbers, certainly, but if Davey Noakes chooses to kill them all he would be well able.
‘Let me make us all a cup of tea,’ says Davey. ‘Joyce, you can come through to the kitchen and we can have a natter about South East Tonight? I have such a crush on Mike Waghorn.’
Joyce doesn’t need asking twice and pushes herself up, leaning on Elizabeth’s arm. How pathetically delicate the two of them feel, how their bones show themselves these days.
There is a third message from Donna.
‘And when we come back,’ says Davey, ‘I’ll tell you exactly who killed Holly Lewis.’
‘And where Nick Silver is?’ Elizabeth asks.
‘I can’t tell you for sure,’ says Davey, taking Joyce’s arm. ‘But I suspect the two are very much connected.’
66
Ron sits in the darkness and waits. The lights are off, the curtains drawn. A casual observer would think there was nobody home, but Ron knows he was followed. He’s frightened, because what if? What if?
But Ron is tired of being frightened.
‘You’re sure I can’t make you a cup of tea?’ Pauline asks.
