Toad in the Hole (5 page)

“A pint of something,” he replied and I swore he checked out my boobs again.

Moving to the bar I ordered our meal. When I returned with the drinks and a little sashay in my step, his voice trailed off. “The Nightingale Museum was a bust.”

Sliding back into the booth, I wasn’t so sure. “I have something Ahmed wants.”

“Duh. The oyster.”

“Yes, and no. I mean he’s vague about it. Hasn’t come out and said why.”

“He said he’d make you an offer that would pay for college. That’s not vague.”

Sipping the froth of a stout, I couldn’t shake my overactive imagination. “I just have a feeling that there’s more to all this.”

“Which is all the more reason to give it back to GG and let her deal with Ahmed.”

“I already tried to give it back to her last Christmas and she wouldn’t take it.”

“She probably knows the thing is hexed.”

“There’s brooch represents something or is a means to…”

“A Swiss account that isn’t yours or mine, and a whole lotta trouble.”

“It’s not a bank account or a code to a safe. That’d be silly. Stone was right. It’s longitude and latitude coordinates.”

“Why do you even care? The sooner you tell GG and Edmond about the Turkish Antiquities dude, if that’s who he even is, the sooner we can relax and enjoy this Euro experience.”

“There has to be something that we’ve overlooked.”

Travis chugged his beer. “We’ve been here a day and blown through the Tower, execution and gem central, made a hearty trek through the highlights of the British Museum, and ploughed through the Florence Nightingale display, where we saw hospital ward relics from the Crimean War.”

I hated when he had a point. There wasn’t anything specific in any of the places we’d been that seemed relevant. No mention of a lost amethyst brooch heirloom or Florence joining a secret Turkish society that worshiped oyster shells. I pulled out the brochure and looked at them again.

The Crimean War (1853-56) is mostly remembered for three things: the Charge of the Light Brigade, mismanagement in the British army and Florence Nightingale. The war was fought between Russia and the allied powers of Britain, France, and Turkey. It began because of British and French distrust of Russia's ambitions in the Balkans.

The battle at Balaclava (which included the Charge of the Light Brigade) was one example of mismanagement and there was a public outcry over the conditions the soldiers faced in the military hospitals. The war was ended by the Treaty of Paris in 1856.

When our lunch arrived, a glump of disappointment washed over Travis’s face. He stared at the Ploughman’s plate, which consisted of a sharp cheddar cheese block, bread roll, chutney, pickled onions, hard-boiled egg, and a glutinous slice of cold pork pie.

“I’ll share my clanger.” The heaving portion of steaming potpie was too big for one person. The aroma was savory and sweet. Cutting it in half, I poked the inside with a fork.

Travis leaned in to take a peak. Shredded meat was on one side and a red jam filled the other. “Nothing around here is what it seems.”

NOTE TO SELF

Pondering the Turkish Department of Antiquities, Ahmed, and Siberian amethysts, specifically the ones in my oyster brooch. Why did the Turk mention the Crimean War? Slip of the tongue, red herring, or missing puzzle piece?

T
ourist
T
raps

M
uggy air coated a sheet of sticky on my forehead. It was ten degrees warmer inside Bury’s Place subway station than outside. Sliding my hand into my Jordache jean pocket, I retrieved a ponytail band and twisted my hair up off my neck. My clothes were wet, again, from a downpour that had pelted us with a vengeance on the short walk to the underground.

Staring at a map of the London underground routes, Travis complained, “People are pouring in. I don’t know, Rach. This may take awhile. Maybe we should take a taxi instead.”

I shook my head. “GG says London traffic is the worst. We probably can’t even flag a cab down. This’ll be quicker than a car.” My finger traced the plexiglass that covered the wall poster, and I summoned inner calm. “We’re here on the Central red line. We’ll take the train to Mile End, transfer to the district line at Bow Road, then a stop away, switch to the Docklands Light Railway—DLR. The third stop is Langdon Park.”

“It may be quicker, but….is it safe?”

“Of course.”

He didn’t look convinced. “I didn’t memorize the hotel address, did you?”

Descending into the subway, I trudged down the steps with a reluctant Travis in tow.

His shoulders sank in defeat. “You don’t know the address either?”

“We can ask directions to the Red Lion Pub at the last stop.”

“What if there’s more than one Red Lion?”

I tugged his arm toward the ticket booth. “What are the chances?”

Waiting in a crowded tunnel where World War II Londoners hid from the German Luftwaffe’s nightly bombing blitzes, then squeezing into a tin can on rails with hoards of people is a big dose of human togetherness. After transferring twice, plus waiting time in between, I was done. My tank was drained to empty. Riding an escalator up a pitched incline to ground level, I admitted, “Today wasn’t exactly relaxing.”

“Being a tourist is a thrash. It’s easier to sit through a day of lectures.”

“Tomorrow is low key. Just the appointment at Asprey.”

Travis kept gulping air. “That smell on the train. I can’t lose it.”

“At least that’s all that’s following us.”

“I just want to get back to the hotel so we can stop moving.”

Above ground we asked for directions. Apparently there were several Red Lion Pubs in town. Anticipating that a few blocks down the street, our Red Lion would appear, we walked with a purposeful and swift pace.

“I need to pick up cigarettes before we get back.”

“I thought you quit for the summer?”

“I lied.”

“Rachael.”

The sky had cleared, but a biting wind lapped at our necks. “After the day we’ve had, there’s no way I can face the smokers in the pub. This evening is not the time to quit. Do you want anything?” I asked before I darted into a corner market.

Inside, I chose a red pack of Pall Malls and asked about the inn where we were staying. There were four Red Lions around, but only one with a hotel attached. It was close.

“It’s going on seven. Your grandmother is going to wonder where we’ve been.”

“She knows we were sightseeing, trying to pack a lot into the day.”

We’d moved blocks away from the corner shop and strode past narrow brick homes aligned like soldiers whose front doors opened directly onto the sidewalk. Apart from the threatening weather, we were alone on the walk back.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Travis said. “Obviously GG is well off, I mean she paid for this trip for all of us.”

“Yeah?”

“This area, I mean the East End. Don’t get me wrong. I’m loving this trip. But the place where we’re staying has an edge. Not the kind of neighborhood I’d expect her to choose.”

I didn’t know how to respond to him, mostly because I was thinking the same thing. Back home, GG lived in an upscale part of Canton. Her house was secluded, as I imagined she liked to live her life. “I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just close to her storage unit.”

The breeze shifted, swaying the wood sign outside the Red Lion Pub. The rain had shooed everyone inside and a rumble of laughter could be heard from a partially open window. Standing in front of me, Travis rested a hand on my shoulder and the other gripped the gate latch that led to an outdoor courtyard with picnic benches. “I’m going to ask you something and I don’t want you to answer me. Just think about it.”

Warmth and hope washed over me. We’d been together every waking moment since the flight to England. Had he come to an epiphany about us? My throat went dry as my heart beat a skittish rumpity, pumpity rhythm. Even though it was dusk, instinct told me to bat my eyelashes.

“Is it a possibility…”

I rubbed my tongue over my eyetooth.
It damn well is, just ask
.

“That…”

My inner woman perked up.
You can sleep in my room tonight
.

“Your grandmother has had dealings with the Turkish Department of Antiquities? Maybe there was a misunderstanding about the brooch and they want it back.”

“What?”

“Rachael, this whole mess with the oyster started with her. I just don’t want you to go mental if she tells you something you didn’t expect.”

It was one thing to tease about Edmond and GG, but his words, they implied… “Are you suggesting that my grandmother is a thief?”

“No. I mean, I hope not.”

Pushing past him, my feet stormed up the path.

Travis trod at my heels, “Rach, Rachael.”

“You are out of order.” Maybe bringing him along had been a bad idea.

Weaving through the pub, I scuffled across weathered floorboards and passed beneath low ceilings with exposed beams in a narrow corridor that connected the bar to the hotel portion of the building. Abruptly, I halted and Travis stumbled into me. Suitcases piled at the bottom of a staircase blocked our way.

“Rachael, Travis,” GG said as she buttoned a coat. “Good, you’re here.”

“What’s all this?” I asked.

“Why is our luggage in a heap?” Travis asked.

Edmond appeared through a side door with four sets of room keys in his hand.

GG glanced from him to Travis and me. Her voice lowered, “Unexpected company left our rooms in disarray while we were out. I’ve made arrangements. We are accelerating our schedule and moving to our next stop.”

NOTE TO SELF

Day two in London: Spooked by Ahmed, paranoid I’m being followed, dead end on the whole Crimean-War-oyster-connection, my feet hurt, my head is pounding, Travis hasn’t gotten on the clue bus about us, and now GG is maneuvering accommodations like we’re bandits on the run. Dying for a Pall Mall.

G
argoyles
a
nd
G
arters

S
ilently we slipped out
into the night. The car, a Mercedes diesel station wagon, waited. The passenger doors hung open as Travis and Edmond piled our bags in the back. “We were followed today,” I blurted.

Edmond glared toward GG. “I don’t like it.”

From inside her overcoat pocket GG pulled out a pack of Kreteks.

Patting my jacket pocket I would’ve liked to have joined her, but resisted.

“By whom?”

I hesitated. Our hired driver—mid-thirties, shaved head, baseball cap in hand, stood holding a door for GG. From the scar under his right eye, I figured he had a tale to tell. He stood in earshot. Channeling subtlety, I torqued my head in his direction.

GG lit her cigarette. “Callahan. He works for me.” Even in the dark, I noticed her glare. “He was supposed to pick you up at the Tower.”

The driver reached a hand toward me. “Pleasure.” Then he turned to Travis and nodded.

“Who picked you up?” GG asked.

“Ahmed Sadid.”

“The name isn’t familiar,” GG said.

“I met him at the museum on campus last year.”

Processing my words, she inhaled.

“Why did you get in the car with him?” Edmond asked.

“I thought it was the hired car. There was a sign in the window that said
O’Brien
. I didn’t realize who it was until we arrived at the museum.”

GG’s eyes widened. “I’d assumed that since you and Callahan didn’t connect that you’d taken public transportation.”

After checking at his wristwatch, Edmond dug his hands into his coat pockets to ward off the night chill.

“We should get moving,” GG said.

Edmond sat in the front next to Callahan and I squeezed in the back between GG and Travis. “Where are we going?”

“A hotel near Windsor.”

The cobblestones rumbled beneath the tires as Callahan navigated the narrow lane behind the pub.

“Who exactly is Ahmed Sadid?” Edmond asked.

“He says he works for the Turkish Department of Antiquities.”

Travis leaned forward. “He wants Rachael’s oyster. He’s offered to buy it a couple of times.”

Edmond spun his head around. “Start from the beginning.”

“I met him on campus at a Middle Eastern art exhibit last year. That night, he fixated on the brooch and gave me a spiel about some scrolls of Mani and the Religion of Light.”

GG released a humph. “It has a trombone clasp. It’s no older than the Victorian age.”

“That’s what I told him.”

My grandmother patted my knee. “Bright girl you are.”

Lifting his pointer finger, Edmond casually remarked. “Unless it’s been re-fashioned into a brooch.”

I unpinned the jeweled mollusk. “Do you want to have a look?”

“In good light, when we get the hotel.”

“We’ll know more about the piece after the appointment at Asprey,” GG said.

“You should cancel,” Edmond said.

GG’s smoke filled the car with heavy tobacco. I greedily inhaled while Travis cracked his open window open.

“Why would I do that?” GG asked.

She had a stubborn streak.

Edmond was firm. “Geneva, we need to be on the safe side. I don’t want trouble following us in London.”

“Nonsense,” she snapped.

As Callahan turned onto the M4, Travis launched a cautionary,
this is not good,
eye slant, first at GG and then at me. The cryptic conversation between my grandmother and Edmond unsettled my nerves. Speeding past shadowed tree lines, on the wrong side of the road, my stomach knotted. “What happened at The Red Lion?”

“We don’t know,” GG said.

“Someone was looking for something in our rooms,” Edmond said.

Travis nudged me. “Was anything stolen?”

I didn’t have anything valuable unless designer jeans and Izod shirts counted. The most expensive thing I owned I fastened on the shirt I wore.