Tell Tale Read online

  * * *

  When the Pascoes sat down to plan their next summer holiday, Joyce warned her husband she was beginning to run out of insurance companies, as she couldn’t afford to make a claim to the same one twice. Dennis was disappointed by this news, because he’d recently joined the local golf club, acquired a season ticket for Norwich City FC, quite near the center line, and been invited to become a vice president of the Rotary. He’d also begun to stick rarer and rarer stamps into his eighth album. Dennis would have been the first to accept that none of this would have been possible had it not been for his newfound wealth. He realized that he’d climbed onto a bandwagon that he didn’t want to get off.

  * * *

  Joyce woke her husband in the middle of the night when she came up with her latest idea. Dennis listened intently and couldn’t get back to sleep. If they pulled it off, he might even consider standing for the parish council.

  “It will have to be our last job,” she warned her husband, “because there are only three major insurers left.” She didn’t add, whom we haven’t robbed.

  Joyce wrote out a list of jobs Dennis had to do before they embarked on their summer holiday, including taking out any spare cash they had in their bank accounts. She checked the small print of the three insurance companies where they hadn’t made a claim, while Dennis told his friends at the golf club and Rotary that he and Joyce were planning a trip down the Nile to celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary, because his wife had always wanted to see the Pyramids and visit Tutankhamun’s tomb.

  Once Joyce had filled in all the forms, and the letters and checks had been dispatched, everything was in place by the time they set off for Southampton.

  On July 17, 2001, Dennis and Joyce boarded the SS Balmoral, which was setting out on a voyage to Salalah, Port Said, and through the Suez Canal, before returning to Southampton via Istanbul.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  At this point in the story I came up with three different endings, and because I couldn’t choose between them, decided to write all three and leave you to pick which one you prefer.

  A

  WHEN THE SHIP docked in Istanbul, several passengers leaned over the railings and watched with interest as two police officers climbed aboard the luxury liner, and asked the purser for the number of Mr. and Mrs. Pascoe’s cabin.

  Joyce burst into tears when she and Dennis were escorted off the ship and driven to the nearest airport. She didn’t stop weeping on the flight to Heathrow, or when a black limousine drove them back to Steeple Bumpstead.

  When the Barrington courtesy car pulled up outside the front gate of The Sidings, Joyce burst into tears once again. Dennis climbed out of the car and said nothing as he stared at the smoldering remains of what was left of their little home.

  The local fire chief, a fellow Rotarian, hurried across to join them.

  “I’m so sorry, Dennis,” he said. “My men got here as quickly as they could, but once the flames touched the thatched roof, there was little they could do about it.”

  “I’m sure you did everything you possibly could, Alan,” said Dennis, trying to look suitably distressed.

  “But we’ve lost everything,” Joyce told a reporter from the local paper, “and no amount of money will compensate for that.” A quote that was reported on the front page next to a photo of a tearful Joyce, who felt confident the insurance companies wouldn’t have missed it. Well, not everything, thought Dennis, because he’d hidden the stamp collection in his locker at the golf club.

  Joyce and Dennis booked into the Bumpstead Arms (covered by one of the three insurance policies) and then spent the next month looking for a new home. The company that had insured their contents settled fairly quickly, while the buildings claim took a little longer.

  Once Mr. and Mrs. Pascoe had purchased a similar cottage on the other side of the village, not thatched—too risky, Dennis told his friends at the golf club—and furnished it, there was more than enough left over to live a very comfortable existence, as well as enjoy the occasional off-peak-season holiday while no longer having to mislay any of their luggage.

  However, a problem arose that neither of them had anticipated. Boredom set in, and they quickly began to get on each other’s nerves again.

  It was Joyce who came up with a solution to which Dennis happily agreed. They would change their name, move to the West Country, and once again start looking for “the holiday of a lifetime.”

  B

  THE FIRST PORT of call on their trip to the Middle East was Salalah, where they hired a taxi to take them to the souk. They took their time strolling around the crowded bazaar, with its hundreds of colorful market stalls, displaying thousands of different-quality carpets. But Joyce was far more interested in finding the right dealer than the right carpet. Once they’d selected a man who wouldn’t have been invited to give a talk at the Rotary Club, they joined him for a cup of Turkish coffee before the bargaining could begin for an exquisite, thousand-thread silk carpet that the dealer claimed was unique.

  An hour later Joyce agreed on a sum, which Dennis paid in cash. The dealer then supplied them with a receipt for four times the amount they had paid for the rare silk carpet.

  In Port Said, they visited several emporiums, and selected only the finest pieces of jewelry, including a gold brooch of Nefertiti, a string of pearls worthy of Cleopatra, and a diamond-studded bracelet that Joyce felt confident would be the envy of her fellow lady Rotarians. The proprietors were equally obliging when it came to the receipts. Replacement value for insurance purposes, Joyce explained.

  In Istanbul, they purchased an oil painting of a fishing boat on the Bosphorus that Joyce felt would look perfect above the mantelpiece in their front room, and although the price was exorbitant, triple the amount was entered on the receipt.

  By the time the Balmoral docked in Southampton, the Pascoes had spent all their spare cash, but they now possessed some extremely valuable merchandise, and Joyce had the receipts to prove it.

  Joyce took her time packing everything they’d bought on the trip into a large green suitcase before a porter arrived to pick up their trunk and two other smaller suitcases. When the Pascoes arrived in the baggage hall, Joyce gave a farewell performance worthy of Elizabeth Taylor.

  “One large green suitcase, you say, madam?”

  “Yes,” said Joyce, “full of all the beautiful things we bought on the trip.” Dennis appeared to be making every effort to comfort his wife, something he was getting rather good at.

  After the promise of a reward, several members of the ship’s crew set out in search of a large green suitcase, but an hour later, no one was able to claim the reward.

  The Pascoes were among the last to leave the baggage hall, but not before they were convinced there was no longer any hope of finding their missing treasures. A porter placed their trunk and the two other suitcases on a trolley and began pushing it toward the exit.

  Dennis and Joyce trudged mournfully after him, and as if to add insult to injury, a recently promoted Customs officer pulled them to one side and asked them to place their luggage on the counter. The porter obeyed without hesitation.

  “May I ask if you purchased anything of value while you were abroad, madam?”

  “No,” Joyce said, “just a few souvenirs. Nothing of any real value.”

  She happily opened the two suitcases to reveal Dennis’s dirty laundry and washbag in one, and her neatly folded clothes in the other.

  “Thank you,” he said. “And the trunk?” The porter once again heaved it up onto the counter.

  “Would you open it, please, sir,” said the Customs officer, as Dennis turned to look at his wife.

  Once again Joyce burst into tears, but this time she wasn’t greeted with the same sympathetic look.

  “Would you please open the trunk, sir,” the young officer repeated a little more firmly.

  After what seemed an eternity, Dennis reluctantly stepped forward, unlocked the trunk, and pushed up the lid to re