“Now then, Mr Sangster, take it slowly, and rest the bottom of your crutch on each step as you go down.” I felt Matron Davey’s arm around one shoulder and Sarah’s around the other as I slowly descended from the main entrance of the academy, to see my car gleaming on the gravel drive. “Now then, Mr Sangster, I—”
All at once there was an ear-splitting noise from the sky, followed by swirling wind as a green helicopter appeared from above the trees of the Plantation and lowered itself onto the front lawn, blowing patterns in the grass as it landed.
The door opened, and out stepped Sir John, ducking the downdraft as he walked towards us. He was followed by a man with striped epaulettes on the shoulders of his white shirt (the pilot I assumed), who then helped a man and a woman out of the door. I recognised them as Angel’s parents.
“My goodness, Sangster, we are a mess, aren’t we?”
“Thank you, Sir John.”
“No, thank you, Sangster, sterling work, sterling.” He looked down at Angel’s mother, who had now caught up. “Don’t you think so, Marjorie?”
“Oh yes, Mr Sangster, George and I cannot thank you enough, we really can’t.”
With this she threw herself against me in a bear hug, which would have knocked me on my back if it hadn’t been for Sarah and Matron Davey’s steadying hands.
“Be gentle with Mr Sangster,” said the matron, gently pushing Mrs Blackwood back. “He’s well enough but delicate.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “I’m just… you know, happy Angel’s safe and sound.”
“We all are, Sangster, and d’you know?”
“Sir John?”
“Marjorie and, er…” He looked at Mr Blackwood.
“George,” said his wife.
“Yes, George of course.” I smiled at Sir John’s blundering attempt to ingratiate himself with Angel’s parents, giving them a ride in his helicopter but unable to remember her (admittedly rather forgettable), father’s name. “Well, they’ve agreed that a statement vindicating the academy can be made public. Angel’s also made a statement endorsing the system as well. Sent the statements to all the parents and we’re going to put them out in national newspapers and all that as well. This case has caused quite a stir in Fleet Street, I can tell you.”
“Of course, nobody from the academy behaved inappropriately,” I said, catching the eye of Velinda Flimwell. “So, the education department will let us keep our license, Sir John?”
“Almost a dead cert, Sangster. Now then, I’m billeted at the Grand Duchy Hotel in Truro tonight, and I’ve arranged a room there for the Blackwoods so they can be closer to Angel while she convalesces. Shall we see you and your wife there for dinner this evening?”
I looked at Sarah, who shrugged and looked at Mrs Davey.
“Doctor’s told me I can discharge Mr Sangster,” said the matron. “But I think he needs a quiet evening all the same.”
“Course, Sangster, what was I thinking. Anyway, we’ll be having a reception here tomorrow afternoon, so hopefully you’ll be fit enough to come.”
“I hope so.”
“Until tomorrow then,” called Sir John, striding back across the lawn, the pilot following with the now rather confused looking Blackwoods in tow. Sarah, Velinda, Mrs Davey and I said nothing as we, along with most of the academy pupils and staff (who I imagined had come down to the lawn when they first heard the noise of the rotors), watched the helicopter lift up then turn and swing back across the Plantation, disappearing from sight with its noise gone a few seconds afterwards, leaving the academy once again in tranquil silence.
*
“Alright, Mr Sangster?” said Mrs Davey as I eased my bruised legs slowly into the passenger seat of the E-Type, which seemed somehow to have become much lower and more awkward to get into than it ever had before. Sarah had put the hood down, which helped a little, but I still feared being able to get out again.
“Yes, thank you, Mrs Davey.”
“And thanks again, Matron, for looking after my husband so well,” Sarah added, while tying up a headscarf and then pressing the ignition button. “You and Velinda really have been marvellous.”
Both women smiled, and we waved, before pulling away down the drive to the gatehouse, where Runtle stood poking a cylindrical metal garden incinerator that belched white smoke.
“Pull up.”
Sarah slammed on the brakes, and I groaned.
“Now, there’s a bag of papers in the boot. Take it and ask Runtle to put that bag into his incinerator.”
“Sorry?”
“Ask Runtle to put the bag into his incinerator. The whole bag.”
Sarah climbed out, more meekly than I expected, and took the bag to Runtle as requested. I watched as it was engulfed in flames, quickly reducing to ash. The last item to ignite was Angel’s notebook, but even that, with its leather binding, burned hard, so that within less than a minute the last of Angel’s evidence was gone (or so I thought, watching the flames).
Runtle then went inside the gatehouse, reappearing as the main gates swung open.
“Bye Runtle,” shouted Sarah.
Runtle waved and we turned into the lane, where I instinctively looked into the woods of the Plantation, wondering if the tramp would be watching us. I saw nothing, and we carried on, past the layby with the Bethadew sign, the track to which was cordoned off with police tape, and where a van I recognised as belonging to Sue Driver and team was parked.
“Looks like a TV crew,” said Sarah. “Must be doing a feature on the whole thing.”
“I’m sure,” I answered, as we sped past. “By the way, the car’s running smoothly again, and I’d swear someone cleaned and polished it.”
“Runtle, he fixed the car and cleaned it as well. Said to me someone must have, now how did he put it… ‘Done a gashly job with the timing’.”
“Those bloody Stockers.” I remembered Pete’s words; ‘You were misfiring a little. Timing all wrong.’
“Anyway, darling, I’m glad the doctor’s given you the all-clear to come back to the hotel. We’ll have a nice quiet evening and, as long as you’re feeling up to it, go to Sir John’s reception tomorrow afternoon. And you know,” she said, pausing to look around as she drove, “I love the silence of these lanes, you can almost hear the—”
She was cut short by a bang behind us.
“What’s that, Jack, I can’t see a thing in the mirror?”
“Boot lid’s just flown up.”