The Barbershop Seven (170 page)

––––––––

L
uigi Linguini stood by the window in Ephesian's office, looking down over the long sweep of the hill, the golf course to his right, the dull firth beneath him, the dull hills of Bute and Arran beyond. Almost recognised the stark beauty of a grey afternoon in Scotland but his natural cynicism about the place prevailed and he quickly turned away, a cold shiver rippling down his body.

'You'd think he'd have the heating on. In Italy, we'd have the stinkin' heating on. Of course, the stinkin' sun would shine for more than two minutes at a time in Italy.'

He checked the time then turned and examined the room. He had been all over the house in the hour or so since Ephesian and Jacobs had gone out. Having no idea how long they would be, he was prepared to be walked in on at any moment, but his basic confidence allowed him to not worry about that. It would be dealt with if and when it happened. And it might just be that he would take up residence somewhere in the house until the evening.

The house had nineteen rooms, most of which were obviously rarely used. Classic bachelor's large house. Kitchen, bathroom and Jacobs' rooms aside, only four rooms were actually ever occupied. The bedroom, the office and dining room overlooking the west coast of the island, and the study at the front of the house. It didn't mean that whatever he was looking for – and he wasn't entirely sure what that was – would not be kept in one of the other rooms, but he knew men and their simplicity. If there was anything significant in the house, it would be in one of the three rooms downstairs.

He had just spent twenty minutes in the office going through the drawers, examining the artefacts on the shelves and the pictures on the walls. It was time to have a closer look at the study.

He pulled his jacket more tightly around him, began to wonder what his helpless idiot of a colleague was doing, and then dismissed the thought and walked back out into the hall.

***

'S
o, who else would know about the Grail?' wondered Ephesian, as Jacobs drove the car slowly away from the cathedral down to George Street.

Jacobs gave Ephesian a quick glance then turned back to the road. He was well used to his employer's inability to think laterally, his continued trust on face value, no matter how obvious it would seem to others that there was a lie staring him in the face. It was that which had made him a constant butt of practical jokes in his school days, something else which had forced him to retreat further into the dark realms of diffidence.

'It must be one of the Brotherhood,' Ephesian continued. 'My God, that they should choose this moment.' He began to run through the members of the cabal in his head, wondering which one of them was the most likely to jeopardise their magnificent enterprise. And not for a second did the thought occur to him that it would be for any reason other than money.

'Lawton must have spoken to one of the others,' he said, as Jacobs took the car past the tiny St. Andrews church and along towards the grounds of the Garrison. 'Greed can do the most brutal things to the minds of men.'

He looked at Jacobs for the first time since leaving the cathedral buildings.

'Which of them...' and he let the words tail off. Rubbed his left thumb into the palm of his right hand. 'We need to speak to them all,' he said, feeling strangely discomfited by Jacobs' silence. 'In whom was Lawton most likely to confide of our number?'

'Mr Ephesian!' snapped Jacobs suddenly.

Ephesian turned sharply, lowering his gaze and fixing his eyes on the cigarette lighter. Jacobs gripped the steering wheel, trying to control his impatience. Fifty-seven years of servitude had made him quite used to his employer's closed mind but sometimes he needed to be brought sharply to heel. Not everything was black and white. Not everyone could be taken at face value. People lied.

Ephesian said nothing. Jacobs turned right and drove up the road towards East Farm.

'We need look no farther than Father Roosevelt.'

'What do you mean?' asked Ephesian quickly.

'He's lying.'

'He's a priest!'

Jacobs snorted.

'He's a priest,' Ephesian repeated, more forcefully.

Fifty yards short of the farm, past the woods where the ground opened out with fields on both sides, the cathedral now up on the small hill to their right, Jacobs pulled the car into the side of the road. Ephesian stared straight ahead, eyes on the flattened and dried out remains of a long dead roadkill.

'Sir, he's lying.'

'Why? Are you saying that he attacked Lawton?'

'Yes!'

'Why? If he had the Grail, if he wanted money, then why not mention it there? He had us in his office, why let us go without making his demand? He knows we need the Grail by tonight.'

'It's not about money!'

Ephesian turned. This time their eyes connected, a quick flash. Ephesian's head twitched violently and he looked away.

'What d'you mean? What else is there?'

Jacobs kept his eyes on Ephesian, daring him to look back.

'I've monitored the movements of the Brotherhood ever since we arrived on the island, Grand Master,' said Jacobs. 'You know I have. And particularly this week.'

He paused, eyes still narrowed and demanding. Ephesian's head spasmed again, twice, sharp jolts. Struggling to keep control, but he didn't want to erupt in violent temper. He wanted to curl up; he wanted the problems to go away.

'Lawton had no friends,' said Jacobs slowly. 'He kept no association. There is no way, no conceivable way, that he shared his secret with others in the Brotherhood. I know he told us, I know he was foolish enough to approach Ping Phat, but that was taking the secret up the chain, to see what he could get for himself. There is no way he would have taken it sideways.'

'Why take it to anyone? Why not just blackmail us?'

'Because he was impetuous. He was stupid. He told you and he told Ping Phat because he could not contain himself. But he quickly realised how foolish he'd been. That was why he decided to retrieve the Grail for himself.'

Ephesian breathed deeply, staring blankly up the road. Feeling his head was about to explode, information overload. Not yet seeing that this simplified everything. If Roosevelt was the culprit, if it was that straightforward, then their problems could be resolved much more easily than he'd been anticipating.

'So why did Roosevelt give Lawton the Grail?' asked Ephesian.

Jacobs stared sharply at Ephesian, teeth clenched. Look at me, he thought, just look at me for once in your fucking life!

'He didn't give him it! He didn't know where it was until Lawton took it. He must have followed him to his house and retrieved it for himself.'

'But he said he didn't know where it was.'

'He was lying!' shouted Jacobs, then he stopped while he brought himself under control. It was years, maybe even decades, since he'd lost his temper at Ephesian. 'He was lying,' he repeated, his voice struggling with rage. 'He does not want the Grail to be found! As soon as it had been taken from the Cathedral he retrieved it and took it out of our reach.'

'But why?'

'I don't know. Perhaps, now that the day has come, he is against our goals. He would not be the only one of his kind to feel that way, were it the case. This thing that we have all worked so long to achieve, this bane that has been passed down through the generations, this truth that binds us, it will split the churches of the world. That is why the Italians are on the island. But it is not just Rome who will be offended or disbelieving. Every church, every single one will be rent asunder. Who knows for whom Roosevelt is working. It might be the Episcopalians. He might just be doing it for himself.'

'We need proof.'

'We have the proof,' said Jacobs. 'The facts are there before us, sir. The only people who knew about the Grail find were us, Ping Phat and Roosevelt.'

He stopped. He looked at Ephesian. Ephesian turned and stared at Jacobs. Suddenly this time their eyes locked. Ephesian felt sucked in by it, although he found the feeling of looking directly at someone horribly disconcerting, until, with a shake of the head, he managed to pull himself away and look out up the road.

'Ping Phat can't be on the island already,' said Ephesian.

Jacobs stared along the same stretch of road, the sudden little moment of epiphany turning his convictions about Roosevelt to dust.

'I don't know,' he said.

Silence descended on the car. Ephesian could feel his insides begin to churn and grind, could feel the sickness at his core worsen by the second. Jacobs was suddenly aware of nervousness, the final piece in the jigsaw having seemed to be about to fall into place, now once more out of reach.

He angrily put the car into second gear and screeched quickly away from the kerb.

***

T
he doorbell rang. Luigi Linguini sat in the leather chair looking out to the far end of the golf course. He had seen the people arrive at the front gate and had ducked down into the chair, its back turned to the window overlooking the driveway.

Sit it out, presumably whoever it was would leave in a short while, and then he could continue his search of the room. So far he had been in there for ten minutes and had yet to uncover anything. His task was undoubtedly hampered by the fact that he had no idea what he was looking for.

The doorbell rang again. Suddenly he leapt out of the chair and walked through the room. Balls, he thought to himself. Balls!

Into the hall, switching into character and he opened the front door with a flourish, ready to greet his visitors.

'Good afternoon,' he said, smiling. 'How can I help you?'

There were five people before him, arranged in ascending order so that the most important was clearly at the back, currently turned away and looking down across the island.

'You will be Mr Jacobs,' said the woman at the head of the queue.

'Yes,' he said smoothly. 'And who can I say is calling?' he added, playing the part.

'We are Ping Phat,' said the woman.

Luigi nodded. He had heard the name before after all and looked along the row of Chinese men and women until he reached the face at the back, now turned expectantly towards him. Ping Phat might have lost out on a few doughnuts to Jonah Harrison, but he was at the very least eating at the same bakery bar.

'Mr Ephesian is home, no?' asked the woman.

Luigi smiled.

'He is home, no,' he said. 'Just stepped out for a short time. Perhaps you would like to wait.'

The woman bowed her head and said, 'That would be most delicious.'

Luigi took a step back and ushered the communion of Chinese into the house, before closing the front door.

'In here if you please,' he said, directing them to the west wing of the house, into Ephesian's office.

The Chinese filed into the room, Luigi walking serenely after them, wondering where it was all going to lead. Once assembled they all stood looking at him with some anticipation, Ping Phat himself in their midst, regarding Luigi with expectant eyebrow.

'Can I get you...' Luigi began to say, and then let the sentence drift off as he wondered what exactly would be appropriate to offer these people at this time of the day.

'It is wonderful you to meet, my brother,' said Ping Phat suddenly.

Luigi found himself putting his palms together and bowing.
Luigi
, he thought to himself,
get a fucking grip!

'And you, Mr Phat,' said Luigi.

Ping Phat burst into a ridiculous laugh.

'Ping! Ping!' he said. 'Let us not be formal after all this time.'

'Ping,' said Luigi, warily.

'Strange that the works of Robert Louis Stevenson we have to thank,' said Ping Phat. 'After such a long search we had.'

Luigi nodded.
Jesus
, he thought,
this guy sounds like stinkin' Yoda for Chrisssake
.

Robert Louis Stevenson!

'Close we are,' said Phat. 'Delicious it is to be here at such an auspicious time. Delicious, yes.'

Robert Louis Stevenson...

Luigi nodded, smiled again. Time to get out of Dodge before they cottoned on to the fact that he wasn't Jacobs. Which they already would have done if Ping Phat had not left his PA behind in Paris, choosing instead to travel with two bodyguards, a personal trainer and his Principal Private Secretary.

Tea, he thought, that's what these people drink.

'Can I offer you some tea?' he asked, attempting as much formality as possible.

Ping Phat smiled. Recognised, he thought, a butler's inherent need to serve.

'Kind of you that is,' he said. 'Tea we will all take.'

'Very good, sir,' said Luigi, then he backed off quickly, left the room and closed the door behind him.

He breathed a sigh of relief at having managed to escape, took a second or two to compose himself, and then walked quickly back into the study, not entirely sure what he was going to be able to unearth but at least with some idea of where to look.

––––––––

'S
o I'm on a ski lift, you see, suspended in mid-air, nowhere to go. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a snake appears at my side, in the unoccupied half of the chair.'

'What kind of snake?'

The guy shook his head.

'Don't know. Know nothing about snakes, not my line. I'm in women's toiletries.'

'Cool.'

'So what did the snake do?' asked the customer from behind.

Igor looked up from behind his broom so that he could more clearly see the bloke's lips in the mirror. Usually he didn't need to because he had heard all these customers' stories a hundred times, but this one was new. For most of these old geezers, all the interesting things had happened decades previously. Dreams were just about the only way for them to update their lives.

'He bit me,' said the guy, currently under the razor and receiving the benefit of a fantastic
Jude Law
.

'Snakes are as snakes do,' said Barney.

'Exactly,' said the bloke.

'Was it poisonous?' asked Garrett Carmichael, who had come into the shop to establish the progress of Barney's paperwork.