And Thereby Hangs a Tale (5 page)

'That's right,' said Alan, but he'd closed
the door before he could hear Kerslake's response.

'Well, that explains everything.'

Alan drove back to Romford later that
morning, hoping that a second visit to the site might lift the scales from his
eyes, but still all he could see were the charred remains of a once-proud
company. He walked slowly across the deserted site, searching for the slightest
clue, and was pleased to find nothing.

At one o'clock he returned to the King's Arms,
hoping that Des Lomax and Bill Hadman wouldn't be propping up the bar as he wanted
to chat to one or two locals in the hope of picking up any gossip that was
doing the rounds.

He plonked himself down on a stool in the middle
of the bar and ordered a pint and a ploughman's lunch. It didn't take him long
to work out who were the regulars and who, like him, were passing trade. He
noticed that one of the regulars was reading about the fire in the local paper.

'That must have been quite a sight,' said Alan,
pointing to the photograph of a warehouse in flames which took up most of the front
page of the Romford Recorder.

'I wouldn't know,' said the man after
draining his glass. 'I was tucked up in bed at the time, minding my own
business.'

'Sad, though,' said Alan, 'an old family
company like that going up in flames.'

'Not so sad for Des Lomax,' said the man, glancing
at his empty glass. 'He pockets a cool four million and then swans off on
holiday with his latest girlfriend. Bet we never see him around these parts
again.'

'I'm sure you're right,' said Alan and,
tapping his glass, he said to the barman, 'Another pint, please.' He turned to
the regular and asked, 'Would you care to join me?'

'That's very civil of you,' said the man,
smiling for the first time.

An hour later, Alan left the King's Arms
with not a great deal more to go on, despite a second pint for his new-found
friend and one for the barman.

Lomax, it seemed, had flown off to Corfu with
his new Ukrainian girlfriend, leaving his wife behind in Romford. Alan had no
doubt that Mrs Lomax would be able to tell him much more than the stranger at
the bar, but he knew he'd never get away with it. If the company were to find
out that he'd been to visit the policy-holder's wife, it would be his last job
as well as his first. He dismissed the idea, although it worried him that Lomax
could be found in a pub on the morning after the fire and then fly off to Corfu
with his girlfriend while the embers were still smouldering.

When Alan arrived back at the office he
decided to give Bill Hadman a call and see if he had anything that might be
worth following up.

'Tribunal Insurance,' announced a
switchboard voice.

'It's Alan Penfold from Redfern and
Ticehurst. Could you put me through to Mr Hadman, please?'

'Mr Hadman's on holiday. We're expecting him
back next Monday.'

'Somewhere nice, I hope,' said Alan, flying
a kite.

'I think he said he was going to Corfu.'

Alan leaned across and stroked his wife's back,
wondering if she was awake.

'If you're hoping for sex, you can forget
it,'

Anne said without turning over.

'No, I was hoping to talk to you about
shoes.'

Anne turned over. 'Shoes?' she mumbled.

'Yes, I want you to tell me everything you know
about Manolo Blahnik, Prada and Roger Vivier.'

Anne sat up, suddenly wide awake.

'Why do you want to know?' she asked hopefully.

'What size are you, for a start?'

'Thirty-eight.'

'Is that inches, centimetres or...'

'Don't be silly, Alan. It's the recognized European
measurement, universally accepted by all the major shoe companies.'

'But is there anything distinctive about. .
.'

Alan went on to ask his wife a series of
questions, all of which she seemed to know the answers to.

Alan spent the following morning strolling around
the first floor of Harrods, a store he usually only visited during the sales.
He tried to remember everything Anne had told him, and spent a considerable
amount of time studying the vast department devoted to shoes, or to be more
accurate, to women.

He checked through all the brand names that had
been on Lomax's manifest, and by the end of the morning he had narrowed down his
search to Manolo Blahnik and Roger Vivier. Alan left the store a couple of
hours later with nothing more than some bro-chures, aware that he couldn't
progress his theory without asking Kerslake for money.

When Alan returned to the office that
afternoon, he took his time double-checking Lomax's stock list. Among the shoes
lost in the fire were two thousand three hundred pairs of Manolo Blahnik and
over four thousand pairs of Roger Vivier.

'How much do you want?' asked Roy Kerslake,
two stacks of files now piled up in front of him.

'A thousand,' said Alan, placing yet another
file on the desk.

'I'll let you know my decision once I've
read your report,' Kerslake said.

'How do I get my report to the top of the pile?'
asked Alan.

'You have to prove to me that the company will
benefit from any further expenditure.'

'Would saving a client two million pounds be
considered a benefit?' asked Alan innocently.

Kerslake pulled the file back out from the bottom
of the pile, opened it and began to read. 'I'll let you know my decision within
the hour.'

Alan returned to Harrods the next day, after
he'd had another nocturnal chat with his wife. He took the escalator to the
first floor and didn't stop walking until he reached the Roger Vivier display.
He selected a pair of shoes, took them to the counter and asked the sales
assistant how much they were. She studied the coded label.

'They're part of a limited edition, sir,
and this is the last pair.'

And the price?' said Alan.

'Two hundred and twenty pounds.'

Alan tried not to look horrified. At that
price, he realized he wouldn't be able to buy enough pairs to carry out his
experiment.

'Do you have any seconds?' he asked hopefully.

'Roger Vivier doesn't deal in seconds, sir,'
the assistant replied with a sweet smile.

'Well, if that's the case, what's the
cheapest pair of shoes you have?'

'We have some pairs of ballerinas at one hundred
and twenty pounds, and a few penny loafers at ninety.'

'I'll take them,' said Alan.

'What size?'

'It doesn't matter,' said Alan.

It was the assistant's turn to look
surprised.

She leaned across the counter and whispered,
'We have five pairs of size thirty-eight in store, which I could let you have
at a reduced price, but I'm afraid they're last season's.'

'I'm not interested in the season,' said
Alan, and happily paid for five pairs of Roger Vivier shoes, size thirty-eight,
before moving across the aisle to Manolo Blahnik.

The first question he asked the sales
assistant was, 'Do you have any of last season's, size thirty-eight?'

'I'll just check, sir,' said the girl, and
headed off in the direction of the stockroom. 'No, sir, we've sold out of all
the thirty-eights,' she said when she returned. 'The only two pairs left over
from last year are a thirty-seven and a thirty-five.'

'How much would you charge me if I take both
pairs?'

'Without even looking at them?'

'All I care about is that they're Manolo Blahnik,'
said Alan, to another surprised assistant.

Alan left Harrods carrying two bulky green carrier
bags containing seven pairs of shoes.

Once he was back in the office, he handed the
receipts to Roy Kerslake, who looked up from behind his pile of files when he
saw how much Alan had spent.

'I hope your wife's not a size thirty-eight,'
he said with a grin. The thought hadn't even crossed Alan's mind.

While Anne was out shopping on Saturday morning,
Alan built a small bonfire at the bottom of the garden.

He then disappeared into the garage and
removed the two carrier bags of shoes and the spare petrol can from the boot of
his car.

He had completed his little experiment long before
Anne returned from her shopping trip. He decided not to tell her that Manolo Blahnik
had been eliminated from his findings, because, although he had a spare pair left
over, sadly they were not her size. He locked the boot of his car, just in case
she discovered the four remaining pairs of Roger Vivier, size thirty-eight.

On Monday morning, Alan rang Des Lomax's secretary
to arrange an appointment with him once he'd returned from his holiday. 'I just
want to wrap things up,' he explained.

'Of course, Mr Penfold,' said the secretary.

'We're expecting him back in the office on Wednesday.
What time would suit you?'

'Would eleven o'clock be convenient?'

'I'm sure that will be just fine,' she
replied.

'Shall we say the King's Arms?'

'No, I'd prefer to see him on site.'

Alan woke early on Wednesday morning and dressed
without waking his wife. She'd already supplied him with all the information he
required. He set off for Romford soon after breakfast, allowing far more time
for the journey than was necessary. He made one stop on the way, dropping into
his local garage to refill the spare petrol can.

When Alan drove into Romford he went straight
to the site and parked on the only available meter. He decided that an hour would
be more than enough. He opened the boot, took out the Harrods bag and the can of
petrol, and walked on to the middle of site where he waited patiently for the
chairman of Lomax Shoes (Import and Export) Ltd to appear.

Des Lomax drove up twenty minutes later and
parked his brand-new red Mercedes E...

Class Saloon on a double yellow line. When he
stepped out of the car, Alan's first impression was that he looked remarkably
pale for someone who'd just spent ten days in Corfu.

Lomax walked slowly across to join him, and didn't
apologize for being late. Alan refused his outstretched hand and simply said, 'Good
morning, Mr Lomax. I think the time has come for us to discuss your claim.'

'There's nothing to discuss,' said Lomax. 'My
policy was for four million, and as I've never missed a payment, I'm looking
forward to my claim being paid in full, and sharpish.'

'Subject to my recommendation.'

'I don't give a damn about your
recommendation, sunshine,' said Lomax, lighting a cigarette. 'Four million is
what I'm entitled to, and four million is what I'm going to get.

And if you don't pay up pretty damn quick, you
can look forward to our next meeting being in court, which might not be a good
career move, remembering that this is your first case.'

'You may well prove to be right, Mr Lomax,' said
Alan. 'But I shall be recommending to your insurance broker that they settle
for two million.'

'Two million?' said Lomax. 'And when did you
come up with that Mickey Mouse figure?'

'When I discovered that you hadn't spent the
last ten days in Corfu.'

'You'd better be able to prove that,
sunshine,' snapped Lomax, 'because I've got hotel receipts, plane tickets, even
the hire car agreement. So I wouldn't go down that road if I were you, unless
you want to add a writ for libel to the one you'll be getting for non-payment
of a legally binding contract.'

'Actually, I admit that I don't have any
proof you weren't in Corfu,' said Alan. 'But I'd still advise you to settle for
two million.'

'If you don't have any proof,' said Lomax,
his voice rising, 'what's your game?'

'What we're discussing, Mr Lomax, is your game,
not mine,' said Alan calmly. 'I may not be able to prove you've spent the last
ten days disposing of over six thousand pairs of shoes, but what I can prove is
that those shoes weren't in your warehouse when you set fire to it.'

'Don't threaten me, sunshine. You have
absolutely no idea who you're dealing with.'

'I know only too well who I'm dealing with,'
said Alan as he bent down and removed four boxes of Roger Vivier shoes from the
Harrods bag and lined them up at Lomax's feet.

Lomax stared down at the neat little row of boxes.
'Been out buying presents, have we?'

'No. Gathering proof of your nocturnal habits.'

Lomax clenched his fist. 'Are you trying to get
yourself thumped?'

'I wouldn't go down that road, if I were
you,' said Alan, 'unless you want to add a charge of assault to the one you'll
be getting for arson.'

Lomax unclenched his fist, and Alan
unscrewed the cap on the petrol can and poured the contents over the boxes. 'You've
already had the fire officer's report, which confirms there was no suggestion
of arson,' said Lomax, 'so what do you think this little fireworks display is
going to prove?'