Boxing Clever – Bentley 59

 

[For a quick guide go here: Quick guide.]

[Old back story is here: Story so far at 30 Nov 2020 and read more recent Bentley episodes especially this one.]

[Other back story through in-links.]

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“Let me get this straight…” said Bentley.

Sian Fredericks looked at him sceptically. “From everything I know,” she began, “I don’t know that it’s possible to get this straight.”

Bentley thought he probably agreed with her. But he was still willing to have a go. She was the lawyer Thimble had directed him to and having proved he really was Bentley, she had handed over an envelope with (yet another) key in it. The only thing that had come with the key was a scrawled note from Fred Thimble himself which read: “And you know what you can do with it.”

Bentley had a few ideas on this but he somewhat doubted that they were entirely what Fred Thimble had in mind. 

“My client spoke about you with affection,” said Fredericks in a reassuring voice.

“Did he By Jiminy?” uttered Bentley. “I wonder what he was after.”

“He said that of everyone he knew, you knew the best and were the one who was there for him,” said Fredericks. “It must be nice to know you meant something to him.”

“Must it?” asked Bentley. “He died of bird stuff?”

“Hypersensitivity pneumonitis,” read Sian from a paper. “Over exposure to bird droppings and…”

“Yes, yes, I can imagine, thanks,” said Bentley. “And this was all there was?”

Sian told him it was and, feeling a little crest-fallen that Bentley wasn’t so struck by his recently deceased friend’s care for him, she got him to sign to say he’d received everything listed in the last will and testament.

“Weird,” concluded Bentley as he left the room.

They travelled up to York in silence. Lawrence driving, Natalie riding shot-gun, all with masks on even though they were pretty much a unit now. They’d share whatever germs were rocketing around the vehicle but they were still not sharing everything they knew. And they were not sharing anything they knew beyond the three of them. Shiela and Aston were still in their minds, but neither of them would be copied in on this particular trip.

Bentley stepped into the jewellery shop he’d seen back in February. He’d navigated his way there based on his remembrance of the directions relayed at the time. It wasn’t an easy task, but ultimately there weren’t that many places where it could have been.

A man called Flint came to the shop front, already bearing a jewellery box. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said.

“Really?” asked Bentley. “Can you honestly honestly tell me you’ve been expecting me? How long for? It’s not like I knew I was going to end up here…”

Flint smiled. “I don't need to see the ring." he said. "You are the ring. Do you have a key?”

Bentley put Thimble’s key on the table. “A man has died for this,” he said, “of inhaling bird droppings admittedly but he’s dead all the same. It had better be worth it.”

Flint looked at the key briefly. “That's not the right one,” he said, moving to pick up the box again.

Bentley leaned down, flicked the heel of his shoe and revealed a secret compartment. In it lay another key. He put this on the counter. Flint finally smiled.

Despite everything Bentley didn’t explore the jewellery box until he was home. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt he needed to know the secret of it somewhere he knew he was safe. Or as safe as he could be at the moment. Besides, there was something nice about the way it sat on the rear passenger seat next to him – pride of place, a special visitor, going for a special ride, escorted to its rightful home.

And Bentley didn’t even respond to the questions and comments from his two companions. Lawrence in particular was full of praise for the way Bentley had ‘played’ this. The holding back of the key, holding his nerve against Aston and everyone else, not letting Shiela in on it so that he alone could access the box and keep in control.

Bentley tuned out the talk. Sian was right. Not matter how many questions you asked, no matter how many things you thought you knew, not everything could be made straight.

Once home he inserted the key and gave it a small twist springing the lid open. A plastic ballerina sprang to attention and immediately started pirouetting to a tinny chiming tune.

And that was all. Bentley looked at it for a full five minutes feeling frustration build inside him. Had he lost his cat for this? There was meant to something inside - a birth certificate according to Aston. He was tempted to just throw the thing on the floor. To find a hammer and smash the thing open. But then it looked like quite an old box so might be worth something on its own and it would be a shame to break it now.

Absent-mindedly he ‘boinged’ the ballerina on her spring with his finger, and in doing so revealed another, smaller keyhole under the folds of her dress. With a trembling hand he took Thimble’s bequeathed key and slotted it in. It fitted perfectly.