The Cotswolds, Winter 1982
The car was there again. Red lights pierced through the darkness and thick smoke chugged from the exhaust. Frances had seen it parked there last night too, and once the week before that. In her little street in a quiet Cotswold’s village, it was unusual to see strange cars. The first time she assumed the people inside might have been tourists, hikers lost up a dead-end street and unsure where to pick up the trail. She would have stopped to offer the two men directions if it hadn’t been so cold, but she was keen to get Harry back inside after a blustery afternoon walk. Later that evening when she’d looked out the window the car was gone and she’d thought no more about it. But now they were back, and that changed things. Even from that distance she knew it was the same men, those who had left cigarette butts on the frozen ground. They were here for her, because of what she had in her possession.
They were here about the Klinkosch box.
Hearing her son whimper, she turned away from the window and hurried across the room. Still asleep but restless in his cot, Harry’s mouth was open, his lips suckling at chilly winter air. Frances pulled the blankets toward his chin, retrieved the lost pacifier from under a cuddly bear, before carefully inserting it back into Harry’s gummy little mouth. Distracted by her son, for a moment Frances almost forgot about the car outside, but the thought was soon back with her, reminding her that they weren’t safe. If it wasn’t five in the morning, she might have called Mrs. Gillman from next door, asked her to come over. It would seem easier if she wasn’t alone. They could have a cup of tea and a slice of cake, and for a while she could fool herself into thinking that everything was fine. But what good would Mrs. Gillman be against two men if they decided to cause trouble? The only person who really could protect them, who she wished was there in that moment, had chosen not to stick around.
With Harry settled she edged toward the window, pulling the curtain back for another look outside. They were still there, just as she knew they would be. Frances knew that she had to do whatever it took to keep Harry safe. It had been easy to make promises the year before, offering to take the box, to hide it, to make sure it was never found again. But things had changed, and it was different now. Back then she couldn’t have imagined anything more important than Benoit or the safekeeping of the valuable antique entrusted to her care. But now there was Harry, and he was more important than anything else. More important than Benoit. More important than a stolen box. There was nothing she wouldn’t give in order to keep Harry safe.
Moving slowly so as not to wake her sleeping boy, she pulled a small step across to the wardrobe, then climbed up so that she could reach to the top. She knew what she had to do. From the hiding place behind the hat boxes, her fingers found the cool metal of the Klinkosch box, and slowly she pulled it forward. It was heavier than she remembered as she lifted it from the edge, but still just as beautiful. The detailing was marvelous, the filigree around the edges, the cherubs on the side. Stepping down she held it close to her chest, thinking of the moment when she first saw it, and of Benoit’s face when he handed it over.
“I took it because I loved you,” she whispered to herself, remembering what Benoit used to say to her. “But I must hand it over, because now I love Harry so much more.”
The decision was made. She would take it to them, give them what they wanted. But as she took one last look at Harry resting safely in his cot, an unexpected thought came to her. What if the return of the box wasn’t enough? What if they wanted revenge for its theft in the first place? Perhaps handing it over would no longer be enough to keep her and Harry safe. What if they hurt her, leaving Harry alone? Or worse still, hurt Harry? It was an unbearable conundrum. Unwilling to risk his safety, she set the box down on the side, moved to the cot, and scooped Harry up. Sitting down in the corner of the room she held her son close to her chest when he started to whimper. A tear streaked across her cheek, unable to see a way out of the mess.
“It’s okay, there, there, my precious boy.” Bouncing him against her chest, she realized that she was stuck. Keeping the box put her at risk, but so did handing it over. “Mummy will find a way to keep you safe,” she whispered, even though she had no clue how she might be able to do that. “I’ll never let them hurt you.” And then, kissing his head, she made her son a promise that she had no idea how she would be able to keep. “I promise to do whatever it takes, Harry. They might find the box, but they will never, ever, find you.”