Chapter 4

Sir Alan Mason was always in his office by 7 on Monday mornings, therefore his PA Alicia Kennedy was there some fifteen minutes before him, so he was not surprised to see her there. However, Alex Cowfold was not the usual early visitor waiting for his arrival, unless there was a serious breach in security somewhere in the corporation.

“Good morning Sir Alan,” Alicia greeted him, instead of the usual ‘Alan’. She was also a little non-plussed by Cowfold’s hulking presence in the office.

“Morning Alicia, just my 9 o’clock with the CFO this morning?” he asked, and on her nod, which he thought looked less positive than usual, he continued, “Well, Alex, nice to see you so early in the morning, no panic on, is there?”

“No, Boss,” he said, “all clear in the company, just wanted a quiet word before you open your Monday morning security report so I could explain in easier terms than what’s written on the page. Should only take five or ten minutes.”

“Well, come on through, does Alicia know what you want to drink?” he asked as they entered his office.

“Yeah,” he grinned, “we were just waiting for you to arrive.”

“Take a seat over there,” Sir Alan waved to an alcove with a group of comfy armchairs grouped around a coffee table. He dropped his briefcase on his desk, opened and extracted his tablet and brought it over to the alcove, booting it up as he walked. By the time he sat down he had located the security report file in his Dropbox and clicked it open.

Alicia brought in a tray with two coffee mugs and a plate of assorted biscuits, before moving back to her office.

“Help yourself to biscuits, Alex, I already had breakfast.”

“Thanks, Boss,” as Cowfold picked up the plate.

“Mmm, no photos?” Sir Alan asked, flicking through the files in the folder.

“No, this guy that Lyndsey is seeing—”

“The double-date guy?”

“Yeah, Boss. We don’t know who he is exactly, and he took the photos off of our guys.”

“How did he manage that?”

“The two guys who went down on Saturday and Sunday followed Lyndsey and the guy Lyndsey—”

“Lyndsey, the guy’s name is Lyndsey?”

“Yeah, and his first name is Mason,” Cowfold continued, “he’s genuine, we picked up his birth certificate on Friday. He’s ten years older than Miss Lyndsey.”

“Well, I was twenty years older than Lyndsey’s mother. I met her when the playboy life I had led had lost its flavour, or it certainly did the moment I met her. So who is this guy?”

“His full name is Mason Wayne Lyndsey, his mother Sofia Lyndsey and sort of stepfather Alan Burns live nearby. He has a half-sister, Caroline Maria Lyndsey, who is a couple of years older than Miss Lyndsey. She was the one who set up the blind date that I got wind off and ... it turns out she’s a lover of Gareth’s lover, his fellow teammate Josh.”

“That’s complicated.”

“Even more so, as Josh and Caroline both spent the weekend in Gareth’s bed.”

“Another reason why I can’t stand that creep. He has the morals of a polecat!”

“I don’t know why you don’t expose him to Miss Lyndsey, Boss.”

“Just biding my time, I suppose, better the devil we know. I just got the impression that even though he asked me my permission to ask her to marry him, I told him no because I am as sure that Lyndsey is as lukewarm about Gareth as a husband as I am. So, to save me reading all this report now, tell me what you know.”

“The guy is ex-Army, a sergeant with 3 Para for 18 years, only the last eight is closed to me at the moment, got a guy working at it.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, the Paras are specifically trained to operate behind enemy lines, and the best of them end up doing special ops before they return to their units, but eight years out in the field is one long tour, and to finish his career with a series of missions and still be walking, I would think he was some operator.”

“So how did he do a number on your guys?”

“He was taking photos of the game and making notes, he was well know to supporters of both sides, a VP of the league and he supplies reports for the local paper in Miss Lyndsey’s town. My guys were pretending to take photos of the game as well as snaps of him and his friends. Then Miss Lyndsey and the guy both disappeared into the clubhouse after the game. My guys got together and were preparing to give me a positive report on the guy, when out of nowhere their heads were banged together and they were out of it for a few seconds. By the time they got to their senses, their cameras had the memory cards removed. Nothing damaged, just the cards taken, along with a spare they each had in their bags. They didn’t hear or see him coming or going. They managed to follow them in their bus back to the café on the edge of their town but then he managed to lose them on the ring road, as I told you over the phone yesterday.”

“So what does he do for a living now that he’s out of the Army?”

“He’s a postman.”

“A Royal Mail postman?”

“Yeah, he delivers letters on a couple of rounds around the town where Miss Lyndsey works. He also paints houses and seems to be making more money from that than his day job.”

“Lots of postmen and firemen on shift work do another job, like house decorating, shows he’s enterprising.”

Cowfold grinned, “No, Boss, he paints paintings of houses and only charges fifty quid a time.”

“What, how does he manage to make a living from that?”

“Well, he scouts out houses and offices on his postal rounds and drops in a card directing him to his website. When he gets a bite he goes around and photos the house and then he paints it in miniature, so they can be used for postcards.”

“So he’s an artist?”

“Yeah Boss, an’ he’s good, not that I know much about art. I’ve written down his website on this card for you. Charges £50 for watercolours, £150 for oil on canvas and pro rata depending on size. He works in a summer house in his garden, there’s a photo of it on his website. I think he keeps the postman job going because he likes the exercise, the company he meets on the round, and the camaraderie with his colleagues.”

“Well, press on with the investigation, Alex. Keep your guys’ distance from this dangerous guy and get back to me when you find out what he has been doing for those eight years. Oh, I know that they went to the seaside Saturday night, stayed in a small bed and breakfast hotel somewhere. He must’ve booked it online as they turned up well after midnight.”

“Yeah, I’ll hack his accounts and see if it’s a one-off or regular. What about Gareth?”

“Ignore him, we know all we need to about him, but this Lyndsey fellow intrigues and worries me.”

“I’ll get back to you then, Boss.”

Lunchtime on Monday, after Lyndsey had completed her rounds and Mason had not only completed his morning mail route but had gone home to shower and change, had agreed to meet at a small sandwich bar near the Hospital, with the idea to find out more about themselves, ready for questioning by family when they came to announce their supposed relationship.

It was grey and overcast, an improvement on Sunday’s rain, but at least the wind had died down and it felt half a dozen degrees warmer, so Lyndsey just pulled a thin cardigan over her greens and strode purposefully down to the restaurant. As soon as she opened the door Mason, who had been looking out for her, stood up so she could see him.

“Hi Mace,” as they hugged and exchanged a simple kiss before sitting down, a smug smile on her face.

“OK, Lynds,” Mason grinned back at her, “I admit, your idea of us getting into the habit of hugging when we meet and separate, isn’t so bad. For a start my credibility rating among both single and married men in this restaurant has suddenly shot up, if not completely off the scale, thanks to you.”

“Oh, and I saw a few girls’ heads turn when you stood up, Mace, and you have certainly smartened up after your morning round.”

“I finished early, so thought I’d make myself more presentable,” he grinned, “sometimes, after eight or nine hours solid hard slog up and down the Barton town hills, even I can’t eat a lunch with me too close!”

“Same here, with surgeons, anaesthetist, nurses and auxiliaries crowded in a tiny theatre. It’s the total concentration, I think, it just relaxes and opens up your pores until we all stink to high heaven.”

“Well, you smell like a sweet wild flower meadow, now.”

“Amazing what a shower and a set of fresh scrubs can do for a girl who wants to make a good impression,” she laughed. “Now, all that concentrated rooting about babies’ insides makes a girl hungry, where’s the menu?”

While they ate, she tried to explain about her father’s attitudes.

“My Mum married too young, she was only 20 and not particularly wild, while my Dad was 40 and had played a playboy life for fifteen to twenty years. But then he had to settle down and take over from my granddad the reins of the family business. Well it was just a family business then, but it is wholly international now. Mummy had me straight away, so my father is now 69 but with no thoughts of retiring. My mother had too much energy to stay at home and babysit. She didn’t need to work but she wanted to do things, so she virtually took over his charity foundation which Daddy inherited but had put little effort into for years. With her energy input it really took off, putting her into the limelight and eventually taking up a lot of her time. Daddy got jealous of the fact that he was getting less of her time when he was home and suspected that she had a lover. He divorced her, although officially citing irreconcilable differences. Mummy was hurt and devastated. Under the pre-nup arrangements she got nothing and couldn’t afford to fight the divorce or any of the conditions in court. I was about 12 at the time. It turned out the “lover” she was supposed to have taken was gay and when he found out that Daddy had named him off the record as his rival in conversation with a mutual friend, he approached Daddy and privately told him that there was no possible truth in the rumour. But it was too late, Mummy was killed in a car accident driving an old clunker car with very little protection for driver or passengers. If she had still been married, she would have been travelling in an armour-plated limo. Daddy has blamed himself ever since for our loss so, instead of remarrying, he has had a series of short-term liaisons with increasingly younger and sillier girls, the latest being Julie, who was a beautician at the Jade Garden in Poulter’s Cross.

“Yes, I know it, I think it is a thinly disguised massage parlour.”