THIRTY-EIGHT

‘So,’ I said, as Eldritch fell silent and stared out at the grey waters of the Scheldt through a drift of cigarette smoke, ‘what you were locked up for was nothing less than trying to assassinate the Taoiseach.’

‘Yes,’ he replied reflectively. ‘Though hardly anyone knew that. It was hushed up. And as you’ve discovered, it’s still being hushed up. Small wonder, really. Anglo-Irish relations would take a real knock from the revelation that the British Government plotted to knock off the sainted Eamon de Valéra.’

‘You think Churchill approved of the plot?’

‘I don’t know. Someone high up, for certain, though whether that high up …’ He shrugged. ‘Linley might be able to tell you, if he had a mind to.’

‘You surely explained how he’d set you up?’

‘Not at my trial, no. I … exercised my right to remain silent.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s more complicated than you think. Linley was acting under orders, of course. He’d used me to gain access to the flat not to keep de Valéra under surveillance but to have him killed if he refused to take Éire into the war. As refuse he did. While you and Rachel were rubbing the Linleys up the wrong way in Hampshire last week, I went to the Public Record Office to check exactly when de Valéra turned down MacDonald’s offer. The answer’s in the Downing Street files: a testy note from the Taoiseach, dated the fourth of July, 1940, stamped as received on the fifth, the day of Henchy’s murder and the day before my arrest. It opens with the words “We are unable to accept the plan outlined”. No room for doubt, then: an unambiguous rejection. Plan B was put into effect immediately: assassinate de Valéra – who obligingly entered his office every morning by the door opposite thirty-one Merrion Street – blame it on an unholy alliance of the Germans and the IRA, then sit back and wait for the new Taoiseach to be forced into the war by sheer strength of public feeling. And it would probably have worked.’

‘But for you.’

‘Yes. I saved de Valéra’s life. And got precisely no thanks for it. I doubt he knew who to believe was responsible, though I’m sure he must have suspected London because of the timing – straight after delivery of his note. Whether he ever read the statement I made to Special Branch I can’t say. In a sense, it’s irrelevant. To maintain neutrality, it couldn’t be admitted that either the British or the Germans had tried to assassinate him. No word of the incident could be allowed to get out. I was tried in camera, by a judge without a jury. Acquittal simply wasn’t an option. I was going down. Luckily for me, the execution of a British citizen was considered too … conspicuous. Luckily also, none of my fellow prisoners knew what I was supposed to have done. I was discreetly put away.’

‘But why didn’t you at least try to persuade the judge you weren’t the gunman?’

‘In the first place because he wouldn’t have believed me. And in the second—’

‘Excuse me, gentlemen.’ A tall, thin, stooping old man of obviously African origin was standing by our bench. He was well-spoken and immaculately dressed, in an elegant dark overcoat, pinstripe trousers, patent-leather shoes and a black homburg. He held an ebony cane in his gloved hand, the silver head of which matched the gleam of his tie-pin. He touched his other hand to the brim of his hat and smiled down at us with every sign of neutral benevolence. ‘May I join you?’

‘There are plenty of other benches,’ said Eldritch discouragingly.

‘But none quite so close, I think, to where the SS Uitlander was moored prior to its last, ill-fated voyage.’

‘What did you say?’ Eldritch stared up at him.

‘The Uitlander, Meneer Swan. We both remember it well.’

‘Who are you?’

‘Do you not know me?’

My eyes were fixed on Eldritch. His expression was a mixture of disbelief and amazement. Then he shook his head in wonderment. ‘It can’t be.’

‘Yet it is.’

‘J-J.’

The old man nodded and switched his gaze to me. ‘You are Meneer Swan’s nephew, I assume. Meneer Oudermans has told me about you – and your current predicament, of which I must confess to being the unwitting architect. I often stroll along this quay, although this morning’s visit was somewhat more purposeful than usual. It occurred to me that of all the places in this city where I might find your uncle loitering, this was one of the likeliest. I am the hitherto anonymous client you have been pressing Meneer Oudermans to identify: Jean-Jacques Nimbala, former valet to the late Meneer Isaac Meridor.’

‘But—’

‘You drowned with Meridor,’ said Eldritch, finishing my sentence for me.

‘As you see, I did not.’ Nimbala lowered himself stiffly on to the bench beside me. He held the cane upright in front of him, clasping the head with both hands. ‘The Uitlander sank at night. The chaos and fear were dreadful but for most of the passengers and crew mercifully brief. The ship went down very fast. Meneer Meridor was beside me one moment and gone the next. By pure chance I found myself in the water close to a drifting lifeboat. I managed to climb aboard. I did not expect to survive, even so, but late the following day I was picked up by a Brazilian freighter. Fishing a half-dead negro out of the Atlantic was not something the captain considered important enough to report to anyone. My race confers certain advantages, one of which is invisibility. It also confers certain disadvantages. As soon as I had recovered my strength, I was put to work in the galley. The ship proceeded to Lisbon, then to Dakar and finally, after many weeks, to Rio de Janeiro. I spent the remainder of the war as a servant in the household of the vessel’s owner. I stayed on afterwards in a more senior capacity and remained there until his death three years ago. Then I decided to return home – to the Congo. But I did not care for what I found there. So, I came back to Antwerp. This is my home now.’

‘Why did you never contact the Meridors and tell them you were alive?’ asked Eldritch.

‘Mevrouw Meridor has always disliked me. I served her husband and her husband was dead. I was grateful to him for conferring on me the comforts of his position in life, but there were actions he took that I … disapproved of. So, I was content to let his family believe I had died with him. It freed me of an obligation I might otherwise have felt bound by. That is the somewhat shameful truth.’

‘You both worked for Meridor,’ I said, suddenly grasping the similarity. ‘But you both disapproved of him.’

‘To what do you refer, young man?’ Nimbala asked, frowning curiously at me.

‘Verhoest isn’t dead either.’

‘Really? That is … surprising.’

‘Eldritch paid the men hired to kill him not to kill him.’

‘Well, well.’ Nimbala looked past me at Eldritch. ‘What a singular man you are, Meneer Swan. Though not a fortunate one, alas.’

‘Not so far.’

‘You are nearly as old as I am. “Not so far” leaves little time for improvement.’

‘I was hoping to make enough money to see me out in style by finding proof that Geoffrey Cardale stole Meridor’s Picassos.’

‘Have you made any progress?’

‘Show him the photographs, Stephen.’

I took the wallet from my pocket and handed it to Nimbala. He examined each photograph in turn, smiling and nodding his head in satisfaction as he did so. ‘These are … remarkable.’

‘But useless,’ said Eldritch. ‘Except for keeping Stephen here and his girlfriend, Rachel Banner, out of a Belgian gaol.’

‘Meneer Oudermans mentioned the deal you’ve tentatively struck. Such a pity. I had hoped …’ Nimbala handed the wallet back to me. ‘Never mind. It cannot be. Meneer Meridor would always value his granddaughter’s welfare above his own good name. I could not have served him as long as I did without understanding that.’ He sighed. ‘Only a simpleton expects the affairs of men to be simple. You evidently dabbled in matters of greater moment in Ireland than mere fraud and forgery, Meneer Swan.’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘And we are both old and realistic enough to know when we must … withdraw from the field.’

‘Why were you bothered about the case, anyway? I thought you were free of any obligation to the family.’

‘Not as completely as I’d supposed during my years in Brazil. Returning here brought me into close proximity with my memories of service to Meneer Meridor. Whatever else he may have been, a buyer of fake art he most certainly was not. I felt I had to do something to redeem his reputation. It seemed clear you had played a part in the swindle, yet it was equally clear you hadn’t profited by it. Forgive me, but I thought I could rely on your … venality. I needed someone to act on my behalf if I was to preserve my anonymity, someone who was as certain as I was that Meneer Meridor’s Picassos were genuine. In the circumstances, you were the perfect choice.’

‘How kind of you to say so.’

‘Where did you get the reward money?’ I asked.

‘From the chimney at Zonnestralen,’ Eldritch answered for him.

Nimbala smiled. ‘You are correct, Meneer Swan. I knew, as Mevrouw Meridor did not, where her husband had concealed a cache of diamonds prior to our departure for New York as a precaution against … mishaps on the voyage. I did not regard taking them as theft. I believe Meneer Meridor would have regarded my use of the money they fetched as a prudent investment. He would even have been pleased that I am able to dress more smartly these days. He placed a high value on appearance.’

‘I’m sorry to have to be so blunt, Mr Nimbala,’ I said, acutely aware that my priority was meeting Tate’s demands, ‘but I need fifteen thousand pounds to secure the negatives of these photographs and since, as you admit, Rachel and I are in this jam partly because of you …’

‘I will pay. Gladly. In fact, I will pay the entire fifty thousand. Thanks to Meneer Meridor, I can comfortably afford to do so. And you have, after all, done what I asked.’

‘But Meridor’s reputation will remain sullied,’ Eldritch pointed out.

‘It cannot be helped. I’ve done as much as I can. And so have you. The money is in a suspense account under Oudermans’ control. It can be drawn upon at any time I specify.’

‘How about today?’ I asked. ‘At least for the fifteen. It can be in Belgian francs if that helps. He’ll settle for a million.’

‘And who is he?’

‘Verhoest.’

Nimbala chuckled. ‘That man keeps costing you money, Meneer Swan. Do you think it’s well spent?’

‘It’s your money, J-J.’

‘Technically, it’s Meneer Meridor’s. And he would definitely not approve.’

‘But you’ll do it anyway.’

‘Yes.’ Nimbala tapped his stick decisively on the ground. ‘Of course.’

I called Verhoest from the nearest phone box and agreed to exchange the money for the negatives at two o’clock at the bank where he’d deposited them earlier. Nimbala then called Oudermans with instructions to make the cash available. Their agreement came, he reported, with a string attached, one I wasn’t at all surprised by. Van Briel would deliver the money.

He looked disappointed when he saw me waiting for him alone outside the Banque Belgo-Congolaise in Arenbergstraat a quarter of an hour before my appointment with Verhoest. ‘Where’s our client?’ he instantly demanded.

I was forced to tell him he was missing Eldritch as well as Nimbala. Neither of them had been keen to encounter Verhoest after so many years, so they’d taken themselves off like two men about town for lunch at a restaurant they remembered from former times. ‘Verhoest would recognize him from the old days, which might complicate matters,’ I explained. ‘And we don’t need any more complications, now do we?’

Disappointed though he was, van Briel was forced to concede the point. ‘You’re right, of course. We have Lady Linley coming to the office at four with a lawyer called Govaert. He has quite a reputation. We also have Mrs Banner sitting by the phone at Zonnestralen expecting us to call her with news of you. And the Irish journalist you met last night, Moira Henchy, has been in my ear as well, telling me things about your uncle and her dead father that make me wish I’d gone skiing this week. I feel like the kid with his thumb in the dyke. Are we going to get drowned, Stephen? Or does a million francs buy us a good bung?’

‘Good enough.’

‘Who is Verhoest?’

‘Someone Ardal Quilligan left these with.’ I handed him the wallet of photographs.

He sorted through them for a minute, then whistled his appreciation. ‘Nice. Where are the negatives?’

‘In a safe-deposit box in this bank.’

‘So, we’re here to buy them from Verhoest?’

‘Exactly.’

‘And what do you plan to do with them?’

‘Put them in your office safe, then phone Tate and tell him we have what he wants.’

Van Briel nodded. ‘OK. Good. Not really a bung, then.’ He grinned. ‘More a whole new dyke.’