Friday Barnes 10 Read online

  About the Book

  TROUBLE ON THE ARCTIC TUNDRA!

  Friday is not running away. Yes, she did get on a train to Norway without telling anyone where she was going – but she had to help Binky. He may or may not have been attacked by a polar bear. Now he’s facing court martial for dereliction of duty. Obviously, Friday had to drop everything and travel 3000 kilometres to solve the case.

  The fact that it’s easier to handle her feelings for Ian Wainscott if there’s a continent between them is just a coincidence. When Friday arrives in Oslo, there are so many mysteries to solve. Is someone trying to keep Binky and Princess Ingrid apart? How can a painting leave a museum when all the doors are sealed? And will Melanie persuade Friday to go to the royal ball without wearing a brown cardigan?

  If Friday survives her trip to the remote Global Seed Vault, we may find out.

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Previously in Friday Barnes

  Chapter 1: Big Decision

  Chapter 2: A Call in the Night

  Chapter 3: Excuses, Excuses

  Chapter 4: Deep in the Norwegian Woods

  Chapter 5: The Court Martial

  Chapter 6: Ingrid’s Problem

  Chapter 7: Meanwhile in Bilbao

  Chapter 8: Saba’s Problem

  Chapter 9: Munch

  Chapter 10: Anticipation

  Chapter 11: Paparazzi

  Chapter 12: An Ordeal

  Chapter 13: At the Ball

  Chapter 14: The Tour Goes Wrong

  Chapter 15: Svalbard

  Chapter 16: Hostage Situation

  Chapter 17: The Bitterly Cold End

  Chapter 18: It All Makes Sense

  Friday Barnes: Last Chance

  Extract from Friday Barnes: Girl Detective

  About the Author

  Books by R. A. Spratt

  Friday Barnes: Collect Them All . . .

  Have You Read the Peski Kids?

  Have You Read Nanny Piggins?

  Have You Read Shockingly Good Stories?

  Imprint

  Read More at Penguin Books Australia

  To all the young people of 2020–2021. I hope you’ve had a chance to read more than usual. Cherish the stories from this time. You will carry them with you for the rest of your life. And remember, when you have a good story – it’s important to tell it.

  The Chief Inspector left, closing the door behind him. Friday was still shaking, although she was no longer sure if it was from nerves or shock. She turned to the governor of the Uffizi. It occurred to Friday it was odd that she would want to speak to her alone.

  ‘I’d like to offer you a job,’ said Governor Offredi.

  ‘What?’ said Friday. Then she remembered her manners, ‘I mean. I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I am not really the governor of the Uffizi,’ said the governor.

  ‘You’re not?’ asked Friday.

  ‘No, I’m the Chief Investigator in the arts and antiquities unit of Interpol,’ said the governor. ‘Crime in this area is rife across Europe, and indeed the world, as criminals seek to move money about in the form of artefacts.’

  ‘I know,’ said Friday. ‘I read the papers.’

  ‘I know you do,’ said the governor. ‘You have subscriptions to major daily papers in five different languages. We’ve been watching you.’

  ‘You have! Why?’ asked Friday.

  ‘We want to offer you a job,’ said the governor. ‘A fifteen-year-old girl, with a criminal record. No one would suspect you of working for us.’

  Friday glanced out the window at Ian and Melanie. She didn’t want this. She just wanted to be normal again.

  ‘I’ve had enough excitement,’ said Friday. ‘I just want to go back to school with my friends.’

  ‘You can do both,’ said the governor. ‘Your friend already works for us.’

  ‘Melanie?’ asked Friday.

  ‘No, although I’m considering taking her on,’ said the governor. ‘Her language skills are excellent. Her ability to tell if someone is lying would be invaluable. And I’ve read a report that she is incredibly gifted as archery. That’s got to be useful.’

  ‘Then . . .?’ began Friday.

  ‘Ian,’ said the governor. ‘He’s been working with us since he came to Italy. He has been a great asset. A sixteen-year-old with a conman for a father and a chip on his shoulder. It is an excellent cover story.’

  Friday looked through the window at Ian. He was so good looking and charming. It all made complete sense. Ian was Uncle Bernie’s informant on the dark web. The inside operative spying on the antiquities underworld. Ian. Her Ian. The boy who had kissed her in the back of a horse drawn carriage while they were serenaded with opera. This was all too much even for her massive brain to comprehend.

  ‘Come and join him, and me, in investigating real crime here in Europe,’ urged the governor. ‘What do you say?’

  Friday did not even respond. She was looking through the glass partition at Ian. Without saying a word she got up and stepped out of the office.

  Ian looked up.

  ‘Were you only going out with Tatiana because you had to?’ she asked.

  Ian nodded ever so slightly.

  ‘You let her into the Uffizi that night to entrap her?’ said Friday. Although it wasn’t really a question. She knew the answer.

  ‘I was trying to get her to trust me,’ said Ian. ‘By showing I would break the rules.’

  Friday walked across the office. Ian stood up as she approached, bracing for some sort of impact.

  Friday grabbed a hold of him and kissed him.

  It was a really good kiss. She was getting the hang of kissing.

  When she let go, Ian looked a little bewildered.

  ‘I just want you to know,’ said Friday. ‘I really hate you.’

  ‘I know,’ said Ian. Then he kissed her back.

  To be continued . . .

  ‘So is that a yes?’ called Governor Offredi from the office doorway.

  Friday turned round. She realised she was clenching Ian quite tightly by his shirt front. She let go. Her enormous mind immediately processed the fact that her fists had left wrinkles that would have to be ironed out. She also noticed that Melanie had her phone out and was taking a video.

  ‘Delete that!’ said Friday.

  ‘No way!’ said Melanie. ‘I’ve been waiting four years for this. I need evidence it happened so I can be sure this isn’t just a dream.’

  ‘So are you taking the job?’ asked Ian.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Friday.

  ‘I didn’t know there was anything you didn’t know,’ said Ian.

  Friday looked into his blue eyes to check what he meant. Yes, he was laughing at her. ‘You know better than anyone the vast extent of my ignorance,’ said Friday.

  ‘I like to think it’s like the dark side of the moon,’ said Ian. ‘It’s there. It’s big. And it’s yet to be explored.’

  ‘I’ll have to think about it,’ said Friday.

  ‘You’re capable of making all sorts of complex calculations on probability, human behaviour and tactics in a millisecond,’ said Ian. ‘Is whether or not to accept a job offer really that hard?’

  ‘It is when the job offer would involve working with you,’ said Melanie. ‘Obviously Friday is in love with you, but as a girl scarred by the indifference of her own family, she understandably has issues.’

  ‘Commitment issues?’ said Ian.

  ‘Self-esteem issues,’ said Melanie. ‘Essentially, she literally can’t believe her luck. To her computer brain, it makes no objective sense that someone as good-looking as you would like her.’

&nb
sp; ‘So she’s being superficial?’ said Ian.

  ‘Yes,’ said Melanie.

  ‘It’s a big decision,’ said Friday. ‘I should carefully consider it.’

  ‘Yes, if you’re a huge coward,’ said Melanie. ‘Most people wouldn’t find an interesting job, living in Europe and hanging out with a boy with movie-star good looks too much of a chore.’

  ‘But that’s why I like you,’ said Ian, smiling at Friday. ‘Because you’re complicated.’

  ‘What have you got to go back to?’ Melanie asked Friday.

  ‘Stability, familiarity, Mrs Marigold’s cooking,’ said Friday.

  ‘I’m sure Mrs Marigold will email you her pancake recipe,’ said Melanie.

  Friday turned to Ian. He was smiling his ‘I’m smug, but I know I’m good-looking when I’m smug, so I’m not going to bother to hide it’ smile. While she did get these mad impulses to kiss him, sometimes just being near him made her feel like she was having a panic attack. This was one of those times. She took a step back as if he were emitting some sort of gravitational pull that she had to struggle to overcome. Ian noticed the movement and frowned.

  ‘I’ve got to go back,’ said Friday. ‘To the convent. All my things are there.’

  ‘Really?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t think I can just leave,’ said Friday. ‘Mrs Cannon must technically be responsible for me. And Dr Belcredi is responsible for me following the terms of my release. I’m not sure it’s even possible. I don’t want to violate the terms of my release. I don’t want to be arrested again.’ Friday realised she was talking very fast and the room was spinning.

  ‘Maybe you should sit down,’ said Ian, although his voice sounded different, like a recording played at the wrong speed.

  ‘She’s going to faint,’ said Melanie. She sounded pleased as she said it. Probably because she knew Ian would catch her.

  Friday had, in fact, fainted. When she woke up, she was lying on the floor of the police station with her legs propped up on a desk chair, while Melanie, Ian, Uncle Bernie and Governor Offredi were having a conversation about her mental health.

  ‘She’s just had a rough day,’ said Uncle Bernie.

  ‘Her file says she’s been struggling with anxiety ever since she was released from juvenile detention,’ said the governor.

  ‘Yeah, wrongful imprisonment will do that to you,’ said Ian.

  ‘She’s fine,’ said Melanie. ‘She just hasn’t eaten for seven hours. If you just give her a biscuit, she’ll go back to normal.’

  ‘She was never normal,’ said Ian.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Melanie.

  ‘You know, just because I fainted doesn’t mean I’m deaf,’ grumbled Friday.

  ‘You woke up,’ said Melanie.

  ‘Come on,’ said Uncle Bernie, helping Friday to her feet. ‘I’ve got things to tie up here, but we’ll get someone to take you back to the convent. You need to get some proper food and a good night’s sleep. You can make a decision tomorrow.’

  Five minutes later, Friday and Melanie were in the back of a police car, being driven to the convent where they were staying. Friday stared out the window as they passed through the narrow streets of Florence. There were so many beautiful buildings. So many tourists bustling about. It was hard to believe that just a month ago, she had been cooped up in a cell in a juvenile detention centre. Everything here was so lovely. And she was leaving it all behind tomorrow.

  That thought made her pulse race. Worries started whizzing around in circles in her mind. Had she made the right decision? Had hormones clouded her thinking? Did Ian have some sort of hormone-based mind control over her? Was she being trapped? Why wasn’t there enough air in this car?

  ‘Are you hyperventilating?’ Melanie asked.

  Friday glanced across. She hadn’t been paying attention. She realised her breathing was getting very rapid.

  ‘I’ve got to get out,’ Friday whispered hoarsely. She glanced at the car door. There was no handle. She was in the back of a police car. They didn’t have handles on the inside at the back. ‘I want to get out! I can’t breathe!’ She pounded on the barrier between her and their driver.

  ‘Just wait,’ said Melanie.

  ‘We’re trapped,’ said Friday. She had started to feel cold and clammy.

  ‘No, we’re not. But we don’t want to walk further than we have to,’ said Melanie. ‘It’s been a long day and I haven’t had a nap yet.’

  The car pulled up outside the convent and the driver hurried round to open the back door. Friday burst out onto the pavement, gasping in the fresh air like she had just emerged from a submarine that was low on oxygen.

  ‘Is she okay?’ asked the driver.

  ‘Not really,’ said Melanie. ‘But there’s nothing anyone can do. Her boyfriend just asked her to move to Spain. Her body is struggling to come to terms with the panic.’

  ‘Ahh,’ said the driver, nodding his head knowingly. ‘L’amore. Love makes fools of us all.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Melanie. ‘Friday was always struggling to pass for normal. Romance is only one of her many problems.’ Melanie helped Friday to her feet, ‘Come on, let’s get you inside. We’ll have a nice gelato and a lie down. And you can read one of those boring books about pure mathematics to calm yourself.’

  But it was not to be. As Friday and Melanie turned into the driveway, they found a crowd had gathered. Their teachers, Mr Maclean and Mr Nestor, as well as several students were huddled together arguing. Except for Nigel, who was just eating a massive gelato.

  ‘You can’t postpone. I have to fly back tomorrow!’ exclaimed Mirabella. ‘I have an appointment with Doctor Lee on Tuesday.’

  ‘Is it for an urgent medical issue?’ asked Mr Nestor.

  ‘No,’ said Mirabella, looking at Mr Nestor like he was crazy. ‘If it was a medical appointment, I could just reschedule. Dr Lee is much harder to get an appointment with than that. She’s a doctor of cosmetology.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand what that is,’ said Mr Nestor.

  ‘Duh!’ said Mirabella. ‘Dr Lee does my nails. If I give up my October appointment, I’ve got no chance of getting in with her again before November.’

  ‘I didn’t know you could get a PhD in cosmetology,’ said Melanie.

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me,’ said Friday. ‘I’ve met PhDs who’ve studied things much more ridiculous, and certainly less practical.’

  ‘This is an outrageous waste of all our time,’ said Mr Maclean, taking out his mobile phone. ‘I’m reporting her to the headmaster. Her behaviour on this trip has been scandalous.’

  ‘Who are we talking about?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘Mrs Cannon,’ said Trea Babcock.

  ‘Okay, that makes sense,’ said Melanie. Mrs Cannon was the English teacher chaperoning the excursion. She was beloved by the students because she was a great believer in the role of rest and relaxation in the educational process. ‘But to be fair, her behaviour has always been pretty scandalous. She did pose for a nude portrait that covered an entire wall of a two-storey school building.’

  ‘She did?’ asked Mr Nestor. He was a new teacher and this had been before his time.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Nigel, between licks of gelato. ‘If you want to see it, it’s on the side of Farmer Bryson’s barn. He takes tour groups out to look at it every Wednesday at 4 pm. He says that’s when the light is best. As the sun sets, she appears to glow.’

  Mr Maclean was still trying to call the headmaster. He glared at the screen several times before giving up. ‘This place is ridiculous,’ he snapped. ‘Their mobile phone reception is terrible.’

  ‘It is a convent,’ said Melanie. ‘I think they prefer to communicate with prayer.’

  ‘And heavenly gelato,’ added Nigel.

  ‘So, what’s happened?’ asked Melanie.

  Friday sighed. Now that the adrenalin had worn off, and her hyperventilating was under control, she realised she was totally exhausted. She really wanted to go in
side, lie down and be left alone. She didn’t want to know about whatever petty drama was unfolding with her school group.

  ‘Mrs Cannon’s room was robbed,’ said Nigel.

  ‘I don’t know why she’s making such a fuss,’ said Mirabella. ‘It’s not like she had anything nice anyway.’

  This did catch Friday’s attention. She may have been so exhausted she could barely stand, but she really liked Mrs Cannon. She was deeply eccentric in a fun way. Friday didn’t like to think of someone she liked being robbed.

  ‘What did they steal?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘Everything,’ said Mr Nestor. ‘All Mrs Cannon’s things. And all her clothes. Right now, she’s sitting in her room naked and refusing to come out.’

  ‘And no one else is the same size as her,’ said Trea. ‘So no one has any clothes they can lend her.’

  ‘And Mr Maclean and Mr Nestor can’t go inside because men aren’t allowed in the convent,’ added Nigel.

  ‘We have a plane to catch at 8 am tomorrow morning,’ wailed Mr Maclean. ‘We don’t have time for this.’

  ‘Just call the police,’ said Friday.

  ‘The nuns don’t want police in the convent,’ said Mr Nestor. ‘I tried reporting the theft to the police myself, but they are too respectful of the nuns. They won’t come in unless they are invited.’

  ‘Mrs Cannon can hardly get on the plane naked,’ said Melanie.

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past her,’ said Trea.

  ‘She can’t go anywhere,’ said Mr Nestor. ‘Everything is missing. That means all her documents are gone – including her passport.’

  ‘The airline won’t let us on the plane without a female chaperone for the girls,’ said Mr Maclean. ‘This whole thing is a debacle!’