Pinions Of Gold

Chapter 3

THREE

COVENHAM, LINCOLNSHIRE, 2021 AD

What were Roy Robinson’s exact words: four steps? Jake climbed to the fourth and stopped. What was he expecting, some kind of odd feeling? Disappointed, he felt nothing, apart from disgust at the damp mustiness of the stale air and a dull ache beginning to his forehead. He faced left and began to tap the dirty white plaster of the stair wall with the butt of his knife, working downwards. It was solid, but after about eighteen inches, he heard a hollow sound. His heart beat faster. Had he imagined it? He tried the same spot again. There was no doubt at all. There was hollowness behind the plaster. Heart pounding fast, he opened the knife and dug in the blade, loosening small pieces of plaster. A whole chunk fell on to the worn and holey stair carpet, revealing a cavity in the wall. It was about four inches deep and contained a small box. It was dirty, white and square. He used his forefinger and thumb to ease it out. Curious, he held it up, turning his wrist to study it.

A key scraped in the lock of the cottage door. What the devil! This place had stood empty for generations. The sound of dull footsteps stirred him into action. Jake spun on his heel and jumped down into the kitchen.

“Hey!”

He lingered enough to glimpse the massive silhouette of a man wearing what seemed to be a chauffer’s uniform, a peaked cap on his bull-necked head. Jake plunged the box into his trouser pocket. The feeble light penetrating the filthy windowpanes was enough to make out the man reaching inside his jacket. He pulled out a pistol. With athletic skill he didn’t know he possessed Jake dived through the open sash window where he had forced his entry. A shot rang out. It must have disturbed the whole of the sleepy village. He hit the ground outside and rolled with practiced ease, but he felt a searing pain high on his right arm. The bastard’s shot me! Fear added extra speed to his limbs, so before the man got to the window, he was through a hole in the hedge bordering the small rear garden of Rose Cottage and his legs were pumping across the uneven ground. His disjointed thoughts, trying to make sense of what had happened were overwhelmed by strident warnings to save himself. Thrusting all distractions aside for the moment, he ran for dear life along the edge of a wheat field where a gate gave onto the road in front of the cottage.

He dashed into the road and waved his arms at the Land Rover. He was relieved to find that his arm moved freely enough, a flesh wound, nothing worse than a throbbing pain, but the sleeve of his T-shirt was soaked and rivulets of blood ran to his wrist.

Tyres screeched and he pulled open the passenger door. At the same time, he glanced back at Rose Cottage. There was a grey Mercedes parked outside with smoked glass windows. As soon as he spotted Jake in the road, the brute in a chauffeur’s uniform slammed the cottage door and ran down the garden path towards the Mercedes. That was enough for Jake, who jumped into the car and exclaimed to his wife,

“Drive like Hell if you don’t want to be shot at!”

She went through the gears at unholy speed and Jake, incredulous, watched the indicator pass 85 mph on the bends out of the village. Far too fast and more by good luck than driving skill, in his opinion, Alice swung the Land Rover into a country lane. He realised with a start that this was the first time he’d been a passenger with his wife driving. The hawthorn hedges were a blur of green along the narrow winding lane. Had this woman never heard of tractors and Land Rovers? Mightn’t one appear to create a metal wall for them to die against? Compared to that, a bullet in the back of the head seemed an attractive option.

She braked next to an iron gate where a crushed chalk track led across a field to a barn.

“Don’t just sit there, open the gate.”

Isn’t slow beautiful? he thought while she inched the vehicle behind the barn and cut the engine.

Jake leaned back and closed his eyes. He couldn’t believe what had happened to him.

“I think we lost them. Hey! You’re bleeding. Let me take a look.”

She leant across, her blouse revealing the fullness of her breasts. Jake dragged his gaze away, I’m a lucky guy, and his eyes met the concern in hers. For her part, she tried not to show her admiration of the muscular arm under inspection. He’d been working out in the gym to get into shape for the awaited call from Sir Clive.

He pulled up the sleeve, his nose almost touching the wound, “Ach, it’s only a scratch.” He wasn’t going to let her know how scared he was.

This is crazy. Someone’s taken a pop at me. Why? And me, I’m more interested in my pretty wife’s body. What an i***t!

“It’ll need cleaning up as soon as possible, but I don’t fancy moving from here just yet.”

They tried to understand what on earth was going on.

“It can’t be a coincidence,” Alice said, “we heard Roy’s story and the next day visit the long-abandoned cottage and just by chance someone turns up and takes a shot at you?”

“Whoever it is must have had us under surveillance. I’m beginning to think Sir John knows more than he’s letting on. I’m going to have it out with him.”

Alice frowned, “Do you mean he called on Double-A for help because he was in trouble over this cottage business? And if so, what can it be about? You don’t go shooting at people because there’s a ghost in a cottage.”

“No,” Jake murmured, distracted, he was thinking about the little white box in his pocket. Maybe that would tell them something, but it could wait until they got home. Instead, he said, “Whatever this is about, we can forget our impression that it wouldn’t be dangerous. I had a lucky escape. It’s always a risk when Sir Clive is involved.

Back on the main road, they kept a wary eye open but there was no sign of the Mercedes and Jake found the drive back far more comfortable than the previous breakneck journey, except for his troubled thoughts.