Fenton's Winter (28 page)

Fenton could see red lights
some two hundred metres ahead. With his heart in his mouth he
accelerated to close the distance between himself and the car,
knowing that the road between him and Vanney was an unknown
quantity. One unseen pothole could bring disaster. He closed to
within fifty metres and felt more comfortable with the Mini's
headlights now acting as pathfinders. The winding road did not
allow the Mini to move fast. Just as well, thought Fenton.

They had travelled about three
miles when Fenton thought that he had caught a glimpse of something
metallic off to his left, something in the sand dunes among the
maram grass. As he passed the spot he saw that it was Jamieson's
Granada, sitting with its lights out. Fenton wondered if Vanney
might have seen it too but concluded not for it was still raining
heavily and the Mini's side windows would be speckled over.
Vanney's view would be confined to the two hemispheres cleared by
the wipers.

Another two miles and the
Mini's brake lights lit up the night like Christmas candles, making
halos of pink rain. Fenton's foot shot to the brake pedal but he
stopped himself in time for his own rear brake light would give the
game away. Instead he clawed at the front brake lever, full of
apprehension as he concentrated on keeping the bike perfectly
vertical. The slightest angle on the front wheel in the wet and it
would be off like soap in the bath.

Fenton let out his breath as
the Honda slowed to walking pace and conceded control to him. Up
ahead the Mini was turning off to the right but not on to another
road. It was entering what appeared to be the driveway of a big
house. Fenton got off the bike and walked across the road to the
entrance. 'Helmwood' said the letters etched in the stone pillars.
He looked up the drive but there was nothing to be seen but
darkness. He listened for a moment but there was just the sound of
the sea and the rustle of the conifers over the wall.

Fenton radioed the news to
Jamieson who said that he knew the place. "Move on a quarter of a
mile. There's a beach track to your left. We'll meet you
there."

Fenton got into the back of the
Granada and felt the warmth for he had not realised how cold he had
been getting standing around. He purred appreciatively.

"Monkton's place," said
Jamieson.

Fenton needed more.

"Lord Monkton, ex-minister of
state, pillar of the community, power, wealth, influence, just the
job for the Cavalier mob.

"Shall we go take a look?" said
Kelly.

Fenton detected a note of
caution in Kelly's voice and recognised it as the reticence
displayed by even the most law abiding in the company of
policemen.

"Why not," replied Jamieson.
"There's no law of trespass in Scotland."

They got out of the car into
the salty night air and made their way up to the road. It had
stopped raining but the grass and the trees were heavily pregnant
with water and a conifer delivered on Kelly as he brushed against
it.

"Ssh!" said Jamieson as Kelly
cursed.

Fenton had an advantage over
the other two in that he, at least, was dressed for the occasion,
immune to the wetness inside his leathers and safe from sand and
mud inside his boots. It was he who led the way back to the
entrance to Helmwood, flattening a path through the long grass for
the others to use.

The sound of an approaching car
prompted Jamieson to say, "Down!"

The three men crouched in the
grass as a sleek Jaguar saloon slowed and turned into the driveway.
They had barely got to their feet when another car arrived. Fenton
did not recognise the make but it looked Italian and expensive.

When all seemed quiet they
stepped out of the grass and on the tar of Helmwood's drive. "I
think we had better stick to the trees," said Jamieson.

"This side," said Fenton,
picking the less dense pine woods and smelling the pine resin that
made him think briefly of the previous day. But this forest was
different, it was hostile. The tall trees waved their branches
threateningly against the dark sky as they made their way towards
the chinks of light that advertised Helmwood House.

"Must be having a party,"
whispered Jamieson as they crouched at the edge of the trees and
counted the number of cars in the car park. "I'd like to collect
some numbers." he said.

Fenton and Kelly waited while
Jamieson sprinted across to the car park in a low crouch and
disappeared among the gleaming machinery, notebook at the ready. It
was ten minutes before he returned, slightly out of breath. "This
should keep the computer happy for a bit," he panted.

"What now?" asked Kelly.

"A closer look?" suggested
Fenton.

"All right, but let's take it
easy," said Jamieson.

"Do you hear music?" Fenton
asked the other two as the wind dropped momentarily.

"I keep thinking I do," said
Kelly.

"There it is again."

"Must be coming from the other
side of the house," said Jamieson. "There are very few lights on
this side."

"We could circle round," Fenton
suggested.

They sank back into the trees
and moved laterally to hug the contour of the pinewood fringe as
they made their way towards the back lawn of the house. They could
now see that a bank of windows were brightly lit on the first floor
and the music seemed to be coming from there.

"What kind of music is that
anyway?" asked Kelly.

Fenton shook his head, "Some
kind of string instruments maybe."

The size of the windows where
the sound was coming from suggested that it was a very large room.
"A ballroom?" suggested Kelly.

"A ballroom with a balcony..."
added Fenton. He looked at Kelly and said, "I can't see them coming
out on the balcony on a night like this can you?"

Kelly took his point and said,
"There's a fire escape running up the side of it."

Jamieson pretended that he had
not heard but Fenton and Kelly stared at him until he conceded that
he had. "All right," he said. "Let's take a look."

Fenton climbed up the fire
escape ladder first, Kelly followed and then Jamieson. Fenton got
to the top and swung his legs over the stone balustrade. He nestled
down in a corner, taking comfort in the fact that there was no
danger of them being overheard because the music and laughter
coming from within was far too loud. The only problem would be the
possibility being seen in the light that flooded out from the tall
windows.

The music stopped and the
hubbub started to subside. Almost imperceptibly the lights began to
dim. "Something's happening," whispered Kelly.

"I wish we could see what,"
answered Fenton. The lights continued to dim and Fenton decided to
risk wriggling out along the base of the balcony to a point just
below one of the windows. Kelly bit his lip as he watched him do it
then signalled that it was safe for Fenton to raise himself up for
there was no one standing near the window.

Fenton raised himself slowly
till his eyes were above the level of the sill and his mouth fell
open. He was looking at ancient Rome, a palace of the Caesars.

Men clad in togas and sandals
reclined on couches to be waited on by slaves bearing wine jugs and
trays laden with food. At one end of the room three musicians sat
with lyres. At the other centurions in full leather armour guarded
tall double doors. Another centurion was standing in the middle of
the room and he carried a standard. Fenton thought at first that it
was a Roman eagle but then saw that it was not that at all. It was
a golden tree, the symbol of the Cavalier Club.

Fenton saw Vanney inside; he
was sitting near the musicians and threw back his head to drain his
goblet as Fenton watched. It was refilled almost immediately.
Fenton crawled back along the balcony to join the others.

"A theme party?" suggested
Jamieson.

"It looks too real," Fenton
replied. "Everything, the mosaics, the marbles, the clothes, the
trappings. They all look real."

Before there was any more time
for questions a fanfare sounded from inside and Fenton signalled
that they should move out to the windows again. Jamieson joined
Fenton at his window; Kelly took the next one along.

"My God," murmured
Jamieson.

A large square of rush matting
was being spread out on the floor by four men dressed as slaves.
When they had finished one of the Romans, a tall distinguished man
wearing a purple trimmed toga, raised his arm for silence.

"That's Monkton," whispered
Jamieson.

The double doors at the end of
the room were opened to admit two gladiators, naked to the waist,
their bare torsos glistening with oil. They marched down the centre
of the room and saluted Monkton by crossing their forearms across
their chests. Monkton nodded and the wrestlers began to circle each
other on the mat. All lighting in the room had been extinguished
save for wall torches and candles. Their spluttering flames were
reflected in the sweat of the combatants as they struggled to gain
advantage.

Fenton could not take his eyes
away from Monkton's face for the man was in the grip of some
terrible excitement. He was no longer the urbane man he had been at
the beginning, his mouth quivered as he exhorted the wrestlers with
silent words to greater efforts. His hand reached out almost
absent-mindedly and gripped the thigh of the slave who stood by his
couch. The boy, an effeminately pretty youth, winced as Monkton's
fingers dug into his flesh but he smiled as soon as Monkton looked
up at him. Savagely Monkton pulled the boy's face down on top of
his.

"Nice to see a return to
Victorian values," whispered Jamieson.

A few minutes later, as the
wrestlers finished their bout to loud applause, Monkton and the boy
left the room. Several other pairs did the same. The lighting came
up again and the music re-started Fenton and the other two crawled
back along the balcony floor and into the safety of the corner.

Fenton asked Jamieson if he had
recognised anyone else in the room.

"A few," replied the policeman.
"Mind you it's hard without their normal clothes. It took me ages
to figure out who one of them was, although I knew the face well
enough. Then I thought of him in a dog collar..."

"Did anyone see who Vanney was
with?" asked Fenton.

"Couldn't see for the pillar,"
said Kelly.

Jamieson nodded and said,
"We'll have to wait until he stands up."

Once more the lights began to
dim inside and they returned to their positions beneath the windows
in readiness. Fenton could see that the absentees had come back and
Monkton was smiling, his features restored to distinguished calm.
He raised his arm and the music ceased.

Four slaves marched towards
Monkton carrying silver trays with wine jugs and goblets and waited
until Monkton personally had poured a little wine into each goblet.
All the Romans in the room gathered in a large circle as the wine
was handed out then they raised their goblets in some kind of toast
and drank in unison.

One of the slaves dropped his
jug and it threw up a plume of red wine over Monkton's pristine
white toga. Even in the dim lighting Fenton could see the clouds of
anger roll across Monkton's face. The slave dashed himself to the
floor but Monkton ignored him and made some kind of signal to the
man Vanney had been with, the man who had been hidden by the pillar
all night. The man had his back to the windows. He was wearing an
elaborate head-dress and carried some kind of silver baton in his
right hand. A centurion approached him and took orders.

Fenton watched spellbound as a
metal frame was brought in to the room and dragged up in front of
the man with the baton. Another signal and the slave who had
dropped the wine was tied to the frame. One of the guards from the
door approached and removed his helmet and cape. In his hand he
held a whip.

The man with the baton spread
the fingers of his left hand twice to indicate the number ten and
the punishment began. Through the glass Fenton and the others could
hear the sound of leather hitting flesh. The slave's teeth were
bared in anguish and his eyes rolled as the skin on his exposed was
back was cut open to mingle blood with the sweat of his fear.

After five lashes his torturer
paused to adjust his stance and cover new ground. As the man raised
the whip again Fenton got a good look at him and felt weak. "He was
the bastard who beat me up in the pub!" he whispered to
Jamieson.

The slave appeared to have
passed out. The Roman with the baton put his hand out to his neck
to check but as he did so the slave suddenly sank his teeth into
the back of his hand. The Roman wrenched his hand away and raised
his baton in anger. Fenton waited for it to fall but it did not.
The Roman regained his composure and spread his fingers to indicate
another five lashes.

The unconscious slave was
carried out and the floor cleaned of blood. The lights went up
again, glasses were replenished and Monkton held up his hand for
silence. "To business gentlemen!

A murmur ran round the room and
then it became quiet. Fenton noted that Jamieson had taken out his
notebook. He smiled at Kelly.

"The figures please!" said
Monkton.

Monkton stood to one side and
another man, small and balding with several long strands of dark
hair combed individually across his scalp got to his feet. He held
a sheaf of papers in front of him.

"Hale-bloody-lujah," whispered
Jamieson.

Fenton and Kelly looked at him
and the policeman said, "That's Vanney senior."

Vanney cleared his throat and
said, "Fifty thousand pounds from Theta Electronics for rating
concessions on their new premises." There was applause in the
room.

"Two hundred thousand pounds
from Corton Brothers for assistance with planning permission for
their new housing estate and re-defining of the green belt in that
area.