The usual road to Lambourn turned out to be still blocked off, and I wondered briefly, as we detoured, whether it was because of the murder inquiry or simply technical difficulties in disentangling the omelette.
Martha and Harley were still shaking over breakfast, the coffee cups trembling against their lips. Milo with relief shifted the burden of their reliance smartly from himself to me, telling them that now Derek was here, they’d be safe. I wasn’t so sure about that, particularly if both Harley and the police were right about me personally being yesterday’s target. Neither Martha nor Harley seemed to suffer such qualms and gave me the instant status of surrogate son/nephew, the one to be naturally leaned on, psychologically if not physically, for succor and support.
I looked at them with affection. Martha had retained enough spirit to put on lipstick. Harley was making light of an adhesive bandage on his temple. They couldn’t help their nervous systems’ reaction to mental trauma, and I hoped it wouldn’t be long before their habitual preference for enjoyment resurfaced.
“The only good thing about yesterday,” Martha said with a sigh, “was buying Dozen Roses. Milo says he’s already sent a van for him.”
I’d forgotten about Dozen Roses. Nicholas Loder and his tizzies seemed a long way off and unimportant. I said I was glad they were glad, and that in about a week or so, when he’d settled down in his new quarters, I would start teaching him to jump.
“I’m sure he’ll be brilliant,” Martha said bravely, trying hard to make normal conversation. “Won’t he?”
“Some horses take to it better than others,” I said neutrally. “Like humans.”
“I’ll believe he’ll be brilliant.”
Averagely good, I thought, would be good enough for me: but most racehorses could jump if started patiently over low obstacles like logs.
Milo offered fresh coffee and more toast, but they were ready to leave and in a short while we were on the road to London. No one passed us and slowed, no one am-bushed or shot us, and Brad drew up with a flourish outside their hotel, at least the equal of Simms.
Martha with a shine of tears kissed my cheek in goodbye, and I hers; Harley gruffly shook my hand. They would come back soon, they said, but they were sure glad to be going home tomorrow. I watched them go shakily into the hotel and thought uncomplicated thoughts, like hoping Datepalm would cover himself with glory for them, and Dozen Roses also, once he could jump.
“Office?” I suggested to Brad, and he nodded, and made the now familiar turns toward the environs of Hatton Garden.
Little in Saxony Franklin appeared to have changed. It seemed extraordinary that it was only a week since I’d walked in there for the first time, so familiar did it feel on going back. The staff said, “Good morning, Derek,” as if they’d been used to me for years, and Annette said there were letters left over from Friday which needed decisions.
“How was the funeral?” she asked sadly, laying out the papers on the desk.
A thousand light-years ago, I thought. “Quiet,” I said. “Good. Your flowers were good. They were on top of his coffin.”
She looked pleased and said she would tell the others, and received the news that there would be a memorial service with obvious satisfaction. “It didn’t seem right, not being at his funeral, not on Friday. We had a minute’s silence here at two o’clock. I suppose you’ll think us silly.”
“Far from it.” I was moved and let her see it. She smiled sweetly in her heavy way and went off to relay to the others and leave me floundering in the old treacle of deciding things on a basis of no knowledge.
June whisked in looking happy with a pink glow on both cheeks and told me we were low in blue lace agate chips and snowflake obsidian and amazonite beads.
“Order some more, same as before.”
“Yes, right.”
She turned and was on her way out again when I called her back and asked her if there was an alarm clock among all the gadgets. I pulled open the deep drawer and pointed downward.
“An alarm clock?” She was doubtful and peered at the assorted black objects. “Telescopes, dictionaries, Geiger counter, calculators, spy juice...”
“What’s spy juice?” I asked, intrigued.
“Oh, this.” She reached in and extracted an aerosol can. “That’s just my name for it. You squirt this stuff on anyone’s envelopes and it makes the paper transparent so you can read the private letters inside.” She looked at my face and laughed. “Banks have got round it by printing patterns all over the insides of their envelopes. If you spray their envelopes, all you see is the pattern.”
“Whatever did Greville use it for?”
“Someone gave it to him, I think. He didn’t use it much, just to check if it was worth opening things that looked like advertisements.”
She put a plain sheet of paper over one of the letters lying on the desk and squirted a little liquid over it. The plain paper immediately became transparent so that one could read the letter through it, and then slowly went opaque again as it dried.
“Sneaky,” she said, “isn’t it?”
“Very.”
She was about to replace the can in the drawer but I said to put it on top of the desk, and I brought out all the other gadgets and stood them around in plain sight. None of them, as far as I could see, had an alarm function.
“You mentioned something about a world clock,” I said, “but there isn’t one here.”
“I’ve a clock with an alarm in my room,” she said helpfully. “Would you like me to bring that?”
“Um, yes, perhaps. Could you set it to four-fifteen?”
“Sure, anything you like.”
She vanished and returned fiddling with a tiny thing like a black credit card which turned out to be a highly versatile time-piece.
“There you are,” she said. “Four-fifteen. P.M., I suppose you mean.” She put the clock on the desk.
“This afternoon, yes. There’s an alarm somewhere here that goes off every day at four-twenty. I thought I might find it.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, but that’s Mr. Franklin’s watch.”
“Which one?” I asked.
“He only ever wore one. It’s a computer itself, a calendar and a compass.”
That watch, I reflected, was beside my bed in Hungerford.
“I think,” I said, “that he may have had more than one alarm set to four-twenty.”
The fair eyebrows lifted. “I did sometimes wonder why,” she said. “I mean, why four-twenty? If he was in the stockroom and his watch alarm went off he would stop doing whatever it was for a few moments. I sort of asked him once, but he didn’t really answer, he said it was a convenient time for communication, or something like that. I didn’t understand what he meant, but that was all right, he didn’t mean me to.”
She spoke without resentment and with regret. I thought that Greville must have enjoyed having June around him as much as I did. All that bright intelligence and unspoiled good humor and common sense. He’d liked her enough to make puzzles for her and let her share his toys.
“What’s this one?” I asked, picking up a small gray contraption with black ear sponges on a headband with a cord like a walkabout cassette player, but with no provision for cassettes in what might have been a holder.
“That’s a sound-enhancer. It’s for deaf people, really, but Mr. Franklin took it away from someone who was using it to listen to a private conversation he was having with another gem merchant. In Tucson, it was. He said he was so furious at the time that he just snatched the amplifier and headphones off the man who was listening and walked away with them uttering threats about commercial espionage, and he said the man hadn’t even tried to get them back.” She paused. “Put the earphones on. You can hear everything anyone’s saying anywhere in the office. It’s pretty powerful. Uncanny, really.”