Picture You Dead

84

Tuesday, 5 November

When he finally left the clubhouse, a little later than he’d intended, Harry was feeling elated. And tomorrow he would collect the painting from the storage depot in Worthing and hand it for safe keeping to Bonhams. Then sit back and wait for the January auction. Maybe, just maybe, if they got really lucky, and it went in as an original Fragonard, they could make so much money from the sale he could forget the building trade altogether. Properly set Tom up, then buy a pad down on the Costa del Sol, escape the rat race and live the good life with Freya. And right now, with all the problems of Vine Cottage, he’d give up this business in a heartbeat.

Shivering against the cold air, with fireworks shooting into the darkness all across the city skyline below him and the volleys of distant explosions, he hurried over the road to the car park, put his golf bag and his sports bag with his golfing clothes into the rear of the Volvo, then climbed into the car, shut the door and immediately switched on the engine, to get the heater going.

Then, before moving off, he googled Mike Elkington and then Michael Elkington on his phone. There were a handful of name matches, but nothing that gave him a clue about the man he would shortly be meeting. No matter, he drove off, very much looking forward to meeting Mr Elkington. And determined to charm him. Oh yes!

Although he was already late, he drove home keeping carefully within the speed limits. And it was good news: although this was Bonfire Night, the roads were quiet. Tom had already been to a big fireworks party at a schoolfriend’s house on Saturday, sensibly arranged to not interrupt his studies during the school week.

As Harry drove up Mackie Crescent, he popped a piece of mint gum in his mouth, to freshen his breath for his potential new client. Approaching home, he saw a swanky Tesla on the street outside. Mr Elkington’s, he presumed, as he drove onto the driveway and parked as usual between the Fiat and his work van.

He glanced at his watch: 7.25 p.m. – a little later than he’d told Freya, but he was confident she would be charming the client. Deciding to leave his kit in the car for now, he strode up to the front door in a sunny mood. The champion coming home to a hero’s welcome!

Not that Jinx gave him any kind of a welcome at all. The cat stood, just inside the front door, its back arched. As he leaned down to stroke it, it sprinted away as if fired from a torpedo tube. The lounge door, to his left, was open and he presumed Freya was in there with Mr Elkington.

He checked his appearance in the coat-stand mirror, straightening his Dyke Golf Club tie and brushing back a few stray strands of hair, then at the last minute, remembering his gum, hurried over to the kitchen and dropped it in the pedal bin. The television was on in there as normal, a sitcom playing. Freya kept it on all the time she was home, whether in the kitchen or not.

He went back into the hallway. Checked his tie again in the mirror and his posture, then with a warm smile for his potential new client, he strode into the lounge.

And felt as though he’d stepped onto a frozen lake and the ice was cracking beneath him.