Give The Devil His Due (41 page)

       I was getting a tad concerned. After the euphoria of having taught De Villiers a lesson, a horrible thought crossed my mind: What was the cost of all this stuff that Mart was smashing up? What if we got done for criminal damage? It could be tens of thousands or even more!

       Phil, even though he had a bloody nose, was now laughing his head off, looking at De Villiers lying sprawled on the floor next to all the shattered marble. I thought
That's a bit rich
– remembering how we’d all had a lecture for laughing at him when he fell over during his Irish dancing accident.

       I looked at Peach; he wasn't laughing. He was staring at what had once been a fine piece of sculpture. Suddenly he ran across the room. I thought he was going to give De Villiers a duffing. I was wrong.

       De Villiers was starting to crawl. Peach got there first, like some sort of athletics relay runner. He leant down and grabbed a baton-shaped leather object that was lying amid the strewn debris. He was off, he didn't even speak to us; he was out of the door and heading towards another marked: Emergency Exit.

       I looked at Phil who had stopped laughing. ‘I think we'd better leave,’ I said.

       ‘Yeah, you're right.’

       I stared at Mart, now trying unsuccessfully to turn De Villiers’ huge desk over and smash that up. ‘Give us a hand with this will you?’

       ‘No Mart, we've got to go.’

       ‘We're doing half a job here man. Let's trash this cat's shit.’

       ‘Well you can come back another time and finish it if you like Mart, but we’re getting out of here.’

       Mart reluctantly halted his orgy of destruction and gave up trying to lift the desk; he and Phil walked through the door with me following. De Villiers’ PA was nowhere to be seen. She must have run for cover as soon as it all kicked off.

       Leaving De Villiers’ office, I realised I had forgotten something. Returning I saw that Brian was starting to groan, slowly regaining consciousness; Dom was still out of it, so was the other hired hand, flat on his back. As for De Villiers, he was looking shell-shocked, sitting amongst all the wreckage on the floor, leaning against the office wall.

       I went straight over to Brian, and with as much power as I could muster, toe-punted him between the legs. ‘That's for my dog, you arsehole.’ I know it must have hurt him, because it fucking-well hurt me. Excruciating! I was pretty sure I'd broken a toe. But that was a small price to pay for the satisfaction of ensuring he was experiencing some additional
plum trauma
.

       I limped out of the office and made my way to the emergency exit, following the others. Down several flights of stairs, going as quickly as we could, we came to ground level. Through the door, and into the foyer; I could see a good-looking girl. She was chatting up the remaining security guard. As I walked with difficulty across the foyer towards the front door, I made a throat-clearing sound. The pretty girl broke off her conversation with a ‘Nice talking to you, my lift is here ...’

       Tegan followed me to the door. Outside, engine running, was a black cab and sitting in the back were Vaughan, Phil and Mart. Tegan and I got in and the taxi pulled away.

       ‘Where's Peach?’ I asked.

       Phil looked at me. ‘He's run off. Hailed another cab.’

       ‘Do you think ...?’

       Phil answered before I could finish the question. ‘I don't know, and I don't think Peach knows either.’

       ‘Knows what?' said Tegan.

       I wasn't sure whether or not to say anything, but I did. ‘Well when we were in there, Peach grabbed …’ Just as I was about to tell her, Phil's phone rang – it was Peach.

       ‘OK, yeah I've got that. What? Right now? But no-one’s got any clothes with them.’ What was he going on about? ‘OK, I'll ask him. Vaughan, Peach wants to know if you’ve got the spare key to the boat. He says he gave it to you.’

       Vaughan felt his jacket pockets trying to locate his keys. He took them out and stared at them for a moment. ‘Oh yes, I have. I'm terribly sorry. I'll give it to you now Philip, and if you would return it to young Trevor, I would be most grateful.’

       ‘No don't. There's been a change of plan.’ Phil knocked on the cab driver’s partition. ‘Could you take us to Euston station straight away please?’ The cab driver nodded. Phil wouldn't say anything more in the taxi, and told both Mart and me not to either, until we arrived at Euston.

       Vaughan insisted on paying for the taxi. As the cab pulled away, I asked Phil what was going on. Phil explained. ‘Peach can't be sure, but he's convinced that the leather scroll case he picked up contains the note. He’s taking it to a secure location, where it’ll be kept in the right conditions for preservation.

       ‘Once that’s sorted, he’s going to get Peter and his wife checked into a hotel for a few nights. Peach says none of us should go back home until the extraction is done. Things are more dangerous than ever, especially after what’s gone on in there.’

       ‘What exactly has gone on in there?’ asked Tegan.

       ‘You really don’t want to know; but if Peach's guess is correct and De Villiers looks into the history of the bust that got smashed up, he may come after us with more than just a couple of bruisers.’

       ‘Tell ‘em to bring it on man. I'll show that shitball who's top sausage.’ Martin was obviously up for another rumble.

       This wasn’t a good idea. ‘Er, no Mart, I think it's already been established that you are the top sausage.’ Mart looked a bit disappointed.

       Phil agreed. ‘Will’s right Mart. Listen it's only for a couple of days at most – Peach says.’ He suddenly had a thought. ‘What about Neil?’

       ‘Fingers crossed – he'll be OK. There are too many witnesses in a hospital for them to try anything there.’ I hoped that what I was saying was true.

       Within a couple of hours, we were shopping in ASDA for cheap clothes. Phil and I could borrow some of Peachy's but the other three would need a few essentials.

       The next couple of days passed almost without incident. Mart insisted on smoking the odd spliff, which the rest of us weren't really happy about. I just hoped that none of the occupants on the other boats got a sniff. We were after all supposed to be keeping a low profile. We played Scrabble and did some walking in the countryside but laid low, making sure not to engage anyone on any of the other craft in unnecessary conversation.

       It was Tuesday morning just after ten when Phil's phone rang.

       ‘Yeah? You're joking. I don't believe it. OK I will.’ Phil hung up.

       ‘What's happening?’ I asked.

       Phil was putting his coat on. ‘Have a pot of tea. I'll be back in a minute.’ Phil was out the door and heading up the jetty.

       ‘What do you make of that then?’ I asked nobody in particular.

       Vaughan stroked his chin. ‘I don't know dear boy, but I'm certainly not going to chase him to find out.’

       I filled the kettle and lit the gas. In a short while it was whistling, I was just starting to pour the water into the teapot when Phil came through the door, ordering me to take the cups off the table and put them on the galley worktop. He was carrying a selection of broadsheet newspapers. He put the
Financial Times
down on the table. Quickly, he opened the paper to the page he was looking for. Watching him scan, I suddenly spotted something. ‘Look at that!’

       The heading of the article read
DM assets frozen by judge
.

       Phil started reading aloud.
The city was stunned yesterday when Judge Geoffrey Urquhart ordered the assets of De Villiers-Moncourt to be frozen pending a court hearing scheduled to take place next month. One of the oldest privately-owned trading companies in London, DM's financial history stretches back nearly three hundred years. The emergence of a document, thought to date back to the eighteenth century, has called in to question the true ownership of De Villiers-Moncourt. This unprecedented move by Judge Urquhart has sent shock waves throughout the city.

       The claimant – a Peter Steadman, whose ancestor John Steadman is named on the document, stands to gain complete control of De Villiers-Moncourt should he win the case. Charles De Villiers, Chairman of DM, has issued the following statement:

       ‘I am in no doubt that the document is bogus, and that this will be proven in a court of law, after which, we will be seeking substantial damages from Mr Steadman for moneys lost due to the company’s inability to conduct business while the case proceeds.’

       I looked at Vaughan who said, ‘Well, I'd say young Trevor really has put the cat among the pigeons this time.’

       ‘What about that bit at the end? Where they said they’re going after Peter for damages. Do you think Peter will chicken out?’ I said. None of them had met Peter, so I suppose it was a stupid question really; but I was only thinking out loud. Phil dialled Peach, and had a brief chat. I wanted to know all the ins-and-outs. Phil said Peach was on his way, and would be with us within the next couple of hours.

***

When Peachy arrived at the boat initially everyone tried to speak at the same time, but things soon calmed down. The excitement of the last few days had been scary. The main thing now was to make sure that Peter Steadman didn't lose his bottle. De Villiers would be wishing for the exact opposite.

       ‘Peachy,’ I said, ‘What if the case goes on for years, bouncing from this court to that?’

       ‘Hopefully it won’t.’

       ‘Why not?’

       ‘Because if the document is declared legal by the court, common sense in my view would prevail, and that should be the end of it. Game over. Besides, why would he want to drag it out? All his assets are frozen.’

       ‘Don't you mean the company’s assets?’

       ‘Yes, but De Villiers is effectively the company. What the paper doesn't say is that De Villiers’ personal bank accounts have been frozen as well!’

       ‘So how's he going to pay his legal team?’

       ‘Exactly. My guess is he'll be able to call in a few favours from his old-boy network but that help won't last forever. If the lawyers smell a loser – and a bankrupt to boot, they'll run like horses from a whip. Whatever the outcome, they’ll want to get paid after all the mud’s been slung.

       ‘There's only one way De Villiers wants this to go, that's win and
fast
. The judge obviously believes there’s a case – otherwise we wouldn't have got to the stage we’re at. And believe me De Villiers’ lawyers aren't stupid. They'll know it as well.’

       'What about how the document was obtained?’

       ‘As a defence, it doesn't mean shit! That note is the property of Peter Steadman. In fact, what can Charles De Villiers say? “They came into my office, smashed up a load of my ancestral nick-nacks and found it hidden inside one?” No, Charles De Villiers will vehemently deny that the fracas even took place, believe me.’

       He was right; if De Villiers admitted the scroll came from his office it really would add weight to the argument for the note's authenticity.

       ‘So what's the next move then Peach?’ I asked.

       ‘Well I'm going to have to take this tub back to Little Venice.’ He looked at Phil. ‘I was hoping that after that, you could come and keep me company for a week or two.’

       ‘Why?’ Phil asked.

       ‘Because I think that now we're so close to making this thing happen, we need to keep Peter firmly committed. I also think it would help to reassure him if it wasn't just me around. I know Will has got to work and Neil, well he's not going to be doing anything for a while.

       ‘I'm also praying that Peter's not going to get any funny visits, because now the legal process has been started, he's much more visible – which should be a deterrent; and staying close to Peter
will
strengthen his confidence.’

       That was the plan. Phil and Peach were effectively going to baby-sit Peter; making sure he was driven everywhere and never on his own. They would stay at Peter’s house until the court hearing.

       With the battering Mart had given De Villiers’ heavies, I was hoping there would be no more violence. This whole affair had been such a rollercoaster ride; the burglary, finding Neil injured, losing the dogs and the showdown. I was now really looking forward to a bit of normality.

       As we made our way back to London, I asked Vaughan if he was going to be all right at his place. He said he planned to visit Lottie; she would keep him out of trouble, but he would maintain daily contact – if his well being was going to be a worry to me. In complete contrast, I didn’t have any worries about Martin.

       A few hours later, having dropped both Vaughan and Martin at their respective homes, Tegan and I sat in my lounge. She suddenly burst into tears; the stress of it all was starting to get to her. I looked at the blood stained carpet. I thought about Pugs and felt myself welling up. I decided as soon as this thing was over, whatever the outcome, I’d get another dog.

Chapter 33

The Royal Courts of Justice
The High Court (Chancery Division
)

The heat was stifling. I was surprised that the hearing hadn’t been adjourned till they could sort the thermostat out; the room was like a cauldron. Everyone was moaning about it. Maybe the judge, being that little bit older and perhaps wiser, took the view that if he could tolerate it in his cumbersome garb then every bugger else would have to. Even so, copious amounts of water were being consumed by all.

       Although not wanting to appear ageist in any way, I had noticed that whenever I picked fares up in the cab from old peoples’ homes, I'd go in to collect the customer and they always had the central heating on full blast. So maybe Judge Urquhart secretly preferred it this way, him being an elderly chap. Who knows?