A Cold Moon Read online

  A Cold Moon

  Mike Price

  Austin Macauley Publishers

  A Cold Moon

  About the Author

  About the Cover

  Dedication

  Copyright Information ©

  Chapter One“FOOLS GOLD, BAD LUCK WILL, TRY AGAIN”

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  About the Author

  The author was born in 1941 in Bidford-on-Avon. He has lived in Coventry all his life. He was educated at John Gulson Grammar School and then at Lanchester Polytechnic, where he studied Building Management. He went into business at the age of 24, successfully taking one company to the stock market. He is married to his second wife and has a son and a daughter from his first marriage. Mike Price is now retired.

  About the Cover

  Will Shakespeare finds a photograph, hidden in a cigarette case, buried in the local park grounds. The picture presents him with a dilemma of what to do with the discovery.

  In London, Martin De Granville, a successful hedge fund manager, decides he wants to enter the political arena and stand as an independent candidate in the forthcoming 2010 elections.

  After a whirlwind romance and marriage to Madeleine Verity, he chooses the constituency of Kenilworth and Southam to make his stand.

  Madeleine is uninterested in her husband’s political ambitions, and so, he buys a flat in Kenilworth to use as his campaigning base.

  A chance meeting in a Coventry pub leads to complications in his bid for election and in his marriage.

  Dedication

  To all my family, especially my wife, Marie, for their support.

  Copyright Information ©

  Mike Price (2019)

  The right of Mike Price to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781528931502 (Paperback)

  ISBN 9781528966696 (ePub e-book)

  www.austinmacauley.com

  First Published (2019)

  Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd

  25 Canada Square

  Canary Wharf

  London

  E14 5LQ

  Chapter One

  The thrill of excitement sent a shiver through him, it was always the same. No matter how many times he heard the sound and no matter how many times he had been disappointed, it was still the same. It grew louder in his ear, the ping ping of the detector now shouting in its own alien language.

  He lay the detector down, slid the knapsack off his shoulders and set it down on the grass. Inside were his notebook, pencil and hand trowel for scrapping back the earth. Strapped to the outside of the bag was a short shovel, about a meter long, which he used for deeper digging if the ‘treasure’ was well buried.

  The turf peeled back easily, the recent rain having loosened the earth, and he scrapped eagerly at the exposed soil with the trowel. He was pleasantly surprised when, having dug down only a few inches, the trowel clanged as it hit the metal object. His pulse quickened as little by little the box was exposed.

  It looked like a rusty old tobacco tin and he felt a flash of disappointment, but his curiosity forced him to carry on. Pulling the box loose from the last sod holding it down, he wiped off the mud and shook the box to check if there was anything in it. There was no sound. The lid was tight and would not budge. Holding the box in his left hand and with the trowel in his right, he used it as a hammer to knock the lid off. The lid spun away, falling to the ground, the open box revealing a piece of paper.

  He slowly opened the folded sheet to reveal the writing.

  “FOOLS GOLD, BAD LUCK WILL, TRY AGAIN”

  He spun round to see if anyone was watching him, but the only people in the immediate area were a few mothers, their children playing on the swings and they were paying him no attention.

  It was obviously one of his so-called friends who knew he came here regularly and must have thought it great fun to plant the box. He could see the funny side of the joke; he just hoped that they, whoever they were, had not seen the excitement on his face when he first located the ‘find’.

  He packed his trowel back into the knapsack, picked up the detector and headed home. He had lost interest, for that day anyway.

  Chapter Two

  David Shakespeare had been saddled with the nickname of ‘Will’ since his school days. When he was just thirteen, he had entered a short story competition for under sixteen-year-olds which the local paper ran and, much to his surprise, had won it. His mickey taking pals had called him Will which stuck. Even the teachers often referred to him by the sobriquet. Now only his bank manager and the tax man addressed him as David.

  He had met his wife, Julie, at University when they were both studying to be teachers, graduating in the same year. He had obtained a post in a junior school in Kenilworth and Julie, who was a Catholic, had been lucky to get a position at Bishop Ullathorne Senior School, which was situated on the south side of Coventry. They moved in together just before the start of term, renting a two bed flat in Kenilworth. It was ideal for both as it only took her fifteen minutes to drive to Coventry and he could walk to his school.

  Will had never been proficient at sports, but like most of his contemporises, he was happy to watch others sweating and straining on the pitch. Having lived in Leicester for most of his childhood, he had, with his father, supported Leicester City, staying loyal even through the dark times when they had been relegated to the First Division, effectively the third tier of English football. Now they were in the Championship and currently in the top six, so a play-off for promotion was on the cards. When he and Julie had moved to Kenilworth, she was originally from Bradford, he had continued to support ‘The Foxes’, even though he did not always manage to attend every away game. At least, it meant there were lively discussions with his pals in the local on Friday nights, as most of them supported Coventry City.

  But now, he had a new passion which had caused a few raised eyebrows amongst his friends. He had read in the papers about the ‘Staffordshire Hoard’ and how an amateur with a metal detector had found gold on a farm near Litchfield in July 2009. The gold was worth three point three million pounds, which was sha
red with the farmer who owned the land. He had researched all he could on the subject. It was believed that the Hoard was a war bounty because there were no feminine objects in the collection. It dated back to the Seventh Century when Anglo Saxon Britain was ruled by warring kingdoms, Mercia was the biggest, stretching down from the Humber almost to London and west to the Welsh boarder. King Offa had built Offa’s Dyke to separate the Welsh from Anglo Saxons and in Warwickshire was the village of Off-church, or ‘the church of Offa’.

  Will had reasoned that as there was an old Castle in Kenilworth, then maybe that had been built on the site of one of King Offa’s headquarters. It had not taken much for him to think maybe Abbey Fields, with its ruined Abbey of St Mary built by Henry 1st’s Chamberlin Geffry de Clinton in 1124, who had also built the Castle, was part of an original settlement and therefore, might hide riches of its own.

  Fired by the thoughts of becoming the next Terry Herbert, the finder of the Staffordshire Hoard, he had gone onto the internet and found a site that sold metal detectors, but was confused by the wide variety on offer. Not really knowing which was best, he had settled for a basic model complete with earphones, which he purchased for a hundred and sixty-nine pounds.

  He knew it was a mistake the minute he showed his new toy to the guys in the pub. The general consensus was that he had just wasted his money, but undeterred, he ignored their banter. He would show them.

  Even Julie, who was normally very supportive of him, thought that he would be better off spending his money on lottery tickets but Will was convinced that there was a chance of finding something, and anyway, it was interesting and it was certainly cheaper than golf!

  Every Friday, he had to suffer the weekly questioning from his pals at the Local.

  “What treasure had he uncovered?”

  Once they had gone through this ritual humiliation, or at least that is how they viewed it, then the evening could get down to some really important issues like football. Tonight was different. The five Friday regulars, John, Dave, Robin, Geoff and Will had arrived almost at the same time and after ordering their pints, seated themselves in the corner by the open fire, their ‘reserved spot’, the landlord shifting anyone who presumed to sit in their sanctum.

  There was an atmosphere apparent from the outset and the normal banter was muted. It was Will who broke the silence.

  “I had a find this week,” he said.

  “Any good?” Robin smirked.

  “Yes. A box full of gold, some fool must have lost it.”

  “No, no you’ve got it wrong, its fool’s gold not a fool.” John was not the brightest of people and the others looked daggers at him.

  “How would you know that, John?” Will tried, desperately, to keep a straight face.

  “I … er… oh bloody hell! You know, don’t you?”

  “Of course, I just didn’t know which one of you it was.”

  They all laughed; at least, Will had taken it in good part.

  “You’ll all laugh on the other side of your faces when I hit the jackpot.”

  The friends had had their sport and now it was time for some serious drinking.

  Will never stayed late at the pub, saying goodnight after a couple more pints. It was only a ten-minute walk to the flat and he was home by nine. He appreciated the fact that Julie never complained about him having a drink with his friends and not being a big drinker, did not want to abuse her feelings, and there was another reason for not drinking too much.

  For the last eighteen months, they had been trying for a baby. After more than eight years together, they had decided the time was right for a family, but it had proved to be more difficult than they thought. At first, Will was quite pleased that they did not conceive immediately, for it meant that the increased sexual activity would continue, but after a year, Julie had begun to worry. In spite of her doctor telling her that sometimes, when a couple set their minds on starting a family, the ‘pressure’ they put on themselves actually works against them and nothing happens. The doctor had told her to relax and let nature take its course, but another six months had elapsed and still nothing.

  Saturday morning, they had an appointment with the gynaecologist to test them both and Will certainly did not want to go there with a high alcohol content in his blood stream.

  He did not sleep well that night, the thought of the morning’s appointment playing on his mind.

  They hardly spoke as they dressed and showered. The appointment was for ten o’clock and they both felt nervous, but neither could broach the subject. The journey to the consulting rooms took less than fifteen minutes but still nothing was said.

  As they entered the building, Will squeezed her hand and she squeezed his in response. They gave their names to the receptionist who asked them to take a seat whilst she informed the consultant that they were here. Still nothing was said between them.

  After a wait of ten minutes, which seemed like an hour, they were ushered into the consultant’s room.

  “Good morning, I understand that you have been trying for a baby for eighteen months and so far nothing has happened.”

  Jason Graham was a big man in every sense of the word; he had a booming voice which seemed natural for a man who must have been seventeen stone. He had a large head with a red nose that looked as though he enjoyed more than one glass of wine. He wore thick glasses and had a mass of curly hair, which was in urgent need of a visit to the barbers, and yet, for all this mass he gave off a calm reassuring persona.

  “I have read the notes your GP sent me and as far as I can see, there is no reason why you, Mrs Shakespeare, should not be able to conceive. We must, therefore, assume that it is you Mr Shakespeare that might be the cause of this road block.”

  Will was taken aback, there was nothing wrong with him, he was perfectly healthy, in fact, he never went to the doctors, didn’t even know his doctors name.

  Mr Graham continued, “I would like you to provide me with a sample so that we can test it and check we are on the right lines.”

  “A sample, what sample?” Will was at a loss to what he was talking about.

  “A sperm sample. If you would go with my nurse, she will take you to another room and provide you with a few magazines which should help.” The smile was not as reassuring as it was surely meant to be.

  Mr Graham pressed a button on his desk and the receptionist reappeared in his office.

  “Nurse, would you take Mr Shakespeare to room three please?”

  The nurse needed no further instruction; she knew what room three was for. Will followed her out, still in a daze. He was not sure he would be able to provide a sample that easily.

  The magazines worked their magic but not until he got to the pages depicting the girl on girl action and then it was plain sailing!

  They left the consulting rooms and walked back to the car.

  “Was it very embarrassing?” she asked.

  “Well, if you’ve got a girlfriend who wants to come round for the evening, I’ll tell you all about it.” He laughed and she hit him, a gentle poke in the ribs.

  “You dirty old man, you were supposed to think of me.”

  “Oh but I did.”

  She hit him again, but this time with a little more venom. The tension had been broken and they both felt more relaxed, they just hoped there was no serious impediment to them conceiving.

  A week later, they received a letter from Mr Graham telling them that the results of the test had been received and could they attend at his rooms the following Wednesday at 4.30 pm.

  On arrival at Mr Graham’s, they settled down for the customary wait and scanned the out-of-date magazines, not really giving them more than a cursory glance.

  After about fifteen minutes, the nurse showed them into Mr Graham’s room.

  “Good afternoon, I trust you are both well.” His booming voice seemed to reverberate around the room.

  “Fine thank you, but naturally, keen to know the results of the test,” Will replied.
/>
  “Yes, of course. Well, it’s as I suspected. Nothing to get worried about,” he had seen the look of apprehension appear on Will’s face. “You have a low sperm count, you’d be surprised how many men have the same symptoms.”

  Julie squeezed Will’s hand. She wanted to reassure him that it was all right.

  “So what happens now?” Will’s voice seemed to be detached from his body, as if this was all a dream. Surely, there must have been a mistake, he felt as fit as a fiddle.

  “I can see this has come as a surprise, but let me reassure you this has no effect on your health and is nothing to worry about. It means that conceiving a child naturally is just a little more difficult. It is still possible, and if you want to keep trying then there is a chance you will be successful, but the chances are much less.”

  “What are the alternatives?” It was Julie who asked, seeing that poor Will was not his usual effusive self.

  “I would recommend IVF. You can get it done on the National Health and the waiting list is not that long, I’d say between three and six months. Of course, you can go private, but it is expensive and it would still be me that you would see.”

  “I think we need to talk things over and get back to you.” Will had regained his composure and wanted to get back home as soon as possible, away from doctors and nurses, and have time to think. They left the consulting rooms and drove home, neither wanting to be the first to break the silence to discuss the situation. Once home and with a large whiskey in his hand, Will pulled Julie to him and hugged her.

  “Darling, it’s up to you, whatever you decide then I’m happy to go along.”

  “That’s a bit unfair putting it all on me. This should be a joint decision.”

  “No… no… I’m sorry, that came out all wrong. What I mean is that you are the one that will have to go through the procedures, so if you don’t feel comfortable with that then we just carry on and hope we conceive naturally. However, if you want to try IVF, then I’m with you one hundred percent.”