The door closed, a bolt was thrown and the door re-opened. Giles was dressed in a pair of battered chinos topped off by the granddaddy of oversized cardigans. The sort that has no buttons and relies on a cloth belt to keep it closed. He stepped back and gestured for me to come in. I took a quick look up and down the street but it was clear. I wasn’t expecting anyone but then again I had thought Rachel’s a safe bet.
‘Expecting company?’ said Giles.
I shook my head. ‘Not unless you are?’
He closed the door, led me through a short hall and into the room on the right.
It was like stepping back in time. The furniture was Victoriana, as were the carpet and fittings. Two walls were floor to ceiling with books and the third wall had a stunning landscape of a ship in the midst of a hell of a storm.
‘Take a seat. Tea?’ he asked.
‘Thanks,’ I replied.
With that he left me and I wondered why there was no butler. I didn’t sit down, choosing to browse the book-shelves instead.
I was no great reader but then again this was not Waterstone’s top ten land. Most of the books sounded like medical texts from an era long since gone.
‘The Establishment of the Causes and Effects of Excessive Bile and other Digestive Juices on the Well Being of the Elder Man’, ‘Vibratory and Motion Maladies’, ‘Searchlights on Health: Light on Dark Corners.’ and so on. Rivetting. I moved to the second wall and it was more of the same. As I waited on Giles to return I hunted for a non-medical book but, if it there was one, I didn’t find it before tea and biscuits appeared.
Giles placed a silver tray on the walnut coffee table that sat in front of two over stuffed armchairs. The tea was in a silver pot, the sugar in a silver bowl, the milk in a silver jug and the spoons were silver. The tea cups were delicate bone china. It could have all been cheap tack but, to my untrained eye, it all looked genuine antique.
Giles sat down and looked at me. I took the chair next to him but he made no attempt to pour the tea.
‘Good tea needs to infuse for a full five minutes. My apologies for my brusque language at the door. I was caught a little unawares.’
The change of attitude was a bit too Jekyll and Hyde for my liking.
‘So what can I do for you?’
‘No small chat?’
‘Do you want to?’
‘No.’
‘Then what can I do for you?’
‘Do you know a French man called Carl Dupree.’
‘Dupree. Wasn’t he the one responsible for your little residency in prison?’
‘That’s him.’
‘I can’t say I know much. When you so kindly replaced me I decided to put all that behind me. I’ve heard of the man. A player as I recall. Big time down here. Other than that not a lot. Why?’
‘I’m trying to find him?’
‘For a social call?’
‘You could say that.’
‘And what makes you think I can help?’
‘You were always well connected. Far better than me.’
‘It didn’t do me much good.’
‘I mean well connected across the board. I never mixed in some of the circles you did. I was hoping that some of your old connections might be able to put me in touch.’
Giles leaned forward and gave the tea a stir. Clearly the five minutes were not yet up.
‘Surely he can’t be that hard to find? I mean he is hardly a low profile type of person.’
‘No but my old network is long gone. I’ve probably exposed myself just getting your address. By the time I find him he will have found me. I thought you might be able to shorten the process.’
‘If I could help why would I want to? After all you rolled me over big time. I don’t owe you a thing.’
‘Bygones are bygones?’
He laughed and stirred the tea again.
‘Let’s risk it.’
With this he poured milk into my cup and filled it with tea. He did the same for himself. I picked up the cup and took a sip.
‘Well?’ he said.
‘Well what?’
‘The tea. Was it worth the little wait?’
‘Very nice.’ And it was.
‘I tell you what,’ he said. ‘I might be able to help but I want something in return.’
‘What?’
‘When I left, you took on my office. I never had the chance to clear it out.’
I remembered the office well. It wasn’t quite in the same league as this room but you could see that he was on his way to a full blown life that revolved around Queen Victoria and her subjects.
‘There was a globe of the world that sat next to the window. Do you remember it?’
I did. It was a huge beast.
‘Do you know where it is?’
It was my turn to laugh. Of all the bizarre things to ask, I actually knew where the damn thing was.
I had stared at it for months after moving in and hated it. It was one of those globes that showed the world as they thought it looked in the late sixteenth century — missing chunks of land, odd shaped versions of countries, extra islands at the foot of the world — you know the sort of thing. Only it wasn’t that old. Spencer used to say it was late Woolworths.
In time I had decided to clean out the office to put my own stamp on my space and the globe went. I was all for throwing it out but Martin decided he wanted it. I had no idea he even liked the thing so I said yes and he took it.
‘Martin Sketchmore took it.’
Giles couldn’t have known Martin that well but his face changed markedly when I mentioned his name.
‘You remember Martin?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well I can give you a number but he’s gone a bit A.W.O.L. at the moment. It’s the best I can do.’
‘Maybe later,’ he said and that seemed to close the conversation on the globe.
‘So will you help?’
Giles poured another tea and offered me the same but I refused.
‘There used to be a Sainsbury’s at the end of my road. Did you know that?’ he said.
‘No’ — a bit leftfield again.
‘A small one. It closed. You don’t hear of many supermarkets closing. It sat right at one end of the North End Rd market. It had a fruit and veg section but with the market outside the front door it never did well. It also had a hostel for Sainsbury employees above it. Young kids starting out were put up there until they got on their feet. All gone now. Funny how things move on isn’t it?’
I didn’t know what to say.
‘You think you’ve got a handle on the world,’ he continued. ‘And then it sneaks behind your back and shoves you flat on your face. I loved that little Sainsbury’s. I don’t know why but when I found out it had the hostel I always thought of it as a nursery. Lost souls in London being watched over. It had a nice ring to it.’
More tea was drunk and I waited for the trip down memory lane to resolve itself into a relevant story or vanish.
‘Mid eighties it would have been,’ he said. ‘Mid eighties and I was walking home. I’d dropped the car in town after I had drunk too much and taken the tube to Fulham Broadway. The place was alive with football supporters. Chelsea were playing Millwall in the cup — at least that’s the way I remember it.’
