Classic at Bay Page 3

  ‘Lair?’ I asked. ‘Isn’t that a strange name for the collection given that Jaguars don’t have lairs?’

  ‘Mine do,’ she retorted. ‘Aren’t they lucky? They all live together.’

  She wasn’t going to get away with that so easily. ‘Apart from the thirteenth,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I could not buy you the SS 100.’

  Her arm jerked in mine as she stopped still. ‘Dear Gabriel,’ she whispered. ‘So sad, so sad. But I shall get it, you know. I have to. It’s the thirteenth car.’

  TWO

  What was so special about the thirteenth car? Now that Adora had repeated Danny’s remark I realized its significance must be greater than I had guessed. Thirteen is deemed to be lucky or unlucky according to which faith, country or folklore you follow, but I decided to go with the positive approach – the thirteen of the baker’s dozen rather than of the witches’ coven. I hadn’t had much luck so far, but with this particular commission I might be able to take it a stage further if I was to understand more of the background to the story – and if I were given the opportunity.

  As we crossed the courtyard towards the collection, Adora walked amazingly quickly for someone in their eighties – I guessed she was eighty-four or eighty-five. I was in for my next surprise, however. I had been right in thinking that the modern building I had seen on my arrival did not house the Jaguar collection because we branched off from the courtyard and walked along an untarmacked track that had no apparent end for a while. It was no more than a wide footpath and took us first through a bluebell wood which, as with those I had seen on the way to Crockendene Farm, was about to burst into its mysterious best.

  Through the shrubbery I at last glimpsed what must be the Lair, but it was a disappointing sight. From the bleak-looking black exterior it looked an uninspiring building, offering no more to the imagination than a home for farm machinery. There must be another entrance, I realized, as cars could not drive along this track, although there was no sign yet of another road.

  Oddly, I could see no door in the black wall facing us. We had almost reached it when Danny Carter caught us up from behind, panting and reproachful at not being asked earlier to join the party. Adora made no comment, and indeed it seemed he was expected because when we were about twenty yards from the building she stopped, giggled and beckoned to him.

  ‘Time to do your stuff, Danny.’

  Whatever stuff this might be, it must be routine, as Danny was clutching a gadget in his hand. I presumed he was going to call someone, but I was wrong. This was a twenty-first-century version of abracadabra. Almost soundlessly the whole black wall slid upwards and Aladdin’s cave was revealed, separated from us only by huge glass panels ten or twelve feet wide. Aladdin would have been disappointed, however. There were no jewels in this cave nor genies in bottles. Nevertheless, I’d not swap this treasure house for all the robbers’ booty in the world!

  ‘The Lair,’Adora chuckled. ‘My little zoo. You might be right, Jack. These animals walk alone but for me they adore being together.’

  Before us gleamed twelve shiny, gorgeous, leaping Jaguars. I goggled. Even from our position outside the glass I could see a blue E-type sports car and two saloons, a Mark II and a magnificent XJ 6 – and, yes, not only an XK 120, the two-seater car that had so wowed the Earl’s Court Motor Show in 1948, but a red D-type racing car. Twelve Jaguars all at their stately, comfortable, glamorous best.

  ‘Aren’t they marvellous?’ Adora commented. ‘You can see why the thirteenth is so important to me.’

  I could. No one looking at this splendid display could fail to do so, even if the word ‘thirteenth’ was beginning to have a distinctly ominous ring about it, set in context. In the centre of the twelve cars spaced along the length of the building was a raised platform, occupying a whole glass pane width and swathed in silk hangings as though an Eastern potentate were expected with entourage. This, I realized, must be the space for the SS 100 currently residing in Sussex (and, if the owner kept to his decision, for ever) with the Earl of Storrington. The missing thirteenth car.

  It seemed to me as though the platform was making a statement on behalf of Adora and Gabriel Allyn. What it was I couldn’t even begin to guess, save that there was more to this story than the whim of an elderly lady and an obstinate owner.

  Without a word, Danny stomped ahead of us along the narrow path bordering the building to its far end, then stopped in disgust as he saw what awaited us around the corner.

  ‘He’s here,’ he growled.

  ‘Excellent.’ Adora quickened her step. Taking my hand, she almost dragged me past Danny to the paved area in front of the building, on which sat a dilapidated Land Rover. Beyond it was a single-track road leading to the side of the building and in the other direction to what was probably a rear entrance to the farm. Adora took one look not at the Land Rover but at the man lounging by the front door to the Lair. Dropping my hand, she rushed towards him.

  ‘It’s my darling Harry,’ she shouted back at me.

  ‘Harry Gale,’ Danny muttered gloomily. ‘He’s bad news.’

  ‘Darling Harry’ was a tall, burly man, about sixty, with a complacent grin, far too much carefully groomed hair and designer beard for a man of his age, and two eyes concentrating on Adora with what he probably fancied was his magnetic charm.

  Bad news? I wondered. Coming from Danny this might be a touch of pots calling kettles black, although I had to admit I didn’t take to Harry at first glance.

  ‘Soaked her dry,’ Danny continued, ‘and now he’s aiming for a comeback.’

  I remembered now. This was ex-husband number three, or was it four? Danny was marching up to them, exuding disapproval at every step. Adora was clasped in Harry’s loving arms so Danny was forced to tap her on the shoulder. ‘Which car today, madam?’

  Foolish of him to take on the enemy face-to-face, I thought. Adora didn’t seem to mind, however, and her muffled voice replied, ‘With four of us, I think the XJ saloon, don’t you, darling? The one dear Charlie gave me, Jack. He won’t mind.’

  ‘Hey, babe,’ quoth cheesy Harry. ‘Let’s not take a Jag. We’ll take the Land Rover. Just the two of us.’

  I could see why Harry figured that would suit him better. To get a Jaguar out, whichever it was, would take time, and he was after a quick getaway before she changed her mind.

  Adora simpered. Or was that just a show for my benefit? ‘Let’s do that, Harry, darling. We have a lot to talk about, haven’t we, sweetie pie? You can show Jack the cars, Danny.’

  She followed this with a distinctly sexual giggle as Harry preened himself, detached himself from Adora with a loving kiss, offered his arm to her and led her to the Land Rover. She looked over at me as he helped her up into the passenger seat. ‘Dear Jack, Danny will tell you all about the job you’re going to do for me.’

  I opened my mouth to protest at this switch of the situation, but I was too late. Danny got in first. ‘What job?’ he snarled.

  Perhaps I’d been wrong; perhaps these were simply dotty elderly people having fun. Then I saw Danny’s face and realized it wasn’t fun at all. Whatever was going on here, it was deadly serious despite the frothy appearance of the situation. Harry already had the engine running but I wasn’t going to let Adora get away with it that easily. I went firmly up to the Land Rover and opened the passenger door again.

  ‘Would you tell me about this as yet non-existent job, Adora?’

  ‘Just a few threatening letters,’ she said airily, pulling the door shut again. ‘Nothing much,’ she shouted through the window.

  I pulled the door open once more, to Harry’s annoyance. ‘I’m sure Harry won’t agree they’re nothing much if they’re threatening you.’

  Harry, thus trapped, glared at me. ‘Better talk to him, babe.’

  Adora stared straight ahead of herself then turned to me. ‘If I really must, Jack.’ She sighed. ‘What do you need to know?’

  ‘What are these letters threatening?’ I asked.

  ‘To burn down the Lair with the cars in it.’

  I gaped at her. ‘And you call that nothing much?’

  ‘It’s a joke,’ she said lightly. ‘No one would really do that, would they, Danny?’

  Danny looked at me defiantly. ‘Someone’s just trying to upset madam.’

  ‘That’s what I said. A joke,’ Adora said impatiently.

  I was getting impatient too. ‘If you thought they were a joke you wouldn’t be asking me to investigate.’

  A pause. ‘Perhaps the last one was just a little scary. It did threaten to kill me, but that is just silly. Who would want to do that?’

  ‘Kill you?’ I said, stupefied. ‘That doesn’t sound silly to me.’

  Adora waved an airy hand. ‘Of course it is. Danny, be a dear and answer Jack’s other questions. Show him the letters if he wants to see them. But I really must have a little talk with darling Harry.’

  Harry’s face lit up and he rushed round to slam the passenger door shut then back to the driver’s seat before I could tell her there was no job yet. I was being manipulated and apparently Danny was too. Adora was pulling all the strings. Much as I was intrigued by Adora, this was not a good situation and my antennae were quivering like crazy. Don’t take the job, whatever it is, half of me was instructing myself; the other half was already shooting up questions in my mind.

  Still stupefied and more than a little annoyed, I watched them go then turned to Danny. ‘OK. Let’s go over to your office and you can show me the letters.’

  ‘Thought you wanted to see the Jags.’

  ‘Work before pleasure.’

  He capitulated and back we went in silence to that spic-and-span office. ‘Has Miss Ferne taken the letters to the police?’ I asked when he indicated he was p
repared to talk.

  ‘No. Says someone’s just trying to annoy her.’

  ‘And if they’re not?’

  ‘Forget it. They’re not serious and if they were there’s a fat lot you could do about it. Her talk of another job is just to wind you up.’

  ‘If the death threat is serious, there’s a lot that can be done about it. Do you have these letters, especially that one?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She said you had.’

  ‘Madam told me to destroy them, so I did. Anyway, I told you they’re not serious.’

  ‘Then what is the reason for sending them?’ I was beginning to think the whole thing was a fantasy.

  Danny waved a hand in the rough direction of the Lair treasure trove. ‘Check out those cars. There’s the answer to your damn-fool question.’

  This was not going well and there had to be a reason for that too. ‘Look,’ I said patiently, ‘you love those cars and if there’s a genuine threat to them and to kill Miss Ferne and if I take the job, I need guidelines. Now. How many letters has she had?’

  He shrugged. ‘Half a dozen or so over the last six months. I had one or two myself. Nothing to get worked up over. Nothing’s happened yet.’

  ‘But it might. Was your life threatened too?’

  ‘No. I only had the ones saying the Lair would get torched.’

  ‘Do you have one of those?’

  ‘No. I torched the lot.’ He appeared to find this funny but I was far from being amused. There was something odd about this. I had another shot at it.

  ‘If you’re both convinced they mean nothing, why should Miss Ferne hire me?’

  ‘Just what I told her,’ he replied smugly as I played into his hands.

  I ignored this. ‘What was her answer?’

  ‘Madam doesn’t always answer.’

  That at least was believable. ‘OK. Then why would anyone want to send the letters?’

  A sideways look at me. ‘Madam’s had a long life. Upset people.’

  ‘You as well?’

  This time I had the advantage. I’d caught him and received a growl in reply. ‘Plenty of folk know what the Lair means to me.’

  Right. There was at least a crack in the deadlock. ‘What does Miss Ferne imagine I can do?’

  ‘She says you work for the police.’

  ‘I do carry out freelance work for the Kent Police Car Crime Unit, but not this kind. These letters – do they come by post or email or hand?’

  ‘Post.’

  ‘The nice old-fashioned way,’ I commented. Danny Carter was getting on my wick but he wasn’t going to get the satisfaction of my letting him see that. ‘Are you sure you don’t have even one letter sent to you or Miss Ferne?’ Once upon a time postmarks, fingerprints, handwriting, typewriting and words cut out of newspapers all provided clues. Nowadays the knowledgeable public could avoid all these traps, although it was true that computers open up different risks.

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Then tell me what they were like.’ I wasn’t going to give up yet. ‘What kind of paper? Typed or written? Or letters cut out of newspapers – you know the sort of thing.’

  ‘Typed.’

  ‘Computer or old manual typewriter?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘You must have some ideas on who sent them, especially as it must be someone who is not only known to Miss Ferne but interested in the Jaguars. Suppose you tell me about them.’

  ‘And you a so-called classic car expert,’ he sneered.

  I amended my somewhat ambiguous words. ‘How did they come to be in the Lair?’

  Anybody making this kind of threat by anonymous letter, real or not, firstly had to know that the Lair was here, secondly how much it meant to Adora and Danny, and thirdly have a personal reason for wanting to get back at Adora – and probably Danny too. With that in mind, I was fairly sure I didn’t want this job but I wasn’t going to give Danny the satisfaction of telling him that.

  ‘Madam will explain,’ Danny answered.

  ‘She asked you to tell me.’ I was getting bored as well as irritated by this man. Time to lock horns. ‘I want to know the donor or seller and when Miss Ferne acquired each car.’

  ‘Nothing much to it.’

  I’d had enough. ‘How long have you worked for Miss Ferne?’

  This caught Danny off guard for some reason, although the question seemed straightforward enough to me. ‘Over twenty years.’

  ‘You look after the Lair and the cars; you take Miss Ferne for drives each day in one or other of them. You know these cars. Show them to me.’

  He must have taken in the expression on my face and the fact that I was a foot taller than him and a lot younger. Another shrug and we set off back to those twelve lovely beasts awaiting us. He unlocked the door to Aladdin’s cave and in we went. Once again, he hadn’t spoken one word on the way.

  Purpose-built premises for a collection should consist not only of their architecture but of the marriage between that and the contents. Never could a marriage be happier than the one that lay before me. The Lair had a high, rounded roof – something that I hadn’t appreciated from the outside – painted light cream. This, with the glass panels on one side, and another cream-coloured wall with windows and the double doors facing it, was a perfect setting for the two lines of cars, which so far I had only admired from the outside.

  Jaguar UK has its own heritage museum but for me this hall was almost as good. My initial impression was that Jaguar’s whole history was encapsulated in this collection from the thirties to the eighties, with the latter heralding the glories still to come. Then I realized that of course I was wrong. What was missing was the SS 100, which in the thirties had signalled the way to all the magnificent beasts before me. The car belonging to Gabriel Allyn, now the Earl of Storrington.

  I forgot about Danny as I marvelled at what was here. Both to my left and right cars were parked with their bonnets facing the outside world as though these splendid animals were all about to roar off on a path to glory. Twelve classic Jaguars and the space for the Galahad to arrive, the thirteenth car. Opposite the platform left vacant for it were the double doors for entry. On either side as I walked down the central aisle was – well, a hall of fame. I could think of no other name for it. It wasn’t just the cars that seized my attention, from the XKs to the E-types and then the XJs. Displayed on the walls by each car were twelve enormous photographs in elegant oval golden frames; they were presumably of the men who had donated the cars, as also in each photo was Adora Ferne herself, arms entwined with her beloved, a hand on a shoulder or hand in hand. Were these merely loving mementoes of past loves or could it be a veiled threat that she still had a stake in these men’s lives?

  Erected on the platform on my left was a cream-painted board with another oval golden frame, but this one was empty. No prizes for guessing whose photo should be there, I thought. It was waiting for the donor of the thirteenth car, Gabriel Allyn. For the twelve cars in this collection more than photographs were on display. As I walked along the rows I saw a few mementoes arranged in the space allotted to each car. Photographs, a picnic basket, a theatre programme, a beach umbrella, a guitar – things that meant nothing to the casual observer but I guessed they were Adora’s memorabilia of each former owner; memorabilia that might be dynamite now for the person with whom she had shared these loving moments.

  At the far end of the hall was a raised recess, concave in shape. On this platform was a grand piano, a piano stool, a small table and, as far as I could see from where I was standing, a cupboard and – of course – a microphone. It didn’t take a lot of imagination to realize what this was meant to represent. Here Adora Ferne still sang, at least in memory.

  Danny was watching me suspiciously. Nevertheless, I needed to set a dialogue in motion. ‘What’s this for?’ I asked, indicating the alcove.

  ‘Obvious, isn’t it? Know about the Three Parrots, don’t you?’

  ‘Only by reputation when Miss Ferne sang there. That’s fifty years ago, though.’