The Chrysalid Conspiracy (23 page)

Amelia cleared the spare seat and Rayn couldn’t believe it when this perfect creature sat beside her. That was when she noticed something very odd. Her face darkened when she realised they were laughing at her expense and that, somehow, she was being had.

“Sambo, you’d better explain before she explodes,” said Amelia. “It won’t be pretty.” He smiled broadly, showing perfect teeth. “I’m sorry, er…”

“This is Rayn, with a Y,” explained Amelia.

“I’m sorry Rayn,” he continued. “It’s just that I live for moments like this. You’ve really made my day.”

“How?” said Rayn without emotion.

“Well,” he explained, “my surname is Bowe, and for some strange reason my parents called me Samuel. Hence Sambo, and because I’m a belligerent so-and-so I insist on being called by my full and rightful name.”

“He loves all this,” Amelia added, indicating the unsettled clientele of the eatery.

Rayn wasn’t just unsettled, she was confused. Having spent most of her short life being called ‘Gypo’, ‘Dyke’ or ‘Pikey’ (among other things), she failed to see the humour of it.

“There may be laws against racism,” Sambo continued. “But it hasn’t gone away. It’s still there, just under the surface.”

Amelia recognised Rayn’s mood and thought it was time to change the subject. “Haven’t seen you around for a while, Sambo. What have you been up to?” she said.

“Oh, I dropped out of school, couldn’t cope. They don’t teach the things I want to do,” he replied. His English showed no trace of accent and Rayn assumed he was second or third generation.

“Are you working, then?”

“On and off. I seem to be relying on my busking at the moment,” he pulled out a small bag of coins and a harmonica from his jacket pocket. Rayn decided to re-join the conversation.

“I like your hat,” she said. “Where did you get it?” Amelia looked at it and frowned.

“A mate of mine gave it to me. Goes with the gear, doesn’t it?”

“Can I see it? She asked.

“I’d rather not,” said Sambo to the girls’ surprise.

“Why?” Rayn asked pointedly.

“Well, you see,” he lowered his voice and looked around the cafe. “The dreadlocks are glued in. It would spoil the image.”

Rayn wasn’t going to let his disarming looks put her off and she wanted to hit something.

“Why? Are you bald?” she threw at him.

“No, of course not,” he said with a laugh. “This is my work gear. I don’t walk round like this all the time. They’d lock me up, or beat me up – probably both. I’m a street dancer, you know, all the old Michael Jackson stuff. It pays well. It pays better if I wear the gear, and I’m sorry to say it pays better since he died.”

Amelia felt a strong urge to change the subject again. She couldn’t see Rayn’s eyes behind her glasses and she had no idea whether they were showing mischief or fire. She expected the latter.

“Why have you stopped? It’s nice out there now,” she asked.

“I had to finish early. I’ve got to see some bloke about a job.”

“Doing what?”

“Dunno, really. I’m not sure.”

“Well, what does he do? It should give you some idea.”

Sambo thought for a moment. “I think he runs some sort of garage,” he replied. “Don’t see how I can help. He’s offered me a room; it’s a bit too cheap so I guess it’s not up to much, but at least he says I’ll have my own bathroom and kitchen. As long as he doesn’t want me to walk around with a mop and bucket saying, “Yeah boss, okay Massa.” Amelia and Sambo laughed, but Rayn was silent. Inside she was boiling at this callous disregard for any sensitivity.

“People aren’t like that now, I’ll have you know,” she said.

“Yes they are, Rayn,” replied Sambo, serious for the first time. “Racism exists, so let’s have a laugh at its expense.” He looked at Amelia. “But I do have another talent. It’s what I really want to do. Remember?”

“Of course,” said Amelia. “Rayn, you know that big wood panel carving in the school library? The parody on Da Vinci’s last supper with teachers instead of disciples?”

“Yeah,” said Rayn. “It’s beautiful. Must be worth a fortune.”

“Well, that’s Sambo’s work.” There was pride in her voice for him. “They wouldn’t let him sign it though. They didn’t think it was ‘appropriate’.”

“Yeah, well, this guy had said he’d seen it and asked if I would like a job. I’ll see what he’s got to offer. He’s offered me a room but if he expects anything else he’ll be eating through a straw for a while.” Sambo and Amelia laughed again but Rayn found she couldn’t. She’d suddenly gone cold with a strong sense of foreboding.

“What’s this guy’s name?” she asked him.

“I don’t know. He’s got a place over in Tethers End, just by the old stone bridge,” he said. “Do you know it?” Amelia suddenly choked on her drink.

“Steady up, girl,” said Rayn. “I see your brain is back.” She looked at Sambo. “Amelia lives in the flower shop almost next door.”

“Really? Thanks Rayn, Easy there, Amelia.” he said as he got up to go. For the first time he was facing Rayn. She’d taken her glasses off to wipe the spray from Amelia’s explosion and he saw the discolouration. “Wow, what happened to you?”

“I had an accident with a loaded boxing glove,” she told him. By now Amelia had recovered her dignity. “This job interview you’re going to,” she began. “If the guy is getting on a bit, has a beard and a pony tail and his name is George, take the job!”

“I don’t think there’s any choice,” said Rayn, to no one in particular. After he had gone, the girls began walking arm in arm to Hunters Lodge.

“Rayn? Are you okay?”

“No!” answered Rayn, trying to control the seething anger she felt. “A guy walks in at random. He’s a brilliant artist, if that carving is anything to go by. He’s going to see of all people George for a job, And he’s wearing a hat made by my mother. I can feel the wheels of our FFCT turning.”

“Oh, come on,” Amelia responded. “He must be a friend of Nigel’s. That’s how all this worked out. How can it be a conspiracy?”

“I suppose you may be right. But why do I have the feeling that something is going to happen?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t hear a cello. So, let’s go and spoil ourselves rotten at Hunters Lodge, and if we see anyone we know you have my permission to hit them, okay?” Both laughing, they entered the restaurant.

They were met at the restaurant door by a medium-height, balding man in a tuxedo. He had a pen in his right hand with which he tapped constantly on his temple. His left hand he used to accentuate his speech.

“Ah, welcome. Miss Mgee and Miss Jaxson, I presume?” he said in his extremely articulate manner “I’m Felix; owner and head waiter of the Hunter’s Lodge”.

Amelia and Rayn were stunned. “Er,” said Amelia, caught off balance. “We don’t have a reservation, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, but you do now,” he replied with his professional smile.

“How did you know our names?” Amelia wanted to know.

“Yes,” added Rayn. “If George is behind this, I’m out of here.”

“Me too,” said an increasingly agitated Amelia.

“I’m afraid I know no one of that name, ladies. I assure you.”

“So who did?”

“Let me show you to your table, and I will explain.” He snapped his fingers and two waiters appeared. They were young, very tall, very smart and very, very dishy. Amelia and Rayn looked at each other.

Simultaneous replies of “okay”, “sounds great”, “we’ll give it a try”, “yeah”, “why not”, “sure”, “thanks” came out in no particular order.

They were shown to a table that looked like something from a film set. Their coats and bags disappeared and a waiter held each chair as they sat. Felix continued, his humour being his apparent lack of it. “I received a phone call on behalf of Mrs Mgee. She was quite specific in her request that we serve you by setting new standards in the culinary profession.”

“Mother! Oh no!” Rayn put her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands.

Felix continued, his face expressionless, “we were not offered any remuneration for this endeavour. She was adamant that I make this clear to you.”

“So, what’s the catch?” asked Rayn.

“Oh, she mentioned a few things. Cockroaches, locusts, venomous snakes and, I believe, poisonous frogs were in there somewhere. You know the sort of thing. She sounded very well-armed.”

Amelia was in fits by this time and Rayn had disintegrated completely. “Okay, give it your best shot. We’ll give them a full report when we get home,” Rayn managed to gasp out.

Felix almost smiled as he replied. “Ah, she did leave one interesting proviso.”

“And what might that be?” said Rayn, deeply suspicious of her mother.

“She gave us instructions that if you embarrass yourselves, your parents or the Hunters Lodge…” The girls could tell he was enjoying himself, though he showed no outwards signs as he related the good part. “We have her permission to make use of, make good use, she said, of the working ducking stool we have in our summer garden. I’m having someone search for the key, as we speak.”

The girls were in fits and their laughter was attracting the attention of other diners in the restaurant, which, at that time of day, was thankfully not very crowded.

Felix gave his discreet cough. “May I suggest, ladies,” he warned, “that at this point in time you are very close to the edge of the pond.”

Amelia was clutching her ribs and gasping for breath. “Don’t worry, Felix. If you can’t find the key, we’ll jump in.”

“Thank you. How very considerate of you. I will leave you to enjoy your meal.” He turned away but then stopped.

“One other thing,” his voice dropped almost to a whisper. “You are too young to buy or consume alcohol, and we are forbidden by law to sell or serve you. But, acting on instructions, I have provided some wine in lemonade glasses, with lemonade of course, to reduce its capacity – or, should I say, prevent your incapacity.”

Rayn could only manage a whisper anyway, as her throat was exhausted. “What on earth could my mother have said that would make you break the law and risk your licence?”

“I believe that came with Demons of Hell – oh and Eternal Damnation. She’s a very persuasive woman. I hope I never have the pleasure of meeting her.” He hesitated and added, “I do hope that if the occasion arises you will be good enough to tell the Magistrate that this restaurant is innocent of all charges.”

He left them to it while the waiters, giving fearful glances at Rayn, took their order.

The meal was fantastic. Hors-D’oeuvre of seafood, followed by Escargot. Once they’d fought off the usual British reluctance, the snails proved to be a mouth-watering experience. They were accompanied by strange pieces of salad, which even Rayn had never seen before, with garlic bread.

They were a little concerned about the tiny portions, but this was dispelled when the main course arrived in huge plates absolutely full. ‘T’ bone steaks, fresh-grilled tomatoes, mushrooms in a garlic sauce, asparagus in butter, peas and French fried potatoes. An array of sauces and dips, which they had no idea how to use, accompanied by a basket of hot brown bread rolls. And yet more salad.

Amelia felt as if she was in the kitchens of heaven and Rayn had stopped talking to concentrate on eating. Extra hungry as they were, the meal was a challenge. When they had eaten all they could, and more than they should, the table was cleared and reset. Fresh glasses of ‘lemonade’ appeared and Felix stopped by to enquire after their well-being.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” they enthused, eyes a little too bright, faces a little flushed by the small but unfamiliar amounts of wine they’d taken.

The girls had eaten until they were bursting and were aghast when a trolley arrived and, accompanied by ‘oos’ and ‘ahas’ from the other tables, flames reared up from a frying pan and ‘Crepe Suzette’ was placed in front of them.

They tried; they really tried. The taste was exquisite and their taste buds demanded more, but in the end they had to assure the table chef it was themselves that had beaten them, not the food. Amelia smiled when she saw one of the waiters’ hand the other a five-pound note and gave a shrug.

Amelia paid the bill and left a hefty tip. They were about to leave when Felix returned and presented her with a box tied with pink ribbon.

“Your birthday cake, Miss. I trust the staff will be released from the obligation of singing that hideous ditty?”

“Yes, yes,” cut in a desperate Rayn. Her face had gone a strange colour and she looked quite unwell. “Amelia, let’s go. Now!” she said.

“I’ll call you a taxi,” said Felix. “Please give Mrs Jaxson my fondest regards.”

“You know my mother?” Amelia said.

“Oh yes, many years now. She’s been supplying our restaurant for years. It’s nice for me to show off. We don’t do this for everyone, you know. I do wish we could have given you our special evening table. It would have been a night to remember.”

Amelia was trying to imagine how the evening could have been improved on when Rayn suddenly said “Oh God” and turned and fled to the door marked ‘Ladies’. The expression on Felix’s face didn’t even flicker. He snapped his fingers and a matronly woman in a business suit left reception and followed her.

Unperturbed, Amelia continued to question Felix. “I didn’t know, about the flowers I mean. We don’t supply you from the shop, do we?”

“No, we buy direct from her wholesale firm.”

“Her what?” Amelia was incredulous.

“Oh yes. I thought you knew. The Lucy Lacey Imports is a well-respected firm. They can get produce from places nobody has ever heard of. Wonderful woman. I do hope she and the good Doctor can…Ah! Your taxi is here. Will your friend be all right?”

Amelia sat in the taxi, wondering if she were about to lose her dinner or her mind. She couldn’t talk to Rayn, who was curled in the corner clutching her stomach and wallowing in self-pity.

Lucy Lacey imports?
she thought.
Who’s Lacey?
She knew it wasn’t her mother’s maiden name because, for some reason, her father had taken her name, which was Jaxson. She never did think to ask why. Why hadn’t her mum told her about the import business? And who was ‘the good doctor’ that Felix had referred to? Had she miss-heard him? Was it the wine? Had she suddenly space-warped into an alternative universe? These were just some of the questions which were jostling for prominence in her mind. Unfortunately, her stomach intervened and won the argument.