The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1246 by Angharad Copyright © 2011 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I sent Jim a text telling him that Diana and Tom were seen heading towards London. Had one back reminding me that they’d have encountered the M25 first and that could mean anything.

For those not in the know, the M25 is the London orbital motorway or world’s first circular car park. It has exits in all directions, so they could have been heading for Kent or Oxford, or even the M1 and be going to Newcastle. So, in short, we had no idea where they were.

Whilst I was anxious for Tom, Diana seemed to have a soft spot for him and he certainly did for her, so I hoped she wouldn’t harm him. I’d also not had any negative sort of feeling when thinking about him, though I hadn’t been able to tune into him and follow the blue light towards him. That puzzled me. I’d healed on him a couple of times, in fact kept him alive when he would normally have died, so why couldn’t I find him? The answer that kept coming to my mind was simply that he was blocking me, he didn’t want me to find him or he didn’t want to think of me–perhaps some form of denial.

Jim hadn’t made any sort of progress as far as I could tell, and Simon had collected the dog and gone to stay at the hotel in Southsea. He assured me it was so he’d get his laundry done and some easy meals, not because he was nervous about being in the house by himself.

While the others played with a ball they found in the garden, Trish and I did some internet searches. The first thing we found was that Sir Godrick went out to India every year about this time of year promoting the university and hoping for some customers from the Indian elite who wanted their children to have a degree from a British university.

Then we started to look through the archives of Indian newspapers for potentially suitable crimes. I wanted to sleep after an hour of mind numbing stories and my eyes kept closing. We had three possibles–a sculpture which had been taken from a temple, a load of money had been taken from a bank heist, which wasn’t a serious inclusion but it did help to me to stay awake, and Trish liked the story of a flock of goats being stolen. I doubted that Lady Dana was keeping those in her bedroom, but Trish did mean well.

“Oh I’m sick of this Trish, let’s face it we don’t know for certain that anything was taken, do we?”

“No, Mummy, but what were those men after?”

“I don’t know, kiddo, but I doubt very much it was to collect unpaid parking fines.”

“Oh look, Mummy, here’s a story about a Di stone.”

“Oh? Let me see,” I crossed to her computer and read the following.

‘Police are baffled by the theft of a famous emerald locally known as the Princess Di stone, or the Green Princess after it was rumoured that a lover of the late English princess had offered an undisclosed amount for the stone to the temple which owns it. The stone was currently mounted in a statuette of the god Ganesh, in a temple near the bustling city of Mumbai.

Rewards have been offered for information resulting in the recovery of the priceless jewel and conviction of the perpetrators.’

The story was dated the thirtieth of November 2008. It was a possible link, but it was two years ago. Perhaps no one had been prepared to buy it and then along comes a millionaire businessman and hears it called the Di stone and buys it for his spoilt spouse. Could be, but is very unlikely.

I left the computer while Trish continued looking, and went to organise some lunch. Why had the men come to the house? I wasn’t sure but I didn’t think it was collecting for charity. However, after lunch, I discovered there was a big Ganesh festival in Mumbai every year. That didn’t mean anything in itself but it seemed to make me feel less sceptical than my first thoughts did. It was a long shot, but I called Henry and asked him to recommend someone who would know if the stone had ever been recovered. I also asked him if he could find out if Diana had ever made her Foreign Office meeting.

I had to agree to have dinner with him the next time he was down in Portsmouth. He drives such a hard bargain, I mean, it doesn’t taste the same unless I cooked it and washed up afterwards, does it? No it tastes ten times better when someone else does it.

I rang some central London number and found out it was some high powered civil servant in the Foreign Office, Mr Adam Romsey-Smith. He was charming and courteous and listened to my ramblings and theory.

“I expect you think I’m nuts, but I’m desperately trying to find my father, Professor Agnew, who was last seen with this woman, and her husband has been kidnapped in India.”

“As we have little information about any of this, your theory sounds as good as any. Lord Stanebury did mention the jewel business and as far as we know it’s never been recovered. It’s supposed to be huge for an emerald and worth thousands even millions on the black market, but it’s such an unusual stone, you could never show it to anyone, so what’s the point in having it?”

“But that doesn’t stop art thieves does it?” I argued, “They can’t possibly show anyone they pinched this or that painting or bought it illegally, they still get stolen.”

“Yeah, but they often sell them back to the insurer to save them money, it’s better to pay half a million dollars for a Rembrandt and recover it than twenty million because it hasn’t been found.”

“So is this stone insured?”

“I doubt it, but recovery might result in a reward from the Indian government. Would you like me to put out some feelers?”

“No, because I don’t know if that’s what it’s all about, it could be something completely different, I have been wrong before.”

“You’re the first woman I’ve ever heard say that,” he teased.

“You’re the first civil servant I’ve spoken to who didn’t sound like a stuffed shirt.”

“I think that may be a compliment, so I’ll accept it as one.”

“It was meant as one, if it perhaps didn’t sound quite as flattering as it might have done.”

“If you think I can help or want to enquire about a reward, let me know.”

I thanked him and rang off. I’d just put the phone down when it rang and I picked it up hesitantly. “Hello?”

“Why didn’t you let me know you were in Bristol? I’ve got a contract I need you to read and an offer for you to front a documentary for German TV.”

“German TV, I don’t speak English that well, let alone German.”

“They show some English stuff but they also make stuff for selling abroad and I think they’ve got a deal with the Aussies.”

“What do the Aussies want with me? I don’t know anything about wombats and kangaroos.”

“Read the contract, I’ll drop it in later.”

“I’m not sure what we’ll be doing later, Erin.”

“If I see your little Mercedes or Simon’s Jag, I’ll know you’re home.”

“Simon’s not here and I’m not driving the Mercedes at the moment.”

“Oh, you haven’t left him already?”

“No, it’s a long story and I’m not prepared to discuss it on the phone.”

“Quite right too, luvvie, you never know if the News of the World are listening on a phone tap.”

“With my luck it’s more likely to be GCHQ or the CIA.”

“I’ll see you later,” she said and rang off before I could refuse. Oh well, if we’re out, that’s her hard luck.