Private London

Chapter 72

Peter Chappel was a forty-five-year-old ophthalmic optician with a small practice in Chesham, a quiet Buckinghamshire market town set amidst the rolling natural beauty of the Chilterns.

His premises were on the High Street and, although it was a Sunday, he had come into his shop to sort through some paperwork and receipts that he needed to send off to his accountant for the quarterly VAT return. He had an elderly female assistant who worked with him, but as often as not he would find himself coming into the shop on his day off to catch up with the admin.

He put all the receipts together into a large white envelope, sealed and addressed it, walked through to the reception area and left it on his assistant’s desk to go out in the morning post. He was ahead of schedule but Peter Chappel was a man who paid attention to detail.

He walked back to his examination room. It was windowless, with an old-fashioned roll-top desk in the corner that he used for an office. He unplugged and picked up the laptop that was sitting on the faded green leather and deliberated for a moment.

It was a few minutes past three o’clock and Peter Chappel made a decision. Pulling at an eye-test chart, he swung it out from the wall to reveal a safe behind it.

He put the laptop into the safe, closed the door and spun the dial. Then he put the eye chart back in place and bustled back out through reception.

He picked up a couple of carrier bags that he had left by the front door and then went out onto the street, putting them down again so he could lock the door behind him.

He looked at his watch again and set off for home. He was a little late but not much and he certainly didn’t want to miss any of the fun. Luckily he lived just a hundred yards or so away from his shop in Punch Bowl Lane. Quite appropriate, Peter Chappel thought to himself as he strolled quickly along Red Lion Street – there was no show without Punch, after all, as the old saying goes.