Notebook

It was a sultry, oppressive evening. For the boys, it was a time for open-neck, short-sleeve shirts. For the girls, it was a case of the skimpier the better, subject to individual concepts of modesty. It could have been a particularly intemperate part of Southern Europe or Greece or anywhere in the world where air-conditioning was de rigueur, rather than a luxury. It was the South coast of England, Brighton, in August.

The heat and the consequent perspiration did not dampen enthusiasms. Certainly, Valentine Brock and his new girlfriend, Cordelia Duval, were in the highest of spirits. On a weekend break from London, they had been to Glynebourne with friends, Mark and Sarah, having witnessed a wonderful performance of Mozart’s “Cosi fan tutte” and were on a mission to celebrate Valentine’s recent promotion in an Investment Bank.

The four friends had decided to visit Brighton’s Rendezvous Casino. Valentine was eager to be generous with the additional wealth his promotion had brought him. Cordelia dismissed his “generosity” as a brazen attempt to show off but was happy to benefit from the resultant distribution of funds; £1000 in chips to each.

“My first bet is that Valentine will be the first to lose the lot; he’s the most drunk and his impetuosity will get the better of him” opined Cordelia.

“Ah, rubbish. You’ll see.” said Valentine as they departed, he to the Blackjack table, the other three to the Roulette wheel. He knew blackjack is primarily a game of skill, where the element of chance is transcended by knowing how to respond to different hands, when to play aggressively and when to pull back.

He started cautiously, taking an immediate dislike to the dealer, a young man with a haughty, humourless air about him. When the dealer was replaced by a pretty girl whose movement around the table was less pronounced and whose demeanour was more sympathetic, he relaxed and adopted a bolder attitude. He was encouraged in his belief that fortune would favour him when he was dealt two aces, which he split and was then promptly dealt a King on the first ace and a Queen on the second, having doubled his initial sizeable bet on each, the dealer obligingly having to stand at 17. Unsurprisingly, he failed to repeat that result, but the flow was generally in his direction and whenever he did lose, he managed to recoup his loss and build on his profit. As hands were dealt, while he knew he was not losing, he did not know by how much he was winning. Not until, after about an hour, Cordelia came to his table, empty-handed, having lost all at Roulette.

She was amazed. He was sitting next to a pile of chips that was mountainous by comparison to the other players’ piles. “Oh my God, this is incredible. I’m not going to let you lose it all” she swooped like a deranged angel of mercy and scooped most of the chips. She swiftly returned, breathless with excitement, and announced that she had pocketed, on Valentine’s behalf, £20,000.

They soon left the casino, but not before Valentine had left her all of his chips that remained on the table; a gesture that left her, progressively, surprised, amazed and shocked. Her position did not allow her to be too demonstrative in her gratitude; the look on her face, the unfettered smile were a sufficient communication of thanks for him.

Valentine and Cordelia then headed for the sea. It was at a time of night that one expected, an expectation that was rarely disappointed, to have to negotiate many of the results of the excessive intake of alcohol or drugs or both. From those unable to walk in a straight line, to those deciding to achieve inpromptu relief of their bladders; from those seemingly intent on inviting others to engage in combat to those unable to resist the need to evacuate their stomachs.

Valentine and Cordelia reached the seafront notwithstanding these obstacles. They were immediately invigorated by the breeze that lifted off the sea. The pebbles that populate the beach, always a disappointment to those that expect sand, did not discourage their progress to the point at which the sea attempted to invade the land. There was a frisson between them, but they were both content to allow no more physical contact than to hold hands and to eschew any outspoken expressions of friendship or beyond. That’s not to say that either of them was not internally attentive on the other. They were simultaneously assessing the suitability of the other as someone more than an object of temporary desire; for those desires had collided at a time when each was beginning to focus on the future rather than the present.

When they returned to the hotel, they made love; with a passionate intensity that so far had been absent. It was as if they both knew that they were now more than friends; for now they were friends and lovers. The new found passion translated into quotidian activities; having breakfast, strolling through the lanes, wandering around a museum, driving back to London, reading the Sunday papers; until they had to part, he needing to get home to prepare for his busy week ahead as the new department head. While she needed to make her arrangements for a  business trip to Kazakhstan that would keep her out of the country for the entire next week. It was painful for him that he would not see her for five days at least, but he knew that the pressure he would be under at work would soften his yearning. The reality is that two people so committed to their occupations would have refrained from meeting during a working week.

Valentine was in his office at 6.30 am Monday; somewhat discombobulated. This morning his mind kept wandering back to Cordelia. It made him feel uncomfortable; he became more so when he felt for the black notebook he kept in his left breast pocket; it was not there. Nor was it in any other pocket, or his briefcase, or the drawers of his desk, where he looked even though he knew it was not there

It was his invariable practice to carry a notebook, normally black; a habit he had inherited from his father, a published historian of academic fame, who, Valentine remembered from early childhood, would randomly interrupt a conversation to jot down a recently acquired thought or idea or piece of useful information in his notebook, which he would have extracted from his left breast pocket. Valentine had adopted the practice when he planned to become a writer and continued when his career went in a different direction. For him, electronic devices were no substitute for notebooks. If he lost or misplaced one, it was often of little importance; on this occasion, however, the loss was most alarming. On Friday he had noted in his current book the code for the account he had opened to purchase crypto currency; it was a new currency, an alternative to Bitcoin, known as “Erasmus” and he bought a large amount of this currency using the Bank’s money; his plan was to “borrow” the money for four days, which he knew he could do without the Bank’s knowledge, because he had access to the “back office” by virtue of one of his live trades, which had already made the bank a great deal of money. The money had to be back with the Bank by Tuesday and if he was unable to find the codes by then, his whole future would hang in the balance. There was no way of retrieving the money without the codes. It was vital that he found his notebook. He started to retrace his steps from the time that he wrote the codes down; until he got to Saturday night and realised that he had last seen it on Sunday night just before he left Cordelia’s. He was mightily relieved, like a mother who’d just found her lost two year old.

Valentine’s hard-won relief was shattered in an instant. Cordelia was away; in Kazakhstan of all places. In a remote part of a remote country. Not back till Friday. And uncontactable till then, not that being able to contact her would allow him entry to her flat. His mind computed the situation on the basis that he had to get into her flat that night, without fail. He had been to Cordelia’s flat often enough to know that security on her flat was not impressive, making the flat far from impregnable. He thought he would need to deploy a trick he’d learnt from one of his traders who spent time in the Police force.

By Monday evening the weather had turned; still hot but overcast. He arrived at Cordelia’s flat at 10.00 pm. As he approached, he realised there were no street lights; a bit early he thought, but less chance of being noticed. He had no torch, but he had his phone. Entering the flat was easy by way of the credit card trick. When he was in, he reached for his phone. “Oh shit. Bloody phone’s dead”. He could see nothing, even after his eyes were adjusted. “Bugger” he said and decided he should chance the lights; but when he switched, nothing. “Must be a power cut. Great”. He made his way from the lobby to the sitting room, his hands flat against the wall to guide him in. As he progressed around the room, his hands touched a sideboard or table but then came into contact with something, maybe an ornament; which then crashed to the floor. He refrained from letting out a sound; he experienced a deep intake of breath, which composed him. He was sure he was at the point that had last seen the notebook. “Please God, she hasn’t moved it” he whispered. Just then he touched upon something small and compact. He grabbed it; flicked the pages; brought it right up to his eyes; it was unmistakably his notebook. Emitting a sigh of relief, he put the notebook securely in his back pocket. As he let his left hand drop down to his side, he felt a sharp object, so sharp that it made him jerk his hand to his face and he moved backwards. His right foot, as it moved backwards, made contact with something on the floor. He was now surprised, disorientated and physically unbalanced. He tried to regain his balance, but toppled backwards and before he could recover himself, he was falling into something; fortunately it was an armchair so he relaxed momentarily. He stood up, turned and with his hands he grabbed the sideboard behind him and his right hand came into contact with an object which toppled, innocently it seemed, until he heard the undeniable sound of liquid being discharged; glug, glug. He turned around as swiftly as he dared to grab what he assumed was a bottle and return it to an upright position. This was achieved but not before practically the entire contents of the bottle had been discharged, most of it over him.

Valentine stood stock still for a couple of very long minutes. He was jilted out of his stupor when the lights came on. The power cut was over. He surveyed the scene, noticed that the cat was breathing; and left.

He was in his flat on the Friday night when Cordelia rang. The crypto currency had been recovered. The Bank was reunited with its money. He had by his side his notebook, £20,000 in cash and a diamond ring. Cordelia was troubled but calm; she explained to him that she’d had a break in but the offenders had taken nothing; possibly surprised by the lights coming on after a power cut. They’d spilled some When she had finished, Valentine said “Cordelia, can we meet up? I’ve got something to say to you.”