FIFTEEN
The morning was cold but dry. Eldritch and I sat muffled up on one of the benches lining the main avenue across Green Park, Eldritch coughing and puffing his way through a succession of Sobranies while I made a show of reading a newspaper. He hadn’t forgiven me for alerting Rachel Banner to his existence and promising her she could meet him, but, as he’d tartly informed me over breakfast, he wasn’t about to let me mismanage a second encounter with her. Accordingly, he was waiting for her in the park along with me. We were where I’d told her we’d be at the time I’d told her we’d be there. But, as yet, she wasn’t.
‘I see Smith’s rejected the latest deal,’ I said, in a feeble effort at distraction.
‘Who?’ growled Eldritch.
‘Ian Smith. The Rhodesian Prime Minister. I’d have thought you’d take a keen interest in African affairs, since you were born there.’
‘I was born in the past. You won’t find that in a world atlas.’
‘Still, I expect you’d go along with Smith. Keep the blacks in their place. That sort of thing.’
He cast me a wary glance. ‘Are you trying to provoke me, boy?’
‘I told you not to call me boy.’
‘No. It was “son” you objected to.’
‘Well, you can—’
‘Excuse the interruption.’
I recognized Rachel’s voice at once. I looked round and saw her standing behind us on the grass, a few yards away. She was dressed as she’d been the day before. She looked cold, her face pale, her shoulders hunched. I heard Eldritch let out a sigh. Then he stood up and turned to face her.
‘Miss Banner,’ he said simply, discarding his cigarette and grinding out the butt. ‘I’m Eldritch Swan.’
‘I know who you are.’ She stared at him for a moment, then smiled at me. ‘Hi, Stephen.’
‘Hello, Rachel,’ I said. ‘Come and sit down.’
She took a few steps towards us. But that was all. ‘You ruined my mother’s life, Mr Swan,’ she declared flatly.
‘I ruined my own in the process,’ Eldritch responded. ‘If that’s any consolation.’
‘It’s some. But not a whole lot. You knew Mom when she was a young woman. She liked you. She told me so. She thought you liked her. Did you?’
‘Yes.’
‘But still you tried to cheat her. How does that work? Please tell me. I’d really like to know.’
‘You know how it works. There’s no mystery. I saw a chance of making myself rich. I took it.’
‘And to hell with the consequences for my mother?’
‘I’m afraid I put her out of my mind.’
‘Has Stephen told you what happened to her?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry, Miss Banner. Truly I am. But if there’s one piece of advice I can give you, it’s—’
‘Advice? From you? I don’t believe it.’
‘You don’t have to. You don’t even have to hear it if you don’t want to.’
‘No. Go on. This should be … memorable.’
‘Look,’ I said, fearful that Eldritch had resolved to sabotage the meeting before it had properly begun, ‘why don’t we—’
‘No, Stephen,’ said Rachel. ‘Let him give me his advice.’ She was breathing heavily. ‘I can hardly wait.’
‘It’s simple enough,’ said Eldritch. ‘Blaming your mistakes and misfortunes on other people is as futile as it’s fallacious. I cheated your mother, yes. More correctly, I enabled someone else to cheat her. But as for all the things that went wrong later in her life, and in yours and your brother’s, loading responsibility for them on to me is … unworthy of the sort of woman Stephen tells me you are.’
Rachel stepped closer still and looked Eldritch in the eye. ‘You have a fucking nerve.’
‘You know what I’ve said is true. Whether you admit it or not is up to you.’
‘I’m sorry, Stephen,’ – she looked round at me – ‘I don’t think this is going to work.’
For the moment, I couldn’t help agreeing with her. I stood up. ‘For God’s sake, Eldritch, show a bit of humility.’
‘Not something I’ve ever been good at, I’m afraid, Stephen. I thought it might come with age, but—’
‘You both be sure to have a nice day,’ cut in Rachel. With that she swung on her heel and started to walk away.
‘Hold on,’ I said, running after her.
I was nearly at her shoulder when Eldritch shouted, ‘Miss Banner.’
She stopped and turned round. To my surprise, I saw her eyes were red and tearful. ‘Yes? What else do you have to say to me?’
‘Stephen said you wanted to be involved in our attempt to prove Geoffrey Cardale stole your Picassos. I can’t believe you don’t. Whether you think I’m … cruel and contemptible … is really beside the point. So, please sit down. Hear me out.’
‘More advice for me, Mr Swan?’
‘No. A proposition.’
‘It had better be good.’ She walked slowly back to the bench and sat down. As I sat down beside her, she took out a cigarette. I lit it for her. She dried her eyes with the heel of her free hand and gazed past me across the park. She didn’t so much as glance at Eldritch. ‘Go ahead.’ I silently echoed the sentiment she’d just expressed. This had better be good. I was well past being surprised that he’d given me no inkling what his proposition might be.
‘Desmond Quilligan, the man who painted the fake Picassos your grandmother destroyed, drank himself to death twenty years ago. We visited his old landlady, Mrs Duthie, yesterday. She gave us his sister’s address in Hampshire. It seems Isolde Quilligan married an old schoolfriend of mine, Miles Linley. In 1940, he was working at the British Legation in Dublin. He knew I was trying to lure Quilligan to London, but not why. Not the real reason, anyway. Did Isolde know? I can’t be sure. Maybe Quilligan told her later. In which case Linley also knows. How they came to marry is anyone’s guess. They didn’t know one another as far as I was aware. Clearly something changed after I was locked up. Probably lots of things. What I can say is this. Knowing Linley as I do, if he found out, he probably sought to capitalize on his discovery.’
‘How?’ asked Rachel.
‘Perhaps by blackmailing Cardale.’
‘If that’s true, he and his wife aren’t going to help us prove a damn thing.’
‘Indeed not. If it’s true. We need to find out. We also need to see a painting of Quilligan’s which Isolde took away with her after his death. It’s called Three Swans. It’s the last thing he ever painted. And since his death was essentially self-inflicted, it might represent a form of suicide note.’
‘Addressed to you?’
‘Perhaps. Three swans seen flying together portend a death. So goes the superstition. But according to Mrs Duthie there was only one swan in the picture. It seems to be some kind of riddle.’
‘Is this all you’ve got?’
‘Yes. But we’ll get more if we play our cards right. I can’t be seen by Isolde or her husband. Especially her husband. With any luck, they don’t know I’m out. And I’d like to keep it that way. They wouldn’t speak to me under any circumstances. But you two might be able to extract some valuable information from them if you catch them on the hop, perhaps even get to see Three Swans. You need false names and a cover story. The names I’ll leave to you. The story is that you’re interested in the artistic career of Desmond Quilligan and you’ve been told they have most of his pictures: could you take a look at them?’
‘What if they slam the door in our faces?’ I put in.
‘Then we’ll know they’re party to the fraud. But if you get past the door and convince them you’re genuine Quilligan enthusiasts, there’s no telling what you might learn. It’d be useful if you could establish whether Quilligan’s brother, Ardal, is alive, for instance, and, if so, where he lives. He’s another who may be in on it.’
‘How current is the information you got from Quilligan’s landlady?’ asked Rachel.
‘It’s twenty years out of date,’ I answered.
‘Then, they could have moved. Or died. This could all be a waste of time.’
‘The frequency of your visits to the Royal Academy suggests time is something you have on your hands, Miss Banner,’ said Eldritch. ‘I’m suggesting how to put a little of it to good use.’
‘Don’t let him get to you,’ I said, staring at Eldritch to let him know I wasn’t on his side in this.
‘I won’t,’ she said. ‘I guess it makes sense. Follow every lead, however tenuous.’
‘Exactly,’ said Eldritch. ‘So, unless you have something less tenuous …’
She nodded. ‘I’ll go. Stephen?’
‘Gladly.’ I wasn’t exaggerating. A trip to Hampshire with Rachel was an enticing prospect. Whether Eldritch knew how enticing I couldn’t have guessed. The reason he’d given for staying behind was sound enough. But that didn’t have to be the only reason. Face value wasn’t a coinage he generally dealt in.
‘Do you have a car, Miss Banner?’
‘I can borrow one.’
‘How soon?’
‘Probably right away.’
‘In that case, what are you waiting for?’
We walked to the phone boxes by the entrance to Green Park Tube station. Rachel went into one to call her friend, Marilyn, owner of the car she was hoping to borrow. I stood by the park railings with Eldritch. Tube passengers, tourists and passers-by jostled amidst the noise and fumes of the Piccadilly traffic.
‘Why didn’t you tell me what you had in mind, Eldritch?’ I shouted to him above the ferment.
‘Because I didn’t know whether she’d turn out to be someone we could safely collaborate with.’
‘I’d already told you she was.’
‘I reckoned you might be biased.’ Before I could rise to that, he went on: ‘Tread carefully with the Linleys, Stephen. Don’t even hint you’re related to me, or that you know anything about me.’
‘I thought you and Linley were friends.’
‘So did I, before—’ He broke off. ‘Ah. Here she is.’
Rachel had emerged from the phone box. She hurried across to where we were standing. ‘Marilyn’s fine about us using her car,’ she announced. ‘We just have to go collect it.’
‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ said Eldritch. ‘Good luck.’
‘What are your plans for the day, Mr Swan?’ Rachel asked him.
‘I’m an old man,’ came his deadpan reply. ‘I need my rest.’
We watched him walk away, slowly threading a path through the crowds in the Ritz arcade, a stooped and solitary figure from another age.
The same thought, it transpired, had occurred to Rachel as it had to me. ‘What’s he up to, Stephen?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps he really does need a rest.’
‘Could be, I suppose, after that performance he just put on.’
‘I’m sorry. I had no idea he was going to be so … unashamed.’
‘It’s OK. I get the feeling I passed some kind of test.’
‘You shouldn’t have had to.’
‘We all have to.’ I turned to look at her, surprised by her tone. She sounded almost grateful to Eldritch for putting her through the mill. ‘Sooner or later.’
Marilyn’s car was parked near her flat in Islington. We began the Tube journey out there in silence. Only after the mass exit at King’s Cross did Rachel suddenly turn to me and ask, ‘What do you know about these people we’re going to see, Stephen?’
‘About Isolde Linley? Nothing. But her husband’s not such a blank. He and Eldritch were at school together. Ardingly. Eldritch was his fag.’
‘His what ?’
‘In public-school parlance, a younger boy who runs errands and does chores for an older boy.’
‘Oh, I thought … Never mind. So, Linley’s a few years older than Eldritch?’
‘Four or five, at a guess. But he might look better on it in well-heeled retirement from the Diplomatic Service. Hatchwell Hall doesn’t sound like a hovel to me.’
‘And he was at the British Legation in Dublin when Eldritch was put away, right?’
‘Right.’
‘So, he must know why he was put away.’
‘Probably. But we can’t ask him. We have to stay incognito.’
‘Yeah. But is that to protect us? Or Eldritch?’
‘You don’t trust him, do you?’
‘Absolutely not.’ She turned to look at me for emphasis. ‘And neither should you.’
Marilyn’s flat was the basement of a large semi-detached house in Barnsbury Square. I had little chance to gain much impression as Rachel swept me in. A postcard, addressed to her, with a foreign stamp on it, was lying on the mat. ‘From Joey,’ she said, scanning the message. ‘He often writes me.’ She plonked the card on the hall table, by a vase of lilies, and went to collect the car key.
The picture Joey had chosen was of Antwerp Cathedral. I turned the card over, wondering what he’d said. To my dismay, the writing was so minute and spidery I’d have needed a magnifying glass to decipher it. The message ran to about thirty lines.
A sudden silence told me Rachel was watching what I was doing. I turned. She was frowning at me from a doorway down the hall. ‘Sorry,’ I said sheepishly, laying the card back down. ‘I shouldn’t have pried.’
‘It’s all one sentence,’ she said as she came towards me.
‘You won’t find a full stop or a comma anywhere. His cards are always like that.’
‘Can you read them?’
‘Oh yes. It’s easy with practice. And I get plenty of practice. Sometimes I wish I didn’t get so much. And sometimes …’ She patted the card gently with the tips of her fingers. Her gaze lost its focus. Contemplation of her family’s misfortunes was compressed into a silent second. This was her sad, wounded side showing itself. But she wasn’t about to indulge the mood. ‘Poor Joey,’ she sighed. Then she tossed her head back and dangled the car key in front of me. Her smile was a touch rueful. But it was a smile nonetheless. ‘Let’s go.’