lightning. ‘Say it isn’t true,’ she demanded. ‘Say you never did that to Clip.’
The auditorium erupted; men and women picked up their chairs and used them as weapons in the manner of the saloon-bar brawl familiar from old cowboy films. I watched, temporarily immobilised by astonishment. The priest slipped out through the upstage curtains; and a shepherd, whom I took to be the Pinkerton, helped Eeyore and the donkey out by the same route. The mayhem spread through the crowd like fire in a fireworks factory. I grabbed Calamity by the hand and we ran for the exit as the fighting crowd surged towards the stage. The thin black line of bouncers fought heroically until, on the point of being overwhelmed, they bowed graciously to the inevitable and joined in. We slammed the fire door behind us and wedged it shut with a wooden chair. The last image I saw within was that of Tadpole raising the mop handle high over the head of the cowering games teacher and demanding to be satisfied. ‘Say it isn’t true!’ she cried. ‘Say you never did that to Clip.’ Herod looked up at her in terror and then appealed to the howling brawling mob for understanding. ‘But we all did it,’ he wailed. ‘We had to! Don’t you see? We had to . . .’ And then came the time-honoured plea for exculpation, the last refuge of all moral pygmies: ‘I was only following orders.’
Chapter 24
THE SNOW WAS falling thickly now, and softly; slowly transfiguring the sea front. It gathered silently on ledges; formed a little conical hat on the fibreglass boy soliciting for charity; and melted wetly on the black muzzle of Abishag. Her eyes shone, her flanks trembled with fear. No one had told her it would be like this. There was no riot at the stable the first time round in Bethlehem. Eeyore ran a comforting hand down her neck. Joe Winckelmann, wearing a dressing gown and a fedora hat, held the halter. Two police vans pulled up and officers piled out with truncheons gleaming and raised like kendo swords.
Calamity and I stood and watched the cops pile in. The snow formed leopard spots on the dark fabric of her parka.
‘So what did you need to see me about?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I was going to ask you to help me find a new assistant.’
Calamity’s face dropped. ‘An assistant?’
‘Yes, I thought you could ask around. You know, see if any of your friends want the job.’
‘Oh,’ said Calamity. ‘Sure.’ The stricken look on her face pierced my heart. ‘I’d be glad to help. Yes, of course. Sure.’
‘I’m going to need an extra pair of hands in the new year.
‘Yes.’
‘Especially with all the new responsibilities.’
‘Yes, you will—What new responsibilities?’
‘Oh, you know, being an associate partner of the Pinkertons and stuff. There’s bound to be more work, at least that’s what Joe Winckelmann says.’
Calamity looked at me in astonishment. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Joe Winckelmann, the guy from the Pinkertons. I would have asked you to help out, but it wouldn’t be fair. I know you’re probably snowed under—’
‘Louie?’
‘What?’
‘Louie!’
‘What?’
‘Is this a joke?’
‘Of course not.’
‘He’s here? In Aberystwyth?’
‘Yes. Don’t pretend you didn’t know.’
‘It’s a joke, isn’t it?’
‘He’s over there, holding Abishag.’ I pointed and Joe Winckelmann waved.
Calamity stared, eyes wide with wonder and disbelief; she looked at him and looked at me.
‘I guess you were probably trying to keep it a surprise but—’ The rest of my words were lost as she lunged into me and threw her arms round me.
‘Oh, Louie.’ She squeezed the air out of me. ‘You pig. You absolutely horrible wonderful pig.’
I put my arms round her and let her squeeze and we rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet, oblivious of the world; it could wait. When she finally let go I took her over to meet Joe Winckelmann. He reached out and shook her hand.
Calamity opened her mouth to speak, but only a puff of air and a tiny hiss came out. She tried again twice more, but each time could manage only a laryngitic squeak.
‘She’s very pleased to meet you,’ I said.
‘We’re going back to the stable for a Christmas drink,’ said Eeyore. ‘Are you coming?’
‘Maybe later. There’s something I need to do first.’ I turned to leave, but Calamity touched my arm and walked over to the sea railings with me.
‘I’ve got something for you. Llunos gave it to me, I forgot about it.’ She reached into her coat pocket and took out a manila envelope. ‘It’s the trace on the phone call, remember? For the Queen of Denmark.’
Our eyes met in an unspoken understanding.
‘You haven’t opened it.’
No, I thought I’d let you do that.’
‘Sure, I can do that.’ I held the envelope gingerly, as if it was radioactive.
‘You know,’ said Calamity, ‘I quite liked having the Queen of Denmark around.’
‘Me too. She was a fine lady.’
‘It sort of brightened the day up a bit.’
‘It certainly did.’
‘It was like she was our friend.’
‘That’s exactly what I thought.’
‘And, you know, if she’s our friend it feels a bit wrong to trace the call; it’s like prying.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean.’
‘It’s silly, anyway, because it had to be her, really, didn’t it?’
‘Of course. As you said, no one would make such a thing up. And who else would have that kind of money?’
We both stared at the unopened envelope. I remembered the sign I had been considering for the office: Pandora Inc. And I recalled the look of baffled wonder on the face of a little boy in pyjamas, imprisoned in the reflex of a Christmas bauble. A child with the wisdom to accept the gifts that life offers and not enquire too closely; wisdom that the people in my client’s chair have lost.
‘You’re right: we shouldn’t pry.’ I said. ‘What’s the point? We know it was her, right?’
‘Absolutely.’
I put the envelope in my pocket. ‘No need to open it, then.’
The town hall clock struck eight. Calamity looked over in the vague direction of the sound. ‘Myfanwy will have reached Bow Street by now,’ she said.
‘I know.’
I walked back to the office and stopped to speak to a man by the bandstand. The man wore a distinctive black leather coat. It was Caleb. He turned to face me and gave a slight nod.
‘That’s a nice coat,’ I said.
‘Yes. I got it in the war. It’s German. Real leather.’ He rubbed the lapel appreciatively between finger and thumb.
I said, ‘I think I understand it all now: about a man, a woman and a stolen coat. I understand how long ago a group of men played cards and conceived a terrible crime; one so shocking it made the priest go mad. I understand
