Straight. Part 2

I handed to her the one I held, and she unfolded it carefully on the palm of her hand. Inside, cus.h.i.+oned by white tissue, lay two large red translucent stones, cut and polished, oblong in shape, almost pulsing with intense colour under the lights.

'Are they rubies?' I asked, impressed.

Annette Adams smiled indulgently. 'No, they're spinel. Very fine specimens. We rarely deal in rubies.'

'Are there any diamonds in here?' one of the policemen asked.

'NO we don't deal in diamonds. Almost never.'

I asked her to look into some of the other boxes, which she did, first carefully folding the two red stones into their packet and restoring them to their right place.

We watched her stretch and bend, tipping up random lids on several shelves to take out a white packet here and there for inspection, but there were clearly no dismaying surprises, and at the end she shook her head and said that nothing at aLL was missing, as far as she could see.

'The real value of these stones is in quant.i.ty,' she said. 'Each individual stone isn't worth a fortune. We sell stones in tens and hundreds . . .' Her voice trailed off into a sort of forlornness. 'I don't know what to do,'

she said, 'about the orders.'

The policemen weren't affected by the problem. If nothing was missing, they had other burglaries to look into, and they would put in a report, but goodbye for now, or words to that effect.

When they'd gone, Annette Adams and I stood in the pa.s.sage and looked at each other.

'What do I do?' she said. 'Are we still in business?'

I didn't like to tell her that I hadn't the foggiest notion. I said, 'Did Greville have an office?'

'That's where most of the mess is,' she said, turning away and retracing her steps to a large corner room near the entrance lobby. 'In here.'

I followed her and saw what she meant about mess.

The contents of every wide-open drawer seemed to be out on the floor, most of it paper. Pictures had been removed from the walls and dropped. One filing cabinet lay on its side like a fallen soldier. The desk top was a shambles.

'The police said the burglar was looking behind the pictures for a safe. But there isn't one . . . just the vault.'

She sighed unhappily. 'It's all so pointless.'

I looked around. 'How many people work here altogether?' I said.

'Six of us. And Mr Franklin, of course.' She swallowed. 'Oh dear.' .; 'Mm,' I agreed. 'Is there anywhere I can meet everyone?'

She nodded mutely and led the way into another large office where three of the others were already gathered, wide-eyed and rudderless. Another two came when called; four women and two men, all worried and uncertain and looking to me for decisions.

Greville, I perceived, hadn't chosen potential leaders to work around him. Annette Adams herself was no aggressive waiting-in-the-wings manager but a true second-in-command, skilled at carrying out orders, incapable of initiating them. Not so good, all things considered.

I introduced myself and described what had happened to Greville.

They had liked him, I was glad to see. There were tears on his behalf I said that I needed their help because there were people I ought to notify about his death, like his solicitor and his accountant, for instance, and his closest friends, and I didn't know who they were.

I would like, I said, to make a list, and sat beside one of the desks, armIng myself with paper and pen.

Annette said she would fetch Greville's address book from his office but after a while reTuRNed in frustration: in all the mess she couldn't find it.

'There must be other records,' I said. 'What about that computer?' I pointed across the room. 'Do you have addresses on that?'

The girl who had brought the tea brightened a good deal and informed me that this was the stock control room, and the computer in question was programmed to record 'stock in, stock out', statements, invoices and accounts But, she said encouragingly, in her other domain across the corridor there was another computer which she used for letters She was out of the door by the end of the sentence and Annette remarked that June was a whirlwind always June, blonde, long-legged, flat-chEsted, came back with a fast print-out of Greville's ten most frequent correspondents (ignoring customers) which included not only the lawyers and the accountants but also the bank, a stockbroker and an insurance company.

'Terrific,' I said. 'And could one of you get through to the big credit card companies, and see if Greville was a customer of theirs and say his cards have been stolen, and he's dead.' Annette agreed mouRNfully that she would do it at once.

I then asked if any of them knew the make and number of Greville's car. They all did. It seemed they saw it every day in the yard. He came to work in a tenyear- old Rover 3500 without radio or ca.s.sette player because the Porsche he'd owned before had been broken into twice and finally stolen altogether.

'The old car's still bursting with gadgets, though,' the younger of the two men said, 'but he keeps them all locked in the boot.'

Greville had always been a sucker for gadgets, full of enthusiasm for the latest fidgety way of performing an ordinary task. He'd told me more about those toys of his, when we'd met, than ever about his own human relations.h.i.+ps 'Why did you ask about his car?' the young man said.

He had rows of badges attached to a black leather jacket and orange spiky hair set with gel. A need to prove he existed, I supposed.

'It may be outside his front door,' I said. 'Or it may be parked somewhere in Ipswich.'

'Yeah,' he said thoughtfully. 'See what you mean.'

The telephone rang on the desk beside me, and Annette after a moment's hesitation came and picked up the receiver. She listened with a worried expression and then, covering the mouthpiece, asked me, 'What shall I do? It's a customer who wants to give an order.'

'Have you got what he wants?' I asked.

'Yes, we're sure to have.'

'Then say it's OK.'

'But do I tell him about Mr Franklin?'

'No,' I said instinctively, 'just take the oRder.'

She seemed glad of the direction and wrote down the list, and when She'd disconnected I suggested to them all that for that day at least they should take and send out orders in the normal way, and just say if asked that Mr Franklin was out of the offIce and couldn't be reached. We wouldn't start telling people he was dead until after I'd talked to his lawyers, accountants, bank and the rest, and found out our legal position. They were relieved and agreed without demur, and the older man asked if I would soon get the broken window fixed, as it was in the packing and despatch room, where he worked.

With a feeling of being sucked feet first into quicksand I said I would try. I felt I didn't belong in that place or in those people's lives, and all I knew about the jewellery business was where to find two red stones in a box marked MgA12O4, Burma.

At the fourth try among the Yellow Pages I got a promise of instant action on the window and after that, with office procedure beginning to tick over again all around me, I put a call through to the lawyers.

They were grave, they were sympathetic, they were at my service. I asked if by any chance Greville had made a will, as specifically I wanted to know if he had left any instructions about cremation or burial, and if he hadn't, did they know of anyone I should consult, or should I make whatever arrangements I thought best.

There was a certain amount of clearing of throats and a promise to look up files and call back, and they kept their word almost immediately, to my surprise.

My brother had indeed left a will: they had drawn it up for him themselves three years earlier. They couldn't swear it was his last will, but it was the only one they had. They had consulted it. Greville, they said, pedantically, had expressed no preference as to the disposal of his remains 'Shall I just . . . go ahead, then?'

'Certainly,' they said. 'You are in fact named as your brother's sole executor. It is your duty to make the decisions.'

h.e.l.l, I thought, and I asked for a list of the beneficiaries so that I could notify them of the death and invite them to the funeral.

After a pause they said they didn't normally give out that information on the telephone. Could I not come to their office? It was just across the City, at Temple.

'I've broken an ankle,' I said, apologetically. 'It takes me all my time to cross the room.'

Dear, dear, they said. They consulted among themselves in guarded whispers and finally said they supposed there was no harm in my knowing. Greville's will was extremely simple; he had left everything he possessed to Derek Saxony Franklin, his brother. To my good self, in fact.

'What?' I said stupidly. 'He can't have.'

He had written his will in a hurry, they said, because he had been flying off to a dangerous country to buy stones. He had been persuaded by the lawyers not to go intestate, and he had given in to them, and as far as they knew, that was the only will he had ever made.

'He can't have meant it to be his last,' I said blankly.

Perhaps not, they agreed: few men in good health expected to die at fifty-three. They then discussed probate procedures discreetly and asked for my instructions, and I felt the quicksands rising above my knees.

'Is it legal,' I asked, 'for this business to go on running, for the time being?'

They saw no impediment in law. Subject to probate, and in the absence of any later will, the business would be mine. If I wanted to sell it in due course, it would be in my own interest to keep it running. As my brother's executor it wouLD also be my duty to do my best for the estate. An interesting situation, they said with humour.

Not wholeheartedly appreciating the subtlety, I asked how long probate would take.

Always difficult to forecast, was the answer. Anything between six months or two years, depending on the complexity of Greville's affairs.

'Two years!'

More probably six months, they murmured soothingly.

The speed would depend on the accountants and the Inland Revenue, who could seldom be hurried. It was in the lap of the G.o.ds.

I mentioned that there might be work to do over claiming damages for the accident. Happy to see to it, they said, and promised to contact the Ipswich police.

Meanwhile, good luck.

I put the receiver down in sinking dismay. This business, like any other, might run on its own impetus for two weeks, maybe even for four, but after that . . . After that I would be back on horses, trying to get fit again to race.

I would have to get a manager, I thought vaguely, and had no idea where to start looking. Annette Adams with furrows of anxiety across her forehead asked if it would be all right to begin clearing up Mr Franklin's office, and I said yes, and thought that her lack of drive could sink the s.h.i.+p.

Please would someone, I asked the world in general, mind going down to the yard and telling the man in my car that I wouldn't be leaving for two or three hours; and June with her bright face whisked out of the door again and soon returned to relate that my man would lock the car, go on foot for lunch, and be back in good time to wait for me.

'Did he say all that?' I asked curiously.

June laughed. 'Actually he said, "Right. Bite to eat,"

and off he stomped.'

She asked if I would like her to bring me a sandwich when she went out for her own lunch and, surprised and grateful, I accepted.

'Your foot hurts, doesn't it?' she said judiciously.

'Mm.'

'You should put it up on a chair.'

She fetched one without ado and placed it in front of me, watching with a motherly air of approVal as I lifted my leg into place. She must have been all of twenty, I thought.

A telephone rang beside the computer on the far side of the room and she went to answer it.

'Yes, sir, we have everything in stock. Yes, sir, what size and how many? A hundred twelve-by-ten millimetre ovals . . . yes . . . yes . . . yes.'

She tapped the lengthy order rapidly straight on to the computer, not writing in longhand as Annette had done.

'Yes sir, they will go off today. Usual terms, sir, of course.' She put the phone down, printed a copy of the order and laid it in a shallow wire tray. A fax machine simultaneously clicked on and whined away and switched off with little shrieks, and she tore off the emergent sheet and tapped its information also into the computer, making a print-out and putting it into the tray.

'Do you fill all the orders the day they come in?' I asked.

'Oh, sure, if we can. Within twenty-four hours without fail. Mr Franklin says speed is the essence of good business I've known him stay here all evening by himself packing parcels when we're swamped.'

She remembered with a rush that he would never come back. It did take a bit of getting used to. Tears welled in her uncontrollably as they had earlier, and she stared at me through them, which made her blue eyes look huge.

'You couldn't help liking him,' she said. 'Working with him, I mean.'

I felt almost jealous that she'd known Greville better than I had; yet I could have known him better if I'd tried. Regret stabbed in again, a needle of grief.

Annette came to announce that Mr Franklin's room was at least partially clear so I transferred myself into there to make more phone calls in comparative privacy.

I sat in Greville's black leather swivelling chunk of luxury and put my foot on the typist's chair June carried in after me, and I surveyed the opulent carpet, deep armchairs and framed maps as in the lobby, and smoothed a hand over the grainy black expanse of the oversized desk, and felt like a jockey, not a tyc.o.o.n.

Annette had picked up from the floor and a.s.sembled at one end of the desk some of the army of gadgets, most of them matt black and small, as if miniaturization were part of the attraction. Easily identifiable at a glance were battery-operated things like pencil sharpener, hand-held copier, printing calculator, dictionarythesaurus, but most needed investigation. I stretched out a hand to the nearest and found that it was a casing with a dial face, plus a head like a microphone on a lead.

'What's this?' I asked Annette who was picking up a stack of paper from the far reaches of the floor. 'Some sort of meter?'

She flashed a look at it. 'A Geiger counter,' she said matter-of-factly, as if everyone kept a Geiger counter routinely among their pens and pencils.

I flipped the switch from off to on, but apart from a couple of ticks, nothing happened.

Annette paused, sitting back on her heels as she knelt among the remaining clutter.

'A lot of stones change colour for the better under gamma radiation,' she said. 'They're not radioactive afterwards, but Mr Franklin was once accidentally sent a batch of topaz from Brazil that had been irradiated in a nuclear reactor and the stones were bordering on dangerous. A hundred of them. There was a terrible lot of trouble because, apart from being unsaleable, they had come in without a radioactivity import licence, or something like that, but it wasn't Mr Franklin's fault, of course. But he got the Geiger counter then.' She paused. 'He had an amazing flair for stones, you know.

He just felt there was something wrong with that topaz.

Such a beautiful deep blue they'd made it, when it must have been almost colourless to begin with. So he sent a few of them to a lab for testing.' She paused again. 'He'd just been reading about some old diamonds that had been exposed to radium and turned green, and were as radioactive as anything . . .'

Her face crumpled and she blinked her eyes rapidly, turning away from me and looking down to the floor so that I shouldn't see her distress. She made a great fuss among the papers and finally, with a sniff or two, said indistinctly, 'Here's his desk diary,' and then, more slowly, 'That's odd.'

'What's odd?'

'October's missing.'

She stood up and brought me the desk diary, which proved to be a largish appointments calendar showing a week at a glance. The month on current display was November, with a few of the daily s.p.a.ces filled in but most of them empty. I flipped back the page and came next to September.

'I expect October's still on the floor, torn off,' I said.