Meanwhile Gardens (16 page)

Rion clutched Auntie Gem’s arm. “Just our luck,” she wailed, “the poor thing’s deaf!”

“Hum!” they both called as loud as they could but the dog had no intention of stopping.

The honking of the two guardians had now spread up and the canal bank, all the geese united in an abrasive chorus of alarm.

Hum was nearly upon the gosling when the more fiercesome of the two guardians reared up onto the bank. With beating wings and neck stretched like Concorde the avenging goose reached its doomed charge just ahead of the dog. Spitting and jabbing like a cobra the protector sheltered the gosling and herded it back to the canal.

Having the time of his life Hum continued to dance on the riverbank, barking at the geese who hissed their rage from a safe distance.

“He’ll learn sometime won’t he Auntie Gem?”

The old lady patted her tight curls as if worried some had gone astray. “Or he’ll be taught a lesson. If they’re lucky the young always are.”

Rion ran to the excited hound, caught the lead and dragged him away.

Sporadic honking followed Auntie Gem and Rion as the geese gabbled amongst themselves, looking forward to the day when they would get their revenge.

On an instinct Gorby had come down to the chamber beside the canal. He had come here nearly every day since the girl’s disappearance but today somehow felt different.

Gorby stared through the rustic fencing at the willowy girl and the small black woman on the towpath opposite.

He knew she would return. He was glad he hadn’t had to wait too long.

Work still hadn’t finished on Mitre Bridge. It seemed the labourers had been strengthening the structure and nearby railway wall for months.

Auntie Gem watched as the young girl and Hum made their way through the gauntlet of admiring comments and wolf-whistles. Next time she would make sure Rion didn’t accompany her this far. Gem knew Ollie would probably welcome such attention, and Nicky could certainly handle it, but Rion – it wasn’t right for a young girl, no matter how well intentioned.

Upon entering the Peters & Peters compound she waved as always to Mr Henry, the company guard – or Chief of Security as he was now called. He normally smiled and waved back but this time he came rushing out from his cabin.

“Miss Gemma,” the guard seemed unusually anxious, “the boss, he’s in a terrible mood today. He’s already fired Miss Doreen.”

Auntie Gem was not unduly worried. Doreen always took the brunt of Edwin’s anger. She was fired at least once a month from the secretarial pool. It didn’t seem to change anything. Doreen simply moved her things behind the large plastic ficus at the end of the office and did her work from there. Edwin normally calmed down within a couple of hours and had forgotten everything by the following day.

“
And
Miss Kitty,” the guard wrung his hands as if drying them above an air vent.

“And Kitty?”

This was different. Kitty was Auntie Gem’s assistant and the reason why Gem could come in mid-morning instead of half past eight with the rest of them.

“But she’s still here?”

“No!” Henry opened his eyes wide. “He walked her out himself!”

This was even more unusual. Edwin never threw people off the grounds. Quickening her pace ever so slightly Auntie Gem crossed the yard towards the main building.

The change in feeling was apparent when she came out of the lift on the first floor. There was none of the chatty buzz that normally greeted her. Apart from a few muted phonecalls all worked in silence. From here she could just make out Doreen in her place of banishment behind the giant plastic plant.

Eyes pleaded with her as the trolley slowly squeaked towards Mr Edwin’s office. Even before she was halfway there Gem could hear her boss’ muffled angry voice.

Sitting rigidly at her desk outside was Miss Collins, Edwin’s personal assistant. The normally irrepressible PA waved Gemma over.

“Is it as bad as I’ve been told?”

“Worse!” Miss Collins replied her voice just above a whisper. “Have you any arsenic?”

Auntie Gem chuckled, “He’d taste it Liz.”

“It’s for me silly!”

Auntie Gem gave a hoot, which she quickly suppressed. “What started it off?”

“At first we thought it was about Lady Peters but then
something arrived in the post. Something he wouldn’t even let me see.”

“And Kitty?”

The PA waved her hands to minimise the firing, “I’ve spoken to her already. She’ll be back on Monday.”

Again the rumbling of Edwin’s voice carried through the office walls.

“Who’s in there now?”

“Mr Paul but he shouldn’t be – ”

At that the office door swung open and the young assistant manager strode out, his face like thunder.

Miss Collins raised her eyebrows, “ – too long.” As Auntie Gem wheeled the trolley in Miss Collins stage-whispered after her, “Don’t forget to call him Sir!”

Sir Edwin looked up from his desk when he heard the squeaking trolley. “Ah Gemma, it’s you.” He returned to the papers on his desk, “I had to let Kitty go.”

Knowing her assistant would be back on Monday Auntie Gem pacified her boss, “I’m sure she deserved it.” After a pause she added, “Sir Edwin.”

Sir Edwin’s naturally suspicious features narrowed further at this unexpected acquiescence. After a worrying few seconds he smiled, “That’s the first time you’ve used my title Gemma.”

Auntie Gem bobbed her head in a slight bow of deference, “Sir Ed-win,” she repeated but this time separated his name in two in the Jamaican lilt he liked. She poured a milky tea, put three digestive biscuits on a plate and placed them in front of him.

“Everybody says you’re in a filthy mood,” again she paused before his name, “Sir Edwin.”

Looking at the honest face of the lady who had worked first for his father and now for him, Sir Edwin Peters sighed.
Holding a large brown envelope he stood up and paced along the huge window that looked over the canal.

“It’s just some damn scientist,” the chairman of Peters & Peters shook the envelope in his hand, “has made allegations – without any evidence to back them up I might add – about us. They’re lies, damn lies, and he’s threatening to print them.”

Auntie Gem shook her head, “Well if they’re lies,” she began.

“It doesn’t matter if they’re lies or not. If he prints them it would harm us.”

Sir Edwin used the ‘us’ when he meant ‘me’. When there was trouble to be shared he used the collective pronoun, the singular when there was glory. “Some of it would stick, it always does,” he said glumly.

“Can’t you sue?”

Sir Edwin didn’t care if his sigh was deemed demeaning. He spoke slowly as if explaining something very difficult to a very simple person, “That would take ages by which time the damage would have been done. We would only get a retraction anyway – by then it would be too late.”

“Bribery?”

Her boss smiled icily but said nothing.

Auntie Gem thought it best to change the subject. She knew the thought of food often improved his temperament. “What will you be having for lunch?”

Sir Edwin felt some of his bad mood coming back. “It’s Friday isn’t it?” he snapped.

Auntie Gem nodded.

“What do I always have on Fridays?”

“Fish.”

“You know how I value tradition. I’m not changing now.” Sir Edwin felt a familiar burning pain in his bladder. Flinging
the envelope on his desk in dismissal he walked quickly across the office to his adjoining bathroom and closed the door.

Never one to let something private of Edwin’s escape her attention, Auntie Gem went over to his desk. She opened the brown envelope to find it contained a bound dossier. As she was about to open it she heard the toilet flush. Sliding the dossier back in the envelope she hurried back to her trolley.

Just in time.

Sir Edwin came back to find Auntie Gem poring over the cups and saucers. Much as he liked her, well as much as he could like any of his staff, she did tend to hang around.

“I thought you’d gone,” he said in a tone that implied he wished she had.

Auntie Gem straightened up. Smiling she placed a small white bowl on her boss’ desk, “Cheer up.”

She was almost out the door when Sir Edwin called her back, “Gemma.”

Auntie Gem turned back into the office.

“The fish,” her boss asked nervously, “it’s not caught locally is it?”

“I don’t think so Sir Edwin, but I’ll ask cook.”

Auntie Gem chuckled as she left the office.

“He’s having a bad day alright,” she said to Miss Collins.

The PA rolled her eyes, “We knew that Gem!”

“He was worried the fish for lunch was caught in the canal!”

Sir Edwin didn’t notice the envelope was in a different place on top of his desk. Instead his eyes were drawn to the bowl the tea-lady had left. It contained his very favourite things: fruit pastilles.

T
he weekend had dragged by for Ollie but finally it was Monday morning. He could hear Wayne whistling the theme from
Bewitched
as he cleared out number lA, right next door.

Right next door!

It was funny how Wayne seemed to be as fond of the tune as he was. Ollie took this as another sign of how compatible they were.

Or could be.

Ollie was determined to find out which this week. And he was determined to have fun trying.

Ollie noticed that the whistling had stopped. Hearing a series of knocks he imagined Wayne on his doorstep, shirtless, dust stuck to his sweat-clad muscles, gagging for a cuppa or ...whatever.

He gave himself a quick glance in the hall mirror, ruffled his hair – no, too tousled – then ruffled it back, but then it looked as though he had just got out of bed – too suggestive, at least at this stage. Looking round frantically he spied a comb next to his keys and quickly pulled it through his fringe.

Again the door was rapped three times.

Fixing a natural grin on his face, Ollie took a deep breath and opened the door.

Rion and Hum stood before him. The dog jumped up at seeing his master. “Come for a walk with us,” the girl said with a bewitching smile.

Ollie glanced up and down the mews but there was no sign of Wayne.

“I can’t Rion, I’m working.”

“But you were working all weekend,” the girl complained.

“So I could have this week free to help Wayne.”

“He’ll be there when we get back and besides,” she cupped her hand to her mouth and lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper, “you don’t want to appear too keen. Let him come after you.”

“Is that what it says in your magazines?”

“C’mon. Pleeeeease,” Rion stretched the word out as long as she dared. “I want to see Jake but I can’t control Hum off the lead.”

“I can’t always control him either.”

Seeing the young girl’s downcast look Ollie changed his mind. She was right. Wayne would still be there when he got back. Besides he had never followed any advice given in magazines and look where it had got him.

“As long as we’re back for lunch.”

Rion laughed happily, “Easily!”

Ollie grabbed his keys and closed the door.

As they passed lA they could hear Wayne clattering about on the first floor.

“One second,” Ollie said to Rion before knocking on the door of what was the unlucky house.

When Wayne appeared at the open sitting room window Ollie had been right. The builder looked like he should be in a Diet-Coke ad.

“I’m going out for a while,” Ollie tossed his keys to
Wayne who snatched them out of the air. “Let yourself in if you want anything.”

“Thanks mate,” Wayne smiled. Ollie, Rion and Hum were escorted out of the mews by the whistled strains of
Bewitched
.

Wayne waited for at least five minutes before letting himself into Ollie’s next door. Although he knew no-one was there he still crept up the stairs until, feeling foolish, he straightened up and entered the first floor sitting room as if it was his own.

Again he looked at the glossy reproduction Candida had ripped from a book. Somewhere, in one of the many libraries in Kensington and Chelsea, a study on seventeenth century Dutch painting was missing a page. The image of the pale young girl in the white stole gazed back at him from the shadows. Merlijnche de Poortje didn’t look like anything special to Wayne.

He made a cursory glance through all the rooms to make sure the miniature wasn’t in plain sight. Having determined it wasn’t Wayne set to work, starting on the sitting room cupboards.

They were almost at the bridge running across the top of Ladbroke Grove when Ollie couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer.

“What on earth are you looking for?” he asked Rion who had been gazing intently at the canal ever since they had left Meanwhile Gardens.

The young girl didn’t answer for a second. Her attention had been taken by a moorhen and her two young bobbing amongst the rushes below them.

“Are they called moorchicks d’you think?” she asked.

Ollie looked at the tiny birds beside their mother. “If they’re not I think they should be.”

The calm of the scene was broken by Hum who charged up barking happily. The moorhen and her chicks paddled out to the middle of the canal and safety.

“There’s one!” Rion exclaimed pointing at what, to Ollie, looked like just another bit of floating rubbish.

“Haven’t you seen an empty can of coke before?”

“Not that! I mean next to it.”

Ollie looked again but all he could see was an unfortunate perch turned belly up.

“It’s a dead fish isn’t it?” Rion asked.

“Yes,” he said slowly, “you sometimes get them along here.”

Rion’s face dropped slightly. “So it’s not unusual?”

To be loved by anyone? Ever since Ollie had seen Tom Jones squeezed into leather at some awards ceremony the Welsh singer popped into his thoughts at the slightest provocation.

Ollie smiled, “Fish aren’t immortal you know.”

“It’s just that when I walked Auntie Gem to work yesterday I saw a couple more and a dead eel.”

“It happens Rion.”

Quickly putting Hum on the lead they crossed the bridge, entering the cemetery through the side door next to the Dissenter’s Chapel. Hum practically choked himself as he strained against the leash.