A Question of Inheritance (23 page)

Orlov said, ‘I wonder. I think he was one of those people who has a lot of protection. There are always such people in any army.’

‘Why didn’t you give me his name?’

‘Come, come, you cannot have forgotten all your tradecraft. No one gives away complete information for nothing. In such circumstances there must always be a quid pro quo.’

Hugo said, ‘I wish I’d had something to interest you. Then I would have held back on passing the information along, until I had a name.’ He was silent for a moment and then said, ‘I suppose you do know who it was? It wasn’t that you knew it was someone, but it was a faceless and nameless someone?’

‘Oh no, my friend, I knew very well who it was. You see, I’d had face-to-face dealings with him.’

Yes, those bronzes that Orlov didn’t want to talk about.

Hugo said, ‘That was in the past. Now I want you to tell me who it was.’

‘Again you ask for something, and again what do you have for a hard-working cultural attaché in return? Why now, after all this time, are you so anxious to find out who it was. What can you do with such information?’

Hugo drank some more beer, put the mug down and told him about the paintings that had turned up in the Castle attics.

Orlov didn’t seem at all surprised. He took another sip of his beer, grimaced and asked the barkeeper for a Scotch. ‘I apologise, but this warm beer with its head does not suit my digestion.’ The glass of whisky in his hand, he said, ‘Selchester Castle. And at that time the late Lord Selchester lived there? He is no longer with us, but there is a new Lord Selchester in possession? An American. I read about it in all the newspapers, very romantic.’

‘You will also have read in the papers, that a guest at the castle, one Oliver Seynton, was found dead on Boxing Day. The police have been rather discreet about it. He was electrocuted, but I can tell you – and it must go no further – that it was almost certainly murder. And it seems likely that this murder is something to do with paintings that were hidden in the attics. Paintings that came from Germany in 1946’ He gave Orlov a long look. ‘Come on, Gregor Gregorovitch, you had no more time for those Nazis than I did. People who should have been hanged for what they did in the war got away scot-free because of some Englishman doing these deals on the side.’

Orlov said, ‘What will happen to these paintings?’

‘I’m not sure. There’s some question about who actually owns them. The late Lord Selchester’s daughter claims they’re hers.’

‘The lovely Lady Sonia. I read about her in the newspapers. A charming woman, by all accounts.’

‘Never mind Lady Sonia. What should happen to those pictures is that they be passed over to those people who are trying to trace ownership of such works and return them to the owners. If the owners are still alive. These are well-known paintings and once they are know to still exist, it will be difficult for either the new Earl or Lady Sonia not to hand the pictures over.’

‘Ah, so the new American aristocrat is involved in all this too, is he?’

‘I don’t believe he knows anything about it. The pictures weren’t among the items listed as belonging to the last Earl, so it’s a bit of a grey area. Lady Sonia is planning a private sale.’

Orlov said, with great good humour, ‘I know all about this. It is what in England you call a tax fiddle. That’s an ancient and customary practice, why should any human being pay more taxes than they have to? However, in this case I agree with you. Those pictures were stolen and the use to which they were put at the end of the war is something that should not be tolerated. If I tell you the name of the officer will it mean anything to you? Is it likely that he had anything to do with this Oliver Seynton’s death?’

Hugo said, ‘I believe it does.’

‘What do you propose to do with this information?’

‘Expose the man.’

‘That might not be so easy, as you will understand when I tell you the name. Then he was a major in the British Army of Occupation. Afterwards I heard he had a distinguished war record. Now he is a Conservative MP, a rising man in his party, soon to take up a position as a junior minister. I told you he had protection in Berlin; I think he will still have protection.’

‘Out with it, Orlov. Who is he?’

‘He was then Major Dauntsey. Now he is Mr Rupert Dauntsey, MP.’ He gave Hugo a shrewd look. ‘This does not come as a great surprise to you, I do not think?’

No. It didn’t.

Orlov finished his whisky and got up. ‘I haven’t given you his name. I know nothing about it; I have said nothing; there is no way you can call upon me to verify this. It is all in the past, and as far as I am concerned it is finished.’ He wrapped his coat around him. ‘You will have to find other evidence, and it will have to be copper-bottomed. But believe me, the day I open one of the English newspapers and there it tells me that one Rupert Dauntsey has been arrested on various charges, why then I will have an extra vodka to celebrate and congratulate myself on having responded to your summons, my dear Hawksworth.’ He reached down for his fur hat and clapped it on his head. ‘Incidentally, that man at the bar talking so convincingly about Stratford is one of your people. He has not heard what we have been saying, you chose a good place to sit behind that glass screen.’

How had he been so mistaken? Losing his skill and his sixth sense; too intent on what Orlov had to say.

‘That’s your cover blown.’

The Russian shrugged. ‘No matter. I’ve been recalled to Moscow. My superior has given up his position rather suddenly and I am to step into his shoes and sit at his desk.’ He clapped Hugo on the shoulder. ‘Otherwise, you would have asked me for a meeting in vain. I only hope you do not find yourself in trouble as a result of this encounter. I wonder how they knew we were meeting. He tailed me here, of course. Goodbye, old friend.’

Scene 6

Hugo’s tradecraft hadn’t deserted him, and he was sure that he’d thrown off the man who’d followed him from Hampstead. But if there was an alert out, they’d have someone watching Paddington. No problem; he’d catch a train at Marylebone and then work his way cross country. It would be a long journey, but he’d be back at the Castle tonight.

At Marylebone Station, he rang Freya. ‘I’m coming home by train, can you meet me? Not at Selchester, but at Yarnley.’

That was the next station down the line.

‘I’ll ask Rupert to come and meet you.’

‘No, whatever you do, don’t tell Rupert I’m on my way back. And don’t ask him to meet me.’

Freya said, after a long silence. ‘So it’s him? I thought as much, and so did Georgia.’

Hugo’s voice was sharp. ‘She’s all right?’

‘She’s fine. She’s been with Polly all day. Gus is teaching them to play billiards at the moment. I’d be worried for the baize, but that’s his lookout now.’

Hugo knew she was striving to sound normal.

‘I’ll make sure Gus keeps them with him all evening.’

‘Georgia shouldn’t go to bed in her room.’ If he wasn’t there, that part of the Castle had nothing but empty rooms. He didn’t want her alone there.

‘You think she’s in danger?’

‘Not really. But I think Rupert may have some idea of why I came to London, and I don’t want any hostages to fortune.’

‘I’ll put a camp bed in my tower for Georgia. She’ll understand. I’ll ask Gus if I can take his car. I’ll have to fill him in a bit, but he’ll have to know in due course anyway. What time will you be there?’

Chapter Seventeen

Scene 1

Hugo woke early. As soon as he could, he’d telephone Henry and get him to dig around in the registry in London and send Rupert’s file up with the courier. He was sure the records would confirm that during his time in Berlin immediately after the war, Rupert had been involved in checking the credentials of Germans who claimed to have no connection with the Nazis. And thus had the opportunity to line his pockets by accepting works of art in exchange for the valued certificates.

Clever to do it that way. Hugo wondered how Rupert would have got the paintings back to England. Not such a problem; he knew from his own time there that planes were coming and going from England all the time. He wouldn’t have been the only one shipping illicit stuff out of Germany back to England. A lot of it went on. The authorities knew about it and mostly turned a blind eye. Rupert would have been able to fix it.

But these paintings were different from that kind of everyday smuggling. The way they’d been acquired was despicable and dishonourable. Certainly not the behaviour of an officer and a gentleman. Criminal behaviour that, if it became known, would end any career that Rupert might have in or out of Parliament.

Certainly the stakes were high enough for him to kill for them.

Why would Oliver have connected Rupert with the paintings? Or was Rupert simply afraid that once Oliver had found the Picasso, he would persist until he found out how it had ever got to Selchester Castle?

Who had Oliver made that phone call to on Christmas Day? Did that have anything to do with the paintings?

And then Hugo thought of Saul. He’d been in the Castle that afternoon. Had he come across Oliver? Had he seen or noticed anything?

It was an unreasonable hour to call on anyone, but this couldn’t wait. He dressed hurriedly and set off down the hill, wincing as the pain in his calf warned him that his exploits of the previous day had taken a toll on his leg.

He came to the Green and walked across to Nightingale Cottage. Smoke was rising from the chimney, which was a promising sign. He’d half feared that, having discovered that Lord Selchester was dead, Saul might have taken himself off, constable or no constable.

There was no constable on duty. Saul didn’t seem unduly surprised by his early visitor. Some of the strain had left his face, but he looked tired.

‘Come in. I’ve a friend staying. He says he knows you.’

Emerson, clad in a huge brocade dressing gown, surged out of the kitchen. ‘Morning, Hugo. How did you get on in London? You know Saul, I gather. Cup of tea?’

Hugo sat down, rubbing his calf. ‘I didn’t see a policeman. Do the police still not want you not to leave?’

‘They questioned me again, and I’m still on their list of suspects, but they rather lost interest when I was able to provide an alibi for some other times they were interested in.’

Meaning he hadn’t been on the liner, nor in Oxford when there was the hit-and-run attempt.

‘They hauled me along to meet some woman who runs the museum, God knows why, and she said I’d not been in the museum. Museum! As if I was here for a spot of local sightseeing.’

‘So you can leave?’

‘I think so, but I’ve paid a week’s extortionate rent so I thought I might as well stay. I’m staying at a hotel in London; I have nowhere in particular to go. Then Emerson turned up. We were at school together, haven’t seen him for years. Well, I haven’t seen any of my friends for years. He found out I was here and came to tell me my name had been cleared. Which I already knew, but I was glad to see him.’

Emerson brought in a tray with tea and set it on the table.

‘What can I do for you?’ Saul said. ‘I assume this isn’t a casual visit.’

Hugo said, ‘No, it’s to do with the death at the Castle.’

‘Mr Seynton? I suppose they’re waiting for the inquest to establish that he was murdered. The police have given some rather vague statements to the newspapers, hinting it might have been an accident. I’m confused; why are they so interested in my swearing vengeance on Lord Selchester, who’s alive and well?’

‘You didn’t know the man who died?’

‘No. I didn’t know him. But—’ He hesitated.

Emerson said, ‘Best to come clean, Saul. You can trust Hugo.’

‘That’s all very well, but if they start casting around for suspects who might have murdered Oliver Seynton, I’d rather not have my name on the list.’

‘Tell me about when you were up at the Castle on Christmas Day,’ Hugo said.

Saul sighed. ‘It’s only my word, there’s no one to back me up, except perhaps that witchy woman who turned me out in a torrent of indignation.’

Emerson cleared his throat.

‘I suppose I may as well tell you. I went in through a stable yard and into what I suppose were the kitchen quarters. I guessed I could go in that way, I’d heard the locals talking about how the back door up at the Castle is always open. You have to understand that I was so angry, I would have climbed through a window or scaled a tower to get in, but in fact there was no problem at all. They need to do something about security at that place,’ he added severely. ‘I went through to what must be the old part of the Castle. Stone walls, big fireplaces, flagstones underfoot. All very mediaeval.’

‘Did you see anyone?’

‘Yes. I was standing there looking up at a portrait of the late Lord Selchester – how it pleases me to call him that. Anyway, this chap comes in and stands beside me.’

Hugo held his breath. ‘You didn’t recognise him?’

Saul looked at him, surprised. ‘It was Oliver Seynton. I know that now because I saw his picture in the papers. Then, I didn’t know him from Adam. I didn’t know anyone at the Castle. The only person I would have recognised would have been Lord Selchester, and unless it was his ghost walking, he wouldn’t be there. Anyhow, it turned out Seynton knew who I was. And didn’t like me. He was in a state over some picture or other.’

He fell silent.

‘And?’ Hugo prompted.

‘And, we had a bit of an argument, which might have ended up messily for him, only we heard voices.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I lurked.’

‘And what did he do?’

‘Went over to the telephone, picked up the receiver and asked for a number. I thought he was calling the police, but he wasn’t.’

‘You don’t happen to remember the number?’

‘Flaxman 793’

Emerson’s number.

Hugo stared at him. Just like that. ‘You have a good memory.’

‘I have an extremely good memory.’

‘Did you overhear the conversation?’

Saul pursed his lips and his eyes drifted up towards the ceiling as he tried to remember. ‘It was a brief call. He listened and then said, “No, no message, I’ll ring again tomorrow.” Then he put the receiver down and left.’

Hugo said to Emerson, ‘Of course, he would have rung you.’

Saul regarded him with wry amusement. ‘Don’t you want to know about the other chap who came in to make a telephone call?’

‘Other chap?’

‘Yes. It was as good as a play; as soon the first man exited left, the second man entered right. And before you ask me, no, I don’t know who he was because he had his back to me. I didn’t see his face. It was a bit odd, really. He picked up the receiver and jiggled the hook to get through to the exchange. Then he said, “Could you get me that number again, please?” And then there was a pause and as soon as the person at the other end answered, he replaced the receiver. Meanwhile, this girl had come in, and she was hovering there for a moment. It was like Piccadilly Circus. She didn’t see me, but she buzzed off when she saw the guy on the telephone. Then that woman came in.’

‘Mrs Partridge, the housekeeper.’

‘All she needed was a broomstick. Anyhow, she asked me what I was doing there and what I wanted. We had a bit of an altercation, and since I had to take her word for it that Lord Selchester wasn’t there I took myself off. The whole escapade was stupid. I went on an impulse, having had a couple of whiskies and worked myself into a temper. However much I wanted to have it out with the non-existent Lord Selchester, Christmas Day wasn’t the right time to do it.’

It sounded like a frank and full confession, but of course it wasn’t.

‘Why was Oliver Seynton so hostile towards you?’

‘That’s my business.’

Emerson stood up. ‘I’m going to make breakfast. Time to come clean, Saul. I think what you have to say could help to bring a murderer to justice.’

Saul looked from Emerson to Hugo, who nodded.

‘It’s not to go any further.’

‘It may have to,’ Emerson said. ‘But you’ll have to risk that.’

‘And after all,’ Saul said bitterly, ‘what do I have to lose? I stood up to Selchester and told him, “Publish and be damned” when he threatened to tell all if I didn’t play along with him.’

Hugo listened in silence as Saul, without apologies or flourishes, explained just what he’d done. Hugo’s own memories of Berlin in those dark days filled in the gaps of Saul’s terse narrative.

‘You never saw any of the people who owned the things you flew to England?’

‘Of course I did. But not the man who arranged for the paintings to be transported. That was a special job, everything had to be crated properly and so on. Valuable, not like the ordinary day-to-day stuff.’

‘How did the paintings get to the airfield?’

‘They came in an Army lorry. Never driven by the same chap twice. They couldn’t care less, just helped me unload and then drove off.’

Hugo sighed. ‘That’s a pity.’

Saul frowned. ‘No, wait a moment. There was one time the driver was different. I couldn’t see his uniform, but he was an officer, I’m sure. Didn’t say a word and kept his head well down, as if he didn’t want me to see his face.’

‘Did you?’

‘I did, just for a moment, when a light came on.’

‘Would you recognise him again?’

‘Probably.’

Emerson had been standing at the door, listening to their conversation. He said, ‘We’ll come up to the Castle later today, Hugo. Sort a few things out.’

Scene 2

As Hugo came out of the front door of Nightingale Cottage, a police car drew up and the sergeant from the police station got out. Had they come to arrest Saul?

They weren’t interested in Saul. ‘Mr Hawksworth, if you’d be good enough to come with us.’

‘What’s all this about?’ Hugo said.

‘Couldn’t say, sir. We’ve just got orders to pick you up and take you to the Hall.’

Scene 3

Suspended. Indefinite leave.

An irascible Sir Bernard, furious at being brought back early from his Christmas holiday, had refused to listen to a word Hugo said. He’d been consorting with a Russian, breaking all the rules laid down by the Service.

‘Rules that are there for a purpose, Hawksworth. This will be handed over to Special Branch and our own investigators. Make sure you’re available whenever any of them need to speak to you.’

By twelve o’clock, Hugo was back at the Castle. He found Freya in the kitchen with Georgia. ‘Hello, what are you doing here?’

‘Indefinite leave,’ he said. ‘Move up, Georgia.’ The cat was beside her, and he tickled its chin. ‘You too, mog.’

‘What does that mean?’ Freya said.

‘He’s lost his job,’ Georgia said, alarmed. ‘Hugo, will we have to go back to London?’

‘I don’t know,’ Hugo said. The anger he’d felt was dissipating, and he was starting to realise what the implications were. Would Gus mind if he and Georgia stayed on at the Castle for a little longer? There was no point finding somewhere else for them to live, when he might not be working in Selchester anymore.

‘Is it because you went to see that Russian?’ Freya said.

‘It is.’ He got up. He’d better ring Henry and warn him to cover his tracks.

Scene 4

Grace Hall was cold and gloomy. Irene was on at the exchange. ‘Oh, Mr Hugo, isn’t it? Not at the Hall today, I hear, nor likely to be for a while.’

Blast the woman; how had word spread so quickly? He asked for Henry’s number.

‘I was going to ask you to dig out Rupert Dauntsey’s file, Henry, but there’s no point now. Yes, the MP. He’s a murderer; he killed Oliver Seynton, but I’ve not a shred of evidence that anyone will listen to.’

After he’d finished the call, he stood for a moment, looking up at the words carved into the stone work.
Deo Gratias
. Leo might take comfort in those words; he didn’t.

He wasn’t alone. He looked round, and Rupert stepped out of the shadows.

Rupert’s voice was soft and mocking. ‘Quite the little detective, aren’t you. It’s a load of nonsense, of course. Why should I kill Oliver? Besides, the police don’t even think it’s murder anymore. The inquest will decide that Lord Selchester bungled the wiring. Let him take the blame, I’m in the clear.’

‘I know what you were up to in Berlin after the war,’ Hugo said. ‘Acquiring paintings in exchange for favours granted, and then smuggling them back to England. To sell at knockdown prices to friends like Lord Selchester.’

Rupert said, ‘Words, Hawksworth. Mere words. There really is no way that you can prove any of this. I have no apparent motive for killing Oliver.’

Hugo said, ‘One of the paintings you sold to Selchester belonged to Oliver’s family. His Jewish family.’

‘Oh, Oliver was a Jew, was he? I did wonder. Be that as it may, I had nothing to do with Sonia’s paintings in the attic. I never set eyes on them before I came here, and you’ll never prove otherwise.’

Hugo said nothing. Let Rupert talk himself out.

His voice was more threatening as he said to Hugo: ‘You aren’t going to be able to prove any of this. And you would be very unwise to suggest to that incompetent policeman that I had anything to do with it. They don’t suspect me. As for your fanciful notion of the Special Branch looking into my past, forget it.’

‘Do you have them in your pocket?’

‘The Special Branch won’t go off on any wild-goose chase on your say so. I hope you appreciate just how difficult I can make life for you. I can see to it that your time in the Service ends, and make it very difficult for you to find any kind of a job. It’s not simply my influence as an MP, you know. I have a lot of connections who won’t want to see me embarrassed by your fatuous allegations. I assure you I have covered my tracks sufficiently well that nobody will be able to link me to those paintings.’