“My daughter misinformed Mr. Grantchester. Alexander acts for me in everything, and I give my trust to no one else. Clear?” He gave me back the telephone and I said to Tobias, “OK?”
“My God, that woman. She’s dangerous, Al.”
“Mm. Tobe ... do you know any good, honest, discreet private investigators?”
He chuckled. “Good, honest and discreet. Hang on ...” There was a rustle of pages. “Got a pencil?”
There was a pencil on the table but no notepad. I turned over the box of tissues, in Ivan’s fashion, and wrote on the bottom of it the name and phone number of a firm in Reading. “Thanks, Tobe.”
“Anytime, Al.”
I disconnected and said to Ivan, “Patsy is also going around telling people I’ve stolen the chalice, the King Alfred Cup.”
“But,” he said, undisturbed, “you do have it, don’t you?”
chapter 5
After a moment of internal chill I said carefully, “Why do you think I have the Cup?”
He looked astonished but not yet alarmed. “Because I sent it to you, of course. You are good at hiding things, Robert said. I sent it to you, to keep it safe.”
Hell’s teeth, I thought. Oh God. Oh no.
I said, “How? How did you send it to me?”
For the first time he seemed to realize that however good his plans had been, somewhere along the line the points had got switched. He frowned, but still not with anxiety.
“I gave it to Robert to give to you. That’s to say, I told him where to find it. Are you listening? Stop looking so blank. I asked your uncle Robert to take the damned Cup to Scotland for you to take care of. So don’t tell me you don’t have it.”
“Er ...” I said, clearing my throat, “when did you send it to Scotland?”
“I don’t know.” He waved a hand as if the detail were unimportant. “Ask your uncle Robert. If you haven’t got the Cup, then he has.”
I breathed slowly and deeply, and said, “Who else knew you were sending the Cup to me?”
“Who? No one else. What does it matter? Robert will pass the Cup to you when you go back to Scotland, and you can keep it safe for me until the brewery’s affairs are settled, because like the horse the Cup belongs to me, and I don’t want to see it counted as a brewery asset and sold for a drop in the ocean.”
“Bill of sale?” I suggested hopelessly.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“No.”
I asked with artificial absence of urgency, “When did all this happen? When did you ask Himself to take the Cup to Scotland?”
“When? Sometime last week of course.”
“Last week ... while you were still in the Clinic?”
“Of course while I was in the Clinic. You’re being very dense, Alexander. I was feeling very ill and I’d had so many drugs and injections. I was thinking double, let alone seeing, and Robert came to visit me while I was worried sick by Tobias Tollright, and he, Robert of course, not Tollright, said he was leaving the next day for Scotland for his annual shooting and fishing, and for the Games, and it made sense to ask him to look after the Cup, and he said he would, but better still he would entrust it to you . I asked if he trusted you enough ... and he said he would trust you with his life.”
Hell, I thought, and asked, “Which day was that?”
“I can’t possibly remember. Why do you think it matters?”
His own illness had been painful and traumatic but he hadn’t, I thought, had a lot of fists thudding like ramrods into his ribs and abdomen until he could hardly breathe, he hadn’t been head-butted and bounced half unconscious down a mountain and he hadn’t spent three days bruised, aching and sorry for himself, swallowing Keith Robbiston’s pills to make life tolerable.
By that Friday morning, as it happened, the waves of overall malaise had receded; only individual spots were at that point sore to the touch. I felt more or less normal.
Next time you’ll scream.
I relaxed into my chair and asked conversationally, “Did you tell Patsy that I was looking
“My God, that woman. She’s dangerous, Al.”
“Mm. Tobe ... do you know any good, honest, discreet private investigators?”
He chuckled. “Good, honest and discreet. Hang on ...” There was a rustle of pages. “Got a pencil?”
There was a pencil on the table but no notepad. I turned over the box of tissues, in Ivan’s fashion, and wrote on the bottom of it the name and phone number of a firm in Reading. “Thanks, Tobe.”
“Anytime, Al.”
I disconnected and said to Ivan, “Patsy is also going around telling people I’ve stolen the chalice, the King Alfred Cup.”
“But,” he said, undisturbed, “you do have it, don’t you?”
chapter 5
After a moment of internal chill I said carefully, “Why do you think I have the Cup?”
He looked astonished but not yet alarmed. “Because I sent it to you, of course. You are good at hiding things, Robert said. I sent it to you, to keep it safe.”
Hell’s teeth, I thought. Oh God. Oh no.
I said, “How? How did you send it to me?”
For the first time he seemed to realize that however good his plans had been, somewhere along the line the points had got switched. He frowned, but still not with anxiety.
“I gave it to Robert to give to you. That’s to say, I told him where to find it. Are you listening? Stop looking so blank. I asked your uncle Robert to take the damned Cup to Scotland for you to take care of. So don’t tell me you don’t have it.”
“Er ...” I said, clearing my throat, “when did you send it to Scotland?”
“I don’t know.” He waved a hand as if the detail were unimportant. “Ask your uncle Robert. If you haven’t got the Cup, then he has.”
I breathed slowly and deeply, and said, “Who else knew you were sending the Cup to me?”
“Who? No one else. What does it matter? Robert will pass the Cup to you when you go back to Scotland, and you can keep it safe for me until the brewery’s affairs are settled, because like the horse the Cup belongs to me, and I don’t want to see it counted as a brewery asset and sold for a drop in the ocean.”
“Bill of sale?” I suggested hopelessly.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“No.”
I asked with artificial absence of urgency, “When did all this happen? When did you ask Himself to take the Cup to Scotland?”
“When? Sometime last week of course.”
“Last week ... while you were still in the Clinic?”
“Of course while I was in the Clinic. You’re being very dense, Alexander. I was feeling very ill and I’d had so many drugs and injections. I was thinking double, let alone seeing, and Robert came to visit me while I was worried sick by Tobias Tollright, and he, Robert of course, not Tollright, said he was leaving the next day for Scotland for his annual shooting and fishing, and for the Games, and it made sense to ask him to look after the Cup, and he said he would, but better still he would entrust it to you . I asked if he trusted you enough ... and he said he would trust you with his life.”
Hell, I thought, and asked, “Which day was that?”
“I can’t possibly remember. Why do you think it matters?”
His own illness had been painful and traumatic but he hadn’t, I thought, had a lot of fists thudding like ramrods into his ribs and abdomen until he could hardly breathe, he hadn’t been head-butted and bounced half unconscious down a mountain and he hadn’t spent three days bruised, aching and sorry for himself, swallowing Keith Robbiston’s pills to make life tolerable.
By that Friday morning, as it happened, the waves of overall malaise had receded; only individual spots were at that point sore to the touch. I felt more or less normal.
Next time you’ll scream.
I relaxed into my chair and asked conversationally, “Did you tell Patsy that I was looking
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